Starr, Seven, Sekani. They were your siblings. Starr was 16, so was Seven, Sekani was 8.

You were the eldest, at 17, and fuck was life good but then shit. Accused of jackshit due to race, racist jokes, and watching people you love get hurt for being themselves.

Starr had seen her friend Natasha die, but you didn't know how.

You were driving Starr back home, she was in the passenger seat, and of course the police pulled you two over. What a fucking treat.

They all had a talk on what to do if a police officer pulls you over. Hands on the headboard where the police can see them, don't argue, try to recognise their face or badge number, and don't ignore what they tell you to do. But fuck that right now, nothing had happend, you didn't need to be pulled over.

All of your parents, Lisa and Maverick, didn't want you to worry about the police, or about being black. All of you and your siblings name, where something to take pride in. Starr, light. Sekani, joy. And Seven's was exactly the same. So was yours. But white people were assholes, who loved to act like people who aren't white are still worthless. But they aren't