Of course, like all other cities, New York has its problems, racial tensions among them. It would be naive to pretend that racism does not exist in this vast city, and one would have to be blind not to notice the discrepancies in the way in which white and black youths can be treated. Some parents, seeking to shelter their children from the harsh realties of the city — or at least to postpone the anguish of racism — send their children to private school.

The Crossfeld school is a private school located in the Bronx. However, calling Crossfeld's home "the Bronx" is somewhat misleading. In reality, Crossfeld is located in Riverdale, a wealthy, white, Jewish enclave of the Bronx. Many city parents seek the peace and tranquility of suburbia for their kids, and many value the opportunity of allowing their children to escape the city for the day. As a representation of New York, Crossfeld could not be called diverse — approximately two thirds of its students are white, and an even larger proportion is upper middle class if not wealthy. However, in the private school world, Crossfeld prides itself on its diversity. Ethics, a course where students are taught about our differences and about "morals," is required each year. Tolerance is preached, and there are a variety of clubs to accommodate different students' needs.

A concern involved with sending a child to Crossfeld is transportation. A bus service is provided, but it costs over one thousand dollars each year. Most Crossfeld parents work, and even if they did not, most do not have cars since they live in Manhattan. The simplest alternative to the over-priced bus service is the subway. Two subway lines take the kids almost directly to the school; upon exit, they have a five to ten minute walk ahead of them. The subway is in a "safe" area, and by unspoken rule, all the Crossfeld kids sit in the front car. Crossfeld shares the Bronx subway stop with two other private schools, so on the way home, the station is packed with middle and high school kids.

One typical day, three seventh graders were riding home from school together, two black and one white. They had been friends for years, having attended the same grammar school. They were new to Crossfeld, and all felt very "adult" being allowed to make the subway journey on their own. They were involved with their usual banter — who was dating whom, whether their parents allowed them to go to concerts yet. They were fairly oblivious to those around them, as seventh graders can be, but they had the luxury of this oblivion: as usual, the subway car was packed with students. Caught up in her conversation, one of the two black girls began to sing. She had just made chorus in the school's production of Grease, unusual for a seventh grader, and was showing off her voice. The song she elected to sing was a Madonna song. Madonna was new on the scene at the time, and everyone cool liked her. Her friends clapped as she belted out the last words of the song. "No wonder you made Grease," one of them admired.

Soon thereafter, the singer and her two friends exited the train, laughing. Three older Crossfeld girls, all black, got off at the same stop. One of the older girls, the tallest of the three, had also recently tried out for Crossfeld's production of Grease; she had been cut. The cast list had come out earlier that day, and the high school girl was in a bad mood, particularly because middle school kids had won parts in the musical. The seventh graders were dawdling, one still singing Madonna, but more quietly. Soon they and the other three Crossfeld girls were among the only people remaining on the platform. Suddenly, the older girls stood in front of the younger ones, blocking their path. "You," the tall one began, pointing at the singer, whom she recognized from Grease try-outs, "why you singing white-girl songs?" The seventh graders were mute, immobilized by a sense of panic. "I'm taking to you," continued the older girl. "It's just Madonna," mumbled the seventh grader. "Black girls don't sing white bitch songs," the older girl screamed. The two other seventh graders remained frozen. The high school girls continued blocking the exit. "Let's go," someone said. "I'm not done talking to you," warned the older girl. "If I hear that song coming out of your ugly throat again, I'm going to beat the shit out of you." One of the older girls laughed, the other looked nervous and said, "let's get out of hear you guys, they all go to Crossfeld." And the three ran off.

When the seventh grade singer arrived home, she was visibly shaken. Her mother asked what had happened, but the student did not want to tell her mother too much, for fear of retaliation. All she was willing to admit was that she had been verbally threatened by older Crossfeld girls. She was unwilling to give names, despite her mother's pleas. "I don't pay thousands of dollars to send you to school to get intimidated by some bully girls on the subway," she said. She picked up the phone and called the principal (you) and demanded that something be done. The girl's mother asked that you call an assembly to inform the student body of what had occurred. She insisted upon some sort of punishment for the unidentified older girls. She further demanded that Crossfeld take action to ensure that its students could travel safely to and from school.