""My grandfather, see, he's a chief. It's sort of like the king of the tribe, you know...like the Indians. So that makes my father a prince. He'll take over when my grandfather dies." "What about after that?" one of my friends asked as we emptied our trays into the trash bin. "I mean, will you go back and be a prince?" "Well...if I want to, I could. It's sort of complicated, see, 'cause the tribe is full of warriors. Like Obama...that means 'Burning Spear'..." As the words tumbled out of my mouth, and I felt the boys readjust to me, more curious and familiar as we bumped into each other in the line back to class, a part of me really began to believe the story. But another part of me knew that what I was telling them was a lie..."