Davanté pumped his legs with increasing intensity. He skillfully careened his bike around the block corners avoiding the usual cracks and bumps in the pavement.
His book bag flapped wildly against his back as he rode. He was oblivious to the scorching sun rays that temporarily obscured his vision. It was no matter, Davanté knew this bike route very well. He could have ridden with his eyes closed. In fact, he had tried it a few times last summer with his best friend, Lionel.
But it was not a day for such childish antics. Davanté could not be late to school today, the best day of the year for him. For at last, his high school was expected to announce the senior project assignments, formally marking the four-month march towards graduation.
"You made it man!"
Lionel called out to Davanté as he glided his bike towards the bike racks.
"Yeah, finally!” said Davanté.
"Man, you are drenched. You look like a wet spaghetti noodle!" teased Lionel.
"Yeah, I'll dry off. Did the bell ring yet?” asked Davanté.
"No. You got about seven minutes, which is like an hour for you. Tell me, when was the last time you were on time again? Oh yeah, never!" said Lionel.
Davanté playfully punched Lionel in the shoulder.
"Oww!" said Lionel. "Be careful, you know that's my good arm, man."
"What good arm? What are you talking about?" said Davanté.
"That's the arm that scored six three pointers in the final quarter last night. Of course, it was my arm in the body of Kobe Bryant, but you know," said Lionel.
"Oh, yeah. That's right, the game was last night," said Davanté.
"Yeah, man. Didn't you watch it? I kept texting you, but you didn't respond," said Lionel.
Davanté opened his locker, pulled out his books and notebooks then slammed his locker shut.
"I was real tired last night, so I must have been sleeping," said Davanté sheepishly.
"Your mom?" whispered Lionel.
Lionel was the only person Davanté had revealed his mother's illness to.
"Yeah, something like that," whispered Davanté.
Lionel nodded his head in understanding. The two boys walked down the hall while saluting other friends. Once they reached their respective classrooms which were next door to each other, they bumped fists.
"All right, see you at third period," said Lionel.
Davanté nodded his head and opened his classroom door. There, waiting for him was Vanessa. She sat in the front seat and smiled when she saw him appear. Vanessa remained silent until Davanté took his seat behind her.
"Well, stranger, it's nice to see you again," said Vanessa.
"What's up?" asked Davanté.
“What's up? What's up? Are you serious? I've been calling you for hours on end and you didn't even pick up," whined Vanessa.
"Um, don't you have a dentist appointment today?" said Davanté.
"Stop trying to change the subject! I'm still going, but it’s after third period. Again, why haven't you called me?" asked Vanessa.
"Cuz, I was tired. I told you I had stuff to do," said Davanté.
Vanessa held up her hand. "Oh, that's right, your mom," she said sarcastically.
Davanté was about to respond to her until Mr. Parkman suddenly walked in. He was one of the youngest of teachers in the school. He never wore professional clothes like the other teachers, but always donned the latest casual street wear. Davanté took particular note of Mr. Parkman's sneakers.
"Mr. Parkman, I like your shoes," said Davanté.
Mr. Parkman smiled and gave Davanté a thumbs up. He set his teacher's bag down and turned to face the class. He folded his arms and coolly leaned against the teacher's desk.
"Alright," said Mr. Parkman. "We're going to review from last time. Pull out your books and open to chapter fifteen...."
Davanté ignored Vanessa until she turned around and obeyed the teacher's orders. He was thankful for the distraction. It was not that he did not like Vanessa, but she often came across as insensitive and spoiled. At times Davanté reveled in her whining but lately he was not in the mood for it.
Vanessa was from a clean family. Davanté remembered her talking about her family during lunchtime some months ago. She had no one in her family that had gone to jail. She had no one in her family that had gotten seriously sick. Everyone seemed to have a job and had gone to college.
Vanessa did not know what it was like to live on food stamps or receive a visit every month from a social worker. Davanté felt it was her ignorance of that life that was the basis of her insensitivity. Yet Davanté could not help but to envy her. He, too, wished he did not know that life either.
Davanté's first two periods moved slowly. Towards the end of second period, he became restless. Last week, the school had announced that today's third period would be an auditorium meeting for all graduating seniors where the senior project would be announced.
Davanté had barely made it into the class of graduating seniors. Although he was smart, he had often lacked the willpower to apply himself. In the past, he had often drifted to thinking about his mother's illness or her lack of money for medication or to what would happen to him if she died.
In those days, Davanté had found himself wondering about such things during tests or quizzes. One teacher had thought he needed special education. She had even pushed for an IEP meeting, but it all came to nothing as Davanté revealed his high intelligence through evaluation tests.
It was Mr. Parkman that had helped Davanté bring his grades up so that he could become a graduating senior. At the time, Davanté had a 1.7 gpa and had needed a 2.0 gpa to graduate from high school. With the help of Mr. Parkman, he had read several books and completed extra homework. Eventually, Davanté's grades improved, earning him a coveted slot in the graduating class.
Although most students mourned the thought of taking on a big project in addition to their regular homework, Davanté secretly looked forward to the senior project. Since he started high school, he had been experiencing a growing desire to display his talent to the world.
Davanté was an artist. He began drawing when he was just four or five years old. After teaching himself how to sketch, he had practiced drawing all sorts of figures, from real to animation. It was the only thing he enjoyed doing.
Very few friends knew about his artistic ability. Those that knew always encouraged him to showcase it, but Davanté would often shrink back in fear. Yet, lately his fears were waning, allowing him to reveal more of his artwork publicly.
Just last year, he took an oil painting class and had created a beautiful painting that eventually won him a school prize. His painting still hung on the cafeteria wall as a testament to his secret genius.
Davanté now wanted to do more. He viewed the senior project as his opportunity to show others and himself the full explosion of his artistic abilities.
Finally, the bell rang, signifying the end of second period. Davanté waved his classmates off and headed for the door. As always, Lionel was in the hallway waiting for him.
"Man, why do we have to do this? Why can't we just graduate?" said Lionel, as they shuffled through the crowd towards the auditorium.
"Yeah, well, just think, it'll be the last big thing we have to do," reasoned Davanté.
"I guess. You know what I'm gonna do?" said Lionel.
"No, what?" asked Davanté.
"I'm gonna break dance!" said Lionel.
Davanté giggled, "Man, you can't even do a two-step! What are you talking about?"
"Watch, I'm gonna do it like nineteen eighties' style. I'll slick my hair down. I'm gonna put on a Nike jump suit and sport some Pumas. I'll steal a piece of old Mrs. Beauchmont's chain link fence and hang it around my neck. Yeah!" said Lionel.
Davanté laughed heartily. "Yeah and you'll be booed right off the stage," said Davanté.
"What? They can't boo me! I'm a Kettles!" said Lionel, str
iking his chest.
Davanté shook his head and smiled. Their other friends gathered around them and joined in Lionel's comedic banter. They traded jokes and laughter while waiting for the auditorium doors to open.
Lionel Kettles was outwardly a funny kid, but Davanté knew that inwardly he was all discipline. Unbeknownst to most students and even some teachers, Lionel was the top student.
He already had a slew of acceptance letters from Harvard, Yale, Princeton and Stamford University. His writing was impeccable and his grades were always an A plus. Sometimes teachers would use Lionel's homework as guides for the rest of the class.
Years ago, Lionel had confessed to Davanté that he wanted to be a screenplay writer. He said he had always wanted to write funny movies.
To Davanté, Lionel was a lot like Vanessa except he was much more sensitive and accepting of Davanté. Like Vanessa, Lionel was from a well-known family. He was a Kettles. His father, Jeremy E. Kettles, II, was the owner of six car dealerships in three neighboring cities. And like Vanessa, the Kettles family had money and lots of it.
However, Lionel's father, who had been raised in circumstances similar to Davanté's, always appreciated his roots. Knowing that his son would land the top colleges, Mr. Kettles had allowed Lionel to enroll in the city's best public school.
Davanté recalled the first day of his freshman year when he had met Lionel. Lionel had emerged from a shiny black custom-made Navigator. His father had hugged him and patted him on his back. Davanté recalled seeing Mr. Kettles, a husky tall dark-skinned man, stand proudly as he watched his son double-step towards the school doors.
In addition to money, Lionel had what most students like Davanté craved for, a doting father. Perhaps it was that sentiment that fueled their first encounter. Since freshman year, Davanté and Lionel grew to become true friends.
After fifteen minutes, the doors of the auditorium finally opened. Quickly, the senior students filled the stadium benches while talking and laughing loudly. Davanté and Lionel snagged a bench close to the door.
"Seniors! Quiet! Settle down!" said Mrs. Beauchmont.
The noise in the room swiftly settled to a low hum. Mrs. Beauchmont was a beautiful but strange Black woman. She was brown-toned with shoulder length natural black hair. Although curvy, she was not overweight.
Mrs. Beauchmont dressed as if she was in church. She solely wore bright flowery dresses and high heeled shoes. Her perfume was never loud and always sweet.
By most standards, Mrs. Beauchmont was one of the best school administrators. She had worked at this high school for several years and had earned the respect and admiration of the teachers, students and parents.
She also lived locally. In fact, Mrs. Beauchmont lived right across the street from the school. She resided in a very large old antebellum house that she had inherited from her late husband.
Yet rumor had it that Mrs. Beauchmont was a witch. Years ago, gossip spread like wildfire when a student had recounted to another student how Mrs. Beauchmont had eerily predicted every word the child said before he actually said it. Despite the fact that no child dared to investigate the truth of the matter, they all grew to fear Mrs. Beauchmont anyway, labeling her as the school witch.
"Seniors, welcome. You all should be proud of yourselves," began Mrs. Beauchmont.
Assistant principal Harry nodded his head in agreement as he sat behind her with the other teachers.
"As you know, we can't let you go just yet. There's more for you to do. One big project is known as the Graduating Senior Project or G-S-P for short. We're going to explain it in this hour. Then in one week, you will have to submit your project proposal. You will be given a mentor that will help you to complete it. You'll have three months to finish it. And if you haven't heard, the GSP is worth thirty percent of your senior year grades," said Mrs. Beauchmont.
Some students clapped while others booed shamelessly.
"Now, now. Enough of that," continued Mrs. Beauchmont. "This is important because there are no do-overs with this. This is it and we want you to be excited and enthusiastic about this. The GSP is not a chore, it’s a privilege! It's a time for you to show all that you've got."
Mrs. Beauchmont briefly paused to gesture towards the teachers sitting in the back.
"If you ever wanted to direct a movie, now is your chance. Mr. Spanner is here from the Film Department. If you ever wanted to write a novel, now is your chance. Mrs. Fabley is here from the English Department. If you ever wanted to create a cure for cancer, here is your chance. Mr. McDonohough is here from the Chemistry Department. If you ever wanted to improve the environment, here is your chance. Ms. Brown is here from the Agriculture Department.”
“Seniors, this is your time.” said Mrs. Beauchmont. “Don't view talent as a chore! Instead, view it as a privilege. View it as your light. View it as your calling card, your substance, the essence of you. Without this talent to think, move and create, would you feel hopeless? Would you feel empty? Would you feel lost? Without this talent, do you have anything else that will fulfill you?”
“Some of you know what your talents are. Some of you don't. Some of you are still exploring. And there are some of you who are so multi-talented, it's ridiculous!" she said.
Mrs. Beauchmont had successfully managed to grab the students' attention. All was quiet except for her high heels click-clacking on the polished floor as she walked around and spoke.
"We want to see you. The real you. We want that you to come out. If you call it being a nerd, well, we champion that nerd. We want to see that nerd. We love that nerd. If you call it being uncool, then we will make uncool cool. If you call this a hoop you have to jump through, well, we will call it an opportunity. We will surround you with all sorts of help so that you will never feel like you are alone.”
“Now,” Mrs. Beauchmont paused again to read an index card that she held in her hand.
"This year we will have seven categories from you to choose from. Each category will have a list of requirements. Once you submit your proposal, you cannot change it. You will have to commit to it.”
“So we have arranged some teachers and administrators into seven different committees corresponding to the seven different categories. Once you make your proposal, you will be assigned a mentor from the respective committee. This mentor will meet with you once a week for three months until your project is completed and submitted for evaluation.”
“Your project will be evaluated by a select group of teachers and administrators, not including your mentor. We will even have judges from other schools come in. But that's in three months. Today, you will receive the GSP packet and Assistant Principal Harry will go over it with you.”
“One last thing, I want to stress to you,” said Mrs. Beauchmont. “Each one of you is a shining star! Each one of you has vitality. You do not have to earn it, you only have to find it and reveal it to the world. That is the goal of the GSP. The goal is for you to be shocked by your own light and for others to be surprised by it, too. Whether you choose to continue in your talent as a future career or if it just teaches you the skills you will need to move on in life, the GSP is geared toward your development and growth. I am eager to see how far you have come and I want to see how capable you are in going further!" she said.
As always, Mrs. Beauchmont ended her speech with a smile. Davanté could see the usual twinkle in her eyes. It was as if Mrs. Beauchmont marched to a beat of a completely different drum than everyone else. No matter the situation, she saw hope in everything.
Davanté tuned the rest of the period out. After they passed out the GSP packets, he flipped through it quickly then rolled it up and stuffed it into his book bag. Once the period was over, Davanté waved Lionel off and continued with the rest of his classes until reuniting again with Lionel at the end of the school day.
The two friends took the usual route home. Davan
té slowly rode his bike home to accommodate Lionel, who strolled beside him.
"Davanté, what are you going to do for the GSP?" asked Lionel.
"I don't know yet. I still need to think about it," replied Davanté.
"You should do another oil painting. Or maybe a sketch. Man, you're really good," said Lionel.
"I guess. I'll think about it over the weekend," said Davanté.
"I already know what I'm going to do," said Lionel.
"You do? That fast?" asked Davanté.
"Yup. I wrote something a long time ago. I just need to spruce it up," said Lionel.
"Wow. That's cool, man," said Davanté.
"Yeah. I want to go out with a bang. I want them all to know that a Kettles was here!" said Lionel, beating his chest.
Davanté smiled. "Man, by your mouth alone, they already know a Kettles was here," he teased.
"Oh yeah?" said Lionel.
"Yeah," retorted Davanté.
"I know you always hatin' on me, Davanté. Why, man? Cause I get all the girls?" said Lionel.
Davanté laughed. "What girls?" he said.
"The girls. You know, the girls that every man wants but can't get. That's the girls that I get," said Lionel.
"Oh, yeah. Like my Vanessa?" asked Davanté.
"Naw, Vanessa is mad pretty, but she cries too much. And she's mean. I don't know how you stand it," said Lionel.
"She can be nice, though," said Davanté.
"To who?" asked Lionel.
"To me. She's got friends. Come on, she's like the most popular girl in school," said Davanté.
"So what. I don't care about that stuff. See, girls like Vanessa are dangerous," said Lionel.
"How so?" asked Davanté.
"They always need to be the center of attention. And if they don't get it, they can do some real crazy stuff to get it," said Lionel.
"Man, I don't know what you're talking about," said Davanté.
The boys finally reached Davanté's block. Lionel was expecting his father to pick him up at Davanté's house as usual, but he did not see his father's car.
"Come on inside, we can play video games," said Davanté.
Lionel readily agreed and the two entered Davanté's house. Unlike most people, Lionel was never apprehensive about Davanté's mother's HIV diagnosis. While inside, Lionel plopped down on the living room couch and turned on the television.
"Where's your mom?" asked Lionel.
Davanté did not answer. He walked upstairs and looked in his mother's bedroom but did not find her. Her car was in the driveway, but she was not home. Maybe, she's out for a walk, thought Davanté. Davanté returned to the living room with a couple of sodas and video games.
The boys played gleefully for about an hour until they heard a loud car horn outside. It was Mr. Kettles. Lionel grabbed his book bag and bumped Davanté's fist before bounding out the front door into his father's car. Mr. Kettles pressed the horn twice and waved to Davanté as they rode off. Davanté waved back before going inside the house.
Lionel's presence had temporarily taken his mind off of his mother's absence. Now alone, he began to wonder where she might be.
Three
Being Davanté Page 2
