by Lamar Giles
“It’s the first day,” she began, but the temperature in the room dropped another few degrees, and she said, “I’ll be particularly clear from now on.”
Jameer chewed his bottom lip but remained silent. In the little time I’d known him, I’d come to think that was a difficult task for him.
Pastor Newsome shifted focus to my project. Grinned. “Now that’s a fine collage, Mr. Rainey.”
It was odd to hear my name, so formal, cross his lips. He said it with reverence, the way he pronounced religious names like David and Moses from the pulpit. I didn’t think he knew who I was.
“We need more fine young men like you in the congregation. You’re a shining light for your generation, and you’ll help guide up the young boys in the right way.” He motioned to Ralph and Bobby, who grinned, but I had a hard time sharing their enthusiasm because I knew enough to recognize that by praising me he was also, somehow, dissing Jameer.
Pastor Newsome’s eyebrows arched. He was waiting for something, and I knew what. Even though it made me feel slightly nauseous, there was too much I didn’t understand here and I wanted—needed—him to move on. So, I said it. “Thank you, Pastor.”
Sister Vanessa said, “Hey everybody, take a moment to hang your collages. We’ll keep them up for the rest of our sessions as reminders of how we recognize the pure.”
Kiera retrieved a tape dispenser from Sister Vanessa’s other supplies and began rolling short strips into sticky loops for her girls. That’s how I thought of them now, her girls.
Jameer saw me watching, as if daring me to critique his art.
Patiently, I waited for my turn with the tape.
When all the collages were hung, Sister Vanessa ended the session with a prayer of her own, dismissed us, then stepped into the hall to speak with Pastor Newsome. The girls hustled out of the room in a tight, Kiera-led huddle while me and the other guys gathered our things with sloth-like cool. Ralph and Bobby chatted about chores they needed to do after dinner as they exited the room. Jameer stared at me.
“You know that’s super annoying,” I said.
I figured he was tense over the way Pastor Newsome played him in front of everyone (and used me to do it). I figured whatever came next would be about that.
He said, “You’re taking Healthy Living at school, right?”
Now that was unexpected. “Yeah. Sure.”
He checked over his shoulder, a schemer’s glint in his eye. “You know nobody else in here is allowed to take it.”
“Why?”
“You still cool giving me a ride home?”
Dude apparently could not answer a question straight. “Fine. Whatever.”
We stepped into the corridor together, and Jameer said, “Bye, Sister Vanessa.”
She was so deep into her conversation with Pastor Newsome, her hands moving around, explaining . . . something, I don’t think she heard him at all.
On the church steps, the Purity Pledgers waited on their rides. It was one of those springtime-warm nights that was very Virginia because it was actually fall and it had been ten degrees cooler two hours ago. If not for the sky darkening to purple when it was barely five p.m., we could’ve been in mid-May. Kiera noticed Jameer walking with me. Her classroom scowl returned.
“Jameer, my dad’ll be here in ten minutes,” she said.
“Tell him I’m okay tonight. I’m riding with Del.”
“You’re sure?”
It wasn’t an upbeat “You’re sure?” Oh no. It was someone about to stick their hand in a porta potty to fish out some loose change. Like, You’re sure you want to do that, because I wouldn’t.
That “you’re sure” had me doing something I never thought possible in all my Kiera fantasies. I scowled back. “Chill. I got him covered. Thanks for your concern.”
Maybe I did more than scowl, and maybe I was louder than I thought. Because everyone turned my way, meerkat-style. Mya mouthed the word Dude.
Then, I was locked in a staring contest with Kiera.
She broke from her troop, came straight at me. Angry, aggressive. “Can I talk to you?” She clamped her teeth together after she spoke.
“Yeah. Whatever.” I bristled.
“Around the corner.” She stomped over to the church’s shadowy side yard, assuming I’d follow.
I almost walked to my car. She was bossing me around all crazy, everybody watching. Sure, our conversation might be private, but her owning me in front of the Purity Pledgers was public domain now.
Facing Jameer, I gave the “what’s up?” shrug. He only shook his head.
Fine. I rounded the church, ended up under a bulging globe fixture that anchored an orbital spiderweb and drew a squad of moths in its wash of yellow light. Kiera poked a finger in my chest hard enough to hurt. “Delbert Rainey, I know what you’re doing, and I want you out of this class. Gone. Tonight!”
DEL-bert RAIN-ey! Spoken like our first-grade teacher, Mrs. Martin, used to say it. The way I hate.
I felt the strangeness of how little we’d been around each other, even to say hi, the last few years. Struggled with how little sense this conversation made.
“People call me Del now.” It was all I could manage.
If she called me out about trying to get with her, I’d deny it. Double down. As Qwan said way too often, die with the lie.
She said, “I know about how you and your boy Qwan are out with different girls every weekend. People still talk about that little orgy you two were in at Tanisha Thompson’s freshman year. And I know you’re only in this class so you can ‘get your stats up’ or however you nasty boys talk about your escapades.”
“Get my stats—what?”
“Right. Play dumb.”
I wasn’t playing, though. She said so much in that one breath it actually made me dizzy. “You’ve got it all wrong, Kiera.”
“I don’t think so. You and Qwan have reputations.”
Qwan. Qwan had a reputation. Him. I was his transportation. I couldn’t say that, though. Bro Code. You didn’t throw your friend under the bus to save your own ass.
“If you two want to be man-whores in this state and the next, it’s not my business. But I won’t let you be a predator with them.” She pointed back the way we came, to her girls. “All they see is a cute boy who’s rough around the edges and obviously hasn’t been properly churched. You want to keep up your little charade, I can’t stop you, but you won’t get near them. I’m betting once you see there are no easy targets here, you’ll get bored and move on. So save yourself some time and get to stepping now. Before your nose gets busted by something worse than a basketball!”
She smacked me in the chest and stomped away. I stood there a moment longer, stunned. Maybe for the wrong reason.
All they see is a cute boy who’s rough around the edges . . .
Was that their assessment, or hers?
“Del.” Jameer lingered at the building’s corner. “You ready?”
Kiera wouldn’t bother looking at me, though all the girls she wanted me to stay away from were. I went for my car and settled behind the wheel. Jameer drifted into my passenger seat all feathery, with a big ole grin.
“You really pissed her off,” he said. “There may be hope for you yet.”
Chapter 6
JAMEER SHUFFLED HIS LOAFERS, kicking aside empty water bottles, gas receipts Mom always insisted I get (“. . . even if you have to walk inside for them because they can’t ever say you stole it if you got your receipt!”), and burger wrappers spotted with dried grease. “I’m going to need new shoes after you drop me off.”
“You know what else would make you need new shoes? Walking.”
“Your anger is misdirected.”
“Tell me how to get you home, Jameer.”
“You know Stafford Woods?”
“Sure.” It was a subdivision on the east side of Green Creek. I’d taken Qwan to see some girls out there before. Five-minute drive at the most. I flicked on my turn signal to make th
e next right, a straight shot.
Jameer said, “I’m not in a hurry if you aren’t.”
Braking at the stop sign with no traffic behind me, I did not turn. “Will you stop with all your Riddler BS and answer some questions for me?”
“Not about my parents.”
“Why would I care about your parents?” They were religious and weird and not my problem. I said, “Kiera.”
“I can probably shed some light on her current situation.”
I flicked my turn signal off and kept going straight, toward Old Town Green Creek. “Yo, what happened back there? Why’d she get in my face all aggro?”
“She told you. You and Qwan Reid have a certain reputation at school.”
“No. No. No.”
“So it’s not true? You and Qwan Reid don’t go out with different girls almost every weekend?”
“It’s complicated.”
We sailed through the uncrowded, tree-lined streets of Green Creek. The one car ahead of us was nothing but glowing red taillights. The scene in my rearview was ink black. I said, “Am I sunk?”
Jameer answered quickly. “Honestly, I don’t know. She’s in a strange space right now.”
“What really happened with Colossus? Some people saying him and Angie Bell made a sex tape.”
His shrug about shook the car. “That I don’t know. She won’t talk about any of it in detail. It’s like she’s traumatized. I guess he cheated, but between you and me, that wouldn’t be new information. They never broke up over it before.”
I’d heard Colossus got it in with girls at different schools, too. It pissed me off because, as Jameer said, it didn’t ever put a dent in “Kee-Lossus” before. “What should I do here, Jameer? You know I want to holler at her, but it’s like I’m moving in the exact opposite direction of where I want to be. And this Purity Pledge feels like the ultimate mistake. She wants me out of it, and, real talk, I want me out of it, too. I mean, I joined accidentally.”
“You can’t quit, though.”
“Why?”
“God.”
Then he laughed. And I laughed.
When he was done laughing, he said, “Seriously, if you quit, you prove her right. But if you’re hanging in, maybe I can help.”
We cruised into downtown, a few cross streets bordered by a dozen or so storefronts that were already closed because most of Green Creek shut down when the streetlights came on. Jameer’s offer of assistance sounded generous. It also bugged me. I didn’t express my concerns, just said, “How?”
“We need a strategy. A way to flip Purity Pledge to your advantage. Pastor Newsome won’t like us treating it like a dating app. But it’s the one thing you and Kiera have in common, right? So, we work it.”
Me and Kiera had more than Purity Pledge in common. The Wizard of Oz came to my mind. Also, hot wrinkle-free outfits. And well-moisturized skin. For the sake of this conversation, I nodded, kept trying to feel him out. “You’re cool with using Purity Pledge that way?”
“Totally fine.”
Okay. The alarms in my head were blaring loud. Couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Like, me and you ain’t close. We barely talked before Sunday, but now you want to be my personal matchmaker? I’m not trying to insult you—but it’s suspect, bro. Why you want to help so bad? What’s in it for you?”
“I already told you.”
I tapped the steering wheel. Waiting.
He said, “Pastor Newsome won’t like it.”
Seriously? “Look, I’m new at First Missionary. I don’t really get all the dynamics or whatever happening in that church. I know I’m not comfortable with you weaponizing me because you’re pissed at your pastor.”
“He’s your pastor, too. If you’re not pissed yet, give it time.”
I swung a right at the next corner, put us on course for Stafford Woods. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll figure the Kiera thing out myself.”
His voice rose, slightly panicked. “Del, wait. I’m not using you to mess with Pastor.”
“You said—”
“I mean, not exclusively. It’s a bonus for me, I won’t lie. But, I was hoping we could sort of trade favors. I help you with Kiera, and you do something for me.”
“Something like what?”
“Healthy Living.”
My foot slipped off the gas and we coasted, our speed decreasing incrementally, the scenery around us going from blur to crawl. “Sex ed? What about it?”
“Is it,” he seemed to struggle for the right word, “informative?”
“We watched a stupid video about STDs. So, not particularly.”
“There’s going to be more to it? A lot of different topics?”
My thinning patience made me get real direct. “Tell me what you want.”
“Are we trusting each other? I keep Kiera stuff in confidence, you keep my stuff in confidence.”
“Bro, I’m about to kick you from this moving vehicle.”
A resigned sigh. “Fine. Next time you’re in Healthy Living, can you ask a question for me?”
“Depends on the question.”
He rubbed his hands along the fabric of his pants like he was trying to burn his palms off. “I want to know if certain . . . dreams are . . . normal?”
I considered what he was saying a moment. Questioned if I heard him right. “You’re talking about wet dreams.”
He grabbed the “oh crap” handle above his door like I’d suddenly swerved toward a ditch. “I . . . I suppose.” He kept glancing through his window like he was waiting on some other ride to come get him.
“Dawg, we can look that up on your phone right now.”
“No, we can’t.” He fished something like a clamshell from his pocket. Took me a second to realize it was an old-fashioned flip phone. I remembered Dad having a phone like this when I was a little kid, a decade ago.
I said, “That works?”
“At the most basic level. I can call my parents. They can call me.”
That they still made phones like that was amazing. I didn’t get on him about it. It could be a money thing. Maybe all his people could afford. Only, his clothes told a different story. Always pressed. Always smelling like soap and cologne. Not everyone at Green Creek High was as fortunate. Those shoes he’d been worried about ruining might’ve cost more than my Xbox.
Then “wet dreams” popped back in my head, and derailed my flip-phone deductions. “Look it up on my phone.”
I grabbed my cell from the cup holder, handed it over. Though, from experience I didn’t want to tell him about, I was sure wet dreams were pretty normal.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to look it up. I want a professional opinion.”
MJ? A professional? If we were talking the Harlem Renaissance . . . sure. “I’m not asking that question in class. Not in front of everybody.”
“Do it after class. Or before. I don’t care.”
“No! Why don’t you ask yourself?”
“I’m not allowed.”
“Says who?”
“Pastor Newsome! No one in Purity Pledge is allowed anywhere near that Healthy Living class. Except you.”
My thoughts began circling the opposing curriculums of Purity Pledge and Healthy Living I’d discovered the other night, the tug-of-war. It was the pastor’s doing, then. Not a total shock that a church didn’t want kids learning about sexual stuff—but saying the kids in the congregation weren’t allowed to take the class? I said, “Okay, but Wikipedia. Or Google that shit, bro.”
When I glanced right, and I saw him staring at the scrolling scenery and clutching the fabric of his pants with nervous little pinches, I backed off. “Your people really that strict?”
The window fogged when he spoke. “I do my homework on a computer in a nook next to our kitchen. My dad installed three different Safe Browse programs on it. Anything those don’t block, he reviews by checking my browser history and cache when I’m done for the night.” Jameer faced me, shrugging the way you do when you’
ve told an old, boring story. “My parents are that strict.”
Lindy Blue, and Instagram models, and Call of Duty Killstreak videos, and everything else I ever surfed on my Mac . . . I never worried about how much Mom and Dad knew about private time in my room. But, I never really expected them to go all Homeland Security, searching my personal stuff for unsanctioned activity. “Is it like that for everyone in Purity Pledge?”
“Maybe. Or I might be special. You gonna ask my question for me or not?”
While I pondered, he directed me to his street, and to his carnival-bright house, light beaming from every window. You couldn’t look at it without squinting. I braked at his driveway, and he waited for his answer.
“Fine,” I said, “I got you. Then I want some results on this Kiera thing. For real.”
Cue slick comeback, right? I expected something to put him back in charge. That’s how I thought of Jameer until that moment. In charge. He only said, “Thanks for understanding.”
Didn’t have the heart to tell him, no, I didn’t.
When he disappeared into the blinding lights of his smothering home, I glanced toward the dark windows of the house next door. Kiera’s.
Soon.
Chapter 7
MY HOUSE HAD TWO BATHROOMS. The one in my parents’ room: shut, steamy from Dad’s hot shower, and unapproachable due to his loud, bad singing. The other one was in the hall between my room and Cressie’s. I’d forgotten the hectic mornings pounding on the door because Cressie was barricaded in there, doing whatever sorcery was necessary to become publicly presentable, leaving me a solid ten minutes to perform my own hygiene duties before rushing off to school. So, imagine the trauma on a random Wednesday when groggy, barely functioning me went to nudge my never-locked bathroom door open, only to nearly dislocate my shoulder when I walked full speed into unyielding wood.
I bounced backward, first checking for a bone bruise, then I beat on the door with the meaty part of my fist, thinking my sister had made another surprise visit home. “Cressie?”
“It’s me, sweetie,” said Mom. “Hang on.”
Okay. Made sense. Dad was in the other bathroom. Mom had to go.
Except, I heard whispering. “Mom? You talking to me?”
