Not So Pure and Simple

by Lamar Giles

  The problem lingered, until I turned onto my street and spotted my car in our driveway. My carjacking sister had returned. I jogged my bike to our lawn, dropped it in the grass with no concerns about securing it, then stomped inside, up the stairs, and shouldered my way into Cressie’s room without knocking. “What the hell, Cress?”

  Harsh white light doused me, forcing a flinch. I threw my arm across my face like Dracula at high noon.

  “Hey world,” Cressie said from beyond the harsh glare, “meet my little brother, Del. Del, say hi to the viewers.”

  “What”—my eyes adjusted, I recognized the source of the light as some fluorescent halo fixed around her phone—“viewers?”

  “We’re live on IG.”

  Squinting, I saw the viewer count was at 157. Then 163. I gave her IG followers my coldest ice grill, no smile. “How long are you gonna be on?”

  “I’m wrapping up.” She turned the lens on herself, flashed a smile as bright as her portable studio lighting. “Thanks for tuning in, FemFam. Keep an eye out for more spontaneous content here, and definitely subscribe to FemFam Presents Channel on YouTube for new content every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Until next time . . . Love. You. Too.”

  She ended the broadcast, then stared at me flatly. “Bro, we gotta work on your media training.”

  Chapter 17

  “WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING RIGHT now, Cressie?” Her room . . . cleaner than it had ever been. Her bookshelves had actual books on them instead of bras and old jeans. Her bed was made, like, neatly, not the comforter snatched to the top of the mattress as if covering a cadaver. I could see the floor!

  She snapped the elaborate lighting rig off her phone. “Expanding the brand, little brother. What’s up with you?”

  “A lot of busing. A lot of biking.”

  She smirked. “Seniority has its privileges. It’s my car, too.”

  “You could’ve given me some advance notice. I thought you weren’t coming home again until Thanksgiving.”

  “Some things came up.” She moved to the floor, pulling her stowed suitcase from beneath the bed, and I noticed her hair. Shaved into a buzz cut on one side, it was a little startling. When she was home, she treated her hair like her one true love. Stressed daily over how it was laying, if the ends looked broken, begging Mom for newer expensive products. Now, half of that obsession had been sheared away. Her left ear featured a new series of painful-looking sterling studs running along the edge. She looked tough. A little scary. I would not be deterred.

  “Like what? What came up to make you mess up my whole weekend?”

  “You know Taylor Burkin?” In her suitcase was more equipment. Another camera, a tripod, more lights. She placed the phone light among the gear, and removed some other stuff. “Originated that BabyGettersToo hashtag?”

  “Of course. What’s she got to do with this?”

  Cressie placed more disassembled gear on her mattress. More stuff than I’d think anyone would need for recording YouTube videos in their dorm room. More stuff than my sister should be able to afford. “Why do you care about Taylor Burkin, Cress?”

  “Because I’m doing my sociology semester project on Modern Feminism versus Societal Mores. My YouTube channel is part of it, but when I told my professor about the ‘scandal’ in my town she encouraged me to incorporate more points of view, and loaned me some sweet gear to make it happen. I reached out to Taylor and she wanted to talk, had a ton to say.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I also didn’t know what a Societal More was, so I asked about that.

  Cressie said, “Customs. Things that we may not talk about much, but are generally accepted as the way things are done. An obvious example that most societies agree with is you shouldn’t murder people. An example that’s less universal would be holding a door open for a person walking into a building behind you.”

  I sat next to her, repeated my earlier question. “What’s that got to do with Taylor?”

  “It’s not obvious? Society expects people to reproduce. We don’t have a species if there aren’t new people. But, depending on the specific society, there are a lot of funky rules about who, when, how people have babies. I’m not arguing about which society has the best baby rules, but what’s consistent in many parts of the world is when a birth happens outside of a society’s rules, and people in power don’t like it, blame is placed on the woman. She’s fast, a whore, a slut. As if every birth that doesn’t get the power player’s stamp of approval is immaculate conception. No male participation at all. Sadly, nothing new there. What’s interesting is Taylor’s young, and calling out that behavior through the most powerful tool available to any oppressed class, social media.” Cressie’s beat-up, scuffed backpack was wedged against her nightstand. She hopped to it like a manic bunny, snatched the zipper open. “You should see these journal articles I found on . . .” She looked in my eyes and trailed off, her shoulders slumping. “You want to know if I’m done with the car, don’t you?”

  “No. I want to cuss you out. Then I want you to confirm that you are done with the car.”

  “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “Taylor Burkin is helping you with your school project. Cool. I hope you get an A. You still messed me up last night, Cress.”

  She shook her head slowly, resealed her journal articles back in her bag. “I heard about your hot date. Kiera’s nice, she wouldn’t care that you rode a bike.” Her gaze was shrewd. “Am I right?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “If I was wrong, it wouldn’t be a relationship worth pursuing. You boys always get it twisted.” She resumed fiddling with her equipment, extended her tripod’s legs. “You should watch my show. You could learn a lot. Or”—her head tilted, scrutinizing me—“if you let me do your makeup, you can guest on my next episode. A male perspective might help draw in some new subscribers.”

  “You’re not putting makeup on me!”

  “The light’s going to show every pore on your face.”

  “There will be no light, Cressie. I’m not doing your dumb show.”

  “Rude!” She punched me in the chest, and I pretended it didn’t hurt. There would probably be a bruise. She said, “If you’re going to be typical Del, kindly close the door on the way out. I want to get one more video done before I leave tonight.”

  With her focused on her setup, I massaged my sore sternum. “You’re not staying?”

  “Naw, one of my friends is heading back to campus early. I’m bumming a ride.”

  “So you are done with the car.”

  A sneer, which I took as a yes.

  I touched some of the equipment, to her dismay. A telepathic be careful shot into my brain, but I ignored her stern vibe. “Mom and Dad know you’re leaving?”

  “They’re out shopping. I’ll text if they’re not back when I leave.”

  “Mom’s not going to like that. She’s been a bag of nerves since you went away.”

  Cressie sat her tripod upright, snapped her camera onto its mount. “Stop exaggerating.”

  “She misses you, is all.”

  “Nice to know someone does.”

  I nodded. “Fine, fine. Dad misses you, too.”

  She cocked her fist for another punch, and I grinned wide. Instead of hitting me, she said, “Cornball.”

  “So what’s the other thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you came home because some things came up.”

  “Oh!” She dropped to the floor, in her backpack again. Please God, no journal articles! A moment later, she handed me several sheets of paper and I thought the Lord had forsaken me. But, each page was the same. Flyers. The header read:

  “Jaylan Knows” LIVE!

  Part of the Award-Winning Commonwealth University Lecture Series

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Only my favorite YouTuber and the inspiration for FemFam Presents is coming to campus next week. I’ve been volunteering with the Student Government Associ
ation on planning this lecture series. It’s the first time the school’s brought in someone who’s not like a civil rights activist, or famous writer, so it’s important that we have a good turnout. I dropped in on some of my counterparts at NSU, and ODU, and HU, and . . . well, you’re going to have to put some gas in the car, Del. Sorry.”

  “Seriously?” I reviewed the flyer more carefully. Jaylan had an angular face, short hair, shaved on one side—now Cressie’s haircut made more sense—and a wide smile. It was a good-looking picture, confident. I guess you’d have to be if you’re proclaiming to the world you KNOW.

  Cressie went on, “Her videos are amazing. Timely and topical in a way that’s so compelling.”

  Whatever. My car was back. “I’m sure you’re going to have a great time. Tell me all about it over Thanksgiving turkey. Have a safe trip back to school, Cressie.”

  I gave her a limp, one-armed hug, and was down the stairs, still unclear on Jaylan’s particular area of expertise.

  Though, not for long.

  At the nearest Exxon, I wedged the gas nozzle into my tank and let it autofill, leaned on my trunk, while shaping my evening via text.

  Me: I got the ride back. You trying to roll tonight?

  Qwan: My bad, bro. Made plans with Angie.

  Me: You’re whipped.

  When he didn’t respond, I took that as confirmation that he was indeed whipped.

  The gas nozzle thunked off—THIRTY-FOUR DOLLARS was the tab, damn Cressie! Almost my entire take from tutoring Shianne.

  Oh. Shianne.

  Me: Hey, you down for some “tutoring” tonight?

  Shianne: Come by. I’ll show you how to change a diaper.

  Me: On second thought . . .

  Shianne: Come over PLEEEEZZZZEEE!

  Why not? The weekend had been plenty crappy anyway. What was a diaper going to hurt?

  Chapter 18

  MISTER AND MISSUS GRIFFITHS GREETED me at the door, and Shi’s dad slipped a fifty-dollar bill in my shirt pocket for my service.

  “Come on.” Missus Griffiths led me upstairs. “They’re in Shi’s room.”

  She nudged her door open, and I caught a bit of SZA playing low through wireless speakers. Shi’s bedroom was huge. Big enough for a king bed, a desk like you’d see in the principal’s office, her own beat-up couch, and, of course, a baby’s crib. Shi, in baggy sweats, thick socks, and a Serena Williams Nike shirt, was tucked into the corner of her couch, bouncing Zoey lightly while scrolling through her phone.

  Missus Griffiths said, “I’ll take her so you two can focus.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Shi handed the child over.

  “Thank me by working hard.”

  Missus Griffiths left us, and Shi said, “Hey, close the door.”

  I hesitated. “Your parents cool with that?”

  “It’s you, Del.”

  That stung in an unexpected way. I imagined her parents having discussed the possibility of me and their daughter getting into some lewd, X-rated behavior, then cracking up hysterically like naw, not him! As if it was so ridiculous to believe me and Shi capable of anything beyond this platonic and lucrative arrangement. I shook off the hurt and sealed us in, focusing on that crisp currency in my pocket. Flopping in her desk chair, I said, “What subject do you want to cover tonight?”

  “I’m really interested in binging some Hulu.” She switched from phone to the iPad on her nightstand, and fell back onto her bed, the tablet propped on her chest.

  “Works for me.” I’d brought along my laptop, and opened a browser. I tried some aimless surfing for a while, then checked IG and Snapchat on my phone, but nothing really interesting was popping. When my usual procrastination options were exhausted, I found myself thinking of Purity Pledger questions from that hat, ones we never got to, but I might’ve peeked at before we left the library.

  At the Google search bar I typed: What’s the correct way to kiss?

  There were mad results! Almost information overload. Pictures. Step-by-step instructions. A disproportionate amount of the pages focused on a rainy scene from some old movie called The Notebook. I read through about a dozen articles, and found it really was a toss-up.

  I mean, kissing was something I had limited experience with, but the correct way and the wrong way were subjective, right? “Shi,” I said, “if I asked you to describe the correct way to kiss, what would you say?”

  “Low spit.”

  I spun the chair. “That’s it?”

  Her tablet still blocked her face, and she flexed her socked feet like she was dancing. “Use lip balm. Flavored. I like strawberry.”

  “That seems very specific.”

  “You asked.”

  Jotting down some notes, I decided to revisit that question, and moved onto another wedged in my memory: What’s too young to fall in love, and is love the same as lust?

  That’s kind of deep. “Shi, what do you think about this?” I read it to her.

  She placed her tablet aside and came to me. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s this thing at my mom’s church. Long story, really. I’ve been sort of finding answers to questions some of the kids aren’t able to find on their own.”

  “All the questions are like this?”

  I clicked over to a notepad file I’d started, let her see some of the prior questions and answers. She said, “I didn’t know your family was religious.”

  “We weren’t. Mom got into it this year. So I’m into it. Not voluntarily.”

  “She making you be the quizmaster for these kids?”

  “Naw. That’s a different thing.”

  She perched on the edge of her bed, considering. “That’s why you been around Jameer Sesay more? I’ve heard his family is hard-core religious.”

  “You have? Like how?”

  “We were in classes a couple of years during elementary and middle school, and he’d bring in notes that excused him from story time, or other stuff, because of his beliefs. We never really knew what those beliefs were—a lot of kids went to church, but didn’t get excused the way he did.”

  “You ever hear anything else about him?”

  “Nope. Give me all the tea!” She rolled onto her belly and propped her chin in her hands, anxious.

  “I was just asking.”

  She pouted. “I don’t understand why they’re coming to you when the answers are right there.” She pointed to the computer.

  “It started kind of accidentally.” That’s when I gave her the high-level overview about Purity Pledge and Healthy Living. I didn’t tell her everything, though. And she knew it.

  “A Purity Pledge, Del? Don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you doing all that stuff at ‘your mom’s church’? I know it’s not charity. I’m your friend, and my dad’s paying you to be here.”

  Sounded so harsh when she said it that way.

  She pressed. “Seriously, why?”

  “Kiera Westing.”

  Shi tipped her head back, groaning. “Still, Del?”

  “Now I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  “Don’t act like that. You’ve been Kiera-crazy forever. So, what’s the deal? I know she hasn’t been taking the Colossus and Taylor thing well. Are you and her talking now?”

  “She’s taking the Colossus and Taylor thing fine.”

  “You’re such a boy. Dude, she’s crushed. You know how I can tell? She’s acting like she’s not crushed. Everybody would be crushed by their ex fathering a secret baby while they were still together.”

  “Kiera’s focused on other things.”

  Shianne’s eyebrow hooked up. “You?”

  “God.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, that’s going to work out real well.”

  “We went on a date last night.” I knew it wasn’t a date, not with Jameer there, and Colossus crashing. Shianne’s condescending tone irked, so I gave her something hard to dispute.

  Her lips pursed. “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised
.”

  “Oh”—she stuck her bottom lip out, mocking me—“I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, sweetie. Kiera seems a little uptight to me. I always thought you could do better.”

  Better, how? Kiera was fantastic. “You’re a hater.”

  “Am not!”

  “What Green Creek girl do you like? I’ll wait.”

  “I’ve always gotten along with guys better.”

  “Like Zoey’s dad?”

  She flinched. “Low blow, Del.”

  I knew it. Didn’t regret it. “Who is he anyway? No one at school seems to know.”

  “They’re not going to know. Green Creek High can have that hashtag bullshit. You been talking about me?”

  “No. You don’t have to talk to hear the rumors. Some say he’s a grown man, married and stuff.”

  “Well, some are lying. He’s a football player in Richmond. Henrico High School. It’s his senior year and he doesn’t want anything to do with me or Zoey. Are you going to go throw that in the rumor mill now?”

  No. I hated gossip for the most part. I did have questions. “He’s not helping at all?”

  “He stopped talking to me the minute I told him I was pregnant. Well, after calling me all kinds of names. Said it could’ve been anyone’s baby even though I told him he was the only person I was ever with.”

  She told him the truth. Our lie/pact abandoned for a guy who later abandoned her. “Your parents, they didn’t, like, I don’t know, take him to court?” Some of the Baby-Getter situations had become contentious that way. Lawyers, child support.

  “My mom and dad said we’re not going to force someone to do the right thing. Money’s not an issue for us, and he’s not an influence we necessarily want in Zoey’s life. So . . .” A shrug.

  I struggled to fill in the blanks of what that meant. “What did you like about him? There was something, before he turned asshole, right?”

  “His smile. His confidence. He was an athlete, so his body’s amazing. Smelled good. Had a really deep voice. You should’ve seen him in those tight little boxer-briefs he wore, he looked like a superhero—”