Center of Gravity

by Shaunta Grimes

I look around, not quite sure what to do now. “Maybe I should…”

  A nurse passes us, and I feel my knees go a little weak. Her light-brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail full of curls, just like my mom wore hers to work in Denver. She’s built like my mother, compact. Small, but not too delicate.

  “Wait!” I call out when the nurse starts to go into the emergency room ahead of us. “Please, wait.”

  She turns back to me and breaks the spell. Her face is nothing like my mother’s, but I know her. “Mrs. Norton.”

  She looks at me, but her attention is drawn immediately to Lila. “Let’s get you a wheelchair.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Norton wheels Lila in a wheelchair into a room where she can wait for her doctor, and things are suddenly much calmer.

  “I’ll call Mrs. Sampson,” Lila says. “Maybe … maybe she’ll come pick you up. You can spend the night with Jay Jay.”

  It is too early for the baby to be born. That’s the only thing that we know for sure.

  Okay. And that we haven’t been able to reach my dad yet. And Lila’s parents are in Jamaica. They knew the baby was due in the next few weeks, but they went on their vacation anyway. I saw in Lila’s face how much that hurt her.

  I guess we know a lot. It all adds up to the fact that if Mrs. Sampson comes to pick me up to spend the night at her house, Lila will be completely alone.

  “I want to wait for Dad,” I say.

  “We can leave him a message at his hotel, but it might be late before he gets it.”

  He’d have to get a plane ticket to come home from Oregon. Lila doesn’t say that he might not make it in time, but I know it anyway.

  Lila’s legs are so long, she has to bend them a little to keep her feet from hanging off the end of the bed. I can’t leave her here alone.

  I sit in the chair by the window, and she takes a breath and exhales, leaning back against her pillows. She’s attached to wires and monitors, and her fear is like a lion in the room with us.

  * * *

  I realize later, after Lila has left her message for Dad and after a nurse has brought me a tray with a turkey sandwich, cooked carrots, some yellow Jell-O with a tiny, hard dollop of whipped cream on top, and a pint of milk that I need to call Jay Jay.

  I don’t want to. I want my dad to somehow magically show up tonight, so I don’t have to be the one keeping Lila from having a baby all by herself.

  And so I can go to practice with the boys in the morning.

  Except, I don’t really want that either. I’m worried about Lila and the baby. It’s like a hard lump in the center of my throat that I can’t swallow down.

  I don’t think I’d leave, even if Dad were here.

  What I really wish is that I could split myself in two. Stay with Lila, and hopefully soon my dad, and also not disappoint my friends. And while I’m at it, maybe a third version of myself can go back to Denver to hang out with Megan and plant flowers with Gran.

  But I can’t do that. And I need to let Jay Jay know I won’t be there in the morning.

  “Do you know Jay Jay’s number?” I ask.

  Lila has her hands on her belly, her fingers rubbing over the round globe of her baby. They stop when she looks at me. “Do you want Mrs. Sampson to come for you?”

  I mean to say, No. I’ll stay here with you. But for some reason the words stick. My jaw is rusty again. Maybe she doesn’t want me to stay. Maybe it will be easier for her if Jay Jay’s grandma takes me off her hands.

  Maybe I don’t belong here.

  I finally unstick my jaw enough to ask, “Do you want me to ask her to?”

  Lila takes a ragged breath. The kind that happens when you’re trying not to cry. She shakes her head and says, “Please stay with me, Tessa.”

  I feel that lump in my throat let go. “I will, but I should let Jay Jay know I won’t be able to practice tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lila says. “Maybe your dad will be here tonight and Mrs. Sampson can give you a ride in the morning.”

  He won’t be. He hasn’t even called yet. I pick up the phone and dial as Lila gives me the number. It rings twice, and a woman picks up. Oscar’s mother, I think. “Sampson residence.”

  “Mrs. Montoya?” I ask.

  The woman hesitates. “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “This is Tessa Hart. I’m Oscar’s friend. I’ve been playing foosball with him.”

  “Tessa, of course. Do you need to speak to Mr. Jay Jay?”

  I nod, then realize she can’t see me, and my cheeks burn. She can’t see that either. “Yes, please.”

  She sets the phone down. I expect to hear her call for Jay Jay, but I don’t hear a thing until the phone rattles again and his voice says, “Hello?”

  “Hi,” I say.

  There’s a moment, before I tell him what I’ve called for, when I’m still part of his crew. I’m still going to practice with the boys in the morning. None of them are mad at me.

  “Tessa? What’s up?”

  I take a breath and just let it all out at once. “I’m at the hospital with Lila. She’s having the baby early, and I can’t come to the community center tomorrow morning. My dad’s not even here.”

  There’s silence for a few seconds, then, “Well, that sucks.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I really am. Lila said I could go, but I just … I don’t think I can leave her. We haven’t been able to reach my dad yet and her parents are in Jamaica.”

  Another too-long moment of silence. “Yeah, of course you can’t leave her alone.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay. I have to go.”

  “Well—” I don’t know what to do. I thought he’d be angry or hate me or something. But this is even worse. It’s like he doesn’t care. “What are you going to do? Let Marvel take my place tomorrow?”

  “No,” he says. “That won’t help.”

  “Then who?”

  “I need to think. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He hangs up the phone, and I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes. I stand there a minute, not wanting to turn back to Lila, but eventually I have no choice.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly, after I hang up the phone. The doctor has given her something to make the pain stop. She just looks tired now. And terrified.

  I go back to her bedside. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well—” I don’t know what to say to her. “It is what it is, I guess.”

  Lila just nods, and I sit back in my chair.

  I’m actually dozing off when she talks again. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “If I were you, I’d hate me.”

  I open my eyes and look at her. I have no idea how to respond to that. I can actually feel my jaw rusting shut this time. I open and close my mouth a couple of times and finally manage to say, “I don’t hate you.”

  And it’s true.

  We’ve only been in California for one week, and I don’t know Lila very well yet. I still want to go home to Denver. If I could, I’d go back to my house, to my school, my soccer team, my friends.

  But I wasn’t very happy before, either. I couldn’t stop—

  I look at the tray that’s still sitting on the little table near my chair. Specifically, at the milk carton. I drank the milk, but it barely registered with me.

  I didn’t even look at the kid on the back of it.

  I reach for the carton now. I turn it around and see a picture of a girl who is already in my collection.

  “My dad is happy,” I say, still looking at the girl. Laurel, who was on the back of the half-gallon when I first got to California. “I thought he would be sad forever.”

  Mrs. Norton comes in and interrupts whatever Lila was going to say. She takes Lila’s blood pressure and checks on the baby with a stethoscope. She looks up at me and says, “Do you want to hear?”

  I look at Lila and she nods, so I stand
up. Mrs. Norton puts the stethoscope into my ears, and for a second everything is quiet. Then she taps the other end with her finger and after I nod to let her know I heard it, she puts the round part against Lila’s belly.

  At first it just sounds like a swish. Like the ocean, I think. It reminds me of being inside the clubhouse that first night. Then I hear a rhythm. A sort of glub-glub-glub that I think must be Lila’s heart.

  Mrs. Norton moves the stethoscope around, and then suddenly, there it is. So fast and light. It gallops, and it sounds so strong, I think that even if it’s too early, anything with a heartbeat like that has to be a fighter. I take the earpieces out and hand them to Lila.

  She takes them, slowly. There’s a little monitor beside her that shows the baby’s heartbeat as a jagged line, but it’s not the same as hearing it.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  She puts the earpieces into her ears, and Mrs. Norton shifts the round end. I see it in Lila’s face, the moment when she hears the baby’s heartbeat. She’s beautiful again.

  She finally takes the stethoscope out of her ears and hands them back to Mrs. Norton. “Thank you.” Only she’s looking at me, not the nurse.

  * * *

  Dad couldn’t get a flight that left any earlier than noon the next day. I can’t help the stab of disappointment. I do my best not to let it show, though.

  Lila doesn’t look well, and I doubt if she would have noticed my disappointment anyway. This is happening, the doctor said the last time he was in. They had hoped they could keep her from having the baby for a while, but now they don’t think they can.

  Whatever they gave her for the pain is not working anymore.

  Lila grips my hand and pants through another contraction. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

  Mrs. Norton is off duty now, and the new nurse is named Alicia. At least she doesn’t remind me of my mother. She has red hair that’s cut short and is almost as tall as Lila.

  She’s checking Lila’s blood pressure again when I hear a soft knock on the door.

  “Hey, Tessa.”

  “Jay Jay?” I stand up. “What are you doing here?”

  He gestures for me to come to the hallway. I look at Lila, and she says, “It’s okay.”

  When I get to the door, Jay Jay grabs my hand and starts walking down the hall so fast I practically have to run to keep up.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, but he doesn’t slow down. “Where are we going?”

  He stops at a door and knocks on it three times fast, three times slow. It opens slowly at first, then Oscar throws it all the way open and pulls us into what turns out to be a staircase landing. Petey’s there, too, but not Marvel.

  I don’t know how they got there, but I’m pretty sure they’re there to yell at me for abandoning them tomorrow.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, before they can say anything. “Lila really needs me. My dad can’t get here until tomorrow afternoon and her parents are on vacation and it’s way too early for her to have the baby.”

  “Is she okay?” Jay Jay asks, just as Oscar opens his mouth.

  “I think so,” I say. “I heard the baby’s—”

  “Marv’s in the hospital,” Petey says, cutting me off.

  “What?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Why?”

  The boys all look at each other and Jay Jay finally says, “His arm is broken.”

  I exhale slowly. “Did he fall off his bike?”

  “No, he didn’t fall off his bike,” Petey says. I take a step back from the anger in his voice. “We tried to sneak out to the clubhouse to figure out what we’re going to do tomorrow, and she caught us.”

  Their mother does bad things to Marvel. That’s what Jay Jay said. This time, she did a truly terrible thing to the little boy, and it was because I couldn’t come to practice tomorrow. The stress of the last couple of hours backs up on me and tears run down my face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Petey says, although Oscar is looking at me like it totally is my fault. Petey must notice that, too, because he adds, “It’s not her fault.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s getting a cast,” Petey answers. “He’ll like that, at least. He’ll want us to sign it.”

  We all laugh at that, but it’s not happy laughter.

  When it gets quiet again, I fidget a little and finally say what’s on my mind. “Are you guys going to the community center tomorrow?”

  “Well, we don’t have Marvel or you now,” Oscar says.

  Jay Jay elbows Oscar. “Aaron called me this afternoon. He’s going to practice with us.”

  It isn’t fair for me to feel jealous. It was my choice to miss practice. And it was my idea for Aaron and his new crew to practice with them. That doesn’t stop the little gut punch of envy, though. “Well, that’s nice of him.”

  “Yeah,” Oscar says. “Maybe it’ll go so well, he can play with us in the finals.”

  I don’t need this. “If you want him to, that’s fine.”

  “Whatever! It’s not like we’re going to win either way. We never thought we were going to even make it this far.”

  “Jeez, O,” Petey says.

  “Look. We’ll open the lemonade stand again next weekend. Either way, there will be enough money.” Jay Jay looks at Oscar. “Thanks to Tessa.”

  “I can practice the rest of the week, and I’ll be at the tournament.”

  “What about the lemonade stand?” Oscar asks.

  “Definitely.” I’m not sure, though, and it shows in my voice. What if Lila is still in the hospital with the baby?

  “She thinks,” Oscar says.

  “Hey. It was her idea. And I’ll feel better knowing she’s at the hospital with Marv anyway,” Petey says.

  “I’ll visit him.” I can do that much, anyway. But again, as soon as I speak, I have another thought. “Will your mom be here?”

  I hate asking that. It makes me sick, bringing her up. Petey’s face tightens, and Oscar puts an arm around him. It’s Jay Jay who answers. “She’s here now.”

  “Doesn’t anyone know she broke Marv’s arm?”

  Petey shakes his head firmly. “The last time we tried to tell, it made things worse.”

  Jay Jay said they went to separate foster homes. Is that worse than their mother breaking Marvel’s arm?

  “Stay out of her way,” Petey says. “If you see her, just stay out of her way.”

  “Grandma will be back for Oscar and me pretty soon,” Jay Jay says. “We’ll come up and say goodbye before we go. She’ll want to check on Lila.”

  “What floor is he on?” I ask.

  “Fifth floor.” Petey opens the staircase door. “I need to get back up there.”

  I want to stay with them. If we’re all together, maybe we can cast some kind of spell that will keep Marvel safe. Some protective spell against his mother and against the mean things that she does to him. If we’re together, Marvel will be okay.

  But Lila needs me. And anyway, it feels like I’m being dismissed. “Okay. I’ll be in Lila’s room.”

  FOURTEEN

  Alicia brings me a pillow and a blanket at about ten o’clock. I’m so tired, but there is no way I can sleep. Between Marvel on the fifth floor and Lila panting and moaning in the bed, and the sharp fear that it really is too early for the baby to be born, I am as wide awake as I’ve ever been.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Alicia smiles at me, but her attention is already on Lila. “Sweetheart, I need to examine you, to see if you’re dilating.”

  That’s my cue. I stand up and go out into the hallway.

  The elevator is down the hall. Marvel is only two floors above me. Jay Jay promised he’d come say goodbye before he left the hospital, but it’s been hours and I haven’t seen him. I wonder if maybe the boys are in the waiting room on the fifth floor.

  I look back at Lila’s door and decide I have time to check. “I’ll be back in a minute,
” I call out.

  I hear Lila say something that sounds like “Okay.” It might just as easily have been another moan, but I take it as at least an acknowledgment that she knows I’m taking a walk.

  I ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. It looks pretty much exactly like the third floor. A nurse station across from the elevator and a hallway of room doors leading in either direction. The nurse at the station is a man. He’s barely taller than me, with black hair and dark eyes that smile even though his mouth doesn’t when he says, “Can I help you?”

  “Is there a waiting room?” I ask.

  He points behind him and to the right. “Down that hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  I think about asking for Marv’s room or whether or not his mother is still there, but I don’t want to get into trouble for wandering around the hospital alone. I might not be able to come back to see him later if I do.

  The nurse turns back to his work and doesn’t wait to see if I follow his directions. I bite my lip, then make a decision. I go back to the elevator first, pretending like I’ve changed my mind about the waiting room. When the nurse still doesn’t look at me, I head down the hallway to my left.

  Each door has a little glass window in it. I try to look casual as I peek through them one at a time.

  Being in the hospital is strange. This floor is different from the one where babies are born. The smell, even all the way in California, is the same as the smell of the hospital in Denver where my mother died. Like a janitor just mopped the floors after someone was sick.

  The dull quiet is the same, too. No one is paying attention to me, because everyone is so caught up in their own reasons for being here. No one speaks with their full voice. No one laughs. Even the televisions are on low.

  Being in the hospital hits me hard all of a sudden. I remember curling up in a ball in a chair in Mom’s room, wishing as hard as I could that she’d get better. I remember the moment when I knew that my wishing didn’t work.

  An old woman sits in her bed, watching the news. A teenage girl is in the other bed with her leg in a cast, hoisted up by a chain above her bed. Late as it is, her parents are there with a little boy that must be her brother.