Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Sweets to the Sweet
Chapter Two: A Star Is Born
Chapter Three: All That Glitters …
Chapter Four: My Brother’s Keeper
Chapter Five: To Be or Not to Be
Chapter Six: Frailty, Thy Name Is Not Sagal
Chapter Seven: What a Piece of Work Is Man
Chapter Eight: Put Money in Thy Purse
Chapter Nine: Soak Them Beans!
Chapter Ten: Easy Does It
Chapter Eleven: Eye of Newt, and Toe of Frog
Chapter Twelve: Wednesday’s Child Is Full of Woe
Chapter Thirteen: The Play’s the Thing
Chapter Fourteen: Are Wars Necessary?
Chapter Fifteen: My Date with Caren Culpepper
Preview
About the Author
Copyright
Zander, wake up!” Mom’s voice drifting through the fog. “You’ve got a visitor!”
“Tell Kambui to come back later!” I said, my head still under the covers.
“It’s LaShonda,” Mom said. “She’s really excited.”
“About what?”
“About everything!” LaShonda’s voice.
I peeked out from under the blanket and saw LaShonda Powell in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and her hair was standing in about four different directions. Before I could say anything she was sitting on my bed.
“Is this going to be okay?” Mom asked. “I don’t need to chain anybody down, do I?”
“I just have to go over some things with Zander,” LaShonda said. She had her knuckles rubbing the back of my head.
“I’ll make breakfast for the two of you,” Mom said cautiously. “You will be out to the kitchen soon, won’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” LaShonda answered.
Mom started out the door as I was trying to remember if I was wearing underwear. LaShonda had one arm around my shoulders and had her head close enough to kiss me if she wanted to. I was hoping she didn’t want to.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I got a scholarship!” she squealed in my ear.
“Hey, that’s mad good!” I said. “But you’re in the eighth grade, what kind of scholarship are you getting?”
“Listen to this!” LaShonda cleared her throat and rattled the paper she held about three inches from my nose. “‘Dear LaShonda Powell, We are pleased to offer you a full scholarship to the Virginia Woolf Society Program for Young Ladies based on your amazing designs for the play put on by the Cruisers last Wednesday. Completion of this program will qualify you for further scholarship aid to either Amherst, Spellman, or the Fashion Institute of Technology.’ Zander, I’m going to college!”
“Right away?”
“No, but eventually,” she said. She was sitting on the bed but still leaning on me. I knew that for LaShonda it was a special moment. For me it wasn’t. I had to pee.
“People keep saying we’re smart and everything,” LaShonda said, her face against my shoulder. “But it takes more than being smart to go to college. It takes money for tuition and stuff like that, but it takes money for clothes, too. I need someplace where I can go to college and still work part-time to support Chris. If they pay my way to Fashion Institute, I’ll have it m-a-d-e! I can get a part-time job and we’ll both be right here in the city.”
“That’s good,” I said. “But I got to go to the bathroom.”
“Go ahead.”
“I don’t think I have any underclothes on,” I said, knowing I didn’t have any underclothes on.
“You sleep naked?”
“Yo, LaShonda, I have to pee. How about you getting out of the room so I can get dressed?”
She kissed me on the forehead and left the room, calling out to Mom about going to college.
LaShonda is real special. She’s the kind of girl that will get your back if you have a fight, or design some clothes for you if you need them. She lives in a group home — I think it’s Catholic — with her little brother, Chris.
I found my underwear on the floor, put it on, and then some jeans. I heard Mom and LaShonda talking as I went into the bathroom.
What was really going down with LaShonda was that her brother was quiet. Not just a little quiet but, like, he hardly ever said anything. I didn’t know if he was slow or maybe had an emotional problem. Maybe it wasn’t right, but even though me and LaShonda were homies, we never talked about her brother. I would have talked about him if she brought it up, but she didn’t.
When I got out of the bathroom I went into the kitchen. Mom was making eggs and LaShonda was sitting at the head of the table just looking so pleased with herself it was good to see.
“Do you think you’re a little young to be committing to fashion?” Mom asked. “You might change your mind and want to be a doctor or something.”
“I want to be a designer,” LaShonda said. “I’ve always wanted to do that, so this works out perfectly for me. I’ll be a designer, make about twenty buckets of money, and then marry some cute boy.”
“Like Zander?” Mom asked.
“No, I mean a really cute boy, with perfect teeth and a big car,” LaShonda said. “And he’s just going to adore me from head to toe.”
“Zander, you want your eggs scrambled?” Mom asked.
I nodded and poured myself a glass of orange juice.
“Is Chris excited about it, too?” I asked.
“He doesn’t get too excited about outside things,” LaShonda said, her mood changing for an instant. “And I don’t think he knows we’re going to have to move, but he can deal with it.”
“Where you moving?”
“They have the Virginia Woolf House on 141st Street. You remember where Dr. John Henrik Clarke used to live? We went there once during Black History Month?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I answered. “Who’s Virginia Woolf? She’s, like, a civil rights lady or something?”
“No, she’s a white British lady,” LaShonda said, pushing some scrambled egg off her chin into her mouth. “She wrote a book called A Room of One’s Own. It’s about how women need to have their own space and whatnot. I read it. It was okay.”
“So this is a black group that is interested in women’s issues?” Mom asked.
“Uh-uh. This is a white group that is just starting a branch of their organization in Harlem,” LaShonda said. “These eggs are good. I like real eggs. At our place we always get powdered eggs.”
“They probably come from powdered chickens,” I said.
“Zander Scott, why are you so stupid?” LaShonda asked.
“It’s a man thing,” Mom jumped in. “They try to keep it secret but it doesn’t work, and every once in a while the stupid just pops up.”
“Mom! You’re supposed to be on my side,” I said. “We are related, remember?”
“So you sent them your designs, and then what happened?” Mom asked.
“No, they came and saw the play that Zander wrote,” LaShonda said. “I did the designs for the play because we didn’t have the money to buy costumes.”
“The thing you were writing on Romeo and Juliet?” Mom looked at me.
“Yeah, LaShonda made shirts and blouses for us,” I said. “They were nice.”
“I took oversize blouses and used material to add balloon sleeves and collars so that they looked a little Elizabethan,” LaShonda said. “The girls had smaller sleeves and collars, but I tie-dyed the bodies and left the sleeves white. For the guys I made collars that were big and I put cardboard in them for shape. And their sleeves were solid white and pleated. They looked good.”
“That’s very innovative,” Mom said. “Did you take pictures?”
&nbs
p; “Kambui did,” I said. “But it takes him forever to send stuff around.”
“Mrs. Maxwell wants us to put the play on again sometime during the year,” LaShonda said. She had finished her eggs and now ran her finger over the plate to get the last little bit. “I think the Virginia Woolf Society liked the play, too. Anyway, they said my costumes deserved recognition and they’re going to give me a scholarship!”
I felt really glad for LaShonda because she is always for real. There isn’t anything phony about her.
“You should publish the play — what’s it called?” Mom plopped down and poured herself some coffee.
“Act Six,” I said.
“You should change the name of the play and publish it in your paper,” she said.
“There’s a reason I called it Act Six,” I said. “The original Romeo and Juliet has five acts. This is a one-act play that’s a takeoff on the original.”
“Nobody is going to know what it means, Zander,” Mom said.
“I’ll know,” I said.
“And I’ll know,” LaShonda said, patting me on the hand.
Then LaShonda started talking about how she was going to start acting more mature. She had seen pictures of Virginia Woolf and said she looked like a real lady.
“Kind of proper looking,” LaShonda added.
“Like us,” Mom said, putting on her “proper” face.
“Yeah,” LaShonda answered. “Like us.”
THE CRUISER
A BAD IDEA COMES SAILING IN
By Kambui Owens
We are now reading two English newspapers online every day. They are The Times and The Guardian.
One big story in Jolly Olde England is that the English are thinking about letting kids who are 14 decide if they want to stay on an academic track or take up a trade such as retailing or repairing cars.
The Cruiser thinks this is a good idea, because kids who don’t do well grade-wise will at least get something useful out of school. We could teach kids how to serve hamburgers at fast-food joints. Maybe get a degree in McBurgers and a minor in Chinese food.
This is one way of handling poor grades — teaching kids how to navigate dead-end jobs. I know some dudes who would be better off getting a PhD in sweeping floors rather than just sitting in the back of the classroom dreaming all day. This might even work for smart kids. I’d love to take up training to be Beyoncé’s secret boyfriend.
Meanwhile, our own LaShonda Powell has been offered a scholarship by the Virginia Woolf Society. They must have seen her 360-degree dunk!
THE PALETTE
Get Serious, Dudes!
By Ashley Schmidt
When will the writers at The Cruiser finally take a subject seriously? Letting kids choose to opt out of academic studies at 14 is a serious question that will soon be considered over here. Kambui Owens might think he’s being witty with his little remarks, but he’s not, he’s just irresponsible!
The Cruisers seem to think that just because they’re individually smart they don’t have to be responsible citizens of Da Vinci. Wise up, guys. Some subjects need completely serious responses! And if your so-called alternate newspaper doesn’t stand for anything serious, why are you killing trees to publish it? Lastly, LaShonda’s scholarship offer (and I actually interviewed her!) was for her design work, not basketball!
Sometimes things happen in this school that make me so proud of you all that every step I take becomes lighter.” Mrs. Maxwell, our principal, had her hands clasped in front of her as she addressed the assembly. “And if any of you read the New York Times over the weekend you will know what I am talking about. In their new column, About Town, a Times reviewer mentioned the play put on by the Cruisers and was particularly delighted by the costumes designed by our own LaShonda Powell.”
I don’t know who started applauding for LaShonda, but soon the whole auditorium was on their feet. The review was already on Facebook, and parts of it had been tweeted a quadrillion times.
“And more good news is that the Virginia Woolf Society has stepped forward to offer LaShonda a scholarship to their academy. LaShonda, on behalf of the faculty of Da Vinci Academy, and from the bottom of my heart, I congratulate you on your designs and your wonderful talent. Please stand up and accept the school’s appreciation.”
LaShonda stood up and we gave her another round of applause.
“Yo, Zander, I think LaShonda’s smile just got two inches wider,” said Kambui, who was sitting next to me.
“It should be,” I said. “Did you see what the New York Times said about her costumes?”
The next thing on the assembly agenda was a bunch of boring announcements about stuff that everybody already knew. All I was thinking was that the assembly had been called at the last minute and the first class of the day had been canceled. I hated to have Algebra canceled when I had actually done the homework.
“Zander, the C man wants to see the Cruisers in his office.” Bobbi McCall pointed down the hall as we came out of the auditorium.
“What did we do now?” Kambui asked.
“He probably saw that all four of us were breathing at the same time,” Bobbi said. “That’s enough to send our assistant principal into orbit.”
Me, Kambui, and Bobbi got to Mr. C.’s office first, and LaShonda, the fourth member of our merry band, came in a moment later. Miss Delgado, the new clerk, gave us a big smile and then motioned for us to go into the dreaded lion’s den.
“Well, where do I begin?” Adrian Culpepper leaned back in his chair and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses with the tips of his index fingers. “When you young people first came to my attention I thought you were a lost cause. But after several misadventures — so to speak — I see that there is a certain merit to your rather unorthodox methodology. I have called you here today not to admonish you but to encourage you to keep up the good work.
“I have not reached that stage of our relationship wherein I actually like any of you, but, as a group, you are not as reprehensible in my eyes as you once were. I thought you would want to know that.”
“Oh, thank you, kind sir,” Bobbi said.
“I must add that your attempt at journalism — if your pathetic little paper can be attached to that hallowed term — is still not my cup of tea, but it does show that you can spell most words. The important thing is that you occasionally bring a certain credit to Da Vinci Academy. The piece in the paper reviewing Zander’s play and, of course, your lovely costumes, LaShonda, is the kind of positive press I always hope for.”
“Thank you, Mr. C.” This from LaShonda.
Mr. Culpepper stood and shook hands with each of us and smiled.
“That’s the kind of smile that a crocodile gets on his face just before he eats you,” Bobbi said when we had left Mr. Culpepper’s office.
“Crocodiles don’t have faces,” Kambui said.
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“People have faces,” Kambui said. “Crocodiles do not have faces, and they don’t have personalities, so they can’t smile, either.”
“Kambui’s been reading National Geographic again,” LaShonda said. “Once a year he comes up with something strange and you know he’s been to the dentist and read National Geographic.”
Kambui started going on about how he lived in the world of ideas and intellect, and nobody wanted to hear that so we started on down the hallway.
“You people just don’t appreciate an intellectual,” Kambui protested. “LaShonda appreciates me.”
“No, I don’t,” LaShonda said.
“So who is this Virginia Woolf?” Kambui asked.
“She was all, like, ‘Hey, women can think and write and get it on if we have a chance,’” Bobbi said. “She was on the front lines for women when people didn’t know there was a battle going on.”
“So what’s that mean for LaShonda?”
“Two women came to our group home Sunday,” LaShonda said. “They were talking about how they would let me come to their acade
my and learn to dress cool and act cool. Things like that. And then maybe later they would help me get into a school.”
“They talking about serious money?” Kambui asked.
“Yeah,” LaShonda said. “The way they ran it, all I had to do was to get busy with the grades and they could make it all happen. I got all excited and everything because I really hadn’t put college on my map.”
“You’re going to Da Vinci, a school for the gifted and talented, and you didn’t have college on your map?” I asked. “I can’t buy that.”
“Yo, Zander, I had it on my map, but I wasn’t thinking it was a done deal or anything like that. You know, some people come in here with their father being a weatherman on television and their mother being a big-time model and they just know they’re going to college. I was hoping, but I didn’t have any guarantees. They’re talking like they’re going to make it happen.”
“Zander is one of these people who don’t worry about money the way the little people do,” Bobbi said. “He just deals with the Big Issues, like world peace, global warming, and international terrorism.”
“Bobbi McCall, shut up!” I said. “The only reason I don’t worry about money for college is that I’m better looking, smarter, and have more talent than you people.”
“Zander, if I shut up, where would you have to go to find wisdom in this small universe?” Bobbi said. “I am the heart and soul of the Cruisers, and you know it. That’s why you always want to hang around me.”
“Don’t say that, Bobbi.” LaShonda pulled an apple out of her backpack and started polishing it on her sleeve. “You don’t want Caren to think you and Zander have something going on. She’ll scratch your eyes out.”
I wanted to tell LaShonda that her remark about Caren Culpepper was sick, but she had already made a sharp left turn and was headed down the hallway toward her second-period class.
A Star is Born Page 1
