Bell Bottom High: Book 1: Freshman Fears

by B. J. Williams

  BELL BOTTOM HIGH

  Book I

  Freshman Fears

  B.J. Williams

  Tallahassee, FL

  Copyright © May 2017

  By: B.J. Williams

  Bell Bottom High

  Book I: Freshman Fears

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the expressed written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer.

  Printed by CreateSpace for:

  Amani Publishing, LLC

  P. O. Box 12045

  Tallahassee, FL 32317

  (850) 264-3341

  ISBN: 978-1545230428

  LCCN: 2017905573

  Contact me on social media at:

  Email: Amanipublishing@aol.com

  Facebook/Instagram: B.J. Williams

  Cover photo courtesy of: Shutterstock.com

  Cover designed by: Adrienne Thompson

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the young readers who want to know about life in the seventies compared to life today. And to the adults who can still remember those days.

  B.J. Williams

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Reecy Jones

  It started out as a regular day at Bell High School. I sat across from my best friend, Joyce Campbell, who was scribbling with a number two pencil. We were in Ms. Kingsley’s fifth period American History class. Luckily, we had the same schedule except I had Study Hall next period, and Joyce had Creative Art. She didn’t really like it, but Joyce decided it was better than sitting in a boring library for a whole hour flipping through the pages of a book.

  I admired my classmate even though our physical features were very different. While I was average height and skinny with a brownish complexion, Joyce was a dark-skinned, chubby girl with pressed hair and long fingernails who couldn’t care less about studying or reading a book. Joyce enjoyed hearing me describe the wonderful books that I’d read and the way that I made the characters come to life by varying the pitch of my voice. Joyce thought listening to a storyteller was better than reading any day of the week. Unlike me, she only read for classroom assignments, and that was it.

  Neither of us belonged to the group we liked to refer to as CAP (cool and popular) chicks, but we were both pretty in our own way. Joyce had the cutest almond-shaped eyes, and I had the whitest set of teeth in our class. My thick head of medium-length hair had rarely seen a straightening comb, and that was fine with me. I could live without the burnt ears.

  I was answering the last of ten questions on our weekly quiz. Without fail, Ms. Kingsley presented us with a test every Wednesday afternoon the last fifteen minutes of class. With homecoming activities on the agenda for next month, we were being quizzed on the founder of our high school; Charles E. Bell, Jr. High School was located in Clifton, a small town in southwestern Arkansas near Hope, situated in an area better known as the ARK-LA-TEX because Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas were in close proximity to one another. There wasn’t anything significant about Clifton besides being known for the wonderful magnolia trees that lined downtown and provided us with fragrant blooms most of the year. With a population around ten thousand, the only major stores were the Dollar General, K-Mart, Dairy Queen, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the Piggly Wiggly. All the other local stores were mom-and-pop joints that had been in existence since the beginning of time. Everybody else worked at the paper mill, garment factory, or the roofing company.

  I glanced up at the big round clock above the chalkboard and noticed that we only had about ten minutes left in class. That was good news, only there wasn’t any way I’d be able to hold my bladder for that long.

  I put my pencil down, picked up the answer sheet, and walked to the teacher’s desk. “May I go to the bathroom, please?” I asked, standing over Ms. Kingsley. The first-year teacher was sitting behind her desk, reading through the papers that had already been turned in. Her round glasses were perched on the end of her nose while I admired her short, trimmed natural. It was the thickest head of tightly-coiled hair I’d ever seen. Man, I bet she had a problem trying to pick that junk out every morning.

  She handed me a pass, and whispered, “Come right back. It’s almost time for the bell to ring.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, clutching the short piece of wood with the words “hall pass” engraved in the center.

  I rushed through the bathroom door like the building was on fire. I had to go so bad I didn’t check to see if anyone else was inside. When I exited the stall, I almost knocked down my classmate, Lena Turnipseed. She towered over me. The light-skinned girl with her natural hair pulled back into a huge afro puff startled me. Although we were approximately the same age, Lena looked like she was at least two years older than me and everybody else in the ninth grade.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was in here,” I mumbled.

  Lena Turnipseed looked down with a smile plastered on her face, and said, “It’s okay. I saw you rushing in, and I was waiting for you to come out.”

  I gave her a bewildered look but remained silent as Lena continued speaking, “I like your outfit. You look cool today in your hip-hugging bell bottom jeans, girl. And I really love those brown platform shoes.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, walking past Lena. I glanced at Lena standing tall wearing a printed button-front blouse over brown knit pants and a pair of beige clogs. I noticed that Lena’s normal “no breast chest” was slightly protruding beneath the polyester top. Why is she being nice to me? Lena has never complimented me before. In fact, she’s barely said two words to me since elementary school.

  Except for my best friend, Joyce, I didn’t have a lot of friends, and I was often teased by our classmates and older girls for having a pimpled face, huge breasts, and skinny legs. So I was definitely beyond leery of anyone complimenting my appearance.

  “No problem. And your hair looks so neat. I like the way you have it braided in the front and then an afro in the back. Did you style that yourself?”

  “Ah, yeah, I always braid it myself,” I replied. Okay, now I knew something was up with her.

  I checked out myself in the mirror and made sure that my stretch smock top covered up my blossoming chest. I felt awkward since growing out of my training bra. It seemed like my breasts were getting bigger with each passing day. I was already up to a D-cup, and I really didn’t want them to grow any larger. It was already hard enough carrying them on my thin frame and finding a proper fitting bra on my budget. I wasn’t the flyest chick at school during the fall of 1973, but I tried my best to be one of the neatest.

  “Look, I was just wondering. Can I rap with you for a minute?” Lena asked, changing her voice to a more serious tone.

  I thought that was weird, because Lena and I weren’t friends. We knew each other and had a class together in fifth grade, but we’d never spent more than two minutes engaged in a conversation since then. Lena only lived two blocks away, but it might as well have been two hundred miles since we never socialized. So, I stared at her and tried to figure out what was up with this chick.

  “Okay,” I responded, heading towards the sink to wash my hands. “But I’ve got to get back to Ms. Kingsley’s class. The bell is about to sound.”

  “That’s cool; don’t you have Study Hall next period?”
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  “Yeah, I do,” I replied, grabbing a paper towel to dry my hands.

  “Well, I’ll meet you in there. I’ll come up with an excuse to get out of my history class. We’re always doing research. I’m sure I can volunteer to return something to the library.”

  “Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “I’ll explain everything to you in Study Hall,” Lena replied, holding the door. She waited for me to walk out ahead of her. “By the way, my brother, Henry, really digs you. In fact, he talks about you all the time. He’s always telling me how smart you are and that you’re always studying when he comes to visit your brother.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I replied, passing Lena in the doorway. Henry was a great guy, I saw him scoping me out every time he came over to visit Joshua. He was really cute, but I wasn’t interested in him at all. Besides, he was older than me, and my parents would never go for that.

  I made it back to the classroom just as the bell rung. I sped to the front of the class and returned the hall pass to Ms. Kingsley’s desk. I wondered what in the world Lena wanted to talk to me about. Oh, well, I guess I’m about to find out. My mother told me to always beware of people bearing compliments.

  Joyce and I chatted briefly between classes, but I didn’t dare mention my encounter with Lena Turnipseed in the girls’ bathroom. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity before sharing any information with my best friend since kindergarten. We had sworn to never keep secrets from one another no matter what, but since I didn’t know what Lena wanted, technically, I didn’t have anything to share.

  “Hey, girl, you’ve been looking strange since you returned from the bathroom. Are you all right?” Joyce asked, eyeing me. She could always tell when something was bothering me. “I hope nobody bothered you in the hallway while you were out,” Joyce said, rolling her eyes at the CAP chicks passing by us giggling. Joyce hated that snobby tenth grade clique.

  “Nah, nobody bothered me,” I said, pushing my chat with Lena to the back of my mind. I knew Joyce didn’t like it when the mean kids teased me for being thin. We looked out for one another like that, and I believed Joyce would always have my back no matter what.

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m fine. I was just thinking about that quiz, that’s all.”

  “Oh, girl, please, you don’t have anything to worry about. I thought maybe you’d had a run-in with one of those nasty girls from the tenth grade. I’ll catch up with you on the bus,” Joyce stated, walking away.

  I entered the library for my Study Hall period and spoke to Mrs. Phillips, the librarian. She was a middle-aged lady with short, salt-and-pepper hair framing her plump face. “Hi, Mrs. Phillips, how are you doing today?”

  “Hello, Reecy, I’m doing fine. Thank you. You’re looking mighty sharp today.”

  “Thanks, I’m going to have a seat at my usual table in the back and read for a while.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Mrs. Phillips said, turning in her seat with a smile on her face. She pulled out a magazine and laid it on top of the counter. “Here’s the latest issue of Essence magazine. It just arrived today, and I put it aside especially for you.”

  My face lit up like flashing lights on a Christmas tree. “Thanks, Mrs. Phillips, you’re the best.” I beamed, snatching the magazine from the counter. I really appreciated Mrs. Phillips holding their only copy aside each month for me to read first.

  “You’re welcome. I like to see you reading such positive material,” Mrs. Phillips responded. “We need more magazines like this for black girls. I can remember when the first issue came out in May 1970. I remember the date because it was my birthday month, and I saved the copy.”

  “I just enjoy reading the articles about beauty and fashion every month.” I smiled at Mrs. Phillips hoping that she’d let me get on to my seat.

  “Well, maybe one day you’ll be a reporter, and I can read some of your articles in this very magazine.”

  “I wish,” I replied, smiling from ear to ear. I clutched the magazine and read the bold title floating across the top.

  “Just remember, you’re a smart girl, Reecy, and you can be anything you want to be,” Mrs. Phillips said, touching my hand.

  I stood straight up and blushed from the compliment I had just received. It was a good feeling to know that someone I admired also admired me.

  “Thanks, Ms. Phillips,” I replied, heading to my favorite table.

  I stared at the beautiful black woman on the cover of the magazine who filled me with pride. But why couldn’t I look like that?

  I smoothed a hand over my pimpled face, turned the pages, and searched for the table of contents. I thought that maybe I could find something to make my skin look like hers. Nothing I’d tried seemed to work. I hated having acne. And since I couldn’t wear make-up until I was sixteen, I had to find something to clear up my skin until then. If Mama wasn’t so darn strict, I could have worn some face powder or blush like some of the other girls in my class with younger parents.

  Just as I was getting into an article regarding the latest make-up trends, I felt someone tapping me on the back. I looked over my shoulder and saw Lena Turnipseed taking a seat in the empty chair next to me. I took a second and evaluated my newfound friend. I noticed that the creases in her forehead made Lena look much older than her fourteen years. And even when we sat down side-by-side, I still had to look up at Lena to see her face.

  The smile Lena had worn during our fifth period break had seemingly disappeared. That was just great! I wondered what she really wanted.

  “Hey, girl,” Lena whispered, managing a slight smile. She placed her hall pass on the short table and fiddled with her long fingers. I wondered if she’d ever taken piano lessons or played some type of musical instrument.

  “Hi, Lena. Are you okay?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I could be better,” Lena replied, leaning towards my left ear.

  “Are you sure you want to talk with me?” I asked, pointing an index finger at myself.

  “Yeah, but not here,” Lena stated, briefly surveying our surroundings. There weren’t a lot of kids in Study Hall this period, but she probably didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing the slightest details of our conversation. Clifton was a small town where everybody stayed in everybody else’s business. Lena had to be extra careful if she didn’t want her business to get out. “I would prefer to speak with you somewhere in private. I really need your help.”

  “I don’t know how I could possibly help you, Lena. Maybe you should talk to someone else about whatever is bothering you. Maybe the guidance counselor might be able to help you out.” I wished she would talk to anyone but me. I didn’t want her problems that day.

  “What do you mean?” Lena asked, frowning down at me. “Mrs. Connors is ninety-nine years old, she don’t hardly know nothing about teenage problems. All she does is sit in her office all day trying to stay awake at her desk.”

  I covered my mouth with one hand, doubled over, and tried to suppress my laughter, because it was the gospel truth. I’d even seen Mrs. Connors napping behind the desk a couple of times when I dropped by. I wanted to get a head start on my college search and hoped that Mrs. Connors could help me understand the process. Unfortunately, the aging guidance counselor offered little assistance. So on some level, I readily identified with Lena.

  Once I recovered from her statement, I said, “You have a point there. I guess you can come by my crib before my parents get home. Grandma spends most of her time sitting in her bedroom watching soap operas all day.”

  “Thank you, Jesus, for that,” Lena said, placing her palms together like she was ready to send up a prayer to the high heavens. “What are you doing after school today?”

  “Well, I have to catch the bus home like I do every day. Both of my brothers have basketball practice, and I have to go home to take care of my grandma. I have to fix her a snack and make sure she gets an Insulin shot when I get home.”

  “All right. Maybe I can come by
your house this afternoon. What time do your parents get home from work?”

  “They both get to the crib around six o’clock.”

  “That’s good. I’ll be there between four and five.”

  “Now that I’ve agreed to meet with you, can you give me a hint as to what this is all about?” I asked, hoping that my suspicions would be laid to final rest. I tried to imagine every reason on earth why Lena needed my help. Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with a single one that made any sense.

  “Listen, I’ve been watching you from a distance. I can tell you’re not gossipy, and you don’t run with a clique. I feel like you’re someone I can trust. Besides, I remember you were good at giving advice even when we were in the fifth grade. And right now I need to know what someone like you would do in my situation.”

  Searching Lena’s eyes, I wondered what she could have been referring to. I just knew she wasn’t going to tell me she was pregnant. I’d never heard anything about Lena being fast or having a boyfriend. So I figured she was probably flunking a class and needed my assistance. I went back to reading Essence as Lena left the table with a glimpse of hope in her eyes. She looked a lot happier than she did when she first walked in there. Maybe I would be able to help her after all since I was doing well in all my classes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Grandma, I’m home!” I yelled so Grandma would hear me over the sound of the blaring television.

  I tossed my books on the bed and stepped next door to Grandma’s room where I was greeted with the familiar scent of rose water. Grandma liked to dab a little bit of the delicate fragrance behind her ears several times a day to keep her feeling fresh. She also liked to clean her face with Oil of Olay beauty cream at least twice a day. That’s why her face wasn’t quite as wrinkly as the rest of her body.