“No one.”
“Oh.” That was a surprise. “Why tell me before anyone else?”
“Mango, you don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“The reason I was standing in front of your apartment building like Frosty the Snowman in July?”
I screwed up my face and shrugged. Whatever he was pitching, I wasn’t catching.
“We want you.”
“Me? For what?”
“To come to New York and star in the show, of course! Who could possibly be a better Juliet than you? You’re perfect!”
And that’s when Jasper decided to throw his arm up, launching what was left of his shaved ice and red syrup into the air. It all came down on my head like a cherry ice shower, but I didn’t care, I was too busy imagining myself going to New York to star in a show!
CHAPTER TWO
Stars in My Eyes
A couple of hours later, Bob, Mom, Dada, and I were seated around our kitchen table. The adults were having a serious conversation, and I was just sitting there like a kid, arms folded across my stomach, which was aching in anticipation of a decision.
The hands of the kitchen clock were creeping past 7. Mom was still wearing her red Target manager shirt, which she usually changed out of the minute she got home. Dada got up from the table to check on the oxtail stew that was simmering in the dutchie on the stove. Jasper was seated on the floor by the fridge, stacking and knocking down blocks again and again. Oh, for the carefree life of a toddler instead of being on pins and needles while grown-ups discuss your fate, your future, and what’s best for you without turning even once to ask you what you want.
“You mean to tell me, Mr. Bob”—even though Bob had asked, Mom refused to be casual with a teacher and call him just by his first name—“that you couldn’t find any other actress in all of New York City to play this part?” “Exactly. After a week of auditions, we did see some who looked perfect for the role, but they couldn’t sing as well as Mango. And the few who had really good singing voices were either too old or just not right for Juliet. We even tried to work out a deal with Destiny Manaconda.”
Suddenly, the ache in my stomach was completely forgotten. Destiny Manaconda was the star of Cupcakers, my favorite television show. Actually, it was Brooklyn’s favorite show and mine, back when we were besties. Before she accused me of drowning her new cell phone on purpose, we’d call each other and watch it together every week. Since the show ended, Destiny Manaconda became a huge pop star and the girlfriend of my BCF (Boy Crush Forever), Gabriel Faust. He’s so cute, so uber-crisp, that I have a life-size poster of him hanging on the inside of my closet door. I leapt up from my seat. “Destiny Manaconda! She’s going to be in Yo, Romeo!?”
Bob shook his head, “Well, no. She wanted to get paid . . . a great deal of money, and since she has a hit song on the hot one hundred, her people are sending her out on a radio festival tour.”
“That’s right, she’s going to be in the WXRX Summer Jam with—”
Mom’s hand jutted out like a traffic cop. “Hello! Can we get back to the topic at hand here?”
I sank back down, and Bob cleared his throat and continued, “Sorry, uh, Destiny didn’t work out, and I think it’s for the best. She a great singer and all, but she lacks a certain quality that Mango brings to Juliet. Seriously.”
A certain quality? I wondered what he meant. I mean, I was just plain old me.
Bob was doing his best to sell Mom on the idea. “Believe me, Mrs. Fuller, Larry and I tried our best, but we couldn’t find anyone more perfect than your daughter.”
Mom shook her head no and she pulled off the band that held her locs back in a ponytail, “I’m really sorry, Mr. Bob. I mean, I loved your show and you’re right, Mango was terrific in it, but . . .” She ran her hand through her hair. “She’s only twelve—”
“—Which is why she is perfect for Juliet!”
Uh-oh. Bob had just interrupted Mom. No one EVER interrupted Marjorie Nadine Fuller and lived to tell.
Mom held up her traffic cop hand to quiet him. “She may be perfect for whatever, but she’s too young to be traipsing off to New York City all by herself. Her father and I are working people. We can’t just take the summer off. It’s just impossible. Who would take care of her? See to it that she’s safe and fed and following the rules?”
“I’ve already thought of that!”
Mom twisted her lips and dropped her chin to her chest. “Oh, you have, have you?”
“Yes. You see, my sister, Ziporah—we call her Zippy for short—she lives in Brooklyn, just a short subway ride from where we’ll be rehearsing. She’s in the show too, so we figured Mango could stay with her. Zippy would be her chaperone.”
“An actress?” Mom laughed. It was not a nice or funny laugh. No. It was a dismissive, you must be out of your mind kind of laugh, and I could see the color of Bob’s sunburned pink skin deepen to purple.
“Do you really think we’re going to let our little girl go to New York and shack up with some someone we don’t even know or trust? Come on now, Mr. Bob. I don’t mean to be rude, but what kind of parents would we be if we’d give in to such foolishness?” She went on laughing as she looked over at Dada, seeming to expect him to laugh along with her, but he looked like he was deep in thought.
Bob was quiet and slumped forward a bit. I took a deep breath as I watched my dreams of an exciting summer in the Big Apple fizzle away. Yes, I wanted to say something, but arguing with Mom was like trying to win a battle with a tank when all you were armed with were spitballs and a straw. Then an idea popped into my head and I couldn’t help myself. I blurted out, “What about Aunt Zendaya?”
Dada, who was standing at the stove putting the lid back on the pot, chimed in. “Yes, that’s a great idea!” To me, his voice sounded like a bugle announcing the arrival of the cavalry coming to save the day.
Mom’s laughter wound down abruptly, she slowly turned to me, “What about her?”
“She’s my aunt. She’s family.”
Mom shot back, “I’ve known my butter-brained sister a lot longer than you.”
Her tone was sharp, and for a minute it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Dada put down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the pot, lowered the heat on the stove, and came to the table to sit across from Mom.
“You and I both know we can trust Zendaya with our children. She’s their auntie, and she loves them. She’d be over the moon to have Mango for the summer. She’s been bugging us about it for years. And we both know we can trust Mango to take good care of herself. We trust her to take care of Jasper by herself when needed.”
“I know, but—”
This time, Dada held his hand up, though more like an orchestra conductor than a traffic cop, shushing Mom. “Hear me out, okay? It would only be for, what, six weeks?” He looked to Bob, whose shoulders were beginning to reinflate.
“Yes, only six weeks. Four weeks of rehearsal and a two-week run of the show.”
“She’d back home in time for school?”
Bob’s whole body began to reinflate with hope. “Oh yes, definitely. No matter what.”
Dada leaned across the table toward Mom. “Think of the experience she’d have. Instead of sitting around the house here all summer, watching TV and hanging out, Mango could learn what it’s like to have a real job by going to New York and doing a show with professional actors. It’s an amazing opportunity!”
“Are you serious, Sid? You can’t be. I don’t believe you could want this.”
“She wants it.” Everyone turned to look at me. “Look at that sparkle in her eyes. She’s been a changed girl since the first night of Yo, Romeo!” Dada said to Bob. “You should see the way she floats around here, singing the songs from your show over and over. I’ve even caught her looking in the mirror acting out her role when she thought no one was watching.”
“Dada!”
“It’s true, I’ve seen you. So tell
me, Mango, do you want to go to New York and do the play?”
“More than anything. Yes!”
Dada turned to Mom. “We can keep her here and she will be frustrated and resentful all summer, or we can let her go and allow her to grow and learn and blossom.”
Mom seemed to consider it, then shook her head no.
I spoke up, “Destiny Manaconda was ten when she started out, and look at her now.”
Dada joined in, “What about that boy whose poster you have inside your closet? What’s his name again?”
I’m not sure why, but at the mention of my BCF, I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as I answered, “Gabriel Faust?”
“Yeah, that’s the one, wasn’t he like five years old when he starred in the TV show you couldn’t get enough of? You liked him too, Margie! You’d always crack up laughing when he’d say in that squeaky little voice, 'Brats rule, fools drool!’ Remember?”
Mom didn’t say anything. Instead she got up and walked across the room to pick up Jasper. She grimaced when she got a whiff of his diaper and left the room to change him.
Dada watched her leave and then turned to Bob. “When will you need Mango in New York?”
“Uh . . . Monday would be great. I know it’s just a few days away, so if that’s too soon, we could rehearse a couple of days without her, seeing as she knows the part and all.”
“We’ll do our best to get her there for the first day. We’ll have to work things out with her aunt.”
“Of course.” Bob stood and held out his hand, and Dad rose to shake it. “Thank you so much,” Bob said, “Really, thank you!”
“No. Thank you for giving my girl this opportunity.”
Bob nodded and turned toward the door. “I’ll have our producer call you with all the details.”
Dada said, “Where ya think you a goin’, suh?” His Jamaican accent was bursting from his mouth like a breeze from the island, blowing all the tension away.
“Uh . . . I was . . . leaving?”
“Come now, mon, no one step in Jamaican kitchen with di food dere cookin’ and leave with dem belly not be full. Sit down and eat!”
I had never loved my Dada more than I did at this moment. My eyes overflowed with grateful tears. I blurted, “I’ll start packing,” and ran to my room before I started blubbering and embarrassing myself in front of Bob.
I was wiping my eyes on my T-shirt when I saw my phone on the bed. There was a text message from Izzy.
Oh no. I had been on my way to Izzy’s so Jasper could enjoy the dessert she’d made just for him when I ran into Bob, and . . . in all the excitement, I completely forgot about Izzy. Talk about butter-brained! I had a lot of apologizing and explaining to do.
CHAPTER THREE
Memories to the Rescue
My thumbs tap danced across the keyboard:
I fell back on my bed and waited for a response. And waited. And waited. Nothing came. Ugh! The sun was finally going down, so it was too late to run over to Izzy’s and apologize, on my knees, in person. I’d do it in the morning. First thing. I wouldn’t lie in bed until afternoon. I’d get up early, dig out Dada’s recipe for blueberry scones, make a batch, and take them over to Izzy. The aroma would force her to open the door (Dada had made them for breakfast the morning after we had a sleepover, and she’d been begging for more ever since).
“Hey.”
I looked up. Mom was at the door. I waved and she smiled, which was a surprise, seeing how she had left the kitchen in a silent fury. It was rare to see Dada go against Mom, especially in front of someone else. They never shared their disagreements in front of me. Never. I’d lie awake at night hearing them “hash things out” when they thought I was asleep, but I’d never seen it happen with my own eyes.
Mom stepped into the room. “So, which do you want to take? The duffle or the suitcase?”
“The suitcase,” I said, surprised by her change of heart.
“You’ll probably need both, since you’ll be gone for six weeks.” She walked across the room and sat on my swivel desk chair. I could tell her prosthetic leg was bothering her. Mom had lost a leg in a car accident back when she lived in New York and was going to Brooklyn College. Working as a manager at Target and being on her feet eight hours a day was hard on her, but she never complained. She didn’t want us to worry or for Dada to feel guilty that he lost his job as a chef. Yes, Delicious Delight catering was doing better than expected, but the only way we would have affordable health insurance was for Mom to go back to work full time. My mom was a champion and I know she wanted me to be one too.
“You really want to go, huh?”
I wanted to beam but tried to hold my smile in check, because I didn’t want to make her feel like I was gloating. “Yes, I really do.”
“I’m gonna miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will. I promise.”
“Mango, honey, I don’t want you to miss me. I want you to be so busy with your work and taking in New York and new experiences that you won’t have time to miss nothing but the subway train.” She laughed. “Actually, after a few days, you’ll probably despise the subway. Going from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back every day can be a frustrating mess. The noise. The filth. The rats the size of bulldogs.”
“Bulldogs!”
“I’m exaggerating a little bit. Trying to trick you into changing your mind.”
“I won’t, Mom.”
“I know you won’t, and I don’t want you to. Not really.”
I sat up all the way and leaned toward her with my elbows on my knees. “How come you changed your mind? I mean, a little while ago you were against it.”
“I was. I am. But your father brought back a memory that broke through my hard head.”
“What memory?”
“When I was about your age . . . no, I was actually sixteen. It was the year before me and Dora lost our parents.”
“Zendaya, Mom.”
“Yeah. Right. That was before she changed her name, too. But I ain’t gonna get into all that.” She sighed and swiveled the chair from side to side for a moment, “Anywho, as you say, the coach at my high school helped get me a scholarship to spend the summer training in track and field at SUNY Purchase. It was a college, not more than a couple of hours from Brooklyn. I mean, it was still in New York. The same state. But my mama absolutely refused to let me go.”
“No!”
“Yep. I begged and pleaded with her and my dad. It was all right with him, but Mama would not be moved. Mr. Guastefeste, my coach, came over and tried to talk some sense into Mama. He explained how much an experience like this could benefit a girl like me, with so much potential. But Mama shook her head and said we couldn’t afford it. Coach told her it was free. A scholarship. Everything was paid for.” Mom swirled the chair toward the window and straightened her prosthetic leg out in front of her. “Mama asked him if the scholarship was going to pay for the babysitter they’d have to hire to look after Dora all summer. You see, that was my job. From the time she could hang a key around my neck and teach me to lock and unlock the door, Mama put me in charge of my little sister. That was my full-time summer job. No pay involved.”
Mom didn’t say anything for a while. I wanted to ask her to go on, but her eyes were far away. All of a sudden, she snorted and shook her head. “My mama, one hand on her hip, stood up and led the coach to the door saying, 'Her potential can do just as good running around the high school track where I can look out my window and holler to bring her back home.’ Then she opened the door and darn near pushed Mr. Guastefeste out.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, Mama didn’t play.”
“Guess that’s where you got it from, huh?”
Mom turned toward me, eyebrows raised and said, with a posh accent, “Why, whatever do you mean, my dear?”
I fell back on my bed and laughed. Mom came and lay down next to me, looking up at the ceiling. She groan
ed a little and rubbed her leg.
“Your leg is hurting you, isn’t it?”
“No, it ain’t so bad. Nothing a little ibuprofen won’t see to.”
I turned toward her and raised up on my elbow. “You know, if me going away is going to make it super hard on you, I’d rather stay.”
“I know you would, baby. But the hardest thing on me would be knowing that I snatched your chance to follow your dream right out from under your nose the way my mama did to me.”
“Were you mad at her?”
“I was. Oh my goodness, I hated her all that summer. I wished all kinds of bad on her that I regret to this day. Really. I carry the guilt from the things I . . . things I never said out loud.” She covered her mouth with her hands and shook her head as though she were shaking the memories away. She turned away as she wiped at her eyes. I looked the other way to give her a moment of privacy and because . . . well, it’s kind of scary to see someone as strong as my mom cry.
“You know,” Mom said, “as you grow older, you begin to see things in a different light. I understand now that what my Mama was doing, she was doing out of love. She felt she was protecting me by keeping me close. It was hard for her to trust anyone, and I know now that she believed she was keeping me safe. That’s what she believed.” Mom turned back toward me, her eyes glistening, “I guess I was feeling that way too, until I realized that my need to keep you safe was wrong if it meant keeping you from growing and following your dream.”
A thought popped into my head, and I sat up on the bed. “What about Jasper? Who’s going to take care of him if I go away?”
“Don’t worry, Mango. Mrs. Kennedy will take care of him when your father and I are at work.”
“But you’ll have to pay her.”
“This adventure of yours is worth it, and besides, with you gone, we’ll have one less mouth to feed.”
I wrapped my arms around Mom and buried my head into her armpit. She smelled like a mixture of deodorant, cocoa butter, the coconut oil she used to moisturize her locs, and the sidewalk after it rained. I curled into her real tightly, wanting to inhale her protection and her love, to imprint them in my mind, so that I could have them close, no matter how far I was from home.
Summer in the City Page 2
