“Girl, let your father in,” her mother said.
Her father strode in alone, his tall frame slightly stooped, looking more uncomfortable than usual. He hated discussing things with her mother.
“Sit down, Larry,” said her mother. “Would you like some coffee?”
Emma had come to know that tense tenderness in her mother’s voice.
Had her mother never really stopped loving her father? Had she still not forgiven him for leaving them right when he had begun to achieve some success as a doctor?
“No, thanks. I just had breakfast. What was decided about Emma?”
“They’re transferring her,” her mother said. “Sending her to Manning. It’s just our luck that we live on the very edge of Manning’s district. Unfortunately, Manning is her home school.”
Emma felt the shock of both relief and pain. She was not expelled, but her chance of becoming a debutante was narrowing. What would she do without her friends? She would surely lose Marvin, being that far away. She shivered.
“Manning?” her father asked. “Surely there are other schools. What about Fairmount?”
“I’ve pulled all the strings we know to get them to let her return to Marlborough, or send her to another integrated school. But Emma has not been the most cooperative recently. We’re lucky. They could have expelled her. She’s going to Manning unless she can finish this year in a private school.”
“You have the money for that?” her father asked.
“Where you think I get the money?” her mother demanded. “We’re hardly making it on my salary. You know how much social workers make. And that chintzy three hundred a month you give—only fifty more than the courts mandate—doesn’t go very far.”
“I just can’t afford the extra expense of private school.”
Her mother jumped up and stood in front of Emma’s father. Even though he was sitting, she looked small and terribly helpless, but she lashed out, “You can afford a nonworking wife, a Mercedes for yourself and your wife; and marina fees for that boat—Jody’s Joy. But your daughter? Don’t you care anything about Emma?”
“Of course I care! But private schooling is out of the question.”
Emma wanted to scream, Stop it! She didn’t want them fighting. Why couldn’t they think of her and how she felt? Just this once.
Her father went on, “It might do her good to go to Manning. Maybe she’ll learn there what we’ve been trying to teach her: All this Black togetherness is no solution.”
They’re miles apart on everything, she thought, but they’re in agreement against me. How could she explain to them the shame and humiliation Ms. Simmons made her feel? Me and my friends don’t segregate ourselves; we’re segregated. How could she make them see what was happening to her? She didn’t know herself why she felt so much better when she sat at the tables with other Blacks. She just knew she needed the warmth that being with them gave her.
“Furthermore,” her father said, “even if money were available, it would be foolish to start her in private school in her senior year. I’ll take care of her debut, and if she graduates, then I’ll see to it that she goes to college.”
If she graduates. Emma heard little more. She knew she had to face the consequences of being transferred and make the most of it.
Three
The car horn sounded again. Mama’s patience was already thin this early in the morning. If only there was another way to get to Manning, Emma thought. With no direct public transportation from Brandon Heights to school, Emma’s mother delivered her every morning before work and picked her up after school on the way home.
The horn blasted. Emma grabbed her books, dashed out, and climbed into the backseat.
“Get up front,” her mother said.
“Mama, its too uncomfortable up there. You have the seat right up to the dash. I can’t help it if I have Daddy’s long legs.”
“And his bad disposition? I see why you’re making me late. All that makeup. Wipe it off.”
“Aw, Mama, you should see what the other girls wear!”
“You don’t need all that stuff on you.”
“If I take off any of it, I’ll feel naked.”
“Look at your eyes. Girl, you’ll blind yourself.”
Emma let out a deep sigh, trying to control the rising anger. What was wrong with her mother? Lately she’s treating me like a ten-year-old, Emma thought, and here I am going to be eighteen soon.
“Come on, wipe it off!”
“Thought you were in such a hurry.” Emma squeezed in up front and flipped down the visor to look into the mirror. “Go on! Start the car. I’ll do it.”
She removed some of the makeup, and tried to tuck her long legs more comfortably into the small space. She looked out at the fast-receding palm trees and wished she was heading for Marlborough. There she had friends to share all her moods, especially Marvin. But she didn’t want to think about Marvin. She thought of Allan Page Davis, the one steady friend she had gained at Manning. For two weeks now she and Allan together had waited each morning for the crowd to arrive.
Her mother looked at her and smiled. “You look much better, fresh and pretty. Too bad soft lovely skin is wasted on silly girls who don’t know how to appreciate it.”
Are all mamas like her? Emma wondered. She never finds anything pleasant to say any more. Can’t she see how cramped up I am? No, she has to check me out. She sighed and looked at her mother. The round face with smooth dark skin, resigned in a kind of sadness, was beautiful. But she’s so tense, Emma thought. “Ma,” Emma asked, “why you worry so much?”
“Ha!” It sounded as though her mother had been waiting for the question. “When you’re a woman, you’ll understand.”
“I am a woman.”
“Uh-huh.…” Her mother kept her eyes straight ahead. The sadness on her face deepened.
Emma shifted on the seat. Why can’t she give Daddy up? she thought.
The car pulled alongside the curb in front of the school. Taking her time, Emma unfolded herself out of the car and reached into the back for her things.
“Emma, please …”
“… don’t keep me waiting after school.” Emma finished the sentence.
“You’re so smart. See if you’re smart enough to keep out of trouble. You’re here by the grace of God and my goodness. Not many mothers would drive way over here every morning before work. Remember that.”
“Yes, Ma, I’ll remember.”
She walked toward the auditorium steps, knowing that her lips were pouting. Allan Page was waiting. How glad she was that he was somewhat shy, not aggressive like Marvin. He always seemed to know when she had gone the rounds with her mother and needed time to erase the frown from her forehead and the pout from her lips.
How pleased she was that he was there. She recalled her first day at Manning when he had walked up and told her his name. “You look so scared. Don’t be. I’ll help you, if you let me.” He became her ace, her very special friend.
Over the weeks, as they waited for the crowd to arrive, they had shared bits and pieces; but she had never told him why she came all the way across town to Manning. He knew she was a science major, interested in medicine; that she had a very special boyfriend at Marlborough High; and he knew about her stepmother, too. She knew his mother had lost her job as a school cafeteria worker because she could not pass the written test, and that his father was dead.
As she approached, he smiled his slow, easy smile and said, “It’s a good morning, eh?”
She sighed. “Oh, man. I can’t deal with my mother. Git sick of her lip. But I shouldn’t say that. She has it pretty tough. It’s a drag driving way over here every day.”
“I’ve been wondering why you come way over here. Can’t be an opportunity transfer. Not from Marlborough to Manning.” He laughed.
“Could be,” she said matter-of-factly.
“But not likely,” he said.
Silence floated between them. She was glad that he did not
pursue the question. She took out her makeup kit and began replacing her makeup.
“Why put all that goop on your face?” Allan asked.
“You sound just like my mama,” Emma retorted.
“With skin like wild honey, you don’t need it. You’re a pretty lady.”
She opened her lively, bright brown eyes wide and brushed on mascara carefully. She touched her fingertip to her tongue, then smoothed her eyebrows. She looked at Allan and winked. “My friends at Marlborough like my makeup.”
“Hey,” Allan said excitedly, “now I’ll get a chance to meet those friends at the big game, eh?”
“Yeah. They’ll be here, and Marlborough will be state champions, what you bet?”
“That’s not even a bet, woman,” Allan said and laughed.
“We’ll see,” Emma said and blotted her lipstick.
The crowd was arriving now. Emma remembered her first day at Manning. Right off she noticed the absence of white students. With the exception of a few Asians, Chicanos, and Mexican-Americans, the student body was Black. The discovery was a pleasant shock. At Marlborough, Blacks had been few. Emma had known and related, in some way, to all of them. It was impossible to get to know half the people on this campus.
The crowd thickened. Each group stood off by itself. Blacks split into many small groups.
“These people you see in and out of the building before the bell are the boojeis,” Allan said.
“Boojeis”?
“The well-to-doers, the rulers, functionaries, police people.”
“Oh, you mean the bourgeois.”
“Right. On campus over there, that’s Carrie and her entourage, the climbers—the want-to-be rulers; and to my right holding forth, is Brenda, a typical survivor.”
“Who’s the stout girl she’s talking to?”
“That’s Liz. They’re all rough—trying to make it.”
Emma was surprised that he thought that way about students. Allan went on. “Then there are the toms, laughing at demeaning jokes or begging for attention at any cost.”
“Which one are you?” Emma asked.
“I’m a loner, swimming against the tide. I observe.”
“I can’t say I’m a loner, but it looks as though newcomers are no more welcomed here than they are at Marlborough.”
In every group, excitement about the football championship game between Manning and Marlborough dominated the conversation. Emma, on the fringe, longed for her old friends and wondered if she would ever be a part of any of these groups.
The bell rang. She gathered her things and said to Allan, “Stay for lunch today.”
“Oh-h-h, no! I’m going home.”
“Please, Allan. I just hate eating alone. Stay.”
“First place, I don’t have any money. I can’t take that long line and ole Eoil Can and his friends.”
“Eoil Can. Who’s Eoil Can?”
“Haven’t you met Eoil Can, the thief? You will.”
Strange one, that Allan. Smart, too, Emma thought as she made her way to first period. This was also Allan’s senior year. He had gone to Bel Air in the volunteer free busing programs for elementary and junior high students. He could have gone to any high school in the city on a volunteer transfer, but he had chosen Manning. Why? she asked herself as she hurried down the hall.
The morning passed quickly. When the bell rang for fifth period, Emma rushed to the cafeteria, thankful she had homeroom just before lunch. The informal atmosphere made it possible to be at the door ready to make that mad dash to avoid the long lines. With less than a thousand seats in the cafeteria for two thousand students, lunchtime at Manning became a true test of “survival of the fittest.” Fifth period was the best, sixth not so bad, but seventh was impossible. She hoped she would never have seventh period for lunch.
Emma was among the first to finish eating. She waded through the groups and on to the outside. The line waiting to get in was still long and the grounds seethed with others eating lunch from bags. She saw several members of her science class under the bonsai tree, gazing at the sky. As she approached them she noticed one of them was holding a watch. She stood near, but they paid her no attention.
Suddenly someone shouted, “They’re here.”
“Right on the minute,” the timekeeper said.
Then Emma saw a flock of sea gulls heading in like raiders. Students tried to take cover, but there was no place to go as the crying gulls came to feed, raining their droppings, flapping their wide wings, their beady eyes alert, their yellow beaks ready.
A great commotion spread through the crowd and then a scream, “He took my sandwich.”
The scrawny bird, with the whole sandwich in its beak, soared away. It was done so quickly, Emma hardly had time to see that the sludge-colored bird was small for a mature sea gull. Its feathers were scarce and scattered, its eyes exposed beads, and its beak rough.
“Ole Eoil Can did it again,” someone shouted and the crowd laughed.
So that was Eoil Can, Emma thought. A survivor. Evidently, the gull had lived through an oil slick and was making it. The other gulls settled and fed as familiars. The crowd took its usual form. Suddenly Emma felt a tap on her shoulder. “Can’t y’ say ‘hi’ t’ people?”
Emma looked around. There was Liz. Short, stout Liz, whom Allan had often called rough. “Oh, hi,” Emma said, surprised. She had seen Liz often in that group teasing Allan. No one in that group had ever spoken to her.
Liz smiled, but Emma noticed that even though the smile seemed warm, it did not soften her black eyes. Could Liz be deceptively mild?
“I’ve been watchin’ y’ every mornin’ with Allan. What y’ name?”
“Emma. Emma Walsh.”
“I know y’ friend done told y’ who I am. Where’s he?”
“He went home for lunch.”
“Pretty outfit y’ got on there. You dress good, y’ know.” Liz reached out and touched the soft wool of Emma’s sweater.
Emma felt her face going hot. She was not accustomed to strangers being so direct. Her friends at Marlborough knew clothes meant little to her, and what she was wearing today was not fine at all.
“Come over here with me. Want y’ t’ meet my friends,” Liz said.
Emma followed Liz toward a group of girls who looked her up and down as she approached. Suddenly she felt as though she had been recruited and Liz had been ordered to escort her into camp. Some stares were openly hostile, but Liz’s directness had offered Emma a challenge. She pushed through the loud, boisterous crowd and was finally encircled by Liz’s friends. Liz did the introductions. There was silence. Emma realized that she had not encountered girls exactly like these before.
Then Brenda, who had appeared the most hostile, said, “Y’ from the hills, eh?”
“I live in Brandon Heights,” Emma said.
The bell rang.
“I thought so, with your saddity self.” Brenda walked around Emma and the group laughed.
The words hit Emma like a sharp and chilly wave. I’m not stuck-up, or grand, either, Emma thought, but said nothing. That Brenda could be a problem she really did not need. She started toward her class. The chill of Brenda’s words did not go away. Emma felt she was right back where she had been at Marlborough High when she was trying to erase the image of “Oreo chick.” But she was in no mood to prove anything to anyone. She hadn’t sought them out, she told herself, even though she had met them willingly enough. What would Allan say? She had been jammed by the survivors.
Four
The stadium hummed with a thousand voices that cool, sunny November afternoon. Pre-game pep cheers flowed in waves. All day the campus had been poised, shrouded with a particular hush, a suspense—waiting for this moment to release the outburst that would sweep Manning to victory over Marlborough, making Manning city-wide football champions.
The boojeis were in command, leading the cheers:
FI-RE-UP, TIGERS, FI-RE-UP
FI-RE-UP, TIGERS, FI-RE UP
FIREUP TO WIN
FIREUP TO DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN
FIREUP!!!
Emma, excited by the bustle, pushed through the crowd to find Allan Page. Would he be waiting as he promised? Marvin was coming to the game. She hoped that he and Allan would get on fine. But would they?
The rivalry between Manning and Marlborough was fierce and the city championship game was just the monster to stir tensions that bordered on enmity. Even the strongest bonds could be loosed in the course of a shared sports event. They’ll like each other, she reassured herself.
Finally she saw Allan near the stadium. He was desperately trying to reach some girl, who had from behind placed her hands over his eyes. As Emma came closer, she recognized the girl, Brenda. Liz and Brenda’s other friends were around Allan, laughing.
“Thank goodness, you’re here,” Emma said as she walked up.
“Oh, so that’s who y’ waitin’ for,” Brenda said, removing her hands. “No wonder y’ can’t sit with us. Brandon Heights gits all y’ attention.”
“I’m not even going to the game. I already know the winning team, so why waste my money?”
“Don’t be jivin’ us. We know where y’ comin’ from.” Brenda and her friends walked away without saying hello to Emma.
Emma’s attention was on the crowd. Where was Marvin? she wondered. Had she missed him? She hoped he hadn’t gone into the stands.
“They’re on your case, I see,” Allan said.
“Who? What you talking about?”
“Brenda and her little crowd.”
“Oh. Them. I told you Liz singled me out. What are they supposed to be? Tough or something?”
Allan laughed. “They survive.”
Finally Emma saw Marvin. Her heart pounded and her insides seemed to do a flip-flop.
Because We Are Page 2
