It All Comes Down to This

by Karen English

  I looked at her, stunned.

  “If you don’t believe me, you can look up portraits of her. She was fair but her hair was pretty kinky and her lips were pretty thick.” Charlotte gave me a tiny smile and went on. “I heard Josephine had African blood as well, being from Martinique and all.”

  “Who’s Josephine?”

  “Bonaparte. Napoleon’s wife. You know, the one who said, ‘A woman laughing is a woman conquered.’ Which I agree with wholeheartedly. Don’t you like best the boys who make you laugh?” She asked this shyly, as if I might not know what on earth she was talking about.

  I didn’t know. I didn’t remember any boys making me . . . Oh, there was Anthony Cruz when I walked Oscar. I was struggling to remember what he’d said exactly, when Charlotte moved on to another topic.

  “Sophie,” she said suddenly, “if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell—​since you and I will be at the same school?”

  I nodded.

  She lowered her voice. “I’m only twelve. But going on thirteen. I’ll be thirteen in December. December fourth.”

  “I’m going on thirteen, too,” I said. “My birthday is in a couple of weeks.”

  “I know you’re in . . .” She paused. “It’s called ninth grade? When you’re fourteen.”

  I nodded. “Most ninth graders are fourteen.”

  “But school in England is more advanced than here—​so they’re putting me in the ninth grade. At twelve.”

  I felt almost giddy about this coincidence. “You, me, and my friend Jennifer are all in the same boat.”

  She looked a little bit relieved.

  “Jennifer goes to a private school. Marlborough. It’s very ritzy.”

  “Oh.”

  “So why did you move from England?” I’d forgotten what Mrs. Mansfield had told me.

  “My father’s a surgeon. He got a position at the same hospital as Dr. Mansfield. They’re colleagues.”

  I liked the way she said “colleagues,” and I said it over and over in my mind. “My sister’s leaving on Wednesday for college. She’s going to Spelman. It’s a college for Negro women.”

  “Negro . . .” she repeated.

  “For colored women.”

  “We’re called British in the UK or sometimes by one’s home country. You know, Nigerian if you’re from Nigeria or Ghanaian if you’re from Ghana.”

  “I know how to shake hands like the men do in Ghana.”

  “Show me,” she said.

  I demonstrated: shake, slide back palm to palm just a bit, and then snap.

  “That’s lovely!” she said, her eyes bright.

  She lived on Enoro Drive. She could walk to my house easily, so we made plans for her to come over and maybe meet Jennifer, whom I knew she’d like. I suddenly felt as if I was taking the lead instead of just following.

  Daddy was glad we got home in time for the preseason football games. He went straight into the den and clicked on the television.

  After a little bit, I could hear my mother running a bath.

  Our bedroom door was closed, so I knocked on it, not too loudly and not too softly.

  “Come in, Sophie. I’m awake.”

  Lily was sitting up in bed with a magazine on her lap. On top of the magazine were several sheets of writing paper. “I’m writing him a letter,” she explained. She tapped it with her pen.

  I stood there growing sad because she was sad. I had a question to ask. “Why did you hesitate, Lily?”

  “Hesitate? What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you guys arguing. Why did you hesitate when he asked you if you loved him?”

  “You heard that?” Lily looked miserable remembering. “Because just at that moment, I didn’t know if I did or not.”

  “You should have said yes. That’s what did it. That’s what turned him off.”

  “I know that, Sophie. Promise me you’ll mail this letter after I’m gone.”

  “Why don’t you just mail it from Atlanta?”

  “I don’t want it to have an Atlanta postmark. I don’t want this to seem like an afterthought. Like I’m throwing him a bone, as he said.”

  “Then why don’t you mail it tomorrow?” I took the letter out of her hand. It had a Berkeley address.

  “His roommate will save it for him. Anyway, I want him to know I’m already gone when he gets it. So he’ll know I’m not expecting anything. I don’t want him to think at all that I’m trying to manipulate him. I just want him to know what’s in my heart.”

  Her eyes welled up on the word heart. She plucked a tissue out of the box on her nightstand and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. There were already several wadded-up tissues on the bed. She folded the letter and placed it in the envelope, then sealed it and handed it to me. “Don’t forget.”

  I took the letter from her. I knew something Lily didn’t know—​because I had eavesdropped. Mrs. Baylor was returning from her weekend early. Our mother needed her first thing Monday morning to box up things for the Salvation Army truck that was due by ten. It was a last-minute task, but my mother (as she explained to Mrs. Baylor) was determined to get it done. She was sick of the clutter. So on Monday, while Lily slept, I went up to the den with a bowl of Cheerios and staked out the front porch.

  I saw them pull up. I saw Nathan get out of his car to help his mother with two of her bags and a box. Maybe something to be added to the Salvation Army stuff. I made it to the front door before Mrs. Baylor could ring the doorbell.

  She looked surprised when I threw it open. “Mornin’, Sweet Pea,” she said, using the name my daddy calls me.

  I smiled with pleasure. “Morning. Can I speak to Nathan?” I added quickly.

  She shrugged. “It’s a free country.” She moved past me.

  Nathan’s face was somewhat stony, but it softened when he looked down at me. He held out his hand and we did the Ghanaian handshake. Then I started to cry, which surprised me because I didn’t even think I was going to. But it was the kind of cry where tears just come to your eyes and stay there. I handed him the letter. “From Lily.”

  At least he took it.

  “Promise me you’ll read it.”

  He didn’t promise right away, but he turned it over and looked at what I’d written on the back. He smiled at me and folded it in half. He put it in his pocket. “I promise,” he said. He saluted me and walked back to his car. I watched him drive away.

  CHAPTER 29

  So Long, Lily

  * * *

  THE DAY CAME, just like that. The sun was shining. Someone in the neighborhood was mowing the lawn, and I could hear pigeons cooing. The riots were no longer front-page news. Now, in other sections of the paper, there were articles about why it had happened.

  The night before, I had gotten on my knees and prayed to God that Lily would be okay. I thanked Him for my new friend, Charlotte, as well. I thanked Him for Nathan taking the letter and for Mrs. Baylor liking me and saying I was a good person. She’s a good person, too, and she raised Nathan to be a good person. I almost cried for all the good people in the world.

  There was so much goodness, I didn’t even care about Linda Cruz or the Baker family—​not even a little bit. And I’d put my writing aside. Just to take a little vacation from it. I’d revisit Minerva, probably when Charlotte and I got our club going. We planned to petition the school to have a writers’ club. Charlotte was into poetry. There were probably more students who needed the company of other writers, as well. So we had our plans.

  Lily’s luggage was beside the front door. I wondered how she’d manage with it. Then my mother explained that the skycap would be at the curb ready to take care of her bags, and when Lily arrived in Atlanta, Dovie’s sorority sister would be there to pick her up and take her to the campus. And there were always some Morehouse students ready to lend a hand for a pretty girl. That was the men’s college across the street. For Negro men.

  Lily was wearing the navy sailor outfit she knew our mother lik
ed. “Why not make her happy,” Lily had explained to me. “Sometimes you have to do that because she means well. You know?”

  I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. Then I thought about her bed. I planned to meet more people and have slumber parties when I started going to high school in another year. Tenth grade would be here before I knew it. Her bed was going to come in handy.

  I had such plans!

  We lived so close to the airport in Inglewood, we were there in no time. Lily was quiet during the entire ride, whereas my mother chatted nervously, giving advice about curfews and the procedure for receiving a gentleman caller and housemothers and vespers on Wednesdays. And how to get along with a roommate. And how to behave if you should visit a roommate’s family. Lily just quietly listened with her head turned toward the window, watching the passing scenery.

  “Nina, Nina, Nina,” our father finally said. “Don’t overwhelm the girl. She’ll learn as she goes.”

  Our mother stopped, looked at our father with a tiny smile on her lips, and then pressed them together to keep more chatter from spilling out.

  We parked in the garage, then walked like ducklings in a row into the terminal and all the way to the gate. We’d stopped to check Lily’s baggage with the skycap, leaving us free of the Samsonite at last. We found seats next to each other at the gate, which was lucky because everyone seemed to be flying to Atlanta on that day at the same time. We were quiet, and it felt like we were in a hospital waiting room and the doctor was going to come out any minute to tell us something important. Lily sat ramrod straight, looking neither to the left nor to the right. I could tell she’d resigned herself to never seeing Nathan again. I’d resigned myself to never seeing him again until maybe his winter break. Mrs. Baylor mentioned he’d be going back up to Berkeley in the next day or so.

  I looked at my parents. They were huddled together, deep in conversation.

  Then there was the stewardess in her smart blue uniform and jaunty hat, with the microphone in her hand, announcing Lily’s flight and that the passengers could board the plane. Lily got up. She gave me a long hug. “Branch out,” she said in my ear. She gave our mother a long hug, too, but she gave my father the longest hug of all, as if to say, You’d better treat my mother right. You’ll be old one day and looking to her to feed you your applesauce. At least that’s what I thought the hug meant.

  We turned toward the escalator. I looked back to see Lily before she boarded, and suddenly there was Nathan—​standing near the entrance of the gangway. Nathan, really there. And it was not my imagination—​or Lily’s. Her knees actually buckled a bit. Then she was walking toward him and taking his hand and talking to him fast and desperate.

  My mother glanced back to get a last look at Lily. She stopped and pulled on my father’s arm. But I scooted to her side. “Mom, she’s going. She’s going to Atlanta. Nathan’s just saying goodbye. That’s all.” I had to make it so my mother would let them say goodbye. Goodbye. Being able to say goodbye is important—​for everyone.

  I wondered what Lily would say if she knew what I had done—​that I’d put the flight information on the back of the envelope that held her letter, as well as the phone number of her dorm. I’d gotten it out of my mother’s datebook. Nathan had smiled when he saw that number, and that had given me hope. Could I ever tell her? Yes, I could. I wanted credit—​for whatever was going to happen, because I believed it was going to be good. Before we reached the escalator, I looked back again to see Nathan moving away and Lily searching the crowd. She found me and waved goodbye.

  MiddleGradeMania.com

  About the Author

  Photo by Erin English

  KAREN ENGLISH is a Coretta Scott King Honor Award winner and the author of the Nikki and Deja and Carver Chronicles series. Her novels have been praised for their accessible writing, authentic characters, and satisfying story lines. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.

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