He Said, She Said

by Kwame Alexander

  “Hey, Claudia, why didn’t we do the silent protest today?” says Tami.

  Omar didn’t post it on his Facebook, and it was too late to call when I got in at two in the frickin’ morning.

  Actually, it wasn’t too late, but I really needed a break from him, from whatever I was feeling. The weekend gave it to me. Maybe he’s done with the silent treatment. Maybe Miami threatened to take his scholarship away if he continued. Maybe he just punked out. Maybe he’s pissed. Maybe I’m trippin’.

  “Claudia, what’s the deal with the silent treatment?” Belafonte asks.

  Now everybody’s looking at me, even Mr. Washington. They want an answer. I’m sure the whole school does. Just as surely as Omar and I got the school amped up, we can lose ’em.

  Omar’s the popular guy, the friend to everybody, the face of our movement. This is what I’ve always known. Now it’s really slapping me upside my head: Omar “T-Diddy” Smalls is our leader. And right now, I know as much about his plan as the rest of the school. Not good, Claudia.

  “Claudia, what’s up? Did you talk to Omar?” Belafonte asks.

  “Well, what we are doing is very important, and I, uh, like all of you, I’m still fired up, and I can’t take no more.”

  But, before I can finish, an announcement begins.

  “What’s up, Panthers?” says the voice over the loudspeaker. Is that . . . “It’s your boy, T-Diddy.”

  In the background, we hear banging on a door and a voice that sounds like Cruella herself. “Open this door now!”

  “I gotta make this quick people, ’cause the Man is out to get me. First off, sorry I left y’all hanging on the silent treatment today, but T-Diddy was a little lovesick last night, and I didn’t got a chance to tweet or post. Thas right, T-Diddy’s in love.”

  My heart sinks right below my stomach and down near my toes. I hope he’s not about to do what I think he’s going to do. He’s in love? Again, everybody’s looking at me. Or at least it feels like it.

  “Open your windows, Panthers. Let the newspeople hear our cries.” Everyone looks at Mr. Washington, who nods, giving permission to open them. Belafonte and a few other boys do just that. Omar continues. “T-Diddy’s in love with righteousness. T-Diddy’s in love with freedom.”

  Whew! That was close. For a second I thought he was going to . . . uh, never mind. Reporters and guys with news cameras hoisted on their shoulders are now out of their vans, inching closer to the school.

  “Second, we made our demands clear, but they still don’t hear us. What do we want? We want band back. We want the choir back. We want dance, we want the drama club. We want all of the part-time teachers restored to full-time. That’s what we want.”

  The cheers are raucous. Not just in our class, but all through the school. The sound of everyone clapping at the same time is thunderous. Boom mics from the TV people are pointed at the school.

  “Mr. Smalls, open the door this minute or don’t come in to school tomorrow,” we hear Cruella scream, like the madwoman she is.

  As much as I want him to keep on leading us, I really don’t want him to get suspended.

  “We gotta step up our game, people. Feel me. They thought five minutes a day was something, wait till they see how Panthers ride from now on. Starting tomorrow, we’re gonna double it.” The cheers are even louder this time. I’m getting that warm feeling again.

  “That’s two days’ suspension, Mr. Smalls. Somebody break this lock, please,” Dr. Jackson yells. Mr. Jensen is our school custodian. He’s a real good man, but he’s also got a very sick wife, and as much as I don’t want him to break the lock on the door, I also know he needs to keep his job to take care of her.

  “Just for that, let’s put in some work now. When the bell rings, let ’em hear us. Feel me?” Yes, Omar, we feel you! “They can suspend me for a week or a year, it doesn’t matter. These jokers can’t suspend justice. T-Diddy’s riding with y’all for life. Don’t stop now, Panthers, we catchin’ our stride,” he finishes. This is the frickin’ beach all over again. Jeez!

  And then Omar plays a song over the loudspeaker, a reggae song that nobody but a few diehard ol’ school music heads recognize. It doesn’t matter, though, because the beat is fierce, and the words speak volumes:

  Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride

  Nobody’s gonna slow me down, oh no

  The next voice we hear is none other than Cruella’s, and she’s angrier than a Democrat in Texas.

  “Teachers, this silent treatment nonsense is over. If any of your students participate, please let the front office know, and they will be suspended immediately. That is all. Good day.” And then the bell sounds.

  Everyone in class looks at each other. No one knows exactly what to do. Sure, we’ve been given our mission by our fearless leader, but nobody really wants to be suspended from school. Mr. Washington would never turn us in. Would he? I can’t even imagine how that’s going to go over with Harvard. Two things happen next that tell me what I should do.

  First, Belafonte points at something outside. We get up to look and see Omar being escorted out of the school by the assistant principal. Cruella obviously was serious about suspending him. He gets to the sidewalk, where all the TV reporters are, and turns around to look back at the school. The way he scans the building lets me know that students in other classes are looking at him. He raises his hand in a balled fist, then slowly brings down his hand to his mouth and places his index finger to his mouth.

  Second, when we go back to our seats, Mr. Washington removes his sweater to reveal a black T-shirt printed in white with six letters and an exclamation point:

  SHHHHH!

  I don’t know if I love Omar Smalls, but today I’ve decided I really really really like him. Really.

  Omar

  “These are for you,” I say, and hand her a dozen multicolored tulips.

  “How sweet,” she says, half sarcastically. I know you’re feeling me, Claudia. She hugs me way past the normal three-second friendship hug. T-Diddy’s about to score. Ten seconds later, she grabs my hand and pulls me into the house.

  “Nice place. T-Diddy likes.”

  “Rule number one: if I’m going to help you with your paper, you must abandon the third person ish.”

  “No problem, T-Did— I mean, I understand,” I say, still reeling from the potent hug. This girl has got my heart.

  Her place is roomy and filled with religious paintings, African masks, and books. It’s like church in here.

  “You sure have a lot of pictures of Jesus on the wall, Claudia.”

  “My parents are missionaries in Ghana.”

  “So, they’re in Africa like, now?”

  “Yeah, but don’t get any ideas. My sister will be home soon, and plus we’re just friends,” she says, and grabs my hand for the first time since we were on the beach.

  “I hear ya talking, Claudia.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Our eyes have not left each other since I arrived, and I think we both know that tonight will be another special night. “It’s just that you’re still holding my hand.” She tries to snatch it away, but I hold on tight. I don’t want to rush things, so I let go. You got all night, Omar.

  “Sorry you got suspended, Omar,” she says, and walks into the kitchen. I follow her.

  “No biggie. It is what it is,” I say, borrowing her favorite line. Her smile makes me smile, and for a second we both stand in front of the fridge grinning like little kids about to get a Popsicle.

  “The good thing is, with all the TV and newspaper coverage, they have to listen to us now.”

  “For sure, it’s about to be on at West Charleston.”

  “And it’s all because of you, Omar Smalls.” What I hear next is “You want to get naked?” which sends my heartbeat racing. That was quick. But when she hands me the bottle of juice, I realize what she actually said was “You want a Naked?” as in organic juice. “Let’s go into the livi
ng room and sit down.”

  “I heard the protest was banizzles today.”

  “If by banizzles, you mean frickin’ awesome, then yeah, it was. Cru tried to get the teachers to report students who participated, but nobody did. It was crazy cool!”

  “Willie Mack brought me a T-shirt after school. Those joints are fire. Who made them?”

  “I don’t even know, but Luther was selling them for ten dollars at lunch.”

  “The smoker kid.”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s what’s up,” I say, and then she kisses me. Just like that, she kisses me. And I’m not talking about a sweet I’m-your-friend kind of peck either. One minute, she’s on one end of the couch, I’m on the other, and we’re talking about the protest. The next minute, her tongue is dancing down my throat. It happens that fast, like in the movies when the girl decides that she’s going to go for it, let her guard down, and just kiss the guy. That’s what Claudia does. She goes Sideways.

  And then she stops. The only thing I can think to say is “That was random.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Uh, yeah, I, uh—”

  “Wow, this is the first time I’ve heard T-Diddy speechless. My kiss must be lethal.”

  Hole up—T-Diddy’s confused. Homegirl is in control, and, uh, c’mon, son, get it together.

  Claudia keeps on talking. “Look, Omar, I’ve been thinking about you, me, and us.”

  “There’s an us now?” I say, trying to grab my bearings back.

  “The truth is, I do like you, Omar. I like the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you call me homegirl. I love the way you’ve turned our entire school around. Whenever I’m with you like this, I feel like a thief, like I just want to steal your lips. Hijack your heart and place it in a safe place. Right here.” She grabs my hand, which is wiping the sweat from my forehead, and puts it on her breast.

  There are things you want and you never get. And there are things you want and you get. But then there are things that you didn’t know you wanted, and when you get them, you are so not prepared.

  T-Diddy is not prepared for this. Three weeks ago, I just wanted to smash. Hell, three days ago, I thought all I wanted to do was smash. It’s been so long since I really liked a girl, I don’t even know how to do this. Don’t have any rules or playbook or steps to follow. It’s not nervousness I feel, more like anticipation. Like, I’ve been slowly moving up the steep hill, and now the roller coaster is about to go down. Real fast. And I’m in the front row. I’m just unprepared. Fortunately, I am saved by a knock on her front door.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” I mumble, in between visits from her lips.

  “It’s probably my sister. She always knocks while she’s looking for her keys in her bag. By the time I get there, she’s coming in the door.” She’s still holding my hand over her heart. “You want your hand back, Omar?” Time to bong bong! This is what you wanted, homeboy. Let’s do this.

  There’s the knock on the door again.

  “Jeez, why is she so lazy?” Claudia gives me my hand back, and I don’t know what to do with it. Now it feels foreign without a place to rest it. Without her. Stop acting like a little punk. You’re a football star. “Hold that thought, Omar. I’ll be right back.”

  I’m still roller-coaster excited, and it’s not just because I’m going get some tonight.

  I wipe my forehead some more and take off my Miami sweatshirt. It’s nearly drenched. I pull out my wallet. Please, have a condom. I do. Oh, snap, I just dropped it. I pick it up, inspect the package. Please don’t be open. Then I drop it again. My phone vibrates. Who’s texting me?

  Uncle Albert: Bring some toilet paper home, Smalls.

  I bend down to pick up the condom, and when I look up, she’s back. And she’s not alone.

  “This is why you didn’t want me to come in, Claudia?” some dude in a pink sweater says, looking like a fake Common in geek eyeglasses. He’s taller than me, but only because he has dreadlocks.

  “You can’t be busting all up in my house. I’m busy,” she shouts.

  “Well, I can see that you’re about to get busy,” he says, smiling at me holding my condom. “You look familiar, dude.” He moves his hair out of his face like he’s been doing it all his life and just stares at me. “Wait a minute, you’re that football player I saw on the news.”

  “T-Diddy Smalls, pardner,” I say, in my best Brooklyn swagger.

  “Y’all causing all that trouble at the school. We shall overcome and all that ish.” He laughs. “Yeah, you s’posed to be a’ight with a ball.”

  “That’s what they say, homeboy.” Now I’m standing up.

  “Going to Miami. So you think you can handle my girl Claudia, huh?”

  “Leo, I’m not your girl anymore. Why are you tripping? Just leave, please,” she says to him.

  “I’ma go, I’m just messing with homeboy,” he says, making quotes with his fingers when he says “homeboy.” He turns around to leave, but I guess changes his mind because he looks back at me. “Look, pod-nuh,” he adds, with the fingers again, “you might play football but Claudia’s high class, Harvard bound, way too good for your slick city-boy routine. Why do you think you’d have a chance with her when she’s already had someone like moi? Stick to throwing touchdowns.”

  “Nucka, you don’t know me. You better check yourself before you wreck yourself,” I say, walking to him. Claudia stands in between us, and for no reason, this clown starts laughing.

  “Seriously, Claudia, tu aimes ce type—vraiment?” Here I was thinking this was going to blows, and he starts speaking French. College boy is a little lame. No wonder she dumped him.

  “Mais va t’en,” she says to him. No she didn’t just answer him in French. Now I feel really stupid, but T-Diddy ain’t going out like that.

  “I think Claudia wants you to leave, man. Real talk,” I say, projecting the bass in my voice.

  “Non, ce n’est pas ton affaire!” he says, and I know it’s something foul ’cause he’s gritting on me and pointing his finger at me. This would be the time for homegirl to make this joker leave, ’cause the next thing I say will be with my knuckles. She says something else to him in French. It’s not good if I don’t understand what you’re saying, Claudia.

  “Like I said, playa, stick to football,” he says, and pokes me in the chest. Then, just as my dukes go up, Claudia spins around.

  “Omar, I need to get some stuff that belongs to Leo. Just give us a few minutes.”

  What. The. Hell. Give you a few minutes? I shoulda smashed Kym when I had the chance.

  “T-Diddy can do better than that. Take as many minutes as you want. Au revoir!” I grab my bag and walk toward the door.

  “Omar, please don’t go. I’m sorry.” I pass the tulips on the way out, and wish I hadn’t wasted that fifty dollars. Should have treated her like all the rest of them tricks.

  I get in Uncle Al’s van and pray that this isn’t one of the times it needs a jump.

  “Boy, I kept switching the channel, trying to escape the ugly, but you was all up on my screen,” Spooky says to me. He and Uncle Al and Clyfe are on the stoop again.

  “Smalls is a big TV star now. Proud of my nephew.”

  “Thanks, Unc. We’re gonna fight the power until they give us what we want.”

  “‘Genius is the ability to act rightly without precedent—the power to do the right thing the first time,’” Clyfe quotes.

  “Smalls, I think Clyfe just called you a genius.”

  “Well, you know how I do.”

  “Yadda yadda. Yadda, boy,” Spooky says, which makes me think of Claudia, which makes me think of what just went down. Why did she play me like that?

  “Uncle, can I ask you a question?”

  “Uh-oh, this sounds heavy, Albert. I bet you it got something to do with that honeydew he had in here the other night,” Spooky says, and then daps Clyfe. I look at Clyfe, ’cause this is the perfect time for him to throw in one of
his senseless quotes that he’s famous for.

  “I got nusskins,” he says. That’s a first.

  “Smalls, what do you want to know?”

  “How do you know if you like a woman a lot or really love her, ya know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Be specific,” Spooky says.

  “Yeah, Smalls, that’s a loaded question, with two guns. Choose one. Like or love, son?”

  “It’s confusing, Unc. I thought we was kind of feeling each other, but we just had a little fight or something. I don’t even know.”

  “Boy, by the way she was diving in your pool that night we walked in on y’all, I’d say she likes you,” Spooky says, and starts laughing. “Mos’ def.”

  “‘How delicious is the winning of a first kiss at love’s beginning.’” Clyfe finally says something that makes sense, even if I’m the only one who it means something to.

  “Smalls, do you like this gal? A lot?”

  “Well, I think.”

  “Again, be specific, boy. Which one is it?”

  “I think about her a lot. I text her a lot. I mean, I think I like her.”

  “Boy, your nose is more open than the hole in a doughnut,” Uncle Al hollers, and he and Spooky bowl over in laughter.

  “Y’all are a big help,” I tell them, but as loud as the three of them are laughing, they probably don’t even hear me. I head up the stairs to the house.

  “Smalls, the best way to find out if a woman loves you is to just ask her,” Uncle Al yells after me. A car pulls up in front of the house.

  “That’s real talk,” Spooky adds.

  “Don’t put off till tomorrow what you can ask today,” Clyfe hollers, and I half ignore him as usual.

  “Honeydew, Honeydew,” I hear Spooky say. When I turn around, there is homegirl getting out of her car, with flowers. And a jumbo bag of sunflower seeds.

  Claudia

  “Those flowers for me, little lady?” I’m met on the front porch by Omar’s uncle and two other guys. Omar’s standing near the front door.