Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom, & the Challenges of Bad Hair

by C. C. Payne

  I could hear people murmuring to one another in the audience, but I ignored them and placed my hands on the piano keys. I closed my eyes and began playing. But what came out wasn’t “Under the Boardwalk.”

  My eyes flew open in panic. I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept playing. I played the intro twice while I tried to figure it out. I knew I couldn’t just stop and say, “Ooops!” into the microphone—just imagine what Kali could do with that juicy little tidbit. “Ooops!” would become her new favorite word.

  So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I went with it. After all, I knew the song; it was one of the first songs I’d ever learned. I settled, closed my eyes again, opened my mouth, and sang:

  This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!

  Oooh, this little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!

  This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!

  Let it shine! Let it shine! Let it shiiine!

  That’s about where I was when the audience started clapping along with the song. It gave me courage. I opened my eyes as the piano and my voice grew bigger and louder and stronger. I was right where I was supposed to be, doing what I was made to do—I could feel it, just like Daddy had said. I felt like a bird that had leapt out of the nest, expecting to hit the ground with a sickening thud, only instead, I’d discovered I had wings. I was soaring, I tell you! Soaring!

  As the last note rang out through the gym, my spotlight went dark. Chills climbed up the back of my neck. And then the audience was on its feet, clapping and cheering and whistling.

  When I stepped off the stage, Celia Thompson was waiting behind the velvet curtain, bouncing up and down on her tap shoes. “That was awesome!” she said.

  I felt so grateful, I threw my arms around her. Celia hugged back, and we both bounced. I really need some tap shoes, I thought.

  When we stopped hugging, I stepped back and said, “I loved your number! It was my favorite! I gotta learn to tap dance! Where do you take lessons?”

  “At Barbara Ann’s,” Celia said. “But…if you want, you could come over to my house some time and I could show you.”

  “Really?”

  Celia nodded and smiled a shy smile, “And maybe you could teach me some about singing.”

  Just then, I spotted Mr. Jimmy, the gravedigger, above the crowd. He was coming toward us.

  Mr. Jimmy leaned down and kissed Celia on the cheek. “Good job,” he said.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” Celia said. “This is Lula Bell—could she come over some time?”

  Mr. Jimmy nodded his head and smiled. “Your grandma was your best friend, hunh?”

  I nodded and waited for Mr. Jimmy to say something like, Well, she ain’t here. But instead, Mr. Jimmy said, “She was here. Right here. Today.”

  For a few seconds, I thought about that. He was right. I had felt it. I had felt her.

  Then I spotted Alan. He was hanging back, behind Mr. Jimmy and Celia, looking down at his feet, his face so flushed that his scar stood out like a white neon sign against his skin. He seemed to be nervous—really nervous. And he seemed to be waiting.

  “Alan! Alan!” I said, waving him over.

  He looked around and pointed to himself like, Who, me? Then slowly, he walked toward us.

  When he was close enough, I looped my arm through Alan’s and said, “This is my friend, Alan West.”

  Celia said, “I know you! You’re really smart! You’re going to Harvard!”

  Mr. Jimmy looked impressed.

  “Hi,” Alan said to both of them in an Aw shucks kind of way.

  “Oh, gosh, what happened to your face?” Celia said, staring at the circular scar.

  I froze. Only my eyeballs continued moving around while Mr. Jimmy and Celia waited for an answer.

  Alan looked confused and said nothing. Then he touched the old scar on his cheek, like he’d forgotten it was there, and said, “Oh. My cousin Joel Caleb and I were playing Star Wars in the backyard.”

  “Uh-huh,” Celia encouraged.

  Alan continued, “But we didn’t have light sabers, so we used sticks instead.”

  Celia nodded.

  “We were playing like our sticks were swords—you know, like they do in the movie,” Alan said.

  “I love that part,” I said.

  Alan smiled a half-smile at me and nodded. “Me, too. Anyway, Joel Caleb accidentally put his stick through my cheek.”

  “Wow,” Celia said, as if Darth Vader himself had made the scar on Alan’s cheek. “What did you do?”

  “Well,” Alan said, “there was a lot of blood coming from my face, and it frightened me. The human body only holds about ten pints of blood and can expire from a loss as small as twenty-five percent. So I tried to run to the house to get my parents.”

  “Expire?” Celia said.

  “Tried?” I said.

  “Expire is a nice way of saying die,” Alan said. “And yes, I tried to run for the house, but Joel Caleb tackled me and sat on top of me, and he’s older and bigger than I am.”

  “Omigosh! Why? Why would he do that?” Celia said, her voice rising an octave.

  “Corporal punishment,” Alan said. “Joel Caleb kept saying, ‘No, Alan! No! Please! My mama’s going to whip me good for this!’”

  Celia leaned toward Alan with wide eyes. “So what did you do?”

  “I screamed until my parents came outside. Joel Caleb tried to put his hand over my mouth, but I bit him,” Alan said. “Did you know that human bites are the nastiest, worst bites one can suffer?”

  Mr. Jimmy, Celia, and I were quiet for a few seconds, taking all of this in.

  Then I said, “So what happened to Joel Caleb?”

  “Oh,” Alan said, “his mama whipped him good.”

  We all laughed—especially Mr. Jimmy—and then Alan did, too.

  When we stopped laughing, Alan turned to me and said, “You look pretty, Lula Bell. I like your hair.”

  I folded my thumb over my palm, held up my hand, and opened my mouth to ask Alan how many fingers he saw. But before I could, he smiled and said, “Four.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I like your hair, too,” Celia said. “I’ve always loved your hair. It’s so shiny, like the hair you see on shampoo commercials.”

  “Really?” I said.

  Celia nodded enthusiastically.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ve always loved your flaming rain boots.”

  For a few minutes, we all just stood there, smiling at each other, feeling happy and…full somehow.

  Then the principal’s voice came over the intercom: “All students whose families aren’t here should return to their classrooms immediately.”

  “Oh! My daddy!” I said. “I have to find him!”

  Celia gave me a little wave as she walked away, and said, “I’ll see you soon, Lula Bell—tap-dancing at my house!”

  I faced Alan, nervous all of a sudden. For a second I thought about just turning my back and walking away. No, I told myself. Ask! Ask now!

  My toes were wiggling like mad as I cleared my throat. “Um, could you wait right here, Alan, just for a minute or two? I really need to talk to you.” Then I waited for Alan to say something like, I will never, as long as I live, wait for you, or walk with you, or sit with you, Lula Bell Bonner! I figured Alan had every right, and I owed it to him to stand right there and take it.

  But Alan’s whole face lit up. “Sure!” he said so quickly and so eagerly that it almost broke my heart in two.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Be right back.”

  “I’ll wait as long as I can,” Alan called after me. “My parents aren’t here, so I might be sent back to class, but I’ll wait as long as I can. Right here. I’ll be right here.”

  I turned and nodded at him as he craned his neck, trying to keep me in his sight.

  People kept stopping me on my way to find Daddy, telling me how much they loved my song. Most of them commented on the beam of sunlight, too.
Some people seemed to think I’d had something to do with the light, like my act was one part singing, one part piano playing, and one part magic trick.

  Ginny Olmstead came up to me and said, “It was worth spraining my ankle to see that. How do you do it?”

  “I don’t…I didn’t,” I said. “It was just the sun.”

  Ginny looked confused. “What was? I’m talking about your song.”

  I thanked her. I thanked everyone.

  Finally, I found Daddy, right outside the gym. He looked like maybe he’d been crying. It’s probably just allergies, I told myself, and I really hoped that I was right this time.

  Daddy put his arms around me and said, “That was spectacular! I thought you were going to blow the doors off the place!”

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved.

  Emilou Meriweather spotted Daddy and me and rushed right over. “Oh, Lula Bell!” she said as she hugged me. “You did so good!”

  “Thanks,” I said as I stepped back.

  Daddy draped his arm around my shoulders as we stood there side by side.

  “You know,” Emilou said to us, “I wanted to have a karaoke birthday party.”

  I shook my head, like, No, I didn’t know.

  “Uh-huh,” Emilou said, “but Kali said that wasn’t cool. Only now, I’ve decided to do it anyway. It’s my birthday party, and I love to sing!”

  “Ummm…that’s great, Emilou,” I said.

  “Yeah, there’s just one thing,” Emilou said. “You have to promise that if I have a karaoke party, you’ll come. You have to promise.”

  I smiled. “I promise.”

  Daddy squeezed my shoulder. When Emilou was gone, he said, “Miss Arnett told me to tell you what a great job you did and to thank you.”

  I nodded.

  “She said you were a regular hero, the way you stepped in to help her out with the talent show, at the last minute and all.”

  For a split second, I panicked. But then I remembered. “Hey, did you know I got second place in the school science fair?” I said.

  Daddy shook his head. “Wow,” he said. “A musician and a scientist?”

  That sounded pretty geeky, but still, I nodded and smiled, relieved.

  Alan must’ve had to go back to class, because when I went back to the gym, looking for him, he was gone. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Kali Keele walking away on her way back to class, too. She was alone. I guessed her friends were with their parents, and then I wondered, Where are hers?

  For the rest of the afternoon, all anyone at school talked about was my performance and the beam of sunlight that had turned on and off with perfect accuracy and timing. It seemed like I had a lot of friends all of a sudden, which was a nice feeling—a new feeling.

  On the bus that afternoon, Ashton Harris and Brittany Cook argued over which one of them should get to sit next to me. Ashton won, apparently. When we reached my stop, I said good-bye to Ashton, climbed down the steps, and waited for Alan.

  Kali was the next person off the bus, and I watched her as she walked past me like she didn’t see me. Kali didn’t exactly look upset or mad, I decided, but there was something there, something different, more like…loneliness? Unhappiness? Both?

  “Grandma Bernice would’ve been proud of you today,” Alan said as he came to stand beside me.

  I didn’t say anything, just started walking. I was still trying to think what to say to him.

  “I know how you feel. I know you miss her,” Alan said. “I still miss my grandfather, Big Dad. He died last year.”

  I sort of remembered something about Alan’s grandfather dying but hadn’t paid attention at the time. I tried to make up for it now. “What was Big Dad like?” I asked quietly.

  Alan thought about it. “Gentle, patient, smart, really smart. Kind of nerdy, like me, I guess.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. Who would’ve guessed that Alan West knew he was a nerd? And if he knew…well, why didn’t he stop? I wanted to ask but thought that might be rude. So, instead, I said, “I’m sorry, Alan. I was wrong.”

  “About what?” Alan said.

  I thought about it and shook my head, not knowing where to even start. “Everything, I guess. I thought I needed friends, but I already had one, a true friend, a friend like Sam Davis.”

  Alan puffed up a little bit. “That’s okay,” he said. “I knew you’d come around…eventually. And I’m a very patient person.”

  I smiled. “You are. You really are. Just like Big Dad.”

  Alan smiled back.

  By the time we got to my house, I had figured it out. Of course Alan West knew he was a nerd—he was smart! But being who he really was, all the time, was Alan’s way of letting his light shine all the time.

  Welcome to Bizarre-O-World

  On Saturday morning, I carried Grandma Bernice’s crazy rainbow-unicorn quilt downstairs and said to Daddy, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Uh…” Daddy seemed to be thinking. Eventually, he came up with, “Where’re you goin’? When will you be back? What’s the quilt for?”

  I smiled. “You almost sound like Grandma Bernice.”

  Daddy sat up a little straighter. “Well?” he demanded, just like Grandma Bernice.

  “I’m going to the spaceship house; I won’t be long; and the quilt’s a gift.”

  Daddy scratched at the stubble on his chin, thinking. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Grandma Bernice made it,” I said.

  Daddy thought about this and then shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Your mama…her mama…well…I just…I just don’t know about this.”

  “Mama knows about it,” I said. “She told me I should give it to anybody who’ll take it.”

  “Maybe I ought to call her,” Daddy said, getting up.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  Daddy watched me carefully. He seemed to be deciding something. “Naw,” he decided, breaking into a grin as he sat back down. “If you say she told you to do it, I trust you. I don’t reckon you like making your mama mad any more than I do.”

  “No, sir,” I said.

  “Then I’m sure you’re doing the right thing.”

  I hoped I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

  The house was easy to find even though I’d never been there before. It was easy to find because it didn’t really seem to fit in with the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. Mama called it “modern”; Daddy and I called it “the spaceship house.”

  I took a deep breath and knocked.

  Kali Keele opened the door. When she saw me, her face hardened. “What do you want?” she said.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just came to give you this.”

  Kali eyed the folded quilt in my arms as if it might be stuffed with spiders instead of batting. I held it out for her to take it.

  But Kali didn’t take it. Instead, she stepped back from the doorway and said in a clipped voice, “Come in.”

  Once I was inside, I couldn’t imagine why on earth Kali wanted a quilt. A quilt seemed to be the exact opposite of just about everything in her house. It was all hard edges and clean, open spaces. There was lots of glass and stainless steel and no color at all—unless you count black, white, and gray as colors, which I don’t. The result was a house that felt cold and lifeless. There wasn’t even a houseplant in there.

  Suddenly, I understood why Kali had wanted a quilt so badly. The girl needed a quilt in the worst way. In fact, as far as I could see, everybody in her family needed one. Quilts are colorful and soft and warm. They speak of life and love and family and home.

  I closed my mouth. I hadn’t known it was hanging open until then.

  “So,” Kali said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re here to give me a quilt?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because you want one…or you used to.”

  That’s when I realized Kali probably di
dn’t even want a quilt anymore. Just because she’d wanted one in third grade didn’t mean she wanted one now, when she was almost in sixth. When I was in third grade, I wanted a Pet Vet Play Set, but I surely didn’t want one now!

  “Never mind,” I said then. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here.” I turned to go.

  “Wait!” Kali said, lacing her hands together like she was about to pray and squeezing.

  I stopped.

  “I want the quilt,” Kali admitted, looking pained—like it hurt her to say it.

  “Oh.” I handed it to her.

  Kali held the quilt like it was made of tissue paper.

  “Do you want to help me put it on my bed?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  I followed Kali down a hallway, and when we passed by what must’ve been the laundry room, I noticed that someone had been ironing—really well. Next to the ironing board was a rolling rack of hanging clothes that looked like they’d come straight from the dry cleaners.

  “Is your mom ironing?” I asked.

  “No,” Kali said, “I am.”

  I wanted to ask her where she stood on the issue of fitted sheets, but I didn’t.

  Kali’s room was very…white. The walls and ceiling were white. The furniture was white. The sheets and comforter were white. The whole thing made me think of winter without the hope and warmth of Christmas—January. But resting on her pillow with the kind of faded, matted fur that told me it had been well loved for a long time was a stuffed animal. It was so worn I could barely recognize it as a unicorn—a unicorn!

  Carefully, Kali removed it from her pillow and placed it on her white nightstand.

  I unfolded the quilt as Kali yanked the plain white comforter off her bed and tossed it aside.

  “Where’re your parents?” I asked.

  “At work,” Kali said. “They’re always at work.” She didn’t exactly sound happy about that. I decided not to ask any more questions.

  As we pulled Grandma Bernice’s crazy rainbow-unicorn quilt over Kali’s bed, it was like the sun rising over a snow-covered horizon.