Outburst

by Patrick Jones

  Jada shook her head.

  “Then how are we getting in?” Jada didn’t answer. She just walked toward the house.

  Once they were standing together in the small, dirt-filled lot behind the house, Jada said softly, “You know what I like about you, Alicia?”

  “I thought it was my weed, but … ”

  Jada laughed. It had been so hard not to get high. “That you’re skinny.” She picked up a stray piece of wood from the rotting porch and jammed it under a back window. When she pushed down on the wood, she got enough leverage to lift the window a few inches.

  The old floors creaked as Jada made her way through the house. She’d left Alicia by the back door, just in case. The door to her room wasn’t locked; it couldn’t be, since Jada had knocked out the lock and ripped the door off the hinges during her last night in the house.

  Jada flipped on the light, and the single lightbulb shone over her. It reminded her of the booking room at JDC. She knew she never wanted to see that place again.

  With snoring coming from the other room, Jada took her time finding the things she needed: phone, clothes, and makeup. In a drawer, she found her photo album with lots of pictures of her with her mom from back in the day. All her most recent photos were on her phone.

  Jada put the phone in her pocket and jammed the charger and everything else into two pillow-cases. Since the room was pretty much as she’d left it that last night, she doubted her mom would notice. Does she even notice I’m gone? Jada wondered. Does she miss me at all? Does she forgive me? Her mom hadn’t visited her at JDC, nor had she shown up at the sentencing hearing. It wasn’t her mom’s fault, Jada knew—she had been in the hospital. That part wasn’t her mom’s fault either. Jada couldn’t even blame the lupus. She could only blame herself for the burst of rage that exploded and the fury of punches she threw that broke her mom’s jaw.

  12

  Is this a test? Jada thought. She looked around the table at the team she’d been assigned to for a group project in biology, her favorite class at Rondo. Jessica, who never said a word, Calvin, who never said a kind word, and Yvette, who never stopped talking about her fabulous life long enough for anyone else to speak. All three stared back at Jada with equal suspicion.

  “This is your final project and accounts for one-third of your grade,” Mr. Hunter said as he handed a sheet of paper to each table. He tended to drone on, but Jada forced herself to listen. She’d thought about what Mrs. Terry had said about having a goal somewhere between working the night shift in a laundry and winning an Oscar. Jada knew the only thing she really liked in school was science. It wasn’t just reading, but actually solving problems. She knew that scientists solved problems—like curing diseases.

  “Each table will choose a topic from this list, related to the concepts we’ve covered this semester, to research and present. Discuss and decide on one that all four of you agree on,” Mr. Hunter continued. “While you’ll work together on all aspects of the project, each of you will have a specific role. One person will present to the class, one will create a Power-Point, one will demonstrate an aspect of the topic, and the fourth will design a poster. Questions?”

  “Jessica should present!” Yvette said. Calvin laughed, but Jada said nothing. Jessica, of course, also said nothing. Yvette looked satisfied with herself. “I’m going to design a poster that will blow y’all away,” she said.

  “I’ll do the demonstration. Maybe bring in some gunpower and really blow ’em away!” Calvin said. Jada tried to ignore Calvin, which was easy because she was focused on the list of topics in front of her. There it was: pathology—the study of diseases.

  “We’re supposed to decide together,” Jada said. “Who put you in charge, Yvette?”

  Yvette snapped her gum. “You got a problem with me? You wanna go again?”

  Jada avoided eye contact.

  “I’m all for a catfight,” Calvin said. “Let’s get it on.”

  Yvette started to stand up. “After school, outside,” Jada hissed back. Yvette sat.

  “Our topic should be why some girls are hot and others not,” Calvin said, smirking. Yvette started squawking back at Calvin, both of them talking over each other.

  “Well, I’m glad to see at least one group engaged in hearty debate and scientific inquiry,” Mr. Hunter said as he strolled over to Jada’s table. “So, what topic have you chosen?”

  Jada sat up and spoke clearly. “Pathology, the study of disease, and we’ll do one disease in particular. Lupus.”

  “We didn’t agree to nothing, she’s just talking,” Yvette said. “I think we should—”

  Jada turned, flashed a hard street-stare at Yvette, and turned back toward Mr. Hunter. “No, that’s the topic. Calvin is doing the demonstration. Yvette will do the poster.”

  “And who will be presenting for your group?” Mr. Hunter asked.

  Jada looked at Jessica. For once, Jessica’s face wasn’t down on the desk. Instead, she looked up at Jada, her eyes pleading. “I’ll do that. Jessica will do the PowerPoint.”

  Jessica mouthed the words thank you as Mr. Hunter walked over to the next group.

  “I don’t know nothing about lupus,” Yvette said. “And I don’t care. You shouldn’t—”

  “It’s a disease that causes people to be in a lot of pain,” Jada said.

  “I’ll tell you another one that does that, and you’re gonna learn about it after school,” Yvette said. “It’s called my fist in your ugly, fat face, and there ain’t no cure for that.”

  After the last bell, Jada gathered her things.

  “Where are you going, Jada?” Mr. Aaron said. Jada said nothing. Mr. Aaron put his hand on her shoulder like he wanted to stop her. “Jada, you’ve come far in just a little time with us. Don’t risk it. Is it worth it—going back to JDC? Not going home to your mom?”

  “How do you know?” Jada asked. “Who told you?”

  “I can’t say.”

  No way Yvette or Calvin said anything, so it had to be Jessica who spoke up to protect Jada, just like Jada had done for her.

  She looked at the floor and then dropped her bag. “I hafta do this.”

  “We can’t allow a fight on school grounds.”

  Jada nodded, picked up her bag, and headed for the parking lot. Yvette and her crew were there, waiting near the end of the lot.

  “Time to end this!” Jada yelled as she walked toward Yvette. Mr. Aaron followed behind. “You go around thinking you’re better than everyone else, but you’re not.”

  “So, what you going to do about it?” Yvette snapped back.

  Jada glanced past Yvette, at the road behind her. She set down her bag, which held her word list, the dictionary that the Markhams made her carry, and a picture of her mom. Jada stared at Yvette, smaller than her but with a way bigger mouth.

  “I’m not fighting you on school grounds,” Jada said. “I’m not getting suspended.”

  “Fine by me.” Yvette stomped toward the road. A crowd began to follow the two girls and stopped a few feet from Yvette. Jada stared at Yvette. Then she shook her head, picked up her bag, and started walking.

  “Where you going?” Yvette said. Jada didn’t turn around; instead, she just turned and headed toward the Markhams’.

  13

  Jada sat in her room at the Markhams’, staring at her phone. She only had a few minutes left on it, so she had to decide how to spend them. She’d thought that the second she got it, she’d hit up her old friends—until she looked at the list of missed calls. There were none from Kayla or Tamika, and only one from Tonisha. Had they abandoned her? Had they heard what she did to her mom?

  “Jada, you need to get ready for church!” Mr. Markham shouted from the bottom of the stairs. She tucked the phone deep into her jeans, since the Markhams didn’t know about the phone and wouldn’t approve of her having it, how she got it, or any of Jada’s friends. Even if Jada called Tonisha, she didn’t know how they’d get together, since Tonisha didn’t have a ride
.

  Jada walked slowly down the stairs, remembering how quickly she’d run up them when she first got to the Markhams’. Running from her own life, her choices. She’d stood up for herself with Yvette by walking away. Now, she’d have to face another pass-fail test.

  “Can you please pick me up after church?” Jada asked as politely as possible.

  “I always do. Why are you asking?” Mr. Markham was good at answering Jada’s questions with another question. He’d make a great probation officer, cop, or judge.

  “No, I don’t want to go to the after-church teen thing anymore.”

  “It’s very important that you attend.”

  Jada knew she couldn’t tell Mr. Markham the real reason: she wanted to avoid Alicia. She wanted to avoid not just the urge to get high, but the stronger urge to ask Alicia to drive her to see her old friends or check on her mom. Alicia was a new friend with a path to Jada’s old life. “I’ve got schoolwork with the end of the quarter. I want to get an A for once.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to study after,” Mr. Markham said.

  “It’s more than just that, I don’t want to go any more,” Jada countered.

  “You don’t get to make that decision.”

  “Why not? It’s my life!” Jada yelled. So many times she’d gotten close to raising her voice with the Markhams but held back. She was glad she’d walked away from Yvette, but she was going to take this battle head-on.

  “We’re responsible for you, not just giving you a home but—”

  “This is a house!” Jada shouted. “It’s not my home.”

  “Until the judge says differently, it is your home. And you’ll do as we say, and we say that you’re going to attend the after-church class. Understand?” Mr. Markham said, his voice raised.

  This is more like it, Jada thought. She and her mom never just talked about stuff—they went right into yelling. Next was throwing things, hitting things. Then hitting people. Jada felt rage building up inside her. Then she remembered her mom’s broken face, and the air went out of her.

  Jada calmed her voice. “Why don’t you give me this?” she said. “I’ve done everything else you’ve told me to do. Why can’t I get some credit for that? I’ve changed, and you—”

  Mr. Markham’s harsh laughter cut Jada off. “I’ve heard that so many times.”

  “But I mean it this time.”

  “They all say it, they all mean it—that is, until they get back to the streets, and then … ”

  “Why don’t you believe in me?” Jada couldn’t help raising her voice again.

  Mr. Markham shook his head and turned his back. “I believe you’re strong, but the streets are stronger. They always have been, and that’s why we’ll always have this home.”

  When Mr. Markham started to walk away, the memory snapped into place like a Lego. Her mother had said, more or less, the same words to her the night that Jada had lost it. It was one thing for rent-a-parents not to believe in you, but Jada couldn’t stand her own mom saying those things about her. I’m not my brothers, I’m not my friends, and I’ll prove it, she thought.

  “Listen, Mr. Markham, I’m sorry for yelling,” Jada said. His back was still to her. “Let me show you that you’re wrong.”

  Mr. Markham turned around. He looked annoyed. “How?”

  Jada dug her right hand deep into her pocket. “Look, I did something bad. I got someone to take me to my mom’s house, and I got this.” Jada showed him the phone.

  Mr. Markham’s eyes blazed with anger.

  She opened it. “But look, I haven’t called anyone. I was tempted—like you said, the streets are strong—but look, I’m stronger. I want to go home, but not back to my old life.”

  “Who took you to your mom’s house?”

  “I’m not snitching.”

  “Does this have something to do with not wanting to go to the teen class anymore?”

  Jada nodded but still wouldn’t say anything.

  “Was it someone in the class at church?”

  Since there were twenty-five kids in the class, no way Mr. Markham could figure out who it was. “Yes, but that’s all I’m gonna say.”

  “Well, you’ll be held accountable for that. But I’m glad you told me. That’s good.”

  Jada nodded. For once, she wanted to be held accountable. He can’t take much of anything away, she thought, because I don’t have nothing here I care about.

  “Jada, don’t let fear control you.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Yes, you are,” Mr. Markham said softly, like he cared.

  Jada shook her head. “What am I afraid of?” She flashed him a street-stare. He blinked.

  “I think you’re afraid of losing your mom,” Mr. Markham said.

  Jada felt the tears welling up in her eyes and tried to fight it.

  “For your punishment, you’ll spend more time on schoolwork and start your letter to your mom, beginning tonight.” Mr. Markham smiled. “I’ll pick you up right after church.”

  14

  Calvin didn’t have his part of the presentation ready, which led to harsh words between him and Yvette. When Mr. Hunter told him to sit down, he lost it and started calling everyone names, including the staff. Jada just sat, smiled, and waited. Once Calvin had been escorted out of the room, Mr. Hunter told Jada to continue with the group’s presentation.

  She walked slowly to the front of the class. Yvette still sneered at her, as always, but Jada thought it was an act, since Mr. Hunter had praised Yvette’s poster. Jessica showed her respect by keeping her head off her desk as Jada started to speak.

  “Lupus is a disease in which the body attacks its own healthy tissues and organs,” Jada read from the paper in front of her. “It can damage the joints, skin, kidneys, and other parts of the body. African American women are three times more likely to get lupus than white women, although it affects men and people of all races as well. African American women tend to develop lupus at a younger age and have more severe symptoms than white women.” She was glad there was a lectern that she could rest the paper on so she didn’t have to hold it. She hid her shaking hands in her pockets.

  “Let me show you what I mean. Jessica, next slide,” Jada said. Jessica clicked the mouse. A picture of Jada’s mother appeared on the screen, looking happy and healthy. “That’s my mom on the day I graduated from junior high.”

  “She’s pretty,” Yvette said. Jada smiled. She figured, since she’d never get an apology from Yvette for hassling her, this was Yvette’s way of smoothing things out between them.

  “That was before she got lupus,” Jada said. “This is her now.”

  Another click, another photo. The classroom sounded like twenty tires going flat at the same time as students gasped. Jada stared at the photo. It showed her mom at the worst point of suffering from her lupus symptoms—skin covered in rashes, a swollen face, and patches of hair loss. But it wasn’t the worst photo for Jada. That was the photo the judge had made her look at, the one of her mother after Jada beat her up.

  Partly, she felt guilty for hitting back so hard when her mom slapped her. But it felt even worse to remember the reason: knowing her mom didn’t believe in her. That hurt more than anything. It was like her mom had already abandoned Jada, even before the lupus would force her to.

  “Look, those words I just read,” Jada said, desperate not to cry in front of everyone. “I copied them off the Internet. I’m sorry, but I wanted you all to understand the disease better than I could write about it. So those are the facts, but now let me tell what it’s like to live with a person with lupus. My mother is in pain most of the time. She has trouble concentrating and remembering. And she’s tired all the time, so living with her, taking care of her, is hard. She ...”

  Jada finished the presentation in tears. Mr. Hunter gave her permission to leave the class and called Mr. Aaron, who met Jada by the conference room door. He opened it and let her inside without saying a word. Sobs were c
oming hard from deep within her. Mr. Aaron handed her some tissues and let her cry, with one steady hand on her quivering shoulder.

  After the bell rang for the next class, Jada remained seated. “Could I use your phone?” she asked Mr. Aaron. She’d seen kids ask before, and Mr. Aaron usually said no.

  “Who do you want to call?” he asked.

  Jada told him and said, “Could you get Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Howard-Hernandez to join us?” Mr. Aaron nodded and left the room. Jada dug into her purse and found the bent-up business card. She waited until Mr. Aaron and the other members of her team returned before she dialed the number. They’d all had her back, both protecting her and pushing her. So Jada wanted them all there as she took a long overdue leap forward.

  “Mrs. Terry, it’s Jada,” she said. “I’m ready to write the letter to my mom.”

  15

  Dear Mom,

  I’m sorry it has taken me so long to write this letter. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. But also, when I wrote it, I wanted to mean it. I wanted to write it not because I was told to, but because I wanted to and I knew every word was true.

  I shouldn’t be treating you so disrespectful, after everything we’ve gone through and what you are going through because of the lupus. Sometimes I think I acted that way because I wanted to push you away, so when you die, it won’t hurt so much. I think that I listened to my friends ’cause I thought they’d be there for me forever, and you won’t. But I’m glad I got put in this foster house for a while. I think I’ve learned my lesson.

  I don’t know if you believe me when I say I’m changed, but if everybody lets me come home, then I’ll show you, I’ll show everyone. I know that I have to be accountable (look at me, using big words), but also that it’s better just not to make bad choices. But it’s not like you got a choice—you just got sick. I hate how it affects you, and me. I remember the first time I heard you moanin so bad that I called an ambulance. Before it came, do you remember how I rubbed your knees like somehow I could make the pain go away? But all I do is bring you pain. I’m sorry. Why does God make you suffer with being sick? I’ve prayed that you’ll get better. Like how you prayed that I’d stop getting in fights at school or hanging with the wrong people.