by Ni-Ni Simone
I didn’t have a response for that, at least not one that wouldn’t get me suspended. I picked up the test and said, “You got a pencil?”
Mrs. Brown chuckled. “Is that your way of saying I didn’t sound fresh, or fly, or cool, or bad? Or ill? Or whatever it is you kids are saying these days?”
Don’t say nothin’. Don’t. Say. Nothin’.
She continued. “My son tells me to knock it off all the time.”
“Good advice. ’Cause you sound like a straight cornball. Like you don’t have no black in you at all.” I looked in her caramel-colored face and smirked. When her eyes popped open wide and her broad nose flared in surprise, I wanted to slap myself in the mouth.
Dang.
By the time I count to three, she gon’ put me out.
One...
Two...
Three...
“Yvette . . .”
I knew it. I stood up, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and said, “Already know.”
“Know what? And where are you going?” She stood up and looked at me strangely.
“To the office.”
“For what? I didn’t ask you to leave. Sit back down.”
I did as she asked, then waited for her to officially say You gotta get the hell outta here!
She didn’t.
Instead, she retook her seat next to me and crossed her legs.
Before she could jump into some kind of lecture or try and read me, I said, “My fault. I wasn’t tryna be disrespectful.”
“I know that. It was actually kind of funny. Don’t say it again. But I think we can let it slide this time.”
“Oh . . . ai’ight. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And what’s an ai’ight?”
This chick is pitiful. “It means it’s all good. It’s okay. Like, it’s fine.”
“Seems I have a lot of slang to learn.” She smiled. “Now, let’s get back to why you’d think, I’d think, you were stupid.”
I shrugged. “Just ’cause . . . you know.”
“Know what?”
“I know you saw my school records.”
She nodded. “I did.”
“Well, then, that’s why. They basically said I was stupid. I went to school thirteen days last year. And in fifth grade, I stayed back.”
She squinted. “Why only thirteen days?”
“I hated school. The only thing hittin’ was the hallway, and after a while, hangin’ in the hallway became played. Plus, I had a baby, and I ain’t have nobody to keep her.”
“What happened that you were retained in fifth grade?”
“My mother had just left me, so I spent most of the year cuttin’ school and roamin’ the streets lookin’ for her.”
“Did you find her?”
“No.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Five years.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
I shrugged. “I know she ain’t dead. I’ve had people to tell me they’ve seen her here and there.”
“Do you still look for her?”
“Not really. I think about her, but I’m not searchin’ the streets for her anymore.”
“What do you think she’s doing?”
“What fiends do—gettin’ high. She’ll show back up when she’s on a sober stint or pregnant again.”
Mrs. Brown paused, like she needed a moment to absorb all of that. She continued. “Okay, now tell me what part of everything you just told me do you think makes you look stupid?”
“I’m sixteen, in the ninth grade, when I should be a junior. How do you think I look?”
For the next few moments, we sat in thick silence. Then Mrs. Brown said, “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’ve been through a lot. I think the adults that didn’t take care of you are stupid. But you, not at all. The real question is, what do you think of yourself?”
I picked up the tests, looked at the first question and didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know what I think. I just wanna get this over with.”
14
How Can I Fail . . . ?
“So what happens if I fail?” I asked Mrs. Brown, as I handed her the completed test.
“What happens if you succeed?” she asked me, smilin’, placin’ the test face down on her desk.
I couldn’t answer that, ’cause I knew I’d failed.
I just knew it.
I could feel it.
Plus, I was the one who took the test; she didn’t.
I read each question.
I answered ’em.
And no, I didn’t feel stupid.
I felt . . .
. . . blank.
Empty.
School just wasn’t for me.
Wasn’t nothin’ here gon’ help me.
Gon’ change me.
Gon’ teach me.
I wasn’t like these kids; even me and Tasha was different. They all acted like the only thing that mattered was a shawtie and a smile.
My life wasn’t set up like that.
I was on my own.
I needed a job.
Money.
My own spot.
I ain’t need to know why X plus Y equaled 23; that wasn’t never gon’ do nothin’ for me. I ain’t need to know why there was a Cold War between the United States and Russia. I had my own Cold War. I ain’t need to read no stupid novels. All those words jumbled up on a page, tryin’ to lure me into some fantasy . . . was just . . . whack.
And I hated those self-appointed shero and hero teachers, tryna save the world by spendin’ an entire class talkin’ about college.
Most of the time I wanted to stand up in the middle of the classroom and scream, “Would you stop and think about what you sayin’?! I’m barely in high school. Now you think I should spend another four years in a classroom? For what? I ain’t Denise Huxtable. My cracked-out mama ain’t no lawyer and my cryptic daddy ain’t no doctor. I don’t live in a different world.
“I live here. Where e’rybody I know parents is fiends. Where all the boys is either locked up, dead, clockin’ drugs, runnin’ drugs, runnin’ from the cops, and if there’s an exception, it’s ’cause he got a wicked jump shot. And all the broads is lookin’ for love and havin’ babies. So don’t nobody wanna hear about college. Ain’t nobody got no money ’cause mostly e’rybody in here is hood rich or on welfare!”
But I would never say nothin’. I’d just walk out and kick it in the hallway.
“Ai’ight, Mrs. Brown,” I said, shaking my thoughts. “Can I go to lunch now?”
* * *
All eyes was on me. From the moment I entered the buzzing and crowded cafeteria, walked over to the lunch counter, grabbed a grilled cheese and a Sunkist, to the moment I took an empty seat at the end of a packed table.
A few chicks stared and gave me the you-can’t-sit-with-us face. But it was obvious a few of they dudes wanted me to stay.
I ignored all of ’em.
As long as they ain’t start none, wouldn’t be none.
I took a bite of my grilled cheese and pulled out my Right On magazine. Usually, leafin’ through the pages and readin’ about my favorite rappers was enough to entertain me.
But not today.
Today I felt like I was in Oz, tryin’ to get home, but wasn’t no home.
“Forget this.” I slid my magazine into my backpack and just as I’d made up my mind that this was the end of the school day for me, a warm hand softly gripped my shoulder.
It was Tasha. “Hey, girl,” she said like she’d forgotten that just this mornin’, we was seconds away from tearin’ up the concrete.
I ice-grilled her, ’cause seemed she’d lost her freakin’ mind, touchin’ and talkin’ to me. I said, “Hey, girl? You gotta be trippin’. I don’t know what part you missed, but we finished. I’m not messin’ wit’ you.”
She smacked her gum. “Oh, you still mad?”
I blinked and turned around to completely face her. “Duh. Didn�
�t we just have an argument?!”
“Yeah, but dang, girl, let that go.”
“And why would I do that?!” I snapped.
“ ’Cause you too cute to stay mad, and me too. Plus, I said what I had to say, and so did you. When you walked away, I thought we had an understanding.” She blew a pink bubble, popped it, and continued smackin’ her gum.
“Chile, boo. Just this mornin’ I was ’bout to wash you; now you want me to act like that never happened? For real, for real, you don’t know me like that. And didn’t you say you wanted to kick me to the curb? Trust and believe me, boo-boo, I will never give nobody the chance to try and play me!”
She stopped smackin’. “Look, cuz.” Her Californian accent completely kicked in. “I’m not the one to try and play nobody, homie. Either I play you all the way or I don’t. So trust and believe me, boo-boo, I wasn’t tryna play you. I was tellin’ you how I felt and that you needed to get a grip ’cause e’rybody ain’t the enemy. You don’t have to run up in nobody’s neck around here.”
“First of all, that joker came at me crazy!”
“Because you straight up stepped to him. I understand where you from, and where I’m from, you get done walkin’ up on somebody you don’t really know, but you ain’t there no more! So what you need to do is take a chill pill and be sixteen.”
“Girl, please, go sit down. Who you s’pose to be, Neighborhood Watch? The community counselor?! I don’t need you to tell me nothin’ about who I am, where I’m from, or where I’m at!”
“Would you lower you voice?” Tasha said, pointin’ at the gawkers whose eyeballs was glued to our conversation.
I looked around and they all quickly looked away. “Whatever,” I said, turning back to Tasha and lowering my voice. “You see it your way, and I see it mine.”
“It ain’t even all that.” Tasha grimaced.
“It is to me.”
“Fine. Bump it. I’m tired of goin’ back and forth with you. I see you like being a mad and miserable bitch.”
“I’m glad you caught that; now stop sweatin’ me.”
“Ain’t nobody sweating you.”
“Good, don’t.”
“I won’t.” She rolled her eyes and walked away, leavin’ me center stage.
I watched her as she sat at the lunch table directly across from me and greeted her friends.
I couldn’t believe she came at me like that. Gon’ tell me I like bein’ a mad and miserable bitch. I don’t know who she thinks she is!
And then she gon’ say, I need to take a chill pill and learn how to be sixteen!
Like for real?
Word?
I have slapped people for sayin’ less than that.
I really shoulda yoked her up and said, Be sixteen? Trick, please! So what you think, bein’ sixteen is some magic number where the only thing that matters is the gum you smackin’ on? Is you crazy? You don’t tell me how to do me! And just ’cause you caught up in this Never-Never Land don’t mean I have to be. Check it, I’m the belle of this ball, and over here I got real dragons to slay. So you do your fairy tale your way, and I’ma get it how I live! That’s what I shoulda said, and if it wasn’t for bein’ tossed back on that pissy bus, carted back to jail, and losin’ my baby, I’d run over there and shove it down her slutty, worn-out throat!
Twice today, she got off easy, but ain’t no more chances, ’cause the next time her lips gon’ be glossin’ the concrete.
I looked over at the wall clock. Thirty long minutes ’til lunch was over.
I hated that I couldn’t stop my eyes from wanderin’ over to Tasha and her friends.
They better not be laughin’ or talkin’ about me.
One of Tasha’s friends lifted her eyes and looked my way.
Oh these tricks wanna play. I know they over there doggin’ my name! But I’ma put a end to this!
I got up outta my seat, rushed over to the table where Tasha and her friends sat and forced my way into the empty space next to Tasha. Then I said, “Somebody lookin’ for me?”
Tasha paused mid-sentence; clearly I caught her off guard.
Yeah, now what! I dare you to say somethin’ slick.
I pursed my lips, my eyes lettin’ her know I didn’t play games.
Tasha draped an unexpected arm over my shoulders and said, “They were just asking me who you were.”
I knew they was talkin’ about me.
Before I could brush Tasha’s arm off of me and snap, she said, “I told them you just moved here and that we both lived with Aunty Glo.”
I did my all to read her friends’ eyes, wonderin’ if they knew Aunty Glo equaled foster home. I waited for one of them to say it or hint at it.
They didn’t.
Instead, their eyes invited me in.
“Welcome to Carver High! I’m Reesie, short for Cheresse.” Reesie smiled, and her dime-sized dimples sank into her cheeks. Her skin was pale yellow with sunset red freckles lightly dusted over her face. She wore a white sweatshirt—with the word Fresh spray-painted across it in neon pink—and ripped jeans.
Tasha giggled as she introduced her other friend, who sat directly across from us and next to Reesie. “This is our girl Mother Earth.”
Mother Earth had smooth, milk chocolate–colored skin and deep brown eyes framed with clear plastic gazelles. She looked stupid-fly rockin’ her red, green, and black dashiki, black stir-up pants, Kari shell earrings, and a round leather medallion with the shape of Africa on it. She also wore a red leather kufi atop her long, black, box braids that spilled down her back.
Mother Earth snatched her gazelles off her face, then playfully swatted toward Tasha, and said, “Yvette, don’t listen to T-Skee. My name is not Mother Earth; I’m Ebony.”
“Hey, Reesie. Hey, Ebony,” I said, feelin’ awkward. “I’m Yvette.”
Reesie pointed to my dark blue jeans with the words Fresh, Fly, and Bananas airbrushed in neon colors all over the front and back of them, and said, “Girl, them pants you got on is ill.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Where you get ’em from?” Tasha asked.
“I made these a while ago. Well, I didn’t make the jeans; I did the graffiti and the airbrush though.”
“Word? Oh you got skills. I’ma need you to do my jeans like that!” Tasha said.
Reesie wiggled in her seat. “I got an idea! How about you make us all some. That way, when we go to the concert, we all look sick!”
“Yes!” they all agreed.
“You going, right?” Tasha pressed, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I wasn’t sure if I should’ve said yes, no, or reminded her that I needed a babysitter. “I guess. Maybe so.” I shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”
“Oh, you gotta go. Everybody gon’ be there,” Reesie insisted, opening a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips.
“She’ll be there,” Tasha said.
“Now, Yvette, where are you from?” Ebony asked. “’Cause with that accent, I know you’re not from Norfolk.”
“Nope. She’s from Jersey,” Tasha volunteered.
“Jersey?” Reesie’s eyes popped open wide. “For real? Word?”
“Word,” I confirmed.
Reesie carried on, “Y’all know my baby-love lives in Jersey. He said he’s comin’ down here to visit me soon.”
“Lies,” Ebony said, sippin’ her soda.
“Don’t be mad.” Reesie popped her fingers. “You know I’m in love.”
Tasha took a handful of chips from Reesie’s bag and said, “Girl, stop. You are not in love; you are in dumb.”
Ebony jumped in. “Plus, how you gon’ love somebody you met on the party line and have never even seen?”
Reesie put her hands up. “Slow down, low down; don’t judge my love. At least I’m not caught up in some Chinese Plug One wanna-be named Malik. And don’t even get me started on you and yo’ knock-off Bobby Brown, Mother Earth. Jheri curl, anyone?”
“You know you wrong for that.”
Ebony chuckled. “And he has an S-curl. There’s a difference.”
“And Malik is my soul mate—well, on Thursdays,” Tasha insisted.
“And Jerelle is mine every day,” Reesie said, then paused, “Well . . . on Mondays through Thursdays, ’cause on the weekends, I be getting it poppin’ with Raheem. Feel me!” She and Tasha looked at each other, popped out of their seats, did a two second whop, and ended their dance with a fist bump.
“You know I feel you,” Tasha said.
We all laughed.
“Yvette, you got a soul mate?” Ebony asked.
“Yep.” I smiled.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Big Daddy Kane, baby!”
Reesie snapped her fingers. “Girl, I’ma marry Big Daddy Kane!”
I gave her a pound. “Me, too!”
“Y’all nasty.” Tasha frowned. “You gon’ marry the same man?”
“Whatever,” Reesie said. “You and Ebony love to act like y’all nuns. Let’s not even bring up them twins y’all got mixed up.” She paused and when they didn’t respond, she carried on. “I ain’t think y’all wanted none. ’Cause we all know y’all just mad that when we called the party line, I was the only one who walked away with a boo-freak, my Jerelle.” She crossed her hands, pressin’ them into her heart.
Ebony smirked. “He’s probably an old nasty freak.”
“You know he sounds young!” Reesie insisted.
“Umm hmm.” Tasha giggled. “A little too young, if you ask me.”
“Well nobody asked either one of you, ma’am,” Reesie said, as the bell rang. “Come on, Yvette, let’s walk out together. Plus, I don’t want you to be rude and bossy like Tasha and Ebony. Be the bomb like me.”
15
Lucky Charm
I was all smiles ’til I walked into Mrs. Brown’s office and looked into her face.
She sat at her desk, shook her head, and held my tests.
My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach, but I wasn’t about to let Mrs. Brown know that.
“How was lunch, Yvette?” she asked, givin’ me a fake smile.
“It was lunch. Like e’ry other meal.”
“Would you cut the sarcasm?”
Silence.
“Now please have a seat.”
