The Pact

by Monica McKayhan

  When my cell phone rang, I snatched it up…wondered if it was Marcus. When Jade’s name flashed across the screen, I decided not to answer. I’d call her back later.

  “You’re not going to answer?” Nana asked, that skeptical look on her face.

  “It’s Jade. I’ll call her back when American Idol goes off.”

  “Afraid it was Marcus, huh?” she asked.

  “I knew it wasn’t Marcus,” I lied. “He has no reason to call me.”

  “I was just checking.” Nana smiled and then reclined in her chair.

  By the time American Idol Rewind had gone off, Nana had dozed off. She was drowning out the Channel 7 news with her snoring, her belly rising and then deflating every few seconds. I gently removed Nana’s reading glasses from her face—she wore them when she read the Chicago Tribune and also when she watched television—and I placed them on the end table. She didn’t budge, and I decided to let her sleep.

  I grabbed my phone, started typing Jade a text message.

  Hey, ugly…what u doing?

  She immediately sent a text back, as if she had been waiting to hear from me.

  I sent u a text an hour ago…where u been?

  Watchin A.I. with Nana.

  Is that how u spendin ur summer vacation…watchin tv with Nana?

  Went to a club da other night wit my cuz…adult club…

  “Big Things Poppin’,” my ring tone of choice, rang loudly through the living room. I quickly silenced it before it woke Nana up. I hit the green button to answer the call.

  “Hello,” I whispered.

  “You are lying!” Jade screamed into the phone.

  “Not,” I said.

  “I need details,” she begged.

  “Not right now,” I said. “Later.”

  “Nana’s sitting right there?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Then go upstairs, or out on the front porch.”

  “No.”

  “Fine, just send me a text, then,” she said.

  “Cool, bye.” I hung up the phone when I saw Nana squirming in her chair.

  I sent several text messages and told Jade all about my night out with Sabrina. She was so jealous, and she wished she had taken Nana up on her invitation to spend the summer in Chicago with me. I wished she had, too, because I was dying for some conversation. It was cool hanging out with Nana, but sometimes I just wanted to talk to someone my age, and wanted somebody that I could walk to the BP station with and watch the neighborhood boys play basketball on the corner. It would’ve been nice to have someone that I could stay up with until the wee hours of the night talking about boys or listening to Chicago’s hip-hop station on the front porch. We could’ve gone to the Ford City Mall and shopped until we dropped—window-shopped, that is.

  Nana finally woke herself up with her own snoring, and then looked over at me as if I had done something.

  “You still up, sweet pea?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’m taking myself on up to bed.” She stood; it seemed to take her forever just to get on her feet. She grabbed her glasses and the Essence magazine that she had been reading earlier, climbed the stairway to her bedroom.

  “Good night, Nana.”

  “Good night, Indi. Listen for your uncle Keith. He done lost his key again.”

  “I will, Nana,” I said, and then stretched out on the sofa, flipped the channel on the television to MTV. Run’s House was always a good choice for a late-night laugh, so I settled there. I went into the kitchen in search of a snack and remembered that Nana was a diabetic, so all she had was sugar-free snacks and fresh fruit. I grabbed a green apple from her fruit basket on the dining room table and bit into it. I poured myself a glass of water and headed back to the sofa.

  I was startled by my ringing phone and checked the screen to see who it was. Marcus. Guessed he was returning Nana’s call from earlier. She had gone to bed, so there was no need for me to pick up the call. I let it roll into voice mail. When I heard the little alert that let me know he’d left a message, I didn’t hesitate to listen to it.

  “Hey, Indi, it’s me, Marcus…. I was just returning your call. Hit me back when you get this message. Peace.”

  His voice was so fresh and sweet, I had to listen again…and again…and again. Before long, I had listened to Marcus’s voice mail message seven times; I resisted the urge to call him back, though. The only thing stopping me was the fact that I didn’t have an excuse for returning the call. When he found out that it was Nana who had initially made the call, I’d have to explain why I was calling instead of her. So I passed. Marcus hadn’t been at all happy about my idea of the pact, and I wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to me. The night before he’d left for Houston, he didn’t even say good-night. There’d been no Skittles thrown against my bedroom window. And when I threw Skittles at his, he didn’t even bother to turn on the light. He was done with me, once and for all.

  Uncle Keith hadn’t knocked on the door yet and my eyelids were getting heavy. I made my way upstairs to my bedroom. The radio on the nightstand next to my bed was tuned to Chicago’s station 107.5, and the quiet storm was on. I showered, put on my Victoria’s Secret pajamas and hopped into bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I realized just how tired I was. Before long I was counting sheep and visiting Snow White’s party.

  Chapter 15

  Marcus

  I sat in my BMW with the top dropped. My BMW—I liked the sound of that. It had a nice ring to it. I pumped the music as I waited for Michelle. If she didn’t get a move on, we’d be late for the Lil Wayne concert, and I didn’t want to miss one minute of the show. Just to set the tone for the evening, I slipped in Lil Wayne’s CD and tested my speakers. The music sounded nice as it drifted into the air, and probably woke up everyone who was sleeping.

  Dressed in a pair of tight jeans that looked as if she’d painted them on and a blouse that actually showed cleavage, Michelle hopped into the car. She had left the pop-bottle glasses behind and must have been wearing a pair of contacts. Her hair hung to her shoulders in curls, and I couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “Let’s go, Marcus. We gotta pick up Andre.”

  I continued to stare.

  “What, boy, dang!” she said. “Quit staring at me.”

  “It’s just…you look so different.” I smiled at Michelle. “I didn’t even recognize you at first. I mean, you actually look…like…like a real girl….”

  She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Marcus, and drive.”

  I put the car in Reverse and headed out of the parking lot. Every now and then I would glance over at Michelle, just to see if she was real—or to see if she was just a figment of my imagination. I pinched her just to make sure.

  “What is your problem?” She squealed when I pinched her. “Stop acting so stupid, Marcus.”

  “Sorry.” I laughed, and then turned into Andre’s apartment complex. Before I could blow the horn, he was already heading toward the car, dressed in baggy jeans and a Tall T, with a fitted cap on his head.

  “This you, dog?” he asked, checking out the car, and then hopped into the backseat.

  “This is me.” I grinned. Knew that I was styling and profiling in my new car.

  Andre was looking at Michelle as if he didn’t recognize her. When she said, “What are you looking at, fart face?” he knew exactly who she was.

  “Michelle?” he asked. “Dang, girl! You look like…like a real girl.”

  “That’s what I said.” I had to laugh at the fact that Andre and I had the same thoughts about Michelle’s new look.

  “Both of you are stupid.” Michelle pretended to pout and looked out the window. “I knew Andre was stupid, but you, Marcus?”

  “Hey, we’re just saying that you look good, Michelle. You should take it as a compliment.”

  “Word,” Andre agreed, “that’s all we’re saying.”

  Lil Wayne bounced around onstage, his dreadlocks swaying from side to side as he spat
out fresh rhymes on the microphone. Girls in the front row were going crazy, screaming, some of them crying. Several of them had their camera phones out in the air and were snapping pictures of Lil Wayne. The music was so loud, and the bass was unreal. Everybody in the house was bouncing to the music.

  Dwayne Carter was Lil Wayne’s birth name, and I couldn’t help thinking that we were probably distant cousins somewhere down the line. Especially since he was from the seventeenth ward of New Orleans, and my family was from New Orleans. And the fact that he was currently attending the University of Houston really struck me as ironic, since I now called Houston my home. So many similarities, I couldn’t wait to corner him backstage and ask him a few questions, find out if we were really related.

  Unfortunately, Michelle had misplaced the backstage passes, and we couldn’t get past security. She claimed that she’d had them in the back pocket of her jeans when she’d left the house but explained to the security guard that somewhere between her house and the Toyota Center, they must’ve fallen on the floor.

  “Sure they did,” he said sarcastically, his body forming a barrier between us and backstage.

  No matter what she said, he wasn’t trying to hear it.

  “Let’s just go, Michelle,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It is to me, Marcus.” She was almost in tears. “I’ve been waiting all week just to talk to him. I wanted to get a picture of him with my camera phone. Why do you think I have on these stupid contacts, and this stupid outfit, and got my hair done?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because that’s what normal girls do?” Andre said, and then laughed.

  “Shut up, Andre.” She normally would’ve had a comeback for him, but now she didn’t even put up a fight.

  “Michelle, it’s not that serious,” I said. “Let’s just go.”

  I was glad I didn’t have to drag her out of the Toyota Center kicking and screaming. She left quietly, but I could tell that she was very disappointed. She’d had plans of meeting Lil Wayne face-to-face; probably had a whole speech prepared with things she wanted to say to him. I’d had no idea she liked him that much until that night.

  Once in the car, we dropped the top and blasted the music. After everyone had agreed that they were hungry, I pulled the car into a late-night Mexican spot for a bite to eat. In Texas, Mexican restaurants were on every corner, like liquor stores were in the hood. We stepped inside, found a booth and ordered tacos, nachos and enchiladas. Michelle was feeling better about not getting to see Lil Wayne up close and personal, and before long she and Andre were going at it again with their insults.

  By the time we pulled into the parking lot of our subdivision, it was almost three o’clock in the morning. Michelle had taken her heels off in the car and was now carrying them in her hand.

  “Thanks for driving to the concert, Marcus,” she said.

  “Thanks for getting the tickets for us. That was cool,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Marcus.”

  I stuck the key into the door and stepped inside. Mom had left the lamp on in the living room, so I turned it off before heading to my bedroom. I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in, turned the radio on to the quiet storm. When I checked my phone, I had an unread text message, and I silently hoped it was from Indigo. It read: Thinking of you…Rena.

  She had left it hours earlier, during the Lil Wayne concert. No need to respond now, I thought. Instead, I turned on the ceiling fan over my bed and listened to Sade sing “No Ordinary Love.”

  Chapter 16

  Marcus

  Fourth of July.

  Fireworks were illegal in Houston, but I couldn’t resist the urge to shoot a few M-80s. Even though they were illegal in Georgia, too, Pop and I still managed to make the drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee, every year and come back with paper bags filled with firecrackers, bottle rockets and M-80s to shoot off in celebration of our nation’s independence. Our neighbors usually started popping firecrackers two weeks before the Fourth of July, but Pop made me wait until at least a couple of days before. And late at night on the Fourth of July, after everyone had gone inside and all the evidence had been swept away, Pop and I would sneak out back and shoot our M-80s in the middle of the night. My dog, Killer, would hide underneath the porch with his head covered and howl. I loved to hear Gloria’s mouth when she realized that the noise was coming from our backyard. She would be fussing the whole time we were outside, but Pop never gave in, and I was glad. It was the one tradition that we still shared, Pop and I, and he didn’t allow Gloria to steal it away.

  When I thought of the guy who would soon become my new stepfather, I wondered if he would drive me to a place where M-80s were sold and if he’d shoot them in the middle of the night with me. He didn’t seem like the type to buy illegal fireworks, let alone shoot them, even though everybody did it anyway. In fact, he’d probably have me arrested if he knew that I had a bag full of M-80s hidden underneath my bed. I didn’t trust him at all.

  Mom and I didn’t have any traditions together. I hadn’t spent much time with her over the years, and definitely not long enough to start any new traditions. But all that would have to change. We’d have to start our own traditions, just like Pop and I had. Today would be a good day to start.

  “Ma, what you doing today?” I asked her.

  “I thought we might fire up the grill and throw a few steaks out there. Leon’s coming over later,” she said. “What would you like to do, Marcus?”

  “Well, there’s this music festival at the park today. I’ve been hearing about it on the radio. You wanna go?”

  “Marcus, it’s hot out there.” She frowned. “It’s been years since I’ve been to a concert in the park.”

  “Well, that’s why you should go. You’re always working, and never have enough time to just chill,” I told her. “Besides, me and you…we need to start a new Fourth of July tradition.”

  “That’s sweet, Marcus, but I’ve got some work I need to finish up,” she said. “I’m gonna pass.”

  “Okay, Ma, cool.” I was disappointed but tried to disguise just how much.

  I fixed myself a plate filled with eggs, sausage and toast. Sat down at the bar and ate breakfast as my mother spread paperwork out on the sofa. I noticed that she had taken steaks out of the freezer to thaw, and I figured that our tradition would be to fire up the grill on the balcony and cook them to perfection, and then I’d eat mine alone because she would be too busy working. What an exciting Fourth of July.

  When I’d finished eating, I headed for the shower, put on a pair of jean shorts and my Phat Farm shirt and decided to go see what was going on at the pool. There was a community barbecue and pool party scheduled for the day, and I wanted to see if anybody special had decided to show up.

  The music wasn’t bad; they had someone mixing CDs—it was a combination of old-school and new-school, and the crowd was just as mixed. Old people and young people alike hung out at the pool, talking, swimming and relaxing in lawn chairs. Small children were running about and chasing each other all over the pool area. Somebody’s dad had a grill fired up, and some woman placed a tablecloth on a round plastic table filled with packages of hot dog and hamburger buns.

  I finally spotted someone I knew—Michelle—and briskly walked toward her. She was sitting on the side of the pool sipping some punch in a plastic cup. A paperback book lay in her lap facedown.

  “What you reading, girl?”

  “This book my mom bought me,” she said. “I’m not much of a reader, but she kept blabbing on and on about these books…. It’s a new line of books that are supposed to be about black kids like us, written in our language…yada, yada, yada…”

  I took the book from Michelle’s lap, lost her page as I looked at the cover. There were two beautiful black girls on the cover—looked like a couple of models.

  “Are they girl books?” I asked.

  “No, I think they’re for everybody.”

 
I turned the book over and read the back of it. The plot sounded very interesting; made me want to read the book.

  “How many of these you got?”

  “She bought me three of them. I have two more in the house,” she said. “Why, you wanna read one?”

  “I like the sound of this one,” I said, and pulled up a lawn chair next to Michelle, plopped down into it.

  “You can’t read that one, Marcus. I’ve already started it, and it’s actually pretty good,” Michelle said. “I’ll go get you the other two out of the house. You can read one of them. But not this one.”

  “Fine, go get them.”

  Before Michelle even reached the gate of the pool, my nose was already buried in the first chapter of her book. I was hooked by the first few sentences and found it very interesting that the conversation that the characters were having sounded just like a conversation I would have with my friends. Michelle was gone at least ten minutes, and when I finally saw her head bouncing down the stairs of her condo unit, I was already on the third chapter. There was no way she was getting this book back. I had to find out what happened next.

  I stuck the book into the back pocket of my shorts and took off in the opposite direction of the pool’s entrance, headed toward the showers. I hid behind the wall, peeping around the corner until I saw Michelle looking for me. She did this for a few more minutes and then decided to plop down in a lawn chair when she couldn’t find me. She opened one of the books that she had in her hand, started flipping through the pages. Soon she was reading. I snuck from behind the wall, headed out of the pool area, across the parking lot and up the stairs to my house. Michelle never looked up.

  Mom was still working in the living room, papers spread out all over the sofa and floor, when I passed through. I left her alone and headed for my bedroom. Lying across my bed, I pulled the book out of my back pocket, opened it up and got lost in the pages again. I liked to read, mostly science fiction stories and magazines like Vibe and Sports Illustrated. I rarely read regular fiction like this. Most of the time the characters didn’t look like me, and if they did, they weren’t my age and they sounded corny. But I could totally relate to the characters in the book I’d swiped from Michelle. It had me mesmerized, even though it looked like a girl book on the outside—inside, the pages revealed so much more.