by L. Divine
“We weren’t just slaves, KJ,” Mr. Adewale says, putting him in his place. It’s about time someone did. KJ gets away with clowning around in most of his other classes because he’s a star athlete. But Mr. Adewale couldn’t care less about KJ’s scoring average.
“I think we should perform a scene from Fences,” Chance offers, smiling at me. He’s performing a small role in the drama club’s performance at the Cultural Awareness assembly and still has my back for my play suggestion. What a sweet friend. I don’t know what I’d do without him in my life. He may be Nellie’s boyfriend, but Chance will always be my leading man when it comes to the stage.
“Man, we ain’t performing no punk ass, lame ass, stupid ass play,” KJ says, making his crew laugh. Why are they even here? I know they don’t care about African American and diaspora issues. All they really want is to say that they’re down with the black club on campus. When it’s time to do the work they’ll be nowhere to be found.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Mr. Adewale says, glancing at Chance and then at KJ, pissed at the irony of the situation. It’s our first ASU event and a white boy is the one making the most relevant suggestions. “Nigel, would you be interested in performing a scene from the play?” Nigel looks at Mr. Adewale like he’s crazy. I’m not surprised by my boy’s reaction, but I am a little disappointed.
“I think it’s a good idea, but I’m not the one for this role,” Nigel says, leaning back in his seat and watching Mickey look at herself in the mirror. Nellie’s doing the same thing. I hope some of Mr. A’s consciousness rubs off on all of us, because we’re in desperate need of some righteous guidance.
“I can do it,” Chance says, shocking everyone except for me. I know he’s a good actor and can play the hell out of the lead character’s part. Chance and I used to rehearse scenes from the play last year, just for the hell of it. When we first read it together we loved it and had fun developing the characters. “And Jayd can play Ruth. She knows that part like the back of her hand.”
“Okay, then it’s settled. We’ll offer a scene from August Wilson’s play for the opening assembly,” he says, writing it down in ink before anyone can protest. “We only have about a minute left to discuss the festival. So, what’s on the menu?” Mr. Adewale tries to move on, but KJ’s not having it.
“Hold up a minute,” KJ says, leaning forward in his seat and shaking his nasty-ass toothpick in the air. He just finished a burrito, and part of it is on the tiny wooden stick. “How’s a white boy going to play a black man?” KJ asks, now standing he’s so pissed. He should’ve thought of that before he dismissed the idea so quickly.
“I guess we’ll find that out at the assembly. Jayd and Chance, I’m counting on you to rehearse on your own. We look forward to seeing the scene at the next meeting. As for the menu and theme, we’ll take a silent vote after class tomorrow,” Mr. Adewale says, adjourning the meeting as the bell rings so we can all get to our fifth period classes.
“This is some foul shit, man,” Del says, getting up with the rest of us. He looks at Chance like he wants to beat his ass, but Del’s too chicken for a move like that. And as thin as Chance is, he can still defend himself when necessary, with or without his boys behind him.
“You should’ve thought of that before y’all were too proud to perform,” I say. “Maybe next time you’ll step up like real black men instead of the little boys y’all are acting like now.” I grab my backpack off the floor, ready to get to drama class.
“Shut the hell up, white-boy lover,” KJ says. Misty smiles at her man’s ignorance. Chance looks like he’s about to spit on KJ, and he should. If he only knew the truth about his heritage, Chance wouldn’t have to put up with so much hating from these suckers at South Bay. But as long as I’m dating a white boy, I will have to put up with these idiots.
“And I fell for a white boy after being your girlfriend, KJ,” I say, stepping up to him and looking him dead in the eye. “So what kind of man does that make you?” Misty steps in front of her man and in my face, ready to throw down over his stupid ass, as usual. I thought she learned her lesson after I stripped her of her dreams, but I guess not.
“A damned lucky one,” she says, her hands firmly set on her wide hips, like she’s going to do something. I wish the trick would. She knows I’m not the one to play with and KJ’s ass has never been worth fighting over.
“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Mr. Adewale says, breaking us up before it gets too ugly. None of us notice the visitor in the room.
“Well, what do we have here?” Mrs. Bennett asks, entering at the tail end of our meeting, unannounced and uninvited. Misty backs up and smiles at me like I just walked into her trap. What the hell is she up to now?
“Can I help you?” Mr. Adewale asks, looking at the clock above our heads. We have three minutes until the tardy bell rings, but I’m not going anywhere until I know why she’s here.
“Well, actually I think I can be of help to you,” she says, handing Mr. Adewale a slip. “I heard your little club was in need of an adviser so I volunteered, since I am responsible for you while you’re on probation, Mr. Adewale,” she says, slyly. “I also don’t think a junior faculty member should hold club meetings in their room.” Mrs. Bennett looks at me and Misty, her cold blue eyes shimmering. Misty takes a step back and nods her head, but in recognition of what?
“With all due respect, Mrs. Bennett, I can host whatever groups I want to in my classroom.” Mr. Adewale carefully reads the paper in front of him and his face gets more red with each word his eyes absorb.
“But I’m your mentor teacher,” she says, pointing to the paper. “And I think this group needs proper supervision. And what’s wrong with holding the meetings in my room?” Mrs. Bennett suggests. The bell’s about to ring and the other students begin to head slowly toward the door. Nobody wants to miss how this showdown is going to end.
“What’s wrong with it is that we are fine where we are.” The two teachers lock bright eyes and I’m loving the action. It’s about time someone other than Ms. Toni stood up to this broad. “And I’ve already pulled in Ms. Toni as the supervising adviser, no offense.”
“I’m well aware of your request, but she’s so busy with ASB that the administration is concerned about her taking on too much. I, on the other hand, only chair the Advanced Placement group, and after the exams in May I’ll be as free as a bird.” Mrs. Bennett’s not slick. She’s going to destroy our club without a second thought if she gets the chance, and we can’t let that happen.
“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Adewale says, glaring at Mrs. Bennett, who turns around and walks out of the room. Everyone follows suit and heads to fifth period, with less than a minute to get there. I’m not worried about receiving a tardy in drama, especially because no one’s paying attention to me too much since I’m not performing in this play.
“Mr. Adewale, can I do anything to help?” I ask, walking up to him on my way out. The rest of my crew is already gone, so it’s just me and him.
“They’re trying to stop the club from officially forming before the festival, if at all,” Mr. Adewale says, frustrated. I look past him at Laura and Reid talking with Mrs. Bennett outside. I know they had something to do with this. And I also know Misty’s not in the clear. She’s been their mole, sneaking information from our meetings back to them. And like any other pest, she needs to be evacuated from our space. Like Mama’s enemies, mine haven’t learned that I’m not the one to mess with, but they will, soon enough.
“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” I say. I wish I could cheer him up. “Mrs. Bennett isn’t that bad. Her bark is worse than her bite,” I lie. We both know Mrs. Bennett’s the one broad up here who can get in our way.
“We can pray for justice and work toward it,” he says, reminding me of his lineage’s gift. Mr. Adewale fights for justice and I know he’s going to have his ancestors all over this one. I’ll worry about fighting Misty and her evil ways and leave the rest to the warriors
in Mr. A’s lineage. It’s about time he showed us what he can do.
Trying to get the club in order before next week’s celebration has proven to be no easy task. Monday’s bombshell from Mrs. Bennett put it all into perspective for us: if we’re serious about the African Student Union being a viable, productive group we have to get our personal issues in check, and I think we’ve done well. Misty has been rather quiet since the meeting, but she’s not fooling me. I know she’s trying to sabotage the group and I will prove it one way or another.
Friday came so quickly I didn’t even realize the week had come and gone. We have to wait until next week to find out if our club proposal was accepted. Until then we’re going to walk as if it has been, per Mr. Adewale’s example. He’s convinced that justice will prevail, with Ms. Toni as our senior club adviser—not Mrs. Bennett’s conniving self, no matter how bad she thinks she is. And by the way he’s wearing his confident crown, I have nothing but faith in Mr. A.
When we decided to meet over at Nigel’s house for tonight’s session I thought we’d be in for the night which is our usual mode of operation. The guys smoke, the girls listen to music while a good movie plays on the wide screen. But apparently our crew has other plans. After school, I worked at Netta’s until closing, where I also touched up my Uncle Bryan’s braids. Rah also came in and got his head washed and braided, not saying a word about seeing me and Jeremy together last weekend. It was nice to get back in Rah’s head. No matter what type of relationship he may have with Trish and Sandy, I know I’ll always be his stylist and I’m always thankful for the dough.
“So where are we going?” Mickey asks, waddling to Nigel’s king-sized bed and lying down. Nigel’s so lucky to have a room as nice and spacious as this. Nigel and Rah are putting on their Timberland boots, ready to work. They look so cute in their matching mechanic jumpsuits and white T-shirts, but I’d never tell them that. Mickey yawns loudly as she stretches out like a cat across the foot of the king-size bed. She looks exhausted. “I can’t move too fast these days.” She’s right about that. It took her damn-near five minutes to make it up the flight of stairs that lead to Nigel’s room. That baby’s finally slowing our girl down.
“We have to go work in the pit for Trish’s brother, at this race in your neck of the woods,” Rah says to Chance, making light of the fact that he’s going to kick it with Trish and her kin again. We haven’t hashed out all of our issues, but decided to make peace with each other for the time being. However, I’m still not cool chilling with either one of his exes.
“Ask me if I give a damn,” I say, sucking on the sour lemon in my iced tea. Nellie and Chance look at me, Nellie rolling her eyes at my response. I’m too tired to be tactful.
“We’re all going together. Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rah says, walking over to me and rubbing my bare arms with the back of his hands. The subtle scent from his Egyptian musk lotion rubs off on my arms slightly. I hope I don’t end up mad at him by the end of the night because every time I catch a whiff of my arm he’ll be on my mind, smelling good.
“Okay, let’s get going. I don’t want to miss a thing,” Nellie says, more excited than I thought she’d be about going to a street race. I drove Chance’s car and felt the rush. But I’m not sure about going to an actual race on a Friday night. Not only is it dangerous, but we could also get into some real trouble should the police decide to raid the spot. Mama would kill me if I ended up in jail or dead.
“Will I have somewhere to sit down?” Mickey asks, making her way up off the bed. “I wouldn’t mind watching those white boys drive. They always have nice whips.” I feel my girl on that one. After driving the flyy-ass Benz Jeremy’s friend let him roll last weekend I can see why they do what they do. But I’m still not the one to get caught up drag racing. I respect Nigel’s and Rah’s ability to hustle on the side, but just once I wish they’d pick something that involved a little less risk on their behalf.
“Yeah, baby. You can sit in the stands with everyone else while we work,” Nigel says, opening the bedroom door and leading the way out. We head out, ready for tonight’s festivities, even if I’m not so sure about this one.
“Coming?” Rah asks, offering me his hand. I reluctantly take it and rise from my post on the futon. Rah smiles at me as I walk out. He knows I like fast cars as much as anyone. The first time I drove Rah’s Legend I was sprung on speed. And driving my friends’ cars hasn’t helped my looming addiction.
When we make it down the stairs and into the foyer, ready to leave, Mrs. Esop comes through the front door from what looks like an expensive shopping trip.
“Good evening,” Mrs. Esop says, greeting us all as she walks inside.
“Hi, Mom,” Nigel says as the rest of us say our hellos in unison. Nigel and Rah instinctively help her with her bags. Mickey, Nellie, and I watch in awe as the boys put the Prada, Louis Vuitton and Gucci bags down in the living room before rejoining us by the front door. Chance doesn’t bat an eye: I guess he’s used to the name-brand regulars in his household.
“What a busy day,” Mrs. Esop says, removing her hat and fanning herself with it. “Shopping always takes the breath out of me. But I must look fabulous for the sorority picnic tomorrow,” she says, winking at me. I don’t know how to tell her, but I can’t see myself ever fitting into her world.
“I know what you mean, Mrs. Esop. The mall takes a lot out of me, too,” Mickey says, trying to make small talk. Mrs. Esop sneers at Mickey, interrupting her.
“My dear, I don’t shop at malls,” Mrs. Esop says with her nose as high up in the air as it can possibly get. Mickey lowers her head in shame as Mrs. Esop walks past her without batting an eye. What a cold broad.
“Mom, you’re going to have to show Mickey some respect, especially once she and the baby move in,” Nigel says, trying to land the bomb and run—but not a chance his mom is going to let that one sit. Mrs. Esop stops in her Prada tracks before she reaches the living room and looks at her son like he’s a stranger. As she places both hands on her hips, we all stay put. I knew there was a hood girl behind her expensive, holier-than-thou demeanor.
“Tell me my son was the only person you were sleeping with when you found out you were pregnant,” Mrs. Esop says directly to an already shook-up Mickey. The accusation catches my girl off guard and she doesn’t know how to respond. “In all honesty, Mickey, you should’ve had an abortion if you didn’t know who the father was. And son, what the hell is wrong with you? Where do you think you live, Nigel? In the projects somewhere? We don’t allow baby-mamas or their little bastards to live in our home,” she says, cutting her teeth and lowering her tone. I think it’s safe to say Mrs. Esop won’t be attending the shower after all.
“Hey, I’ve got my baby-mama living with me, and we don’t live in the projects—and my daughter’s no one’s bastard,” Rah says, standing up to Mrs. Esop. But his situation is not a very helpful example.
“Yes, Rah, and that is unfortunate,” Mrs. Esop says, softening her look and tone, but not by much. “Your parents are not here to guide you properly, and that’s different. And I’m also convinced that the child Mickey’s carrying belongs to someone else, unlike your daughter.” Rah backs off, satisfied with her justification for the time being. Besides, this really isn’t our fight so we shouldn’t get too involved.
“Mama, how many times do I have to tell you this is my baby?” Nigel says, holding a teary-eyed Mickey by her wide waist. I feel for my girl, but they did put this on themselves. I can’t really blame Mrs. Esop for reacting. She’s protecting her baby just like Nigel’s protecting his, even if I don’t agree with how either one of them is going about it.
“I don’t care how many times you say those words to me, Nigel Esop. I’ll never, ever believe that the baby in that girl’s stomach belongs to you,” she says, barely acknowledging Mickey’s presence or her feelings. “We can’t force her to have a paternity test before the baby is born, but we can sure as hell insist on it as soon as that child comes out,” she
says, pointing at Mickey. “But I don’t need a blood test to prove a damn thing. I know you’re not the father and I also know you’re not stupid,” she says, still pointing her perfectly manicured finger at Mickey and Nigel, who both feel the wrath of her words. “Enjoy the good life now, little missy, because your fantasy is going to end when that baby of yours is born.”
“Mom, that’s enough,” Nigel says, holding a now sobbing Mickey in his arms. I’ve never seen my girl this upset before. Mrs. Esop collects herself, checks her hair in the large foyer mirror where we can all see our reflections, and walks into the living room without another word. She’s a cold bitch, no doubt.
“Let’s get going before we’re late,” Nellie says, setting us back on our mission. We move out the front door, but all of us are still stuck in Mrs. Esop’s tongue lashing. Mickey looks completely humiliated, and I’m positive that was Mrs. Esop’s intention.
“Can you really blame her?” my mom says in my head. “If Nigel were my son, I’d be suspicious of some fast girl trying to latch on to him, too.”
“Mom, that’s not what happened,” I think back. I get into my car and my friends get into theirs. Since Rah’s going to be working tonight, I’m driving him around for a change. Besides, it’ll be good for Trish to see that we’re still hanging tight while she’s only hanging on by a thin thread.
“Girl, please. Mickey found herself a winner in Nigel. She’d better hope that baby is his, or else his mama’s going to have her ass in a sling. Later,” she says, leaving me to focus on the road ahead.
“That was brutal back there,” Rah says, breaking the silence as we head toward Redondo Beach. I don’t know if he could tell my mom just dropped in for a psychic visit, but I was thinking the same thing.
