by Susan Ross
“What’d you say?”
“I told her I had to go to church.” Jacques caught the mangled expression on Sammy’s lips. “It was all I could think of! I told her you were going too.”
“What?” Sammy’s jaw dropped before they both cracked up. “Well, I’m not going to the dance, either. Nicole just told me that she asked someone else.”
“You’re kidding!” Jacques exclaimed. “Who’s the dude?”
“Boucher. Apparently, she’s going out with him, starting this morning.”
“Good thing you didn’t like her.” Jacques smirked.
“Are you kidding?” Sammy snorted. “I never liked her! I was just being—polite.”
“Grandmère’s making blueberry crumble and whoopie pies for the church party.” Jacques patted his stomach.
“Count me in.” Sammy grinned.
11
Confirmation, confession, cub scouts . . . and Mass every Sunday. Jacques had been to St. Francis at least once a week for most of his life. The church was the biggest building in Lakemont, and you could see its soaring spires from almost any place in town. Attached to the stone sanctuary, there was a more ordinary-looking meeting hall and gym. Lots of clubs, like the Boy Scouts, met at St. Francis; Jacques usually felt as comfortable there as in Grandmère Jeannette’s living room.
But not tonight. Jacques fiddled with the keys in his pocket as he walked over to the church party with Sammy. Grandmère Jeannette had left early to help set up. He knew that Ricky and Robby were going because their mom had asked if they could take along Pelé; apparently some of the younger kids were bringing pets to share. He wasn’t sure who else would be there. He half wondered whether the Somali families would even come.
Father Lazar stood at the church door fidgeting with his collar, but his face lit up when he saw the boys. “Jacques, I’m delighted to see you! Truly delighted! And I’m glad you brought a friend.” The priest pumped Sammy’s hand, up and down, several times. “The basketball game is just starting. Some boys from the high school team are here, so it ought to be lively.”
In the social hall Jacques recognized several older ladies arranging food platters. There were a few Somali families, mostly women and small children, sitting on bridge chairs. The Somali women wore floor-length baati dresses, with large flowered patterns. Their hair and shoulders were covered with scarves or longer hijabs.
Sister Bernadette, the oldest nun in Lakemont, was settled on a bench in the corner. She wore an old-fashioned black habit. Sister Bernadette had dressed that way for so long that Jacques hadn’t really noticed. Now it seemed strange to see her sitting next to African women who also kept their heads covered.
A high-pitched squeal made him turn. Baby Amir was squirming in the arms of a lady who looked so much like Kiki that Jacques did a double take, but he knew that it had to be Kiki’s mother. She was pretty like her daughter, with large brown eyes and the same gap between her teeth, although the woman had no scar.
Then a girl in a long print dress and green hijab reached for the baby, and Jacques’s heart began to thump. He thought Kiki noticed him, too, but she didn’t look up. Amir lifted one pudgy hand in his direction and sucked his fingers on the other.
Sammy nudged Jacques toward the gym. Father Lazar had recruited three of the biggest guys from the high school varsity team. They towered above everyone else. The ceiling of the gym wasn’t that high, and the basket was placed a little lower than regulation. The high school boys could dunk without trying.
“Come join our side!” A senior with flaming red hair handed Jacques and Sammy basketball jerseys.
Jacques recognized a Somali boy from school. Tim O’Shea and two dudes from science class were playing too. O’Shea pumped a fist in greeting.
Just then, Mohamed walked into the gym. Jacques froze as he took a spot on the other team. Mohamed was nearly as tall as the high school boys and every bit as muscular.
The ref blew the whistle, and the high school guys tipped off. They were good, but Jacques couldn’t keep his eyes off Mohamed.
Mohamed wasn’t especially skilled at basketball. He immediately got called for traveling. When it was Jacques’s turn to guard him, it wasn’t that hard. He was taller, of course, but he hesitated whenever he got the ball.
Time was running out in the third quarter. O’Shea passed the ball to Mohamed, but he was so far down the court that Jacques relaxed and turned away a split second before the buzzer went off. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Mohamed send the ball up for a Hail Mary lob. It was a wild, hopeless throw, and Jacques was already heading back, when the crowd gathered on the sidelines began to holler. The ball swooshed right in. From beyond half-court. Incredible.
“Did that just happen?” The boy with red hair slapped his knee. “That kid told me he’s never played ball before.”
“Ever?” O’Shea and Sammy both gasped.
“Only pick-up games in the park.” The boy shook his head.
And then Jacques saw something he hadn’t seen before. For a minute, Mohamed stretched his arms behind his back and smiled.
Mohamed put up two rebounds in the fourth quarter, but both missed. Jacques watched him push off from his left foot, and suddenly it struck him: “He’s a lefty. . . .”
“What?” Sammy mouthed from across the court.
Jacques tapped his left arm, but Sammy didn’t get it.
Jacques and Sammy’s team won easily, forty to twenty-six. The boys slapped palms with the opposing team, but when they came face to face, Mohamed looked away.
Back in the social hall, Jacques saw Ricky and Robby sitting cross-legged with Pelé under a large banner: Pet the Rabbit, Fifty Cents. Money to Help New Mainers. Six or seven other kids sat sprawled nearby with their assorted kittens, puppies, gerbils and signs.
Most of the Somali families were seated at the folding tables, chatting quietly. A few more church members and other people had arrived, but they stood on the opposite side of the room.
Suddenly, Jacques saw Kiki’s little brother dart across the social hall and plunk down beside the twins. Ismail was wearing a Ninja Turtles sweatshirt and had an armful of whoopee pies squashed against his chest. He shared them with Ricky and Robby and offered one to Pelé, who nibbled on lettuce instead.
“The twins sure seem friendly with that Somali boy.” Grandmère Jeannette appeared from behind and hooked her arm in Jacques’s. “I guess youngsters get along easy—easier than grown-ups sometimes.”
“Where’s Dad?” Jacques asked. “I thought he was coming with you.”
“He dropped me off,” Grandmère Jeannette replied. “He had somewhere important to go.” She quickly looked away and Jacques wondered if she was telling the truth. He also wondered whether the important thing had to do with the Bienvenue Bar at the far end of Main Street.
“Oh, there’s Betty Labelle!” Grandmère Jeannette exclaimed. “I wonder if she brought that pretty niece with her. . . .”
Mrs. Labelle came and took Grandmère Jeannette by the hand. “Do you suppose we ought to go over and say hello to the new people?”
“Good idea,” Grandmère Jeannette replied. “Let’s offer them some of your famous brownies.” She turned toward Jacques. “You want to give us a hand?”
Jacques glanced at Kiki and her mother on one side of the room, and then he caught sight of Lucy coming in on the other side of the hall.
“I gotta use the bathroom. . . . Sorry!” Jacques fled into the men’s room. As soon as he stepped through the door, though, he wished could turn right back around.
12
Duane was sitting on the edge of the sink, smoking. “Yo! You been avoiding me?”
Jacques inhaled a cloud of gray air and began to choke. “You shouldn’t be doing that in here. The alarm will go off!”
“Who cares?” Duane hopped off the sink.
Jacques tried backing away, but Duane came around and stood in front of the door. The dark line beneath his nose had grown in bushy. A
nd his arms were hairy too.
“Listen,” Duane said quietly. “This is what’s going to happen. Your grandma’s shop is two doors down from the Army Navy Store. There’s nobody in there at the end of the day except old man Silverstein, and he keeps a lot of cash in the register. I used to work there, so I know. Next Saturday Garth and I are coming by.
“All you need to do is open the back door to your grandma’s store. Once we’re done at the Army Navy, we’ll come in from the alley and go through the bridal shop. When we step out the front onto Main Street, no one will suspect anything. It’s easy.” Duane stopped and tossed the cigarette butt into the waste can. “You’ll get a hundred bucks, I swear.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“You got no choice, kid.” Duane sneered. “Unless you want that pretty Somali girl with the scar to have even more problems.”
“What?” Jacques’s face flashed hot. “You keep her out of it!”
Duane smoothed the ends of his moustache. “I’m guessing that big brother of hers doesn’t know that she’s been hanging out with you.”
Jacques’s bottom lip began to quiver. He bit in deep.
“Thought so.” Duane smirked. “You just let us into your grandma’s shop for a few minutes, that’s all. And you end up with a hundred dollars. Nobody’s going to know.”
The door swung open. Father Lazar stood in the doorway, sniffing. “You fellows okay in here?”
Duane offered a wide snake smile. “Oh, we’re good, Father. I’m helping out my little friend Jacques here.” He ducked past the priest.
“I’m okay,” Jacques said quickly.
“Why don’t you go on back inside now; the party’s picking up.” Father Lazar held the door open. “And Jacques, you come talk to me if you have any problems, all right?”
Jacques nodded and darted into the social hall. It took him a minute to realize that something about the party had changed. Instead of Somali families sitting on one side of the room, with church members on the other, the two sides had begun to mix.
Ricky raced by with a fistful of carrots. Jacques blinked; the little boy was wearing Ismail’s Ninja Turtles sweatshirt. Robby and Ismail held the treats above Pelé’s nose and cheered when the bunny jumped high enough to reach them.
A slim blonde girl was standing behind the twins, holding Baby Amir. When she bent forward to let the baby pet Pelé, Jacques was surprised to see that it was Monique. She looked entirely different. Her hair was combed back, so the red streak didn’t show. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her cheeks were flushed with laughter. Kiki stood next to her, swinging Amir’s arms. As Jacques watched, the girls and the baby dissolved into waves of giggles.
Duane was nowhere in sight. He had simply disappeared.
Jacques spotted Lucy leaning against the wall, twirling the ends of her hair as she sipped on a soda. She was wearing skinny jeans and a yellow mohair sweater. Their eyes met and Jacques thought maybe he should go say hey, but he hesitated: what if Lucy got the wrong idea?
Lucy slammed down the soda and marched over to where Kiki and Monique were playing with Baby Amir. She glared at Jacques before settling on the floor next to them.
Gulping hard, Jacques looked the other way. Grandmère Jeannette and Mrs. Labelle were sitting with three or four Somali ladies, sharing recipes and admiring their colorful dresses. Father Lazar stood nearby, talking with Mr. Silverstein. Jacques noticed that Mr. Silverstein’s eyes kept darting to where the women were seated.
Suddenly, Grandmère Jeannette did something really weird. She pulled off her glasses. She can’t see a thing without them, Jacques thought. What in the world was going on?
And where was Sammy?
Music started. Thump-bump, thump, thump-bump. The beat shook the wooden floor of the social hall. At first it sounded like hip-hop, but Jacques soon realized that the sound was African. The singing was strange and hypnotic.
The music got louder. A few of the Somali boys went to the middle of the room and began to dance. The Somali women stood, swinging their arms and clapping to the rhythm; the other ladies started clapping too. Even Sister Bernadette gently tapped on her knees.
Mohamed came forward and joined the boys in the center of the room. He was even more athletic dancing than he was on the soccer field, twisting and jumping to the beat.
Jacques’s eyes bulged. One of the Somali boys was pulling Father Lazar onto the dance floor. The priest shook his head, shrugged, and then with his left hand awkwardly resting on his hip, he began swaying back and forth, bowing out after a couple of minutes with a good-natured sigh.
Finally, Jacques noticed Sammy with Mr. Silverstein and three or four men that he didn’t recognize. The men linked arms and began to dance in a circle next to the Somalis. It looked like they were doing the Jewish dance that Jacques had seen at Sammy’s cousin’s bar mitzvah.
Sammy motioned for Jacques to join them. But before he could decide, the church door opened and Jacques’s stomach tightened.
Dad stepped in.
It was plain that Dad had been to the Bienvenue Bar or somewhere like it. His shirt was dirty and unbuttoned, the collar stained with sweat. Dad shifted his feet, holding the doorway for support.
“Where’s my boy?” Dad bellowed. “I’ve come to get my kid, the one who thinks his old man can’t hold a job anymore!” Dad staggered forward. He smelled like beer and cigarettes. Grandmère Jeannette jumped up from her chair. “Sweet Mary!” was on her lips. Jacques saw Kiki turn, and one of the Somali women gasped.
Father Lazar and Grandmère Jeannette headed toward Dad, but Jacques got there first. He motioned for his grandmother to stay put, while he grabbed his father’s arm. Grandmère Jeannette hung her head, and a sad look appeared in Father Lazar’s eyes.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” Jacques held his breath from the stench as he draped his father’s arm over his own shoulder.
After Mom died and they moved in with Grandmère Jeannette, Dad had started staying out late in the evenings. More than a few times, the owner of the Bienvenue, or some other bar, would call around midnight. Jacques and Grandmère Jeannette would have to go fetch Dad and get him up the stairs and into bed.
Jacques tried not to look at any of the faces in the social hall as he turned and led Dad down the steps of the church. The night air pressed cold against his face, but he didn’t feel anything besides numb, not even embarrassed. Truth was, he’d gotten used to it. The only thing he hated was the look of pity in people’s eyes whenever he had to bring his father home.
13
After the party at St. Francis, things seemed a little different at school. The Somali boy who had played on Jacques’s basketball team stopped him in the hallway. He was wearing a Manchester United soccer jersey.
“You are not so bad on the court.” The boy had a pointed chin and crooked bottom teeth.
“Thanks,” Jacques mumbled. “Sweet shirt, dude.”
The boy looked down at his chest. “It comes from my older cousin in England. He sends me his clothes that don’t fit. Our family, we are all over the place.”
“What’s your name?” Jacques asked.
“Yasin.”
“I’m Jacques. . . .”
“I know.” Yasin grinned and added, “We are in the same math class together.”
“Oh yeah,” Jacques said, “with crazy Mrs. Woodhouse.”
“Yes, she is scary like Dhegdheer.” Yasin caught the quizzical look on Jacques’s face. “The witch with long ears—all Somali children fear her most!” He laughed easily. “I catch you later, maybe in gym.”
“Sure.” Jacques wondered if Yasin lived nearby.
As soon as Jacques got to homeroom, he could see that things weren’t going to go easy with Lucy. She wasn’t talking to him, that much was clear. He tried to say hi, but she twisted around in her seat and began chatting loudly with the girl sitting behind her.
When Kiki sneezed, Lucy walked over and gave her a tissue. Jacques’s desk was
right next to Kiki’s, but Lucy managed to hand out tissues while ignoring him completely.
Sammy caught up with Jacques between classes. “Hey, did you see Boucher carrying Nicole’s books?”
“I guess the Sadie Hawkins dance was a big success.” Jacques smirked.
“For Nicole, anyway.” Sammy grinned back. “So, what happened with Lucy? Did you tell her that you like Kiki?”
“I don’t like Kiki!” Jacques replied quickly. “Or Lucy. They’re both friends, that’s all.”
“Oh right.” Sammy laughed.
Mohamed strode by. Nothing new there. Mohamed didn’t even grunt; his eyes wandered along the ceiling as if he didn’t see them.
Boucher passed behind Mohamed’s back. “Good luck with practice today, Gagnon!”
“I’ve got it covered,” Jacques replied. But the trouble was, he didn’t have it covered at all.
There was no skipping soccer practice. It was his first day on the field as co-captain with Mohamed. What exactly did Coach Morrin expect? What did the other guys think?
School let out and Jacques stepped into a blast of hot air. Grandmère Jeannette had mentioned something about an early Indian summer, but this was more like steam rising from the sauna at the Y. Was it hot like this all the time in Africa?
When he got to practice, Jacques stretched every limb twice and downed a quart of Gatorade to combat the heat. He felt the team watching him, waiting. Jacques took a deep breath and ran onto the field, but immediately whiffed the ball and missed an easy shot.
“Jackie Jellyfish can’t kick straight!” Boucher cupped his hands around his mouth and sang the words.
Jacques kept on trying, but nothing, absolutely nothing, went in.
“Good thing we got until Sunday before our first game,” Coach mumbled loudly. He pulled several pieces of gum from his pocket and stuck the wad in his cheek.
Mohamed said little, but there was no need. He dipped and swerved with an easy grace that made Jacques think of him dancing at the church hall. Mohamed made four goals, each one confounding O’Shea, who was a decent goalie.
