Vivica got up and we all wished her good luck. After having to have the microphone adjusted because she was so short, she dedicated her poem to all the “players and wannabe pimps in the audience.”
Let me introduce you to my little friend…
Have you ever met her?
By your actions, I would guess no
She usually shows when you least expect
A strong woman, silly excuses, she don’t accept
Some call her the opposition ready to settle the score
I call her my friend, handlin’ the dirty work of my troubled amour
Smooth and silent the way you say you like your women
Make no mistake she will have your mind spinnin’
A modern-day superhero
Never losin’, fighting evil
She will dish out what you have comin’ to you
And then some, believe me
I don’t have to key your car
Burn your clothes
Or flatten your tires
My girl handles it all
Havin’ you wished you would’ve apologized
I leave everything to her
And move on with my life
There is nothing you can do
Just a word of advice
She don’t play, so don’t try to seduce or charm her,
Ask one of your boys
You can’t mess with my girl Karma
Vivica’s body moved with her words. She came alive onstage. Actually, she became likable. The response from the audience was an animated collection of hoots and hollers. She even elicited a few “Amens” from girls and snickers from the dudes.
Nessa performed an extended version of the poem she had recited the first day of school. The stage was like a second home to her. Her performance was so natural. Effortless. Her hand movements, facial expressions, and mannerisms were perfectly timed. The audience remained under her spell until she dropped the microphone. Then we just erupted. She made me wish I could rhyme.
A few performers later, it was my turn. Nessa had given me some pointers at lunch, but now I felt inadequate. She said, “Do me,” as I squeezed by. Sheena said, “Break a leg, chick,” and Vivica told me not to fall.
Onstage, it was hard to see. The audience looked like one big, black blob. That helped. So I began slowly. My voice trembled:
A giver like Theresa
A fighter like Muhammad
You have perserved with a tenacity that
Is hard to grasp even by the most accomplished
A simple woman with a complex mission
Take care of my child regardless the situation
This is my life’s dedication, I’ll have no reservations
Stronger than any army, your drive is amazing
Initiating a positive change in me, my vision, my mission
The woman I want to be and the patience I strive to achieve
Even when you were afraid you assured me that it
will be okay
Never letting me see a face
Without a smile
Because I am your child
and you shielded me from anything negative
Your calm words were a natural sedative
So attentive, when I was sick
when I was well
When I fell
scraped my knees
when I had bad dreams
when I entered my teens
It was you I turned to when I was blue
Thought I knew it all, but had no clue
And you stayed true no matter what
No longer in diapers but still cleaning after my butt
You accept me for who I am
You are a God-send and
My savior
Loving me
All the way down
To my most insignificant layer
With you as my light and guidance
I don’t have to go through life blind and silent
A beautiful person I have become
Because you gave me life and love
You are my sun
I closed my eyes when I finished and awaited a response. Nothing but a few claps from Sheen and Nessa, who seemed afraid to do any more than that. And oh yeah, Ms. Jimu and the other teachers clapped, but they did for everyone. I can’t even say the reaction was lukewarm. It was unbelievably cold, like a February day in New Jersey. I slowly returned to my seat. Not even a new shirt and hoop earrings could rescue me.
I sat through the rest of the performances stunned and hurt.
“Well, first I want to say thank you for coming and sharing your wonderful poems,” Ms. Jimu said. “You are all so talented. I see this is going to be a difficult decision-making process. Next week is round two of the judging. I can’t wait to hear your new poems.”
I was confused about the crowd’s response, so I asked the Big Three for feedback.
“I mean, your poem was good and all, but it was a little boring,” Sheena said while scrolling through her cell phone. “You didn’t bring the hotness.”
“It was corny,” Vivica said with a twinkle of triumph in her eyes.
“Is that why you didn’t do the poem about your mother?” I asked her. She shot me a murderous look before rolling her green eyes.
“It was soft,” she exclaimed.
“Ms. Jimu looked liked she enjoyed it, but you got to consider your audience. They want to feel your energy. It was a decent poem, but I couldn’t feel you in it.” Nessa rubbed my shoulder to let me know she wasn’t being mean.
I guess you have to be careful what you ask for. I asked for feedback, and I got it.
We walked to the bus and I realized I’d left my self-confidence in the auditorium.
A&I inquired about my first test and the poetry competition over vegetable quesadillas. They made me read the poem. Of course they thought it was brilliant.
“That was beautiful.” My mother gave me a long hug and rubbed my back. I could smell her lavender oil.
“I know your classmates liked it,” my father said while scooping sour cream onto his plate.
“Actually, Father, they hated it.” I wanted them to stop babying me. Maybe that’s why I’m soft now.
“I don’t believe that,” my mother said defensively. Since the poem was about mothers, she thought everyone should like it.
“They thought it was soft.”
“Soft?” A&I asked together.
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?” my father asked.
I was shocked at how much my explanation upset him.
“That’s what’s wrong with us as a people now. Everyone wants to perpetrate a hard exterior, like that’s going to get us anywhere.”
“Honey, did you like your poem?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you do your best performing it?” I stopped eating to think about his question. My father looked at me with serious eyes, his dreads pulled into a loose ponytail.
“I was nervous at first, but it felt nice. I know I need some work, but with more practice, I could be better.”
“Well then, that’s what counts. Don’t pander to your classmates just because they can’t appreciate the depth of your character.” Bitterness saturated his words.
I lay in bed thinking about my father’s advice. I also thought back to Jeffrey’s words of wisdom and Jill’s thoughts. I was going about this all wrong. But I couldn’t sleep. I clicked on the lamp on my nightstand and added “bring the hotness at all times” and “don’t come off soft” to “How to Be Down.” Then I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 15
On the bus ride to school, Jeffrey grabbed a spot standing next to me. Vivica squeezed past us with an attitude so funky I could smell it. But the scent of Jeffrey’s cologne—a coupling of maleness and strength—overpowered Vivica’s obnoxious odor. She took a very obvious position behind him, I’m sure to eavesdrop on our conversation.
“I meant to tell you how much I liked your poe
m on Tuesday. It was really good.”
“You were there?” I didn’t remember seeing him.
“Yeah, I came in during the middle but had to leave early. I thought it was a sweet tribute to your mother.” He brushed the side of his face, where fine hairs were growing.
“Thanks, but no one else seemed to like it.” The frigid response floated back to my mind.
“You can’t worry about what everyone thinks. That will make you crazy.”
I offered a silent nod. He said some good things, but most of them seemed hard to actually put into action.
Ms. Jimu returned our tests and I was relieved to see that I got a 94 percent. I missed two questions. I looked over to Vivica and she smiled when she saw her score. I was happy for her.
Jay let out a big “Dammmnnnn.” Ms. Jimu told him to remember where he was. Angela, who no longer had a small animal on her head but long, Cinderella tresses, announced her B to the entire class.
“Overall, this section did very well on the test,” Ms. Jimu said. “A few of you did not get a score high enough to pass. I just want to remind you that if you do not pass two tests, you will be asked to leave the program. Because this was the first test, we are offering a makeup. However, this will be the only test that you will have the opportunity to redo in hopes of a better grade. Remember, we have two tests remaining this quarter. Are there any questions?”
“Nina,” Ms. Jimu said as I was walking out of the class.
“I wanted to congratulate you. You received the highest grade in the class.” She had a pen behind her ear.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Did you study much?” she asked.
That’s when I realized that school came easy to me. I studied, but more as a formality. I guess everyone had their talent and mine was school.
“And it was great to see you at the competition. You seem to be settling in to Maplewood pretty well.” That was really a comment to get me talking about my feelings. I didn’t fall for it.
“Yes, I think so,” I answered.
“Good. See you tomorrow.”
That night while A&I and I were playing Scrabble on the living room floor, my mother said nonchalantly, “Barry called today. Apparently, Vivica didn’t do too well on that first evaluation test for your program. He wants to make sure she’ll be successful and pass the makeup.”
I silently studied my letters. I also wondered why she was telling me.
“I told Barry how well you did and he asked if you could go over there this weekend to help her.”
My eyes enlarged. I remembered Vivica smiling at her grade. Maybe she was frontin’ so people wouldn’t know what grade she really got.
“And I told him of course you would.” She gave me a light shove.
My father spelled late using three of his five remaining letters.
“Mommy, the last thing Vivica wants is for me to tutor her. She already believes that I think I’m better and smarter than she is.”
“Nina, you don’t want to help her?” The guilt trip ensued.
Next to my mother’s word, rain, I spelled no. But I knew it was only a game.
CHAPTER 16
This morning was the first time I got a seat on the bus. That may be because I was running a few minutes late after my alarm clock failed to buzz me awake. In less than seventeen minutes, I showered, dressed, washed my face, threw oil on my hair, slapped lotion on my body, toasted bread, wished A&I a good day, and ran down several flights of stairs.
I was sitting next to a woman dressed like a leopard from head to toe, reading the Baltimore Sun. So far, there had been seven murders in Baltimore in September, which wasn’t over yet. While I read the woman’s paper with her, Jeffrey snuck up on me.
“Hey, Ms. Nina,” he said while standing directly in front of me. He had on a gray suit and shiny black dress shoes.
“You look nice.” That was all I said. Although I wanted to scream, “Fine! Handsome! Cute! Dashing! Dapper!”
“Special occasion?” I asked.
“I have to give a marketing presentation today in class.” That’s right, he had told me he was in the business program.
“Good luck.” I purposefully looked back at the newspaper so that I wouldn’t try to touch him.
“Hey, they have this open-mike poetry event at Gabrielle’s this Sunday and I wanted to see if you wanted to check it out.” That’s what Jeffrey said while leaning in front of me. Was he asking me on a date?
“Huh?” I needed him to repeat himself just in case I was in the middle of a fantasy.
He bent over and was now close enough to touch my lips with his. I wished I had thrown on Amy’s gloss. I could almost taste his cologne. He repeated himself and the words actually sounded like poetry.
“Sure, it sounds like fun.” I found it hard to breathe.
There was the rainbow again. I needed air.
After I got off the bus, I gave him my phone number so that we could make arrangements. My hands were shaking as I wrote down the ten digits. I hoped he didn’t notice.
The rest of the morning was a blur, because all I could see was Jeffrey and I, together, alone, on a date. It was a montage of images, really. Jeffrey and I holding hands walking down some nameless beach. Jeffrey and I kissing in a tree. Jeffrey and I at the movies. Jeffrey and I strolling in the mall. Jeffrey and I.
My euphoric feelings spilled over toward Vivica even though she tried to embarrass me by telling everyone during our class discussion about slavery that I knew all about white people. I definitely didn’t mention the tutoring thing.
“So why you rockin’ that Kool-Aid grin?” Sheena asked at lunch. Usually her nosiness annoyed me, but today, I was more than happy to put myself on blast.
“Jeffrey asked me if I wanted to go to a poetry event with him this weekend.”
“What?” Vivica spit out drops of her milk. She didn’t rush to get a napkin. I handed her one with a smile.
“Oh, which one?” Nessa asked.
“He said it was at Gabrielle’s,” I responded.
“Oh, that’s a dope one. I’ve been a few times but never performed there. You might be able to pick up some tricks for round two.”
“Forget performance tricks, are you sayin’ that Jeffrey’s fine self asked you on a date?” Sheena turned her body toward me and I realized that under the wallpapering of makeup, she was really pretty. Her eyes were graceful and her face radiated innocence.
“I mean, I wouldn’t call it a date. We are just going to hear poetry.” Modesty took over.
“Well, call it what you want. All I know is that you can’t go lookin’ like that.”
For the past few days, Sheena and Nessa had been taking me into the girls’ bathroom to get upgraded. I’d trade my boring T-shirts for one of their more stylish ones. One morning, Sheena unraveled some of my twists to give me what she called the “curly ’fro.” It was definitely a change in the right direction.
All of a sudden my nerves clenched like fists. What would I wear? What would I do to my hair?
“Can you give me a makeover?” I finally asked Sheena frantically.
“It’s about damn time.” She was victorious.
We decided to go shopping for an outfit and go to the hair salon that weekend. After sitting through the entire Jeffrey discussion silent, Vivica said she couldn’t make it because she was busy.
CHAPTER 17
On Friday, Sheena, Nessa, and I embarked upon our mission. Our first stop was the Baltimore Shopping Plaza, which Sheena said was the place for designer threads both real and imitation. At four o’clock in the afternoon, it was crowded like the few days before Christmas, when people scrambled to get those remaining presents. I thought for a moment that maybe the mall was giving away free clothes. It was that packed.
As we walked, it seemed like every other girl was dressed like Sheena, in heels, jeans that stopped at the calf, and a coordinating tight blouse. Maybe fitting in wouldn’t be all that hard.
We walked into Fashionista, the premier store for the fashion crazy. At least, that’s what the sign said. A couple of teenagers were folding shirts. It was obvious by their faces that they’d rather be doing something else.
“Hi,” a young salesguy said. His jeans looked like they were suffocating him. I wanted to ask him if he was in pain. “Well, aren’t you a fabulous trio. Let me guess, sisters?” Before we had a chance to answer, Tight Jeans continued.
“My name is Oscar.” He emphasized the last syllable so that it lingered for three seconds too long.
“Welcome to Fashionista. I will be your personal fashion consultant for the day. Are you three lovely ladies looking for something in particular?” Oscar winked one of his blue eyes and tilted his head. He rubbed the back of his platinum blond hair, which was three shades lighter than Sheena’s. Nessa turned to me and smirked. Oscar was black.
“I love your style, honey,” Sheena said. “Very unique.” Sheena slapped hands with him. “You can definitely help us. We’re lookin’ for some clothes for this chick here.”
Oscar stepped back and looked at me like he was trying to interpret a painting gone wrong. He raised his fist to his chin and began his assessment.
“I see you like the messy, just-out-of-bed look. You know, that is making a comeback.”
Sheena and Nessa covered their mouths to keep from laughing.
“It hasn’t quite made it back yet,” Oscar added without judgment. “But, girlfriend, Fashionista has plenty of clothes that reflect the latest trends. You’re in good hands. This is going to be fun, fun, fun!”
Again he emphasized the last fun, it must have been his thing.
Suddenly things got very crazy. Oscar, Sheena, and Nessa turned into high-powered, well-dressed machines. They pulled shirts, skirts, and jeans off the racks. They ran back and forth between me, the dressing rooms, and the store. They held up outfits to me like I was a mannequin. Not once did they ask my opinion. But I went with it, because quite frankly, I didn’t know how to get home, and I really did need something hot to wear on my date with Jeffrey.
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