Hallway Diaries

by Felicia Pride

  “Are you reading this?” I asked excitedly. “I’ve wanted to read it.”

  “Uh…” She paused and thought about her answer. I watched her play out an internal conflict. “Yeah, my father gave it to me.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said regretfully.

  “So you want to get started?” I asked. That’s when she closed her bedroom door and walked over to me.

  “Look, I don’t need tutoring,” she said.

  “I know, trust me. I’m just here if you have any questions.” I didn’t want her to feel bad.

  “I failed on purpose,” she revealed.

  “Why?” My mouth was wide open.

  “Because everyone thinks the program is for clowns. Plus I don’t want my girls to think I’m sellin’ out.”

  “Sheena and Nessa wouldn’t stop being your friend because you’re in a college preparatory program.” I couldn’t believe she was hiding her intelligence and purposely sabotaging her opportunities for advancement to fit in. I mean, I wanted friends, but I wasn’t about to fail tests to get them.

  “I’ve known them a lot longer than you have,” she snapped.

  “So you’re going to fail out of the program?” I wanted to know if that was her plan.

  “Yep.” She hopped onto her bed and began swinging her feet. “But my father can’t know. So we can just hang out for an hour or so.”

  “Hang out? Okay.” I was skeptical.

  Then she said something that I didn’t expect.

  “Look, I want to apologize for how I’ve acted towards you. I’ve been going through a lot lately. But that’s no reason to take it out on you.” Her diction was perfect. She sounded like another girl.

  “You have been unfriendly towards me and I didn’t know why. It’s reassuring to know that it wasn’t me.”

  “No, not at all.” She shoved me slightly. “My mother’s been trying to get in contact with me after five years and it’s been upsetting to deal with. You know? I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to talk to her.”

  “That must be hard,” I said.

  “It is, but I don’t really want to talk about that anymore.” She smoothed her ponytail. “You know, I’m not mad or anything about you and Jeffrey. I mean, he and I never hooked up. He has his preferences and I’m not one of them.” Her green eyes looked sincere.

  Our slate was being cleaned.

  “My bad, I didn’t ask you if you wanted anything. Are you hungry?” I rubbed my stomach and nodded greedily.

  While she was in the kitchen, I tried to imagine what it would be like if my mother left and then after several years tried to come back into my life. I shuddered at the thought and realized how strong Vivica was.

  She brought back two pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

  “Sheena told me that you got something real cute to wear tomorrow. Are you excited?”

  “I’m nervous,” I admitted, and we laughed like old friends.

  “I can help you,” she offered. “I’ve known Jeffrey for a few years. He likes a certain type of girl.”

  “Like what?” I asked as I chomped on the best pancakes I’d ever had.

  “I’d call them ghetto princesses. Like Sheena, but not so over-the-top.” Her index finger tapped her cheek.

  “Really?” I was in disbelief.

  “His last girlfriend, Tatiana, put the ‘fab’ in ghetto fabulous. She broke up with him and broke his heart. So he’s been looking to fill her role ever since. I know I joke with you about being white, but you may want to tone down your inner white girl just for tomorrow.”

  My eyebrows curled and I wondered about the best way to do that.

  Reading my mind, Vivica said, “I can give you a few pointers. I mean, you have a great start with the hair. It looks much better. And I’m sure your outfit is off the hook.”

  I took out my black and white composition book and decided to take notes. That’s what nerds do. I flipped through the pages looking for an empty one and landed on “How to Be Down.”

  “What is this?” Vivica asked.

  I flipped the page quickly, but she turned it back. She then read “How to Be Down” aloud. She couldn’t get through the first few entries without laughing.

  I wasn’t sure if I should laugh with her, rip my notebook out of her hand and storm out, or silently sulk.

  I went for silently sulk.

  After a few minutes of listening to her Miss Piggy laugh, Vivica finally said, “No, for real, you’ve got some true stuff on here. I don’t mean to laugh, but it’s kind of funny that you are keeping a list on how to be black.”

  “It’s not about being black,” I said defensively.

  “Don’t be angry, Nina. I’m sorry for laughing, I really am. Look, I want to help you.” She sat back down next to me and patted my hand. “I know you’re very smart, but sometimes you can say some really boring things. Try to think about what you say before you say it. Ask yourself if what you’re about to say will bore Jeffrey.” I took meticulous notes. “He’s into basketball, hip-hop, and thug life.”

  “Thug life?” I didn’t peg Jeffrey as a thug.

  “Yeah. I mean, he’s clean-cut but he’s definitely a thug. And he’s looking for a ride-or-die chick, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know. But I wrote it down anyway.

  “So talk about being down with the streets, act like you know what time it is. Tell him you can help stack dough and that you’d be down for whateva.”

  “Down for whateva? Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  Then she demonstrated what she called “hood mannerisms” that I could do on my date. After about an hour, I felt much more versed in toning down my inner white girl and amplifying my ride-or-die chick.

  As Vivica walked me to the door, I asked her to keep my list between us.

  “Trust me,” she said.

  And that’s what I did. I trusted Vivica.

  CHAPTER 20

  Jeffrey arrived promptly at five-fifteen. From my room, I could hear him say “Hello, sir” when my father opened the door. Then he introduced himself and asked if I was available. He had my father at hello.

  I on the other hand, was a wreck. I’d started getting ready at 2 p.m. Matt and I had gone out but not on real dates. We’d go to a museum with his parents, hang out playing cards, or watch some nature show on public television.

  Although I knew Jeffrey was cool, deep down inside, I was nervous to be alone with him. What if I said something stupid? Something too white, like Vivica had warned me? Before I put on my pencil skirt, black tights, BCBG boots, and a black and purple baby tee, the outfit that Sheena had coordinated for me, I reviewed “How to Be Down” and yesterday’s notes like it was moments before a big test.

  Not to mention that I didn’t get much sleep because I was too busy protecting my hair by hanging my head off the side of the bed. I didn’t know how straight-haired girls did it. Since Friday, I avoided water like the plague and took baths instead of risking some tragic accident in the shower. But even with so much precaution, I couldn’t get my hair to fall like it did when I walked out of the salon two days ago.

  After making Jeffrey suffer with A&I for ten minutes, I emerged. And luckily I did, because they were discussing Haitian independence.

  My mother flashed me a smile that said she was impressed. My father patted Jeffrey on the shoulder after calling him “son.”

  “Wow,” Jeffrey said. “You look different.”

  Gabrielle’s was a stylish hole in the wall that doubled as a jazz club. Posters of famous black musicians adorned the brick walls, some with signatures. As we walked, the wooden floor reverberated with the sound of the famous feet that had marched on it. An older woman sitting on a flimsy stool took ten dollars from Jeffrey after asking him how his parents were doing.

  I had never been in a jazz club before, but I’d always imagined that it would look just like this. Smoke filled the air and gave the club
a feeling of cool. Being inside it, I felt cool. I felt my inner white girl being silenced.

  Black people of varying ages occupied the twenty or so seats that the club could hold. We grabbed the only available table, close to the front of the small stage.

  “Did you relax your hair?” he asked me. I was surprised he knew the right terminology. “I have two sisters,” he explained.

  “Uh, no, I just straightened it.” It felt good to be paid attention to.

  “It looks nice,” he said.

  But then he said, “I liked your natural hair, too, though.”

  “My bush?” I asked. “Yeah, right.” He couldn’t possibly.

  “No, I thought it was cool.” He dropped his head slightly. “I come here a lot with my parents,” Jeffrey admitted. “It’s like an institution in Baltimore. I think it’s been here since the fifties.”

  “Wow, there’s probably a lot of history here,” I said. Jeffrey didn’t respond. A cue to limit my nerdy comments.

  “I’ve been coming to this poetry series for a few months now. It’s pretty good.”

  “Do you ever perform?” I asked.

  A waitress with a beautiful large Afro came around and Jeffrey ordered us two Sprites. For a moment, I missed my hair.

  “Oh no, I’m not a writer,” he said.

  “Right, cause you’re too busy handlin’ the streets,” I gave him one of the looks I’d practiced with Vivica.

  “Uh, right. So how are you doing at Maplewood? Do you feel like you’re fitting in better?”

  “Yeah, definitely. My girls, Sheena, Vivica, and Nessa have been showin’ me the ropes. You know. I’ve been puttin’ in a lot of work on the block.”

  Jeffrey’s neck snapped back. I thought he was impressed. “What was your other school like?”

  “Just a bunch of white people.” I kind of lied and kind of didn’t.

  “But you had a lot of friends there, right?” he asked.

  “Man, those white girls weren’t really my friends. But my girls Sheena, Vivica, and Nessa, they get me the way those chicks in Rainhaven never could.” I finished my soda in three large gulps. Being nervous made me thirsty.

  “I like Maplewood much better ’cause I get a chance to be around my people, know what I’m sayin’.” I didn’t know what I was saying, but I continued.

  “I was brainwashed in Rainhaven. A white girl trapped in a black girl’s body. But now I know what’s up.”

  Throughout my troubled monologue, Jeffrey sucked on his straw and listened. Then he started playing with the paper that the straw came with. He was no longer looking at me.

  Luckily, a short man with a large cranium jumped onstage to “get the poetry party started.”

  We clapped for the first poet, who performed for more than twenty minutes. Next, an older gentleman with short, pointy dreadlocks, got on stage and told a few jokes that I thought were funny, but I didn’t laugh. He recited a collection of very intense haikus that addressed urban decay, black empowerment, and self-love. Some of them I didn’t fully comprehend, but the ones I did understand were pretty powerful.

  Jeffrey didn’t clap. He stared at the stage like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.

  “That was wack,” I uttered with extra cool.

  “Really, you thought so?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Yeah, it was soft. He needs to bring the hotness.” I spit out a Sheena statement.

  “I thought you’d appreciate it,” he said, confused.

  “Naw. I mean, if he was talkin’ about, you know, survivin’ in the streets or stackin’ dough, then maybe I could get wit it.”

  “What’s up with you, Nina? You seem mad different.”

  “I’m good. I just don’t think you really had a chance to get to know me. I’m more down than you think. I’m mean, I’m down for whateva.” I gave him the sexy look Vivica and I had practiced in her mirror.

  “Really?” Jeffrey asked in disbelief.

  “Oh, I’m really real.” It was like I was addicted to the cool and couldn’t stop.

  The next poet impersonated Bush in a poem that ripped through the President’s administration. It was witty and engaging.

  “What did you think?” Jeffrey asked after the poet was finished.

  “Wack.” I actually didn’t know any other slang words that meant bad. Because I knew that bad actually meant good.

  “Wow, okay.” Jeffrey kept his thoughts to himself.

  I continued acting like a ride-or-die chick without noticing how uncomfortable Jeffrey was growing. Until, I asked to see his thug life tattoo. Vivica told me he had one that he loved showing. That was literally the last straw.

  “Vivica told me you wanted to date a thug, but I thought she was lying. I thought you were different. Interesting. Unique. And interested in actually getting to know a person instead of judging them or placing stereotypes on them. But now I see that she was right about you.” That was the last thing he said to me. He took me home in silence.

  CHAPTER 21

  I bypassed A&I’s questions by declaring that I didn’t want to talk about it.

  I was hysterical when I called Jill. So much so that she didn’t recognize my voice at first.

  “Are you okay?” she asked immediately.

  “No, I’m not okay. I’m an idiot,” I cried into the phone. My tears wetted the mouthpiece.

  Between sniffles and uncontrollable chest heaves, I told her how I blew it with Jeffrey. I told her how Vivica had lied to him and lied to me. I told her how stupid I felt for acting like a fool and for allowing myself to be treated like one.

  “Oh, Nina.” I imagined her grabbing my head and leaning it on her shoulder. “Breathe. I know it seems like you’ll never recover from this, but you will. You are one of the most genuine people I know. I’ve learned so much from you about character, friendship, and trust. You are going through a rough time right now and questioning yourself. But that’s really because the people around you are confused and bringing you into their messy lives. This Vivica girl doesn’t sound like a person you should associate with. Jeffrey sounds like a good guy, and I’m sure if you apologize to him and explain why you acted the way you did, he’ll forgive you in a heartbeat.”

  “But she played me and I walked right into her trap. I don’t understand why she hates me. And now Jeffrey hates me.” I didn’t bother to blow my nose. I let the mucus drip down onto my new shirt.

  “I know it seems like it now, but trust me, it’s not the end of the world.” Jill’s reassuring voice pacified me and helped to end my crying frenzy.

  She told me she’d call tomorrow. I wiped my tears to try to see where I went wrong. I wanted Vivica to be my friend instead of seeing her for the troubled person she was. And the person I really wanted to be my friend, Jeffrey, I had isolated with my insecurity. Now I knew how to lose friends.

  CHAPTER 22

  Everyone knew about “How to Be Down.” The next day in school it was the running joke that I needed instructions on how to be black. I got three bogus lists from various classmates. I didn’t expect Vivica to keep her word, but it still felt like a sharp knife in the back. She, of course, acted like nothing happened and had the bloody nerve to ask me about my date with Jeffrey.

  That morning—and every morning—that week, I took the 7:13 bus so that I would cut down on the number of times I had to run into Vivica and Jeffrey.

  I spent the day praying for invisibility. My prayers went unanswered.

  Ms. Jimu caught me after English class because she suspected something was going on. I didn’t go into too much detail because I knew I’d start crying and wasn’t sure if I’d be able to stop. I told her everything was fine. Just a little harmless teasing.

  “When I first arrived in the United States, people expected me to act a certain way because I was African,” Ms. Jimu said. “They—and when I say ‘they,’ I mean some black and white people—treated me with a cool inferiority. It hurt that people who looked like me could make me feel like I was
less of a person.” She just stared straight ahead.

  “It was really hard to adjust. But I can say that it was an experience that made me a stronger and wiser person. You may emerge from all of this with some scars, but you will be a better person from it.”

  And she walked off, leaving me to bask in her words.

  During lunch, Sister Souljah gave me impromptu black history lessons. Nessa and Sheena asked me why I had deserted them to sit at another table. I directed them to Vivica.

  CHAPTER 23

  After school on Wednesday I sat on the front steps of my building to get some fresh air and fresh perspective. There was no way I wanted to show my disgraced face at today’s competition. Plus I no longer wanted to be on the team. I was confused. And alone. I saw Jeffrey today and he’d ignored me with such vigor that I thought my wish for invisibility had come true. I pulled out my book and looked at “How to Be Down.” I contemplated ripping it up, but instead I decided to write a poem to try to make sense of everything. I thought that’s what Nikki or Gwendolyn would do.

  While I was trying to get the words right, a white lady approached the building but didn’t get any closer than about ten feet. She was just staring at it. Her long trench coat and her blue pumps made her look like she had a career. But then I thought she might have been mentally disabled, because she would walk a couple of steps and then retreat. Walk a couple of steps, then retreat. She kept shaking her head and taking deep breaths.

  It looked like my cue to take my behind into the house. But maybe she was a prospective tenant wanting to see an apartment.

  “May I help you?” I spoke loudly so that she could hear me and I wouldn’t have to get any closer to her.

  “Uh, maybe you can. I’m looking for the Lamont residence. This is the correct building, right?” She pointed up.

  “Yes, are you looking for Mr. Lamont?” I asked.

  “Yes. Yes and no. I’m also looking for Vivica, Vivica Lamont.” She came closer and looked at me.