“Pappy’s,” Roger Lee said. “My grandfather.”
Then we walked in silence for about five minutes, until he nudged me, sort of gave me a shove with his arm.
When I looked at him, he shot me a sly grin that made my toes hot. “Shorty, your hair is mad crazy.”
I was glad it was getting dark. He couldn’t see the red in my cheeks.
“I remember back in the day, in grade school, your hair was all shaggy and long,” he said.
“You remember me?” It just came out.
Silence . . . walk, walk, walk . . . more silence . . . birds singing . . . and then . . .
“You know I liked you, right? You were so quiet all the time. But that hair. I just wanted to pull it. Something to get your attention.” He shrugged. Then he stopped and gave me a long slow smile. “But you acted like I wasn’t even there. Like you couldn’t see me.”
Zing!
I was so flustered, I reached up and caressed the pearls, mouth open, praying something witty or provocative would please, please, please come out.
Miss Irene’s property was circular and so we’d kinda circled around. I could see their screened-in Florida room in the distance pressed between several tall trees. The scent of mangoes and ripening oranges hung in the night air.
My mind whirled. I kicked around aimlessly and when I stepped up on a rock half the size of a watermelon, I turned and found myself face-to-face.
With Roger Lee Brown.
Yes, I could see him. I’d always seen him. Oh, snap! Was that a love song playing in my head?
In the dark with sweet-smelling fruit trees and a canal in the background, Roger Lee Brown looked down at my feet. “Nice kicks,” he said, looking at my shoes. I blushed in the darkness. Old-fashioned Chuck Taylors. Purple high tops. Two pairs of laces—pink and white. I loved those shoes.
“Thanks,” I whispered, almost unable to breathe.
He pulled me to him. Even though I was standing on the rock, he was still taller. His first kiss landed on my bottom lip. Next thing I knew, my mouth was open, his mouth was open . . . oh, my goodness!
Remember when I said discovering that Roger Lee Brown was Miss Irene’s grandson had been pure bliss? Well, get ready to add a heaping helping of disgrace.
Right on cue, Demolition Diva’s voice cut through the night and broke our spell. “Kayla! Dear! We should be going!”
Hearing her caused me to jump, which caused me to slip, which caused me to slide, which caused Roger Lee to tighten his grip around me. I’d never been that close to a boy before, know what I mean? Okay, if you don’t, here’s a clue:
I felt, like, every contour. And he had lots of contours. In lots of places. And me being me— INSANE—I didn’t pause or think. Something rather hard jabbed me. So I said, “Ow! What do you have in your pocket?”
Hmm . . . I’d just been totally making out with a boy who suddenly had something hard in his pocket. Can you guess what it was? Too bad I couldn’t before I opened my big, fat mouth! Oh, yeah. This was definitely the point where bliss got run over by the dump truck of disgrace.
Dis-bliss!
For a few seconds, we could only hear each other’s breathing. Then he released me and stepped back like I was radioactive.
I tried to swallow—couldn’t. Mouth was totally, completely, absolutely dry. My eyes watered. He was looking at me, maybe he was going to say something, but I had to get away from him.
How many penis faux pas could a girl get with one guy?
“Kayla?” The Diva’s cultured voice rose above the chorus of croaking frogs.
I opened my mouth to say goodbye or something like that, but all that came out was, “Oh, my god! I . . . I . . . oh . . .”
My jubilation tonight will live in infamy.
Jubil-infamy!
ALERT THE MEDIA
Word is out. Will Kayla kiss and tell?
How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something but to be someone.
—Coco Chanel
I awoke to find Amira sitting at the foot of my bed. Staring. Before I could jump out of my skin, she said, “So is it true?”
Sleep crust flaked into my eyes. “Huh?”
“You and Roger Lee Brown. You made out last night. Is it true?”
Well, no need for a double-shot latté now. My degradation-elation from the night before started as a dull tingle behind my eyes. Then it jumped into road-racing rabbit thumping in my chest.
I got tangled in my sheet, then . . .
BAM!
Hit the floor. Got wedged between my nightstand and the bed. When I finally flipped my way out of the tangle, Amira was still sitting at the foot of my bed. Hands neatly folded across her lap. My room was still shadowy. The blinds were still closed. I could see she was wearing pink. And eyeliner.
Eyeliner. First thing in the morning. In summer. What? Was she heading out to play the love interest in Bow Wow’s next music video? Her world, Planet Girl, was such a mystery to me.
“So it’s true,” she said.
“How did you . . . I mean . . . we didn’t . . . make out. We . . . we . . .” I was on my feet, waving my arms like a crazy windmill.
Amira stood, a smile breaking across her face.
“He kissed you?”
I nodded.
“You kissed him back?”
I nodded again.
She started toward the door, stopped, and looked back at me. “Then you made out. Maybe you aren’t such a total freak after all.”
She gently shut the door and I raced into my bathroom, stripped off my U Miami t-shirt, and jumped into the shower. How did Amira know? My heart was beating way too fast for so early in the morning. And what was I going to say to Roger Lee Brown to make up for being such a freak show? I heard someone rap on the bathroom door. Amira. Again.
“Mrs. Roger Lee Brown,” she sang out. “Your friends are here.”
I yanked the curtain back. No way was I prepared to deal with Rosalie. “Um, I know you and I haven’t done a whole lot of that sister thing, but please, please, please make up something. Just get Rosalie to go away.” What if the same grapevine that revealed my make-out secret to Amira had been accessed by Rosalie? Had the frogs outside Miss Irene’s house been equipped with Webcams?
“It’s not her,” Amira said. “A few girls from your dance team. We’re in the kitchen when you get dressed.”
And once again, like a pink poof of fairy dust, she evaporated.
Okay, here’s the thing: I was not ready for what was waiting for me. If I hadn’t gotten up ’til noon, I still would not have been ready. Nena and Tangie grinned up at me with anxious, eager looks on their faces. And there was Mom. With the tea set.
Clink. Rattle. Jangle!
The sound of the teacups against their little saucers reminded me of skeletons jangling in the dark. The only reason she even bought the stupid tea set was because she found out once from JoJo how much I liked going to the Morikami Museum and having tea and taking part in their little tea ceremonies. It used to feel ancient and magical to me.
Now whenever I saw the tea set, I knew something was up. And the sound of the silverware and the China set my teeth on edge.
“Dear, please come down and join us. We’ve been waiting on you,” said Demolition Diva. She wore a neat-fitting navy blue jogging suit with white side racing stripes. “Oh, that hair!”
“What—”
D-squared cut me off. “Dear, we’ve been talking.” She grabbed my hands in hers. “You are so beautiful, Kayla. So much promise. But, oh, that hair. Your clothes . . .”
“. . . We thought maybe you were ready for a change,” Mom said, cutting off the Diva.
I knew I was in trouble when I realized someone had brought out the bamboo placemats and wooden dishware. Earthy. Wild. Jungle. Whenever Mom feels she needs to make an impact, she goes all native on us and themes the kitchen. Nena and Tangie exchanged nervous glances, hands pressed flat against blond bamboo. Two ancient cultures
represented at the table with the African place settings and delicate English tea set. I glared from Mom to the Diva, then snatched my hands away.
“What is this? A fashion intervention? Like I’m some sort of addict or have some sort of – ism?”
“Kayyyy-la!” Amira sang my name, stretching the syllables in grating and unnatural ways. “Look. I mean, okay, so I call you a freak and I don’t understand why all your other friends take so much delight in looking and talking like costars in black-and-white movies. But you’re going to a new school now. And you’re going to be one of them.” She pointed at Nena and Tangie. They looked embarrassed. Tried to smile.
I tried to disappear.
Amira went on. “You’re a Lady Lion, Kayla. Hello? Popular. No one is going to be feeling you in that . . . that . . .”
Her finger pointed at my denim overall shorts, the ones I always wore on the weekend. “But they’re my favorite,” I said.
She shook her head. “Not feeling it, K. And now that you’ve gone and made out with the hottest, cutest guy on the football team, you can’t be running around looking like some finalist for What Not to Wear. People will want to look up to you.”
Tangie and Nena tried to jump in and save me. Nena said, “Well, me and Tangie were going to go shopping today and we remembered what Miss Lavender said about maybe hyping your look a little.”
“So,” Tangie went on. “Since we didn’t have practice today, we thought, hey, why not go hang out with Kayla. We called last night and asked if you’d like to go.” Tangie’s voice trailed off.
“Kayla,” Mom’s voice was gentle. “We’re all just trying to help.”
“By ambushing me in my own kitchen? By telling me that regardless of my IQ, regardless of overcoming my shyness to achieve something so . . . so . . . amazing, that’s not enough? Being philanthropic, wanting to give back isn’t enough? No. It’s never enough. I’m never enough. Now I’ve got to be some big, sexy, fashion vixen, too!”
“Kayla!” Mom said.
I was already backing away.
“Now, dear, there’s no need to get so emotional. But you got on so well with Irene’s grandson. He is a hottie isn’t he?”
We all got wide-eyed when D-squared used the word hottie, and Amira said, “Grammy!”
D-squared moved around the center island toward me. “Oh, dear. That bush of hair. You could be such a beauty. Listen to your grandmother. . . .”
“My grandmother is DEAD!”
Well, that got everybody’s attention.
Cue the exit. I was outta there, running to hide in my room.
I know what you’re probably thinking: That didn’t go so good. Right? Well, things didn’t stay that way for long.
Nena and Tangie came up to my room while I was going nuts, yanking all of my clothes out of the closet and the dresser, making a big heap. When they tried to talk to me, I started blabbering and crying. A hysterical mess, that’s what I was.
But for whatever reason, I cracked. Broke down and told them everything—how conflicted I’d been feeling. How much I’d wanted to experiment with a new look, but at the same time I was afraid of changing too much or trying to be somebody I wasn’t.
I also told them how I felt about spending a lot of money on clothes when children all over South Florida couldn’t even afford books or shoes for school. I mean, really, that stuff’s important to me.
Well, it turns out, Tangie is a very eco-friendly kind of girl. She wants to design clothes made from totally recycled products and things that are safe for the environment. Nena, a vegetarian, gets insane when it comes to companies that test makeup on animals.
“You know, Kayla, we just wanted to kinda polish you on the outside, not change you on the inside.” Which led me to pull out my book of Kaylaisms and add a new entry:
Phi Slamma Glamma.
If the little coven that converged on me today were a Greek sorority, no other name would fit.
Tangie offered to braid my hair. She told me that her and Nena had found out about me and Roger Lee when they got to my house this morning.
D-squared strikes again!
Although I still haven’t figured out how she saw us. Anyway, the girls spent hours with me braiding, twisting, plucking my eyebrows, applying hypoallergenic and eco-friendly products to my hair and skin.
Finally, Tangie said, “Take a look.”
On the wall beside the bookshelf JoJo had left to me, the one filled with her favorite books, hung a mirror. I stared for a moment.
The smile started in my heart and worked its way out. It was like my whole body, my whole life was smiling at me. Like I knew I was being seen and I liked what people were seeing.
Feeling that way made me feel—strong.
Powerful!
I was so happy, and the first thing I wanted to do was call Rosalie. I’d have told her that looking like that made me feel like I might be taken more seriously, not less.
Then I thought about it and my face fell instantly.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?” Tangie asked.
I took a hard swallow trying not to bawl. “It’s just . . . I . . . I just don’t know what to say.”
They smiled and Nena said, “Group hug!”
And we did.
The girls later taught me the difference between vintage chic and thrift-store crappy. After my earlier outburst, we all feared the mall would send me over the edge. We hit a few consignment shops, a few hoity-toity secondhand stores where Tangie actually shops a lot herself. Places I’d never been.
I’d spent a good bit of my savings, but I wasn’t as sad about it as I’d thought I would be.
And shoes. I had new shoes. Four pairs. A pair of strappy sandals, a pair of wood-sole mules, a pair of pumps, and a pair of loafers. I am a little ashamed of how much I want to scoop them up to my chest and hug them like long-lost loved ones.
“Dear, your hair!” the Diva exclaimed when she saw me, looking like she might tear up. I got a bit misty myself. I felt really bad about what I’d said earlier. Mom was in bed so I hadn’t seen her since my morning meltdown. I owed them both an apology, I just didn’t know how to say it.
“Your hair is gorgeous!” D-squared said. Tangie had made cornrows going back, then left the ends loose, pulled together into a ponytail that she’d trimmed, snipped and spritzed to within an inch of its life. It did look good.
“And your clothes.” I was wearing an oxford shirt and white linen khaki capris. “I . . . the pearls are great. Thank you so much.” I reached out and my grandmother pulled me close.
“From freak to teenager. You need your own reality show,” said Amira. Then she hoisted herself off the kitchen counter with an exaggerated yawn. “Well, toodles. I really need some sleepy-poo!”
Sleepy-poo! Who talks like that? I mean really, who?
Soon after, I was twisting and turning in my own bed wondering if I should feel, I don’t know, scared, or maybe horrified—-whatever—to know that my looks had the power to make me feel more powerful. Two months ago, I thought nothing would make me stronger than turning fifteen, buying a first-edition like me and JoJo talked about, and discovering my destiny.
But looking at myself in that mirror, seeing me like that, I felt—whole. What is that about?
I mean, was I that kind of woman?
Well, until I was sure, I was making sure that the scarf tied around my poofy ponytail stayed in place. Just in case I was that kind of woman, I wanted my hair to be on point.
PART 1 (PRELUDE TO A DIS)
I was capping off one of the most amazing weeks of my life—and one of the most nerve-racking.
On Tuesday, D-squared climbed back into her larger-than-life, fully repaired Lincoln and headed back to Atlanta. I have to admit, I was sad to see her go. Well, maybe not sad-sad, but I was going to miss her. There. I said it.
“Kayla,” she whispered in my ear. “You look splendid. The hair. Oh! You are making an old woman very happy.” Then she pull
ed me closer. “Not me, of course. I mean, of course I am quite proud of you and happy, but I’m not an old lady. I was referring to your great-grandmother, Hattie.” Then she pulled out a digital camera, snapped three pictures with the flash aimed right at my eye, and drove off as I blinked away spots for several minutes.
At practices all week long, all of the squad, Miss Lavender and Roman included, made a big deal about my makeover. It was embarrassing and wonderful at the same time. I felt special and important and . . . great!
Then there was Roger Lee Brown. When he saw me, man! His mouth just dropped open.
“So you’re all that now, huh?” he’d asked, grinning. I wanted to think my behavior at his house had been forgotten.
We talked on the phone almost every night. How do I describe that? None of the conversations were very long. He worked at his father’s auto shop when he wasn’t at practice, and I had been swamped with last minute SPEAK business as well as practices that were going longer and longer. We were both toasted by evening. We usually talked just before bedtime.
But every time I hung up and put my phone back in its charger, I’d find myself smiling in a way I never had before. It was a nice way to fall asleep.
Everything had gone perfect.
Then Thursday morning came.
E-mail:
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Meeting for Saturday had been changed to 1 p.m. at the rec center on Fig Tree Lane. Lot of folks coming. Need more space than “head-quarters.”
Women ought to have representatives, instead of being arbitrarily governed without direct share allowed them in the deliberations of government. —Mary Wollstonecraft
That meant we’d be meeting two hours earlier than I’d planned. Then came jolt No. 2:
Miss Lavender was on a tear at practice. “Young ladies, we need to be extra vigilant about how we conduct ourselves. We are being scrutinized at all times.” What she was talking about was that one of our teammates had been spotted in some booty-shake dance-off in a teen dance club a few nights earlier. She’d been wearing her Lady Lions workout uniform.
The Kayla Chronicles Page 9
