by S. Walden
“Of course you do. Although you don’t have little brothers or sisters. If you did, I think you would think differently.”
Emma grunted.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!” And Morgan hung up.
Emma turned off her phone and then lay back on her bed. She stared up at the ceiling replaying the events over in her head. Why was he so rude to her? What had she done? She thought hard trying to remember anything in her behavior or words that might have been offensive, but she was at a loss. She was polite, at least up until the moment he insulted her for no reason, making fun of the way she acted in class. Since when was it a bad thing to participate, she thought bitterly? He participated in class all of the time, and not just to be argumentative. He made observations about the books they read. So why did he make fun of her for doing the same?
And then it occurred to her, a realization that panicked her, that maybe it had nothing to do with her personally. Perhaps he didn’t like white people in general. Narrow-minded indeed, she thought, remembering Dr. Thompson’s words to the class. She knew she could allow the panic to win over and create in her a fear of him. It was easy, and she was tempted. She cringed at the thought of the following day—having to see him and talk to him. The panic rose, and she entertained it, imagining how he would treat her for the next six weeks. The things he would say. The way he would look at her.
With great effort, she focused on replacing her fear with anger. She recalled him calling her a bitch. She let that replay over and over in her head until the sinking in her heart was supplanted by a steady glowing hate. She lay on her bed and nurtured it, letting it glow brighter, build up in her until she resolved to say something to him. What, she did not know, but she had to say something.
CHAPTER 2
THURSDAY, APRIL 16
She was unwavering in her decision even as she felt the beads of sweat pop up under her arms. She took a deep breath and walked towards him. He was at his locker pulling books.
“I’m not a bitch,” she said once she was close to him.
He looked at her skeptically. His friends were standing around him, and they laughed. When he said nothing, her anger bubbled over.
“I’m not a fucking bitch!” she yelled, turning a few heads.
“I didn’t call you a fuckin’ bitch. I called you an uptight white bitch. Is that the same thing?” he asked, closing his locker softly.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” she replied. “I . . . I don’t deserve that. You don’t even know me!”
“I know you uptight,” he responded.
His friends looked her up and down—she could sense it—though she kept her eyes on him.
“I am not uptight,” she said, stamping her foot in frustration.
He laughed and reached for her necklace.
“Yeah you are,” he said tugging gently on the pearls.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, slapping his hand away. She heard his friends say “Aw, no!” and “She scrappy!”
“Relax,” he replied. “Me touchin’ you won’t turn you black.”
“I . . . that’s not—” she began.
The tardy bell rang, and he turned to leave. Instinctively she grabbed his arm and pulled him. He pretended to trip, and he fell into her, dropping his books, pushing her back against the lockers and pinning himself on her. He was tall: the top of her head didn’t reach his collarbone. He smelled of something she couldn’t pinpoint, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She had the fleeting, horrifying thought that she liked the way he smelled. He stayed pinned against her for a half moment before apologizing into her ear for being clumsy. She felt the brush of his lips.
He was far down the hallway before she understood what happened. She looked at him laughing with his friends. They were laughing at her tough girl act, and she was humiliated for it. She felt the tears brimming, and she cursed her sensitivity. He turned around to see if she was still there. He caught sight of her walking swiftly to the bathroom, head down. He stopped laughing even though the laughter around him was ripe and loud.
***
Dr. Thompson gave the students the last twenty minutes of the period to meet and discuss their projects. He noticed that Emma stayed in her seat pretending to write things in her notebook. He was tempted to call her to his desk and ask how things were going with her partner, but he refrained. They could work it out, he decided. They would have to.
Anton watched her. He thought that the right thing to do would be to approach her and apologize. It also helped that his friends weren’t around to give him shit about it. Her hair hung down shielding most of her face, but he could still see her eye. He watched her staring at the page. She wasn’t writing. Her eye would be moving if she were writing.
He licked his lips in contemplation. He wanted to apologize. He didn’t talk to women like that. His mama would smack the shit out of him if she knew he called a girl a bitch. He was raised to be respectful. But he was just so angry. She decided to dislike him before even getting to know him. He could sense it in her body language when she walked over to his desk yesterday. She was arrogant, he decided. He was certain of it, ignoring the possibility that he completely misread her.
The truth was that he was uncomfortable around her. He thought she was beautiful, and he didn’t like that. She wasn’t from his world as evident by the address on the piece of paper she gave him. He snorted slightly. Five-sixty Avondale Drive, he thought. Rich ass girl. And not black. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He knew he could never date her or else he’d have to explain that to his friends, his mama. Maybe Mama wouldn’t care, but his friends would. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t control his attraction. There were plenty of fine black girls at school, but he only wanted to look at her. When did that happen? It was last year. He could see the moment clearly though he wasn’t sure if it happened earlier or later in the year. She said something clever in class, and everyone laughed. He watched her shrug her shoulders and smirk, and since then, all he wanted to do was keep looking at her.
Maybe he was completely to blame for creating the animosity between them. But then, she did go to their teacher like a little whiny brat. Perhaps that was his fault, though. After all, he did act like he didn’t care. And he couldn’t understand that. Was he trying to look cool in front of her? Did he think that would make her like him? He shook his head.
He thought he would never get the chance to speak to her, but the opportunity finally presented itself. He couldn’t believe his luck at being paired with her. He got his chance, but he played it all wrong, and then to top it off he called her a bitch. How could he ever recover from that? And then she asked for an apology. Well, in her own way. She was trying to be a tough girl. He laughed at her act because he knew it wasn’t her. But he should have apologized. He would have apologized if not for his stupid friends. Why did he care so much about what they thought?
He shouldn’t have pinned her to those lockers. He knew it was wrong. He wanted to humiliate her. He didn’t know why he wanted to do that when it would probably make her cry. He didn’t want to make her cry.
“Anton? Get out of my classroom.” Dr. Thompson was standing over him. “I’ve got another class coming in.”
He didn’t say a word but left in a hurry. When did the bell ring?
He walked down the hall searching for her. He resolved to apologize and try to start things over regardless of what his friends thought. She wasn’t at her locker. He knew she had Calculus next; he’d seen her going into Mrs. Hartsford’s classroom across from Dr. Thompson’s room. He peeked inside the room and spotted her sitting near the window. He inhaled deeply and went inside. Just then the bell rang and Mrs. Hartsford stood up behind her desk. She noticed Anton walking towards the windows.
“Um, excuse me, sir? You aren’t in this class,” she said, watching him walk over to Emma.
“I know. This’ll only take a second,” Anton replied.
“Um, no. You’ll leave my class now,
please,” Mrs. Hartsford said firmly.
“Look, I need to talk to her for a minute, okay?” he said pointing at Emma.
“That’s why there’s time in between classes. Now, I’ll ask you again to please leave.”
Anton ignored her and turned to Emma.
“I’m sorry. Okay? I shouldn’t of called you a bitch. You ain’t a bitch. At least I don’t know. Maybe you a bitch. Maybe you not. How do I know? I mean, I don’t even know you. How am I gonna call you a bitch when I don’t even know you?”
Emma stared wide-eyed, mouth drawn tight.
“So we cool?” Anton asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Emma whispered. “Now leave.”
“I can’t tell if you really accept my apology. Look, we got six weeks of work, know what I’m sayin’? I can’t be dealin’ with all this hostility. You forgive me?” he asked.
He was squatting beside her staring up at her imploringly. Mrs. Hartsford was on the phone asking for the assistance of office personnel to escort a boy out of her room who didn’t belong there and wouldn’t leave.
“Can we discuss this later? You’re already in trouble,” Emma whispered though she didn’t know why. The class was completely silent watching the scene. They heard every word.
“Okay, okay. You forgive me though?”
“Yes,” she replied, and she saw a wave of relief wash over his face.
“Okay, so you meet me after school?”
“Yes,” she said uneasily.
“Anton!” It was the vice principal. His voice sounded tired, defeated, as though he had been dealing with unruly students all day and hadn’t the energy anymore to care. He looked nothing like a disciplinarian standing in the doorway watching Anton leave.
“Can’t you just be where you’re supposed to be?” Emma heard as the door slowly closed.
“It was important, Mr. McCullum. I ain’t tryin’ to be bad. You know that.”
***
The hallway was clearing out as she watched him load his book bag with textbooks and binders. Did he really do any work when he got home, she thought? He didn’t seem like the studious type. Anton threw his bag over his shoulder and walked towards her. She felt herself getting nervous, knowing it would manifest itself on her face in the form of bright red cheeks.
When he reached her, he dropped his bag and looked down at her. He said nothing, clearly inviting her to speak first.
“You pushed me up against the lockers on purpose,” Emma said suddenly. She didn’t mean to open the conversation with that.
“I know,” he said shaking his head. “I don’t know why I did that. I was just tryin’ to show off in front of my friends.”
“It was humiliating,” Emma replied, her voice shaking slightly.
“I meant it to be,” Anton said.
She wasn’t prepared for that response.
“Why would you want to do that? Why would you want to hurt me?” Emma asked, her tempering rising.
“I was tryin’ to put you in yo’ place.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” she replied.
“You stuck up. You think you better than me,” Anton explained.
“You’re so off base with that,” Emma said. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Oh yeah? I saw the way you was lookin’ at me in class. You looked at me like I was a big waste of yo’ time.”
“I was irritated with you. You acted like you didn’t care at all about this project, slouching in your desk like you were too good for—”
“Why you dislike me so much?” Anton interrupted. “You don’t know me any more than I know you.”
“I don’t dislike you,” Emma replied. “You didn’t give me a chance to even be nice to you. You acted like a jerk in class when we were supposed to be getting to know each other. You mocked me.”
“Mocked you?” he asked.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t making fun of me when you wrote down your contact information for me,” Emma said.
Anton snorted. “Oh that. I was just messin’ around. You take shit too personal.”
“Yeah, I take being made fun of personally. Most people do,” Emma snapped.
Anton looked at the floor while shuffling his feet.
“You right. I shouldn’t of done that before gettin’ to know you. I just clown around. It was supposed to be playful,” he said still looking at the floor.
Emma said nothing. She turned instinctively when she heard the doors at the end of the hallway open. The last of the remaining students were leaving, and when the doors closed again, the hallway felt uncomfortably quiet.
“I do care,” Anton said.
She turned to look at him. “Huh?”
“The project. I do care,” he said.
“Then why did you act like you didn’t?” Emma asked.
“Man, I don’t know,” Anton replied, scratching the back of his head. He paused for a moment before adding quietly, “I’m uncomfortable around you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he replied lamely.
The truth was that he did know. Even now as he stood before her forcing himself to appear relaxed, even a bit aloof, his insides twisted excitedly at the thought of her body being so close to his.
“Well, I can’t help that,” Emma said. “But you have to be nice to me. We have to work together.”
“You talkin’ about me not bein’ nice, not givin’ you a chance. You didn’t give me no chance either. Why’d you go runnin’ to Dr. Thompson about me?” Anton asked. “That was weak.”
“Yes, and incredibly embarrassing. And I’m sorry. But I think you paid me back when you called me an uptight bitch.”
“An uptight white bitch,” he corrected her with a smirk. She thought alarmingly that his smile was cute.
“Well, I guess I am a little uptight,” she admitted. “And white.”
“But not a bitch. And I’m sorry I said that. If my mama knew I said that, she’d whoop me so bad,” he said.
“Hmm, maybe I’ll just have to tell her,” Emma said. “That would be really funny to watch.”
She laughed then, and it surprised him.
“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh? Imaginin’ my mama whoopin’ me?”
She nodded her head giggling. He was grateful for it, and not wanting the friendly moment to end, he searched for something else to say that would keep her laughing.
“Okay, so remember when you was younger and yo’ mama or daddy come after you to spank you, and you be runnin’ holdin’ yo’ ass and pushing yo’ hips as far out in front of you as you can lookin’ like a retard?”
He demonstrated by running down the hall yelling “Mama don’t!” and holding his bottom.
Emma doubled over with laughter. She heard the classroom door open and tried to regain her composure.
“What the hell is going on out here?” It was Dr. Thompson peering out into the hallway with his usual disheveled hair and glasses askew. He spotted Anton then looked at Emma. She shrugged.
“We sorry, Dr. Thompson,” Anton said, walking back towards Emma. “I was just showin’ my girl here how I used to—”
“Save it. And go home. I don’t know why you people hang around school when you don’t have to,” Dr. Thompson said. He tried to sound annoyed, but there was a clear sense of relief in his words. They were finally getting along. Now maybe he wouldn’t have to hear from Emma’s unbearable parents.
“Sorry,” Emma offered, picking up her bag. Anton did the same and they started walking down the hallway.
“Now you gotta show me how you tried to sideswipe those whoopin’s,” he said as they walked.
“Yeah right,” Emma replied.
“Now it’s only fair. I showed you,” he said. And before she could reply, she felt a playful pop on her bottom. He couldn’t believe he did it! They had only just become friendly with one another. But it felt so easy and natural. He was certain she wouldn’t object.
“Anton!” she squealed
, instinctively covering her bottom with her hands.
“You betta run, girl. That’s all I can say,” he said, grinning. His eyes twinkled with mischief.
And she did. She ran for the exit feeling him close behind her, knowing he could take her in two strides. She burst through the doors and turned on him suddenly, her bag falling off her shoulder. He stopped short, this time running into her without meaning to. She stumbled backwards, but he caught her around her waist.
“Thank you,” she said, while he still held her.
“You welcome,” he said, smacking her bottom again. He was careful to watch her reaction.
She grinned, pushing him away playfully while feigning outrage.
“You can’t do that to me, Anton,” she said, and he felt he’d get on the ground and kiss her feet to hear her say his name again.
“Relax. I’m just playin’ with you,” he said casually.
She felt she broke the magic and cursed herself for saying anything. But she hadn’t. The magic was coursing through him, and he knew that he needed to get on his bike and get far away from her or the magic might burst. He didn’t want to be responsible for what would happen when the magic burst.
“Want a ride home?” she asked.
“What? Oh I see. I live in the projects and can’t afford no car,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate that,” Emma said. She felt embarrassed.
“Nah, it’s a’ight. You right anyway. I ain’t got no car,” he said, trying to sound indifferent. “But what I do got is this snazzy bike.”
He pointed to the bike rack, but there was no bike.
“Okay, well I did have a muthafuckin’ bike,” he said.
Emma was unsure how to respond.
“How somebody gonna steal someone else’s bike?” he asked. “It wasn’t even a good bike neither. Piece of shit.”
Emma was on the verge of laughter, and she felt mortified. She tried to hold it in. It was no laughing matter. His property had been stolen. She didn’t want to seem callous, and she certainly didn’t want to come off looking like a snotty, spoiled little girl. But it was the way he reacted—like fake surprise, she thought. Like he expected it and was only just putting on a show about it because she was standing there. She tried, but the laughter broke through.
