by Landis Lain
“So you wanna go out with me?” Clifford’s voice cut in on her revelry.
“What?”
He leaned over the counter.
“Do. You. Want. To go eat with me?” he asked slowly.
“Is that all we are gonna do is eat?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
Sasha sighed. “It was just a question.”
“Yeah,” he said, with a cocky smile. “That’s all we’ve got time for, Goddess.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. She could feel tears start behind her nose, but she blinked them back. Pretty, Goddess, fine, bootylicious; all those words meant one thing and wasn’t that how she got into this mess in the first place?
“Why not?”
“Because that means you got something in mind besides eating. I’ve got enough trouble,” said Sasha.
“What’s wrong, Princess?” he asked.
“Last I checked, I got no kingdom,” replied Sasha. “I’m no princess.”
“Beautiful babe like you should be smiling all the time.”
“My life right now, it’s-,” Sasha stopped and sighed.
“You still gotta eat, right?” he persisted.
“Sure,” she said, hesitantly. “But I’m kinda broke.”
“Ain’t we all,” said Clifford. “But just up to the McDonald’s on the corner, okay? My treat.”
“Okay,” said Sasha.
He smiled like the summer sun was shining.
“Let me go put the mop up and I’ll let Miss Tarver know I’ma’ take my break early,” said Clifford. “It’s getting ready to get dark and you don’t want to be wandering around at night by yourself.”
“Okay,” said Sasha. She watched Clifford put the mop back into the yellow plastic bucket and roll it down the hall to the utility closet. She buzzed the supervisor on the intercom. “Miss Tarver, I’d like to take my dinner break now.”
Damon
“What are you doing?” asked Jada, voice fierce. She was sitting next to him in the car. He was driving them home from the football game. She had glared at him at intervals throughout the football game. Whenever she wasn’t engrossed in gossiping with her silly friends, she was giving Damon the evil eye. She even got Sammie in on the group hate, and Damon thought that Sammie was usually the most sensible one out of the bunch. At least she could be counted on the talk about more than hair and makeup. He could literally feel the waves of disgust rolling out of Kyzie’s eyes, but she was evil anyway, so he’d ignored her.
“What do you mean?” he asked, turning on his turn signal. He stopped at the light and waited until traffic cleared before he made a right turn onto Waverly Road.
“I mean, with Brielle,” said Jada.
“Nothing,” he said. “I like her.”
“This is really sudden,” said Jada. “At least on your part.”
“We like each other,” said Damon, shrugging. “What is wrong with that?”
“She is my friend and debutante sister,” said Jada. “I have to spend a lot of time with her.”
“I know that,” he said.
“So if you act crazy and hurt her feelings, then what happens to my friendship with her?” asked Jada. She sounded fighting mad. “Do you ever think about that?”
“Hey,” said Damon. “You’re always telling me that girls try to be your friend to try to get with me. At least you know with Brielle, she really is your friend.” He sounded cocky and sure of himself. Jada punched him in the arm with her fist.
“Ow, girl, quit it,” he said. He pushed her head with his open hand. He didn’t dare hit her back. His father was adamant about him not hitting girls, but sometimes Jada took advantage of the situation. “Brielle is great.”
“That is what you said about that Sasha girl, while you were screwing her over,” said Jada.
“I didn’t do anything to that girl that she didn’t want me to do, except leave her alone,” said Damon, defensively. “Besides, Brielle is different.”
“And I’d like to keep it that way,” said Jada. “If you mess over her like you did that other crazy girl, then she’ll hate our whole family.”
“It’s not even like that,” protested Damon. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Damon,” said Jada, through clenched teeth. “If you hurt her feelings and wreck our friendship I’m never going to forgive you.”
“Girl, chill.”
“You’re just thinking about yourself and how you can get with Brielle.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m not that dude anymore.”
“Hmmph.”
“Look,” he said trying to explain. “I was reading about this basketball player, named A. C. Green. He was trying to stay a virgin until he got married. He got committed to it and the other basketball players they’d send him these prostitutes and stuff and he’d turn them down.”
“What does that have to do with Brielle?” asked Jada.
“He got married,” said Damon. “And when he got married, he told everybody how his wife was worth waiting for and that they made the commitment and stuck by it.”
“You are not a virgin,” said Jada. “You’re a dog, so I’ve been told.”
“I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with my little sister,’ said Damon, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I admit I didn’t do it right the first time but I was reading on the Internet about this thing called secondary virginity. Like you can’t go back and undo what you did, but you can stop doing something wrong and commit to do better.”
“Uh,” said Jada.
“So I didn’t do right with Sasha, but I can with Brielle,” said Damon.
Jada looked at her brother with skepticism.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” said Damon, nodding his head. “I really care about Brielle.”
“You like her that much?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” said Jada. “Show me.”
Brielle
Swim meet. Brielle could smell the excitement and feel the chlorine in the air. She really wanted to do well for her team and for herself. She hunched her shoulders for a full ten seconds and then let them loose and shook them out. She bent over and stretched her hands to the floor. She gently took hold of her ankles and brought her head to her knees. She held the pose for ten seconds, breathing slowly and then came up. She had been practicing yoga poses for the past few months and they had helped her flexibility tremendously.
“Second Call Fifty Meter Butterfly,” came over the loud speaker. Brielle felt her shoulders tense up briefly before she deliberately relaxed them. She continued her stretching routine.
“Brielle, are you ready?” asked a voice from behind her. Brielle turned to find her coach at her left shoulder. She smiled at the coach who met her eye to eye.
“I’m ready, Coach Harris,” said Brielle. Today was the first time that she would be swimming the butterfly stroke in competition. Brielle was not as confident about her butterfly stroke as she was of her freestyle, but she was excited and apprehensive. She didn’t want to suck at the butterfly.
“This is just like swimming the freestyle,” said Coach Harris. Intense and competitive, she sported short black cropped hair, currently sticking up as though she’d run her hands through it and tried to pull it out at the roots. “You’re tall enough to just about lay across the pool, no turn to flub.”
“I’m not that tall,” said Brielle, with a laugh.
“Yes, you are,” said Coach Harris. “This is going to be a cakewalk.”
“Okay,” said Brielle.
Coach Harris shoved a piece of paper in Brielle’s face. She pointed at one particular line of typing.
“The time you need to strive for,” said Coach Harris, stabbing the paper with her index finger.”
Brielle’s eyes widened.
“That’s really fast,” she said.
“You can do it,” said Coach Harris. “Mind on the race and not on the boy.” T
hen she walked away. Brielle breathed a sigh of relief.
“Coach giving you the pep talk?” asked Amanda Seevers. Brielle looked down at the short, thick white girl who swam on the relay team with her.
“Yeah,” said Brielle. “I wasn’t nervous until she came over and told me how easy it was going to be for me to swim a world class time the first time out of the blocks.”
“She is so weird,” said Amanda, laughing. “Good luck, anyway.” Brielle nodded and walked over to the check in table. She made certain all of her information was correct and lined up with the other six girls in her heat. One of the lanes was empty.
“Leighton scratched,” said Eva Goldman, a short red head who also swam on the relay team with Brielle.
“Why,” asked Brielle. “Is she hurt?”
Eva shrugged broad swimmers shoulders. “I don’t really know. She said something about concentrating on her breaststroke.”
“Hmmm,” said Brielle. “No comment.”
“She hates to swim against you,” said Eva. She shrugged and then twirled her arms around to loosen her shoulders. “You beat her all the time.”
“So do you,” said Brielle. She mirrored the other girls stretch routine.
“Yeah, but you always beat me, too,” said Eva, with a laugh.
“Not always,” said Brielle. “We go back and forth.”
“Yeah, but if both of us are in a heat, she’s not getting above third place,” said Eva, with a catty smirk. “She hates to lose.”
Brielle smiled, but said nothing.
Truthfully, Brielle hated to lose, too. But she’d never said a word to anyone on the team about her fierce competitive streak. Because she was so tall and the only black person on the team, she stood out. What was perceived in another girl as confidence would be misconstrued as cockiness in Brielle and the other girls would sabotage her gear or cause all kinds of problems. That very thing had happened freshman year before the coach had put a stop to it by suspending the girls who’d been picking on Brielle. That hadn’t earned Brielle any friends, but it did make the other girls take their dislike underground. Brielle had been ready to quit swimming because she felt so isolated. Her mother had taken her to MSU and found her a black swim coach, who had experienced the same things.
“It was so horrible sometimes,” said Coach Deana Jackson. “I actually had girls not wanting to share the bus seat with me. This one girl who swam on the relay team was especially nasty to me, asking me if black people didn’t have to wash their hair every day and why we used grease on our skin, or what kind of food did we eat, like I was some kind of alien.”
“What did you do?” asked Brielle.
“I beat the snot out of them,” said Coach Deana.
“Really?” asked Brielle.
“Yep, but in the pool,” said Coach Deana. “I couldn’t get nasty with them all the time and I couldn’t beat them up with my fists. I’m a big girl and they always try to emerge as the victim in any altercation. It would end up my fault. Like I was the poor sport or something. So I stopped talking to them. I’d set a time and whip them in the pool. The one girl, who was especially nasty, I took her spot on the relay team. Don’t get mad. Get their spot and make it yours. You be the one to beat.”
“Did you mess with her about it?” asked Brielle. Coach Deana shook her head.
“Don’t say anything to those stupid girls,” Coach Deana advised. “Leave it in the pool. Remember, I got a full athletic scholarship in swim at MSU and swam on the NCAA championship relay team. That said it all. Old girl stopped swimming after high school because she didn’t have the mental toughness.”
After that, Brielle improved by practicing more and following all of the Coach Deana’s advice. She swam so well, that Wimberley’s coach had to put her on the relay team if she wanted to have any chance at the State championship.
As a result, the other girls now clamored for her attention, asking for advice. Brielle gave a few helpful suggestions that Coach Deana had given. Like get enough rest, swim hard and practice. Her teammates now looked at her like she was giving out the secrets to the universe, especially when she won a spot on the free style relay team.
Brielle shucked off her sweats and took her place on the block. She leaned over and waited for the start tone. She and Eva gave each other the thumbs up. The start tone clanged and Brielle dove into the pool, cold water engulfing her. Home. The water was the one place that she felt graceful, comfortable, where her height and long slender feet were an advantage instead of something to stumble over. She came up on her first stroke, took a breath and launched into a powerful butterfly stroke. The race was over almost before she knew it as she tagged the pad and came up to look at where she’d finished. She wiped the water out of her eyes and looked up at the clock.
First place. Eva swam over and gave Brielle a wet hug. Brielle returned the hug with good humor.
“Great race, girl!” Eva shouted, who took second place.
“Thanks,” said Brielle. “You, too.”
She had beaten Eva just by a touch and they both had very fast times. Brielle looked over to the crowd where her family was seated in the bleachers. She could hear them hooting loudly. Kyzie was waving a sign that said “The Black Swan strikes again.” Her friend Sammie, looking like a beautiful fairy, was doing some kind of weird war dance. Her mother and father were clapping. Sitting next to her father, Damon threw up a fist and then clapped. Brielle was thrilled that Damon had showed up for the meet. She waved and blew him a kiss, before she grabbed the edge of the pool and hoisted herself out of it into the chill air.
The day got better and better. Brielle took first in the one hundred and the fifty freestyle. She finished second to Eva in the one hundred butterfly. Their relay team took first place with Brielle as the anchor. She hoisted the trophy in the air for the team picture.
After the meet ended, Damon asked her father if he could take Brielle and the other girls out to get something to eat with the team and then bring them home. Mr. Bronson gave Damon a long look, but gave his consent. Kyzie said nothing and suspended hostilities because Damon had included her in the invitation.
They chose the build your own hamburger place to hang out. Several other kids from Wimberley were hanging out too. They came over to congratulate Brielle and give Damon a high five.
“Girl,” said Damon, slinging him arm around Brielle’s shoulders. “You can swim your butt off.”
Brielle laughed. “I doubt it,” she said, glancing behind her. “But I did do pretty well.”
“You are so smooth and graceful in the water,” he said seriously. Sammie and Kyzie tactfully went to sit at another table with several other students.
Damon held her hand for the rest of the meal, even when they were eating hamburgers.
“You are so awesome,” he said.
Brielle thought that heaven couldn’t be any better.
Sasha
“Anybody ever tell you that you look like Beyoncé?”
“Once or twice.” Sasha almost snorted. If she had a dollar for every time somebody compared her to some pretty famous woman she wouldn’t be living in a shelter eating pizza at Romeo’s with goofy Clifford. He had asked her out every night for two straight weeks after their McDonald’s dinner before she finally accepted. Tonight, they had gone to dinner and a movie.
“She’s really fine,” said Clifford around a bite of pizza. “Just like you.”
Sasha nodded.
“Did you know she writes a lot of her own songs?” asked Sasha. “She’s smart, too.”
“Don’t matter to me,” said Clifford, with a wicked grin. “As long as I could look at that Bootie, I’d be in heaven.” Sasha glanced around for the door, but Clifford went on extolling the virtues of his favorite diva.
“I read a lot of books,” said Sasha, trying to turn the conversation. “I was on my way to college when I found out I was pregnant.”
“No call to be too smart,” said Clifford. “With your beauty, all y
ou gotta do is smile at a brother and he’ll lay his heart down along with his money.”
“Sure,” said Sasha. She picked up her knife and fork and cut off a small piece of pizza and ate it.
“I’ve never seen anybody eat pizza with a knife and fork before,” said Clifford.
“It’s hot!” protested Sasha. She sipped on her water and wiped her mouth with the corner of her napkin.
“I see you might be one of those hoity chicks,” said Clifford, smiling.
“Hoity?” asked Sasha, puzzled.
“You know, all that!”
“Didn’t you know?” she asked. They both laughed. She picked up her slice of pizza with her hand.
“I’m no basic chick,” she said, flirting a little. “But I’ll be regular for you.”
“Oh,” he said, laughing. “It’s like that!”
She nodded and took a bite of pizza.
“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked. He took a huge bit of pepperoni pizza and chewed so vigorously that Sasha’s stomach churned.
She returned to earth with a thud. Still pregnant. Homeless.
Sasha sighed and put down her slice of pizza.
“I don’t really know,” she said. “I’m working but it is not enough money to live off of or get a place. I have to get an apartment before the baby is born because the facility I’m staying at is short term. Long stays are prohibited.”
“You always talk like that,” asked Clifford.
“Like what?”
“Prohibited,” said Clifford, holding up his hand. “You always throwing out those million dollar words.”
