“This building is the Plaza, and it used to be a really famous hotel,” Ms. Roberts announced. “People now live in apartments here. Have any of you ever read the book Eloise?” she asked.
I tried not to be a cornball about it, but Eloise was totally my favorite when I was into picture books. Eloise was a nut and always got herself into some kind of mess, and never ever got in trouble for it. What kid wouldn’t sign up for that? I still sneak and read them when my little sister leaves her Eloise books lying around. I wonder if you really can slide down the laundry shoot into a big pile of sheets in a secret room somewhere, and if the guy in the black suit really does bring you whatever you want whenever you want if you just call him on the phone.
“And we’re also right near Central Park,” Ms. Roberts added, pointing to the cluster of vivid green trees. Horse-drawn carriages were lined up in front of the park. “For those of you who are new to New York, Central Park is our city’s most famous park, and it has countless beautiful spots. Very inspiring. And just across Fifth Avenue is one of the most famous toy stores in the world,” Ms. Roberts continued, pointing at FAO Schwarz. “Any of you ever see the movie Big, about the kid who turns into an adult?”
We all nodded enthusiastically.
“You remember the scene where he and his boss are playing ‘Chopsticks’ on the gigantic floor piano? Well, this is the store with that giant piano.”
We let out a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs.”
“Okay, okay, simmer down because I want you guys to have plenty of time for your assignment, which is to find your idea of a classic New York scene and sketch it. Now, I’m going to break you all up into pairs so that you have a buddy to work with. The two of you will be responsible for deciding together what to draw, sketching your own versions of it, and, most important, looking out for each other while we’re out here doing our work. I know a lot of you are familiar with New York City, but we still need to be careful about where you all go, so no wandering. I need you to stay somewhere within a three-block radius of FAO Schwarz.
“So,” she added, looking at her watch, “let’s get you into pairs.”
Gabriella and I naturally moved close to each other because it was a no-brainer that we wanted to work together. But Ms. Roberts put the kibosh on that with a quickness; she’d already made a list and was calling out the pairs she’d put together in advance.
I wrinkled my brow when she called out Gabriella’s name with Stephanie’s. I got nervous when she called out a few more names and Toby got paired with a boy named Scott Grey. When the last two campers standing ended up being me and Paulette, I almost gagged.
“Wait—there must be some mistake,” Paulette insisted, waving her hand. “Um, I’m with Mina?”
Ms. Roberts looked down at her paper, and said simply, “Yes.”
Both Paulette and I got looks on our faces like someone had thrown cold water on us. But before either of us could protest, Ms. Roberts hammered out her instructions: “We’ve got an hour to get our sketches done and meet back by the fountain in front of the Plaza.”
It would be the longest hour of my entire twelve years on the earth. I was sure of it.
I mean, it’s not that I was scared of Paulette or anything. It’s just that I didn’t prepare myself for any drama that day. My auntie had been coaching me on how to handle Paulette, and the lesson always began and ended with Auntie Jill saying, “Just ignore her.” I’d done a pretty good job of it over the last week since the first art critique; even when she “accidentally” spilled her paintbrush water all around my easel just as I was picking up my art-supplies bag, I didn’t get upset or flustered. I just stepped out of the way while Ms. Roberts dabbed at the water, and Paulette stood around, acting like she was helping, but wasn’t really.
But working with her? For an entire hour? Alone?
Ugh.
“Okay, let’s get to it!” Ms. Roberts said.
The pairs scattered; Gabriella shrugged her shoulders as she walked by with Stephanie. “Good luck with that,” she whispered, nodding her head in Paulette’s direction.
“Good grief, I can’t believe Ms. Roberts,” Paulette said, crossing her arms and pouting.
“Can’t believe what?” I asked, mimicking her stance.
“I can’t believe she stuck me with you,” she said. “Unless she meant to put good artists with bad ones. Yeah, maybe that’s it—she wants me to show you how it’s done.”
“I don’t need your help,” I replied curtly. “We only have one hour to get our sketches done, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to just go ahead and work. But if you’re going to insult me, then there’s really no point in doing this at all.”
I was surprised at how firm I sounded; I’d never expected myself to fight back like that. Paulette looked surprised, too. She blinked a few times, and then collected herself.
“Well, we need to get the assignment done,” she said, ever the good student. “So let’s just get this over with. I say we cross the street and draw the FAO building.”
I took a step back and surveyed the building. It was pretty, with a bunch of glass and some neat lines that could make the artwork interesting. But I wasn’t all that impressed. “It’s kinda boring,” I said, looking at the building sideways.
“Whatever,” she said, tossing up a flat hand. “I think drawing the building is a great idea, and seeing as you don’t have any ideas, let’s just run with mine, shall we?”
“You never asked what I want to do,” I pointed out.
“Because I don’t really care,” she said sweetly, smiling.
“Alrighty, then,” I said, exasperated. “How about this: You write down three things you want to sketch, I’ll write down three things I want to sketch, and then we’ll put them onto little pieces of paper and pick one. That’s fair.”
“Negative,” she said without hesitation.
“Well, maybe we can just run my idea by Ms. Roberts,” I said, turning in the direction where our camp instructor was walking. “She can straighten this disagreement right on out.”
“Whoa, whoa, hey—no need to engage the adults,” Paulette said, grabbing me by the arm.
“A change of heart?” I asked, feeling a little bit more powerful.
“Just write your ideas down so we can do this,” she said, reaching into her backpack for a piece of paper.
I gazed at the street again, this time paying attention not only to the buildings, but to what was happening all around them. The buildings were beautiful, that was true, but what was really catching my attention were the people who were making the street come alive. So, on my slips of paper, I wrote: little girl walking through the revolving door at the Plaza; a mom blowing bubbles with baby in the stroller; and man and lady reading map near FAO Schwarz. I handed my slips of paper to Paulette, who, already finished jotting down her notes, was impatiently tapping her foot.
“Okay, I’ll pick,” she said.
“Why do you get to pick?” I asked.
“Come on, are you kidding? You’re standing right there watching me—what, you don’t trust me?”
“Well…” I shrugged.
“Whatever. Toby!” she yelled out to our fellow camper, who was standing not too far away from us with Scott, making a square with his fingers like he was taking a picture of a horse-drawn carriage. Paulette’s loud voice made him jump. “We need you!” she yelled some more.
Toby jogged over to us. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Pick one,” Paulette said, pushing the folded pieces of paper toward Toby.
He dutifully grabbed one and waved it in the air. “What’s this?”
“Thanks, Toby—that’s all,” Paulette said, shooing Toby away. I grinned at him. He shook his head and jogged back to his spot next to Scott. Paulette opened the slip of paper and grimaced. “What does drawing a mom blowing bubbles with her kid have to do with New York City?” she huffed.
“Yes!” I said, pumping my fist in the air. That was the one I re
ally wanted to do.
“Um, hello? Bubbles? Seriously?”
“Come on, Paulette, drawing a tall building is neat and would probably look like a good New York City scene, but I think the people are cool, too. I’m going to draw the buildings in the background—it’ll definitely look like New York City by the time I finish.”
Paulette rolled her eyes.
“I’m just saying, we should both go ahead and get the sketch in before that lady stops blowing bubbles and leaves.”
Paulette rolled her eyes again and hoisted herself onto the concrete wall of the Plaza fountain and, without another word, started sketching. I took a seat next to her, and we both worked for the next fifty minutes in total silence. First, I sketched the woman and her kid; after they left, I filled in my picture with the background—streetlamps, the sidewalk, the buildings, and cars on the street. When our fifty minutes were up, I held my sketch at arm’s length and took a final look at my work.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding and smiling. I felt good about my picture. Really good. When I leaned over to get a look at Paulette’s work, she slammed her sketchbook closed and rolled her eyes again. I resisted telling her that if she kept doing that, her eyes were going to get stuck in the back of her head.
“Okay,” I said slowly. I noticed that Ms. Roberts was beckoning to the other campers. “Looks like everyone’s meeting back up. We should probably head over, too.”
“She’s going to think our sketches are horrible,” Paulette sighed. “Mine doesn’t look anything like a scene of New York City. If she totally hates it, I’m blaming you,” she added as she walked up to the crowd of students gathered around Ms. Roberts.
I sighed and followed, figuring that anything I said would be a total waste of breath.
“Please pass up your work to me so we can all see what you’ve been doing for the past hour,” Ms. Roberts said. When she had all of the sketchbooks in hand, she started flipping through and critiquing the pictures. Most of what she said was positive, with the exception of her critique of Zion’s and Bill’s sketches of a horse’s tail. “I’m afraid it doesn’t really feel like New York City to me,” she said, wrinkling her brow.
“Come on!” Zion said. “Horses? Central Park? They’re always pooping in the street? That’s New York big-time!”
“Okay, then,” Ms. Roberts laughed. “I guess I was looking for something a little more authentic. Just a little,” she said.
Paulette leaned in and whispered in my ear: “See? She’s going to think the whole blowing bubbles thing isn’t New York City. It’s all your fault.”
“Well!” Ms. Roberts exclaimed as she opened Paulette’s sketchbook. “Now, this is the perfect example of showing an original, fresh rendering of New York City. I love how you made the buildings a backdrop to the action on the city street. Great energy—good job, Paulette!” she said, handing the sketchbook back to her.
“Why, thank you!” Paulette said, waving her hands and acting like she was receiving some kind of award. “I thought it was more important to show the people of New York City and not just the buildings. They’re the ones that bring life to the city.”
I whipped myself around and stared at Paulette in disbelief. She was taking credit for my idea!
“Well, that was a terrific way of looking at it,” Ms. Roberts said. “Let that be an example to the rest of you on how to take fresh perspectives on traditional artwork.”
I let out a huge sigh—loud enough to turn a few heads. I wanted to scream, “She stole my idea!” but I couldn’t get the words out.
And I could barely pay attention when Ms. Roberts came to my drawing and said I’d done a good job as well. It didn’t matter. Paulette had made it seem like I had nothing to do with finding the lady with the bubbles. I snapped my head in her direction and prepared to give her a few choice words, but she was already up and moving—laughing with Stephanie and Mariska like it wasn’t anything for her to tell a lie. My mouth was still hanging wide-open as we all started making our way back to the subway. I was walking double time.
“What’s wrong, Mina? You just got a great critique,” Gabriella said, trying her best to keep up with me.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Come on, Mina. Paulette did something to you, didn’t she? What’d she do? You can tell me,” Gabriella said.
Honestly? I didn’t want to pour my heart out to Gabriella, or yell at Paulette, or stomp down the street like a crazy girl. Actually, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. If I told Gabriella what just happened, she might confront Paulette, and who knew where that would lead? And if I told Ms. Roberts, I’d just sound like a tattletale. If I went straight to Paulette, she just might dismiss me, and I’d only get madder. I wished Samantha and Liza were with me. This would have never happened if I weren’t stuck there by myself, trying to figure out everybody and everything on my own.
What was worse was that I couldn’t even get in touch with my girls; it wasn’t like I could just pick up the phone or e-mail them or tell them to meet me so we could talk it out and come up with a plan. I was stuck at that camp another two weeks with Paulette dogging me and, worse, having our camp instructor completely ignore all of my hard work. How was I supposed to even stand a chance of winning the final art competition this way?
Man, what I would have done to be able to hear Samantha’s and Liza’s voices right then. I reached into my art bag and pulled out the necklace Sam had given me; I’d kept it in my art bag for good luck. If ever I needed it, it was right then.
“Mina,” Gabrielle said. Then louder, “Mina!”
“What?” I snapped.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said simply. “I’m okay. It’s cool.”
We descended the steps to the subway in silence, me with my head down, staring at my purple Converses. Corbin Bleu could have been walking toward me blowing kisses, and I wouldn’t have seen him.
And right about then, I didn’t care either.
Chapter Seven
“Seriously? You’ve never Double Dutched? Ever?” Gabriella asked as she and another one of her neighborhood friends, Lilly, tossed two ropes between both hands. Another girl, Sierra, bounced back and forth, waiting for the perfect opening to hop in.
“No,” I said from the stoop of my auntie’s brownstone, where I was sitting with my chin in my hands, my face toward the sun.
It was only eleven A.M., and was superhot outside. The sun’s rays beat down on my face, reminding me of the pool back home; I pictured myself lying back on my favorite oversize purple towel, Samantha to my right, Liza to my left, the three of us listening to the water splash and talking about nothing. I really wished I were there.
But nope—I was on the stoop, watching Gabriella and her friends play a game I couldn’t figure out how to play, no matter how many times I’d watched Corbin in Jump In. I had even convinced my mom to buy me two jump ropes, and then gotten Liza and Sam to watch the “how to Double Dutch” part of Jump In before the three of us had headed out to my driveway and had given it a try. Let’s just say I ended up tangled in those ropes enough times to figure out I wouldn’t be winning any Double Dutch contests anytime soon. We fell out giggling and tossed those ropes in the corner of my garage, where they’re collecting dust to this day.
Gabriella and her girls did look like they were having fun, though—singing rhymes and giggling and showing off their moves in front of the crowd of kids gathered around, waiting their turn between the ropes. It was a scene that would never get played out in my neighborhood back in Greenwood. There, my sister and I were almost always one of only a handful of African-American kids wherever we went—at the pool, in the local camp, in school. As much as my parents tried to make sure that we felt comfortable in our own skin and knew our proud history, at the end of the day, the lack of diversity in our neighborhood did force us to miss out on the cool rituals black kids the world over got to experience when they grew up around a mass of othe
r kids who looked, talked, acted like, and came from the same background as them. Some days, I didn’t worry about it too much. Other days, like these, the differences were glaring.
“Come on,” Gabriella said. “We’ll teach you.”
“Nah, I’m just chillin’ and enjoying the sun,” I said, as I scooted over to let the mail lady make her way up to Auntie’s mailbox.
“Try it, Mina,” Gabriella insisted. “What’s it going to hurt to try?”
I looked over at the two girls turning the rope doubly fast and watched a third do a rhythmic bounce between both feet as the three started singing their Double Dutch rhyme:
My mother, your mother lived across the way
Two-four-six East Broadway
Every night they had a fight and this is what they’d say…
The jumper went on for what seemed like an eternity, her lightning-fast feet weaving between the air and the ropes, touching neither, floating between space and time and, of course, on the beat. Always on the beat.
Gabriella didn’t wait for me to turn her down again; she simply grabbed my hand and practically pulled me down the brownstone steps onto the street.
“KeKe,” she said, addressing one of the turners. “Let me get a turn so I can show my girl Mina how it’s done.”
“Go for it,” KeKe said, effortlessly stepping out of the turning ropes.
“Okay, so the point is to jump in, stay under the rope, and jump to the beat. If you make it through the song, you make it to another round. If you step on the rope, you’re out,” Gabriella said. “Jumping is easier than it looks. All you have to do is jump in when there’s an opening and the rope farthest away from you hits the ground. And then as the ropes come down, just jump over them—exactly like you do with just one rope.”
Miss You, Mina Page 6
