Newton’s Second Law: Force equals mass times acceleration. (In other words: The bigger something is, the harder it is to move.)
On November 14, 1960, six-year-old Ruby Bridges became the first black child in the South to attend an all-white school. She was escorted to the doors by federal marshals and would become the public face of desegregation.
As soon as Bridges entered, white parents pulled their children out. They refused to send them to a school where a black child was enrolled.
Sixteen
August: Ten Months Until the Color Run
Camille: Hi, ladies. I’m sorry to bail last minute, but something came up and I can’t make it tonight. I talked with Kathleen. She said she can host the meeting at her house. She has the list of sponsors from last year.
* * *
Color Run Meeting:
Rose: I can’t believe she canceled. She never misses these meetings.
Deb: I think it’s Paige. She had a meltdown at the park this morning. All because the strap of her sandal broke. I’ve never seen her so upset in my life.
Rebecca: You know she wasn’t upset about the sandal.
Kathleen: Cody says Taylor hasn’t been herself.
Deb: Those poor kids.
Rose: Divorce is horrible. I remember thinking how much easier it would have been if Tony would have died instead. And I didn’t even have kids back then.
Deb: Do you really think they’re getting a divorce?
Rebecca: Patrick saw him at the Coffee Hound with another woman.
Rose: What?
Rebecca: He said she was very exotic looking and in her midtwenties.
Kathleen: I could kill him.
Deb: I don’t understand. I thought they were happy.
Rebecca: He’s obviously cheating. Men don’t walk out unless they’re cheating.
Rose: Does Camille know?
Rebecca: I’m not going to tell her.
Rose: Well, someone should. She deserves to know if her husband is having an affair.
Deb: Do you think he’s going through a midlife crisis?
Rebecca: My uncle went through one of those. He sold the house, and my aunt didn’t even know about it. Moved to Australia. Started highlighting his hair.
Kathleen: I seriously want to murder him.
Deb: I think we should start a prayer chain.
Kathleen: She hasn’t been going to church.
* * *
A feeling of accomplishment blossomed in Jen’s chest. All because she ate the leftovers. She wasn’t being wasteful. She finished all the pasta in the refrigerator.
Well done, you.
She turned on the faucet and began rinsing the bowls in the sink, the phone pressed against her ear. “Nick and I went to talk to Principal Kelly yesterday to see if Jubilee could be in her class.”
“And?” Leah said.
“He didn’t look at us like we were crazy when we explained to him why it was important.”
“That sounds promising.”
“On our way out, we ran into that woman. The one I met at our new pediatrician’s office. We have a playdate tomorrow at some new splash pad downtown.”
“That’s great, right? You need to get out. Make some friends. I’m sure once you do, you’ll start feeling more like yourself.”
More like myself.
She wasn’t sure who that was anymore or that making friends had anything to do with it. She looked out into the backyard, where Jubilee sat beneath a bush, digging in the dirt. She would probably get a tick. They were awful this summer. One would crawl into her hair—which was so thick that finding her scalp was nearly impossible. It would latch on, unnoticed, for who knows how long, gorge on her blood, and balloon into the size of a grape.
The thought made her shudder.
She should call Jubilee out from under there, but Jen couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t want to risk distracting her. Not when she was finally entertaining herself.
Jen sighed. “Nick isn’t sure about her.”
“Why not?”
“Because of that town meeting last month. He was appalled by the whole thing. She was one of the people who was very…opposed to the South Fork transfer.”
“Oh.”
Camille Gray had been quoted in several news articles, one titled “Racism: Alive and Well in Midwest Suburbia.” It seemed to level the playing field between them. Jen’s daughter threw a massive, raging fit at the doctor’s office. Camille Gray had been accused of racism. When they ran into each other yesterday, there was a brief moment wherein Camille looked as embarrassed to see Jen as Jen was to see her. It was a brief moment that had Jen experiencing an acute bout of pity for the woman. So much so, it was Jen who brought up the playdate.
She shut off the faucet and shook the water from her hands.
She could hear Lila laughing in the background. The dog barking. His name was Kenan. Leah and PJ were Tar Heel alumni and big-time fanatics. They even named their sheltipoo after the Tar Heel football stadium.
“I miss y’all,” Jen said.
“We miss you too.”
Seventeen
Kids squealed and ran around in swimsuits and swim trunks, dodging the water as it shot every which way. Jubilee stayed close by Jen’s side. She held tightly to her hand as they made their way to an open picnic table. As soon as they found one, Paige dropped her emoji-themed beach towel on the bench and dashed toward the fun.
“Stop!” Camille called after her.
The little girl froze midstride, then reluctantly turned around and came back. Camille dug inside her large beach bag for sunblock and made quick work of spraying her down.
“Don’t forget,” Jen heard Camille mutter under her breath. “We came with a friend.”
This elicited a sigh so heavy, Paige’s shoulders lifted and fell in an exaggerated heave. Then she turned to Jubilee and, with a look of such long suffering, asked if she wanted to go run in the water together.
Jen’s stomach tightened with uncertainty.
This was quite possibly a horrible idea.
But Jubilee nodded shyly, and together the two girls ran through the maze of laughing children, beneath the canopy of a giant red-and-blue polka-dotted mushroom, a wall of crystal-clear water enveloping them.
Jen smiled at Camille—hoping it didn’t look awkward on her face. Leah said she needed to make a friend. She needed to stop hiding away in her house. Nobody remembered or cared that she had screamed like a banshee. They probably thought it was the TV, Leah had said, clearly not understanding how loud and psychotically Jen had screamed. She’d been avoiding her neighbors ever since—a hard task as the ones across the street were almost always outside working on their lawn. But Camille wasn’t her neighbor, and friends did things like smile, so that’s what Jen did as she sat at the table beneath the shade of an umbrella.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Isn’t it? I’ve been pestering the city to put one in for years. It’s much safer than a swimming pool and half the upkeep. They finally listened and had it installed this spring.” She lifted her hand and waved at someone on the other side of the large nonslip play area; then she turned to Jen with slightly pink cheeks and intense focus—as though whatever they were about to discuss was imperative. “So, how are you settling in?”
“Pretty good. We have everything unpacked, anyway.”
“Good for you.”
Jen attempted another smile.
“You certainly came at an unusual time. I hope you’re not getting the wrong impression about Crystal Ridge.” Camille wore oversized sunglasses, which made reading her expression difficult. But it seemed to Jen that she was looking at her in a beseeching sort of way. As though Jen’s opinion meant more than it should. “We’re usually drama-free. I really hate that the media is making this
school issue about race. The media is always making things about race these days.”
“I haven’t really been following the news too closely,” Jen said.
“Good. None of it’s true. I mean, Paige’s best friend is from China. And there are minorities who go to Crystal Ridge. They have the same concerns the rest of us have. This has absolutely nothing to do with anyone’s race.”
Jen wasn’t sure what to say.
“So…” Camille straightened, keeping a close watch on her daughter as Paige hopped around from one sprinkler to the next, pointing to where Jubilee should hop too. “Is Jubilee all ready for school?”
“I think so. We got everything on the supply list at least.”
“That supply list. Ugh. It’s a bear, isn’t it?”
“I had to go to three different stores to get it all. And I think I’m going to have to get a part-time job to cover the expense.”
Camille smiled. It was a bright, dazzling smile that showed off straight white teeth. The kind that made Jen feel charming and funny. “Do you work?” Camille asked.
“Not right now. I just got my nursing license to practice in Missouri. I’m hoping to find something.”
“A nurse. How wonderful. Have you ever thought of working at a school?”
“I…well, no, I guess I haven’t.” She was a pediatric nurse back in North Carolina, before Jubilee came home. She worked in an office much like Dr. Porter’s, and never—in all her years—had she encountered a patient as violently opposed to shots as her daughter.
“Would you like to?”
“Do you know of a job opening?”
“Yes, I do! The nurse at the high school is expecting. She’s due at the end of this month, and I know for a fact they haven’t found a long-term sub to replace her yet. I don’t think she’s going to come back, either. I have a feeling she’s gonna want to stay home and snuggle that baby.”
A cold feeling hugged Jen’s chest.
Snuggle that baby.
Hadn’t that been Jen’s plan for so long? But then, her baby was seven years old. She still wet her pants and talked so incredibly loud at early hours in the morning that it left Jen grinding her teeth.
“I’d be happy to put in a word for you. It’d be perfect, really. You’d have the same schedule as Jubilee. Summers off. Winter break. Spring break. Do you want me to say something to the principal? I don’t mean to brag, but I do have a good amount of clout.”
“Um…sure.”
Camille flashed another one of those dazzling smiles, then returned her attention to the chaos of running, squealing children. “Oh dear. My little CEO.”
Jen followed the direction of Camille’s gaze, where Paige had pulled Jubilee into the grass and was leading her through a series of dance moves.
“I apologize in advance. She can be quite bossy.”
“They seem like they’re having fun.”
“Paige went to Camp Broadway last week. It’s through a theater company here in town. They did the whole bit—singing, dancing, acting. Between you and me, I think her personality is more suited for directing.”
Off in the distance, Paige modeled for Jubilee how to do a Charleston-esque kicking maneuver. Jubilee tried to mimic it and toppled over. After a few more failed attempts, Paige threw up her hands and marched over to the table.
“Can we go to the park?” she asked.
“No, sweetheart. We didn’t come here to play at the park. We came to play in the water with our new friend.”
“But I already talked to Jubilee, and she wants to go to the park too.”
Camille tipped her glasses down her nose and instigated some sort of unspoken staring contest, wherein Paige narrowed her eyes but cracked first.
“That’s what I thought,” Camille said. “Now go play.”
She spun around and marched back to the big mushroom.
Jubilee was still standing in the grass.
“That was impressive,” Jen said.
“I can always tell when someone is lying. It’s one of my secret talents.” Her face fell when she spoke the words—like a rope losing slack. Or a deflated balloon. It left Jen experiencing another one of those odd acute bouts of pity.
“If you want to lend that talent my way, I’d gladly take it.”
Camille turned and looked at her.
“Jubilee struggles with lying. We’re never really sure how to handle it. If you have any advice, I’m all ears.”
This seemed to be the right thing to say, because Camille Gray came back to life.
* * *
Nick: How’d the playdate go?
Jen: Good. The girls really seemed to hit it off.
* * *
“See, honey?” Camille said, in a voice that was probably too encouraging. “That was fun with Jubilee, wasn’t it?”
She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could get a good look at her daughter.
Paige wrinkled her nose. “Her hair smells funny.”
Eighteen
Darius dipped his head and took in the meticulous lawn, the colorful flower bed, the clean brick of the building, the shiny new playground with an expansive field, tennis courts, a baseball diamond. He let out a low whistle. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
“What does that make you,” Anaya said. “Toto?”
“Nah, I’m the Lion. After he got his courage.”
“You didn’t have courage when the flying monkeys came on the screen. If I remember right, you wet yourself the first time you saw ’em.”
“Look. Those things were not monkeys. They were…blue-faced, red-lipped, creepy little winged…humanoids.” Darius shuddered. “They still give me nightmares.”
Anaya shook her head and pulled into a parking space.
Darius grinned at her. He had the kind of contagious smile that made everyone around him smile too. Even if they didn’t feel like it. Even if their stomachs were churning with nerves. “What am I supposed to do with the box?”
“Untie it and carry it in.”
She grabbed a plastic bag from the backseat. There were eight rolls of tinfoil inside—each for ninety-nine cents at Dollar Tree. She looped the handle over her wrist and headed toward the front double doors painted royal purple—the official color of the Crystal Ridge Wildcats. After years as a black-and-orange South Fork Falcon, purple felt traitorous. But she found the intercom anyway and gave it a buzz.
A burst of static crackled the air.
Anaya drew back.
“You’re supposed to submit your transfer request at your home district, ma’am. Not here.”
Anaya cocked her head. “Transfer request?”
“All students wishing to transfer to Crystal Ridge need to fill out the appropriate paperwork in South Fork, ma’am.”
Suddenly, it clicked. This woman thought Anaya was a South Fork mother, and judging by her tone, she wasn’t happy to see her.
“I’m not transferring anyone. I’m Anaya Jones, the new second grade teacher? I don’t have a key card yet, but I spoke with Principal Kelly, and he said I could come by.”
“Oh! Oh my goodness. Yes, of course. Come right in!”
The lock unlatched with a buzz.
Anaya grabbed the handle and pulled the door open for Darius, who walked toward her, his entire six-foot-two-inch frame obscured by the large, unwieldy refrigerator box they’d snagged from Sears. Anaya paid one of the delivery guys five dollars to secure the thing to the roof of her small car. Darius wasn’t working with Uncle Jemar today, so she made him come with her.
“Don’t smash the corner!” she yelped, opening the door wider so that her brother had more room to maneuver the box inside.
“You wanna do this?”
The cardboard scraped against the sides of the doorway, and then, miraculously, Darius succeeded.
The large box was in the building. Anaya raised her arms and cheered as a woman came out from the front office. She gave the two of them—and the box—a baffled sort of look, then stepped forward to shake Anaya’s hand.
“I’m so sorry about the mix-up. With the transfer deadline this afternoon, it’s been an absolute zoo around here. Parents don’t have a clue where they are supposed to go to submit transfers. My name is Jan McCormick. I’m the school secretary.” Jan McCormick looked to be on the downhill side of middle-aged, with a face that might have been pretty had her eyes not landed so close together. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“You too,” Anaya said, although she had a hard time meaning it after being on the receiving end of Jan’s condescending tone. “This is my brother, Darius.”
“Hi, Darius.” Jan shook his hand too.
“Mr. Kelly said I was welcome to stop by and see my classroom.”
“Of course you are.” She gave the box another perplexed look.
Before Jan could ask about it, Principal Kelly stepped out into the entryway. Unlike the first time they met, he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie. He’d exchanged the formal attire for a pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts, a white golf shirt, and black flip-flops. His nose was red and peeling, as though he’d spent a day out in the sun without any sunblock.
“Anaya! So great to see you. And this must be…”
“My kid brother, Darius.”
“Right. Darius. Tall kid,” he said, giving Darius a much more enthusiastic handshake than Jan McCormick had. “You play sports, Darius?”
“Football, sir.”
“Will you be joining us in the fall?”
No One Ever Asked Page 10
