President of the Whole Sixth Grade_Girl Code

by Sherri Winston

  “So you think I can’t handle it?” I snapped.

  He held his hands up, palms out, in surrender. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t bite my head off, Wook. I’m just saying, I mean, I haven’t known you all that long, so it’s not my business, but…”

  “But what?”

  He cleared his throat. “But you get excited about the idea of stuff sometimes before you really think it through. Your mom has been gone a few weeks. Maybe as soon as she gets back isn’t the right time to spring your ‘secret weapon’ on her, whatever that is.”

  Boys! They just don’t get it.

  “Don’t worry. I know my mom. I just need to be real smooth with it. I have my talking points all worked out.”

  “Talking points?” Now he was smiling again. “Sounds like you’re going on Meet the Press Sunday.”

  In a way, I was. Only it was Mom who was going to meet the press—me. And like a good reporter, I was going to bring her the facts!

  Thursday night cheer practice was brutal. Afterward, the coaches gathered us together and told us that a month from the coming weekend, we would have our first exhibition.

  The girls cheered and I found myself grinning, too.

  Red flopped down beside me, huffing and puffing as hard as me. “Still… (pant-pant) think… (pant-pant), cheering is too wimpy, Justice?”

  All I could manage was an eye roll. When we pulled our sticky selves off the floor and went to get water, a few girls from the team stopped us in the outer hall.

  Lori threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad you girls didn’t get murdered at Price,” she exclaimed.

  Then Tracy, who introduced herself to Red and me with a selfie in front of her big house, said, “That place is full of hoodlums and hood rats.” Tracy had her arms folded and her meanness on high. Venus’s face popped into my head.

  “So ghetto,” agreed Sandra Poe.

  Red looked really ticked off. Before I knew what to say, Red was saying, “Hey, that place isn’t that bad. The kids and teachers were great. The students knew their stuff. Have any of you ever been there?”

  Tracy took a huge step back.

  “Girl, you couldn’t pay me to go over there!” she said.

  Lori, forever passing out hugs that no one asked for, was quick to throw an arm around Red and me. Then she said, “Don’t worry, Brianna. You or Tracy aren’t anything like those kind of girls.”

  “Like what kind of girls?” I asked, my tone low and suspicious. What was she saying? Then I gulped, thinking about how I felt when that boy in the hall at Price said I wasn’t any different from them. I knew what Lori meant, and I didn’t like it.

  So when I felt myself boiling in anger toward Lori and Tracy, I wanted to scream. What right did they have to pass judgment on anybody?

  Bright and bubbly as you please, Lori said, “You know. The ghetto kind of girls. The girls who live on the east side. We know you and Tracy and the African American girls here are nothing like, you know, those girls.”

  She smiled, but reading my eyes about to pop out of my head expression, Sandra piped in:

  “You know, the kind of, um, girls who live in the grimy part of town.”

  In her best Texas drawl, Red purred, “Y’all seem to have an awful lot to say about a school and a neighborhood you’ve never visited. Now, let’s get back to practice before Coach T. decides to come and teach us the definition of some other words, like laps, or burpees.”

  We all groaned, then raced back inside the gym. Running laps was bad enough, but burpees were soul crushing. Still, I’d have rather done a hundred burpees than have to deal with what I was feeling.

  Even as I lay awake in my bed that night I stared at the ceiling thinking about the last few days. I was excited about my story, even if I had been afraid to go to Price.

  Then I got there and was happy to meet everybody. Yet, I had to admit to myself that I was uncomfortable. But I’d already formed an opinion about the kinds of people who lived in that neighborhood, who went to a school over there.

  Only, I hadn’t expected to feel so—I don’t know—connected and disconnected, at the same time.

  When thinking about how bad the neighborhood was, I had sort of had the attitude that if they didn’t want to live there, maybe they should just move.

  After talking to the girls and interviewing them, however, I found out most came from families that had suffered tough times—job losses, health problems, and a lack of opportunities. Being poor doesn’t make them bad people; it just means they have fewer choices.

  Angel cat’s purring grew almost loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Almost.

  The knot of something ugly burned the back of my throat. Remembering how wrong it felt to have the cheer girls going on about how Price was full of hoodlums.

  How they were quick to tell me and Tracy we were different because we didn’t live over there. They meant because we were black. They meant that because we didn’t look like what you expected to see in the “ghetto.”

  And I thought about Venus. Shania. Shakira. Lamar. Alicia. Just kids. Living their lives like me. People with hopes and dreams for the future. Human beings, not memes.

  I fell asleep picturing the strong, beautiful contours of Venus’s face. The dark eyes that open with pride when discussing black scientists or become fiery when discussing her neighborhood. And remembered the hard glare from the shy yet assertive Alicia.

  Red had been the one to stand up to the little Price poison-party at the gym. I just stood there, mouth open, still trying to defend something I wasn’t sure I could defend anymore.

  Reporter’s Notebook

  Sunday, January 14

  To-Do List:

  • One month to get ready for cheer exhibition

  • Two weeks to finish journalism story

  • SheCodes Event, 9:00 a.m. Saturday, Jan. 27

  • Three shifts at Wetzel’s bakery this week!

  • OPERATION ONLINE BAKERY starts today!!!

  11

  Mom was coming home.

  I helped Dad, Grandpa, and Katy clean the house and get ready.

  For her and my secret weapon!

  Around noon, Mom arrived smack in the middle of Dad watching the highlights of Michigan’s big win over Michigan State from some bygone era. Dad was so absorbed in the sports rerun, I thought he might not tear himself away from the good ol’ days long enough to greet her.

  He pulled himself together, though. After a bunch of hugs, we took off for brunch. We went to a popular spot in Orchard Park where they played live jazz music and sometimes gospel, too.

  Soon as we got our food and sat down, Katy and I were practically yelling to be heard.

  “Girls!” Dad said. “Let your mom breathe. She’s barely been home an hour and you two are going at her like hyenas!”

  The last part was almost shouted, which was unfortunate since the music had stopped. Several people turned and looked toward us, then returned to their pancakes and sausage.

  “That’s okay,” said Mom with a shine in her eyes I hadn’t noticed earlier.

  She had news. A little prickly feeling at the back of my neck, with hairs standing on end, told me something was up with her.

  Mom was only a little taller than me, which meant that for a grown-up woman, she was short. She exercised a lot—I worked out with her sometimes. She was well toned, like Coach T., and a lighter-skinned version of my caramel-brown self. I knew her face like I knew my own. And right now, my own face was saying, What’s up?

  I had been so focused on my news, it never occurred to me that Mom might have news of her own.

  She drew in a long breath and slowly let it out.

  Dad, who seemed to be in la-la land somewhere, finally looked at her, too, and saw what I did.

  “What?” he said.

  Silverware tinkled as she lightly placed both hands down on the table. She stared down at her hands.

  We stared down at her hands.

  I believe the waiter walk
ing past stopped to stare down at her hands.

  She wore a big smile. Her eyes looked watery, like she might burst out crying with all her news.

  “I got offered a promotion!” she said in a rush.

  “Mom! That’s so excellent!” I said. “More money?”

  She swatted me with her large linen napkin. Then she winked. “Lots more!”

  “Woo-hoo!” I cried.

  Katy and I were already calculating the increase in our allowances. Well, I know I was. Then I realized Dad had gone silent. Mom turned to face him slowly. Now her smile was timid, and she was tensed up in that way that people are when they’re expecting something.

  Dad asked one simple question. Four words that, once out of his mouth, I knew could change my life forever. Four words that Mom, no doubt, was anticipating. He said:

  “Is it in Detroit?”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands went numb. Was eleven years old too young for a heart attack? Well, if Red could have heart trouble as an infant, I guess I really could be about to explode.

  “Of course it’s in Detroit!” I shouted. My heart was pounding now, and I felt myself shaking.

  Of course it was in Detroit. Of course! Of course! Of course!

  Mom pulled herself up taller in her seat. She said, “Let’s not freak out yet. I know this comes as a big shock. We’ve been here almost your whole lives. Brianna, you were born here, but we left briefly when I got a posting in Omaha. A year later, I was sent back here and we’ve made this our home. But…”

  But?

  No! No but! Detroit is home. I like home. This is home and I like it.

  Katy reached over and patted Mom on the sleeve of her silky white blouse. She said, “Go on, Mom. But what?”

  Now Mom looked from Katy to me and then at Dad. She turned toward him and placed one hand on his arm. I could almost feel his heart quicken under her touch. It might’ve been romantic if I wasn’t afraid Mom was about to rip his heart out, too.

  “David, you know I’ve grown to love it here. Detroit is our home. But when we came here and the girls were young, I made a conscious decision to take myself off the fast track. I wanted them to have roots. Normalcy. And they have. Now I’ve been with the bureau ten years and I’m being offered a supervisory position in Washington, D.C.”

  Daddy blew out a huge sigh. His head dropped down to his chest momentarily before looking back at all of us. No one’s face was more expectant than Mom’s.

  The music began again, slow and deliberate. Bluesy with a lot of soul. A song with the same kind of sadness that yanked at your heart.

  Mom, who almost never looked uncertain, bit her lip and leaned into Dad. She said, “You sacrificed your dream of becoming a doctor for my dream of becoming an FBI agent. Let me pay you back, David. With my raise, we could afford for you to attend a physician’s assistant school, like we’ve discussed.”

  I wanted to shout, “NOOOOOOOOO!” But my tongue felt stuck.

  “Baby, you don’t owe me anything, so you don’t need to pay anything back,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss. But you know I’ll support you. It’s just… well, it’s just a big shock. But I am so proud of you.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

  Mom smiled, then quickly looked at us girls again. “Don’t worry, you two. If your father and I decide to take our family on this journey, it wouldn’t be until June, after the person currently in that position retires. I’d have to go down a few times between now and then; otherwise I’ll be here.”

  No one else was saying anything, so I said, “Mom, you can’t be serious. I mean, I’ve been class president two years in a row. Blueberry Hills Middle needs me. And what about MY career? You know it’ll be next to impossible to find another bakery like Wetzel’s that’ll let me bake and sell my goods.”

  “Honey, I know it would be difficult. Believe me. I did not come to this place lightly. But this whole raise and promotion thing was unexpected. Besides, you and your uncle Al got along so well in December, perhaps he’ll let you set up shop in his restaurant.”

  She reached out and lightly placed her hand on my wrist. “Sweetie, it’s a high honor to be given an opportunity like this.”

  I pulled my wrist away. “Well, if you and your fabulous opportunity will excuse me,” I said, “I have to go to the bathroom and throw up!”

  Needless to say, the ride home after that was kind of quiet. Except for suck-up Katy, who kept asking lame questions. “Ooo, Mom, what would your new job title be?” and “Mom, doesn’t D.C. have excellent orchestras?” Ugh!

  My face pressed hard against the icy cold window. Warm tears pushed past my eyelids. I needed to talk to my friends. But—and this shows how bad it was—I was too sad to text them.

  We all trudged inside and began putting away our coats. Mom asked, “Brianna, how is your stomach?”

  Despite several rinses, my mouth still tasted sour. I mentally scratched French toast cupcakes off my to-do list. I wouldn’t be able to stand the smell of maple syrup for a year!

  “It’s okay,” I barely whispered.

  “Just in case, I’ll get you something to settle your tummy. I don’t want you getting dehydrated,” Mom said.

  I was about to object when the doorbell stopped me in my tracks. Mom looked at Dad. He shrugged.

  And I thought I didn’t have a clue, either, until I twisted the knob, tugged on the oak door, and saw a person on our front porch.

  My secret weapon!

  After the way things fell apart at brunch, I forgot all about my surprise. Now here she stood, all dressed up in a black cashmere coat and cobalt-blue leather boots.

  A sharp intake of air behind me. My mother. Then I felt her moving toward me, her hand on my shoulder.

  I turned to say something, but before I could get the words out, she blurted:

  “Mom! What on earth are you doing here?”

  Reporter’s Notebook

  Sunday, January 14

  To-Do List:

  • One month to get ready for cheer exhibition

  • Two weeks to finish journalism story

  • SheCodes Event, 9:00 a.m. Saturday, January 27

  • Three shifts at Wetzel’s bakery this week!

  • OPERATION ONLINE BAKERY starts today!!!

  In coding, computer scientists or programmers write programs to solve problems and create more efficient ways of doing things. They also design new systems and machines, like robots, that rely on computers to operate.

  I wonder if I could design my own Brianna Justice robot? My own Mini-Me!!!

  12

  “SURRR…” I started out loud and brightly, but one look at Mom and I finished with, “prise.”

  Grandmother Adeline Spencer, or Miss Addy, as I’d been calling her since I was a baby, was no ordinary granny. Probably why she didn’t want anyone calling her Granny.

  She was tall, especially in her rich blue stiletto boots. But she and Mom had the same shaped face. I guess that meant I did, too. She wore her hair long in loose locs that hung down her back and were golden brown, which looked good against her light, peachy skin. Her eyes were pale gray, almost blue, and her smile spread ear to ear.

  “Brianna!” she said, rushing in and grabbing me in her arms. Over her shoulder, I saw Mom and Dad exchange confused looks. Katy stood back with her arms crossed over her chest. My heart started hammering like I’d done something really wrong, which of course, I certainly had not! I had just invited my dear, sweet grandmother to visit, that’s all.

  When Miss Addy finally released me, she took my face in her hands. “Little queen,” she said. A simple statement. She was always telling me that all women are queens and powerful and should be encouraged to fly. Miss Addy was like that, kind of; you know, hippie-like.

  Then she slowly turned me around and stepped aside.

  “Jeannie? Oh, baby, please come and give your mama a hug,” Miss Addy said.

  “Mom, it’s good to see you, but I’m just really surprised.
What are you doing here?” my mother asked, hugging her.

  Miss Addy turned and waggled her eyebrows at me. Then she said, “I was invited!”

  Then she made the rounds, hugging everyone. Mom asked, “Did you drive all the way down from Mackinac Island?”

  Now Miss Addy was slipping off her coat and scarf, but still lugging a bunch of bags and packages. We all went into the living room and sat.

  I sat real close to my grandmother while she explained. I suddenly felt like my knees might start knocking or my hands might shake. I linked my fingers with Miss Addy’s while we sat on the sofa.

  She went on talking in that warm, soothing tone she had, telling us how she’d locked up the inn and candy shop she’d owned for almost twenty years, and drove the seven hours from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

  “But why?” Mom said, sounding confused. Her gaze kept cutting from me back to Miss Addy. My leg trembled and my mouth was incredibly dry. This wasn’t right. I had it all planned out.

  1. We’d have a nice, relaxing brunch with Mom.

  2. Next, we’d arrive home and I’d ask my parents to play a board game with us. They loved the whole family bonding thing.

  3. Miss Addy would arrive.

  4. She would come in and Mom would be so happy to see her mother. Then Miss Addy would help me convince Mom of all the reasons I should be able to have an online business.

  Mom announcing she’d been offered a promotion, which meant she’d be able to boss around even more people, well, that was NOT part of my plan.

  Is it in Detroit?

  The question loomed over my thoughts like a cloud. At least Mom seemed happy to see Miss Addy, who was still trying to answer the “why” question, saying she and I had talked regularly since Christmas. She said she’d hated missing out for the holidays so she wanted to come now.