It Doesn't Take a Genius
Page 3
“Sit down, silly boy,” Mom says. She makes a face as another piece of lettuce falls from my mouth. “I just said … seriously, don’t let your mouth get that full again. And if I recall correctly—and I always do—you were the one who tricked your brother into letting you watch that movie, and then for weeks you were convinced that every animal you saw was a murdering zombie.”
“Fun times,” murmurs Luke.
I sit down and take a medium-size bite of a meatball. “I’m just saying, maybe Maine isn’t all that. Aren’t boarding schools usually haunted?”
Mom frowns at me.
“You are really wacko,” murmurs Luke. He clears his throat. “So. I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Uh-oh,” says Mom. That’s our usual response when one of us says, I’ve been thinking. It’s an old family joke, but I still laugh.
Luke ignores us. “I need to earn some cash this summer, and Patrick told me about a junior counselor opening at his summer camp. He was going to work there, but he’s got into a summer architecture program instead. So … he put my name in for his spot.”
“The bougie camp?” I ask. “Where the guys dress like golf players?” I laugh again, but no one else does. Luke is looking down; Mom’s eyebrows are raised to a level five. There’s no danger unless she hits eight. She’s probably a little irritated because our summer plans have been set for ages, and she worked hard to make sure we signed up for stuff early. Debate camp, or “nerd summer school stuff” as Billy and WeeDee call it, is free, so the spots go fast. And she says being a CIT is important leadership experience for Luke. Mom says white people can spend the summer doing nothing, but we don’t have that luxury.
I have one meatball left; I use my fork to cut it into quarters while Luke talks. “Yeah, that one,” he says. “Camp DuBois. But it’s not really bougie, it’s just … I mean, actually, Mom, you’ll like this. It was started as a haven for Black kids who weren’t welcome at other camps back in the day. First it was a school and a summer camp, now it’s just a camp.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” says Mom. “And it’s somewhere in New York, right?”
Luke nods. “Not in the city, though,” he says quickly.
“I know a little about it. It was created to provide opportunities for Black children, and”—she looks at me—“it was clear that they meant a certain type of Black child for the most part. It developed a reputation for being a little … exclusive.”
“Yeah, bougie!” I say.
“DuBois isn’t bougie,” says Luke. “Maybe that was true in the old days, but it’s not now. I’ve been … doing some research. And anyway, Mom, you are sending me to Rowell Academy. In Maine. They barely have any Black people there, bougie or not.” I hold my breath, hopeful. Mom starts to say something, but Luke goes on. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m really excited about it.” Oh well. “The art program is amazing, and I can handle the whiteness. But the way I see it, taking this job at DuBois will help me handle it. I want to do this. I’m seventeen.” Mom opens her mouth again. “I need to earn some money—this pays a lot more than the Y.”
“I’m working extra hours this summer, Luke,” says Mom. “I don’t want you worrying about money.” She glares at me. “Neither of you should.”
Still, probably not a good time to ask for an extra twenty bucks.
“If Dad were here,” starts Luke. And Mom drops her fork. Eyebrows go straight to eight.
“Don’t do that, Luke.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. And we sit in silence for a minute.
What?!! I want to yell. If Dad were here, what??!! I’d like to know. There’s so much that I didn’t get a chance to find out. But Mom’s face is closed and Luke is looking down.
So I change the subject. “Horror movies are always set in camps, aren’t they?” I ask. “I’d be too scared to go to camp, guys in masks with hatchets and stuff.”
Mom whips around on me. “And how would you know that?”
“Uh … I saw some trailers online,” I mumble. Sometimes I accidentally on purpose watch movies with Luke and he accidentally on purpose lets me. I’m not going to be able to watch scary movies when he’s gone, though. That Freddy Kruger one had me using my allowance to buy a night light. And I’m not talking about no Candyman when I look in a mirror either.
“Mom, I’m not worried about money,” says Luke. He twirls some spaghetti around on his fork. “I want to do this … for me. But … it does pay more than the Y. So it will give me even more money for school.”
“You got a full scholarship,” I point out. “They’re basically paying you to go there!” Luke’s an amazing artist, I’m not surprised. He won the spring talent show with this series of collages he said were inspired by the artist Jacob Lawrence. It was called Migrations (Forced), and he mixed drawings and paper and stuff of all the neighborhood places that had closed, photos of people moving out and all the For Sale or Rent signs that seem to pop up every week. Of course Rowell wanted my brother bad. Mom’s been so excited too, even though I caught her tearing up a couple of times in the last few days. She says it’s a great opportunity for Luke, and Mom is big on opportunities.
“I’m gonna need spending money, funds for trips into town and books.” Luke shrugs. “And it’s not just about the money, it’s the experience. I’d get to be in a … Black utopia for a month.”
“Right before you head to white dystopia, amirite?” My timing is perfect, and this time, everyone laughs.
After a minute, Mom nods. “Let me talk to Patrick’s parents about it,” she says.
“They said you can call them tonight. Anytime until ten thirty is fine,” Luke says.
“Oh, did they?” Mom’s eyebrows might be at eleven. “Okay.”
“And I already went to see Dr. Shepherd and got my physical done yesterday. My lifeguard certificate is still good, but I signed up for a CPR refresher on Thursday at the Y.”
I’m expecting those brows to be floating in the air above Mom’s head any minute. “You did, did you?”
Luke nods. “And you can even interview over Skype …”
Mom clears her throat.
“Which I already did, this morning, and uh, I got the job.”
Silence. Our cat, Kangol, pads into the kitchen and meows, but then he takes one look at Mom’s face and backs out slowly. Cats know.
“Bold move, big bro,” I whisper. “Impressive. Also highly dangerous. Alert! Alert! Danger level ten!”
Luke rolls his eyes. “Not now, Emmett.”
“E,” I remind him. “We’re trying to make E happen, remember?” No shade to Uncle Emmett, but it’s just that E has a lot more swag. And people are always asking me if I’m named after Emmett Till, and when I say no it’s like I make them sad and disappointed at the same time.
“Not. Now,” repeats Luke. He and Mom are staring each other down hard enough to wilt the salad.
Mom takes a deep breath. “Okay, Luke.”
“Okay … like, yes?” Luke breathes. “I’d need to start in two weeks. We get to camp a week before the campers, then they’re around for a 3-week session.” He’s already saying we. And he’ll be away for a whole month?!
She nods. “If you really want to do this—”
He jumps out of his chair and grabs her in a hug before she can finish. Suddenly Luke looks more like a man than my big brother.
“I’m still calling Patrick’s parents,” she warns. “I have a lot of questions.”
“I know.”
“And I need to see the paperwork right away.”
“I have it. I didn’t sign anything. And I needed your signature on some stuff anyway.”
“Oh, you still need me for something, huh?” Mom’s smiling now, but her eyes are wet.
Chapter Five
Luke comes back with his paperwork so fast that it’s like he traveled back in time.
“I’m proud of you, Luke,” says Mom, wiping her eyes. “You made ‘big tings’ happen for yourself this year.”
“You good, E?” he asks, patting my shoulder. Oh, so now he remembers. Now that he’s going off to Bougie Wonderland to wear plaid shorts and shirts with tiny alligators on them. I finish chewing my meatball quarter before I answer.
“Yeah. I mean, congrats, bro.” I shrug. “Wouldn’t be my first choice, but go off, I guess.”
Luke laughs as Mom says, “Bring my glasses!” He races out again.
Kangol walks back into the kitchen, and I give him a piece of meatball. I feel Mom’s eyes on me.
“I know you had plans with your brother for the summer,” she says, “but we’ll have fun together, buddy.”
When I don’t answer, she goes on. “Maybe we get Tony’s Chicken for dinner tomorrow night. Since we’re getting low on groceries, and nobody has time to shop—” She stops herself. “Well, you do, actually …”
“Tony’s sounds great, Mom!” I say quickly. “We should get food from our favorite places all week, since Luke is going to be gone and all. I’ve heard all about camp food from WeeDee and Billy. It’s like being on punishment.”
“Hmmmm,” says Mom. “A few home treats before he leaves is a good idea—a few. But my guess is that this camp is going to have good eats. Fancy Black folks gotta eat fancy too. And then that school, they’re supposed to be world class when it comes to cuisine. There are people that rank these things, can you believe that?” I don’t smile back, but she goes on. “Yeah, that camp will be a long way from the Y camp I went to.”
“Did Dad go to camp?” I ask.
“No,” she says, and that’s it. After a while, she hands me her plate, a sign that I should clear the table. “He really did go out and do this for himself,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “This is a trip.”
“A trip that has enormous implications,” I say. “Maybe also complications.” I didn’t mean to rhyme, but I’ll go with it. “Especially when we were all planning on an extended … staycation.”
Mom looks at me. “You know, you do have to get on the ball with the grocery shopping, Emmett. That’ll be a nice summer project for us. We’ll make the weekly list together, and then you’ll go to the store on your own. We’ll draw up a whole schedule.”
Woot. Yep, sounds like a lot of fun together, Mom.
I keep clearing the table, and I drop a dish into the sink a little too hard.
Mom comes over to the sink. “Talk to me, Emmett.”
“E, Mom. We decided to call me E.”
“We didn’t decide that, because I didn’t,” she shoots back, and guides me back to sit at the table. “Now, talk to me. Is it Luke going to Rowell? I thought you were excited for him.”
“I am! I mean, it’s so cool, and he’s an artistic genius, who even knew? But … it just feels weird.”
“I know this is the type of thing that typically happens to you. You’re used to getting the awards. And I wish that I could give you a gift like this too,” she says, smiling a sad smile. “I wish I could give both of you the world. The best I can do right now is encourage you to grab every opportunity you can, and create opportunities when you don’t see them right away.”
“Mom, I swear I’m not jealous or anything! I promise.”
She gives me a long look. “Okay, so what’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “We’re a team. Luke’s always had my back. You should have seen him on the last day of school, with Mac … Never mind. First, he’s going to be gone next year, but now the summer too? We had all these plans …”
“And now those plans have to change.” Mom nods. “I get it, change is hard. But, you know, you’re a pretty capable guy. I bet you can have your own back once in a while.” She makes a muscle. “And your mom will be right here.” She frowns. “What happened with Mac? Do I need to call his parents? That boy …”
I groan. “Please, Mom, it’s fine. Luke handled it.”
But Mom’s eyes are anxious and tired.
“Mom, don’t worry, okay? I’m going to be very busy with debate camp, and WeeDee and Billy and I will have a bunch of fun film festivals too. The summer is going to be great! So much going on!” I try to smile big. “Booked and busy!” I add, trying to say it just like one of our favorite celebrities so I can make her laugh.
She breathes out and smiles. “I’m glad, honey. I’m going to be doubling down on hitting the books, and I want both of you to be occupied in productive ways. I’ll worry less if I know you’re both all set.”
Worry less? How does that even work when nothing ever stays the same? Who’s going to listen to me practice my debate strategies? Who will big me up? The thing is, Luke and I make each other better. I wanted this summer to be a spectacular example of that. Now I’m wondering if he needs a reminder.
Luke comes back to the kitchen while I’m at the freezer checking out dessert options. I make myself a big bowl of ice cream, but when I turn to ask Mom and Luke if they want some, their heads are bent over a bunch of papers and a catalog. They’re talking and laughing, and neither one of them notices when I break the rules and take the ice cream to my room.
Chapter Six
Luke has been running around doing random odd jobs around the neighborhood for the last few days, so he’ll have money for the summer, which doesn’t make sense to me, since the whole point of him leaving is to make money during the summer. But he keeps saying he wants to look like he belongs there. I tell him his new Adidas take care of that, but I don’t think he believes me. Anyway, I’m pretty hyped the day he offers to take me to the diner for our favorite Don’t Tell Mom Dinner Before Dinner—chili cheese fries and chocolate shakes. Then a root beer float to go, he drinks the root beer and I get the scoop of ice cream. There are two old guys quietly bickering at the booth near the window, and a woman frowning at a plate of pancakes on the table in front of her.
“So, you can still tell me what you think WeeDee and Billy and I should watch this summer,” I say. “I mean, we have to vote, but I bet Billy and WeeDee will agree with you. They always do.”
“Mmmm,” says Luke. “So you got debate camp. What else do you have planned?”
Did he not hear me? “Movies, I guess. Actually I had this idea, like to do a community film fest at the town hall or something. Since we don’t have a movie theater anymore. But that was when I thought you’d be around to help. I don’t know if I can count on Billy and WeeDee.” I sigh. “Dumb idea, anyway.”
“I love it here,” says Luke, looking around the diner. “Not many old-school places like this still around. I hope it doesn’t end up like Imagination Books and Harry’s Shoes.”
“Yep,” I say quickly. “It’s like everything we’ve ever known … is dying out. “
Luke sighs. “Really putting a positive spin on things, bro,” he says.
“You know I’m right about the diner at least. Remember when there used to be lines on Saturday morning?”
“And that time I told you to pretend you had to pee so we could cut the line?”
“Mom fell for it—”
“But Dad knew,” Luke finishes. “And he didn’t say anything, just smiled.” This is the most anyone has talked to me about Dad in a long tim
e; I hold my breath, not sure if he’ll continue. Even the way Luke says the word Dad feels brittle, like if I push, it will shatter.
I clear my throat. “I just believe in supporting our community, not abandoning it. You’re the one who’s always telling me to think local, do local—which is not very catchy, just so you know.”
“Yeah, it’s true,” says Luke. “Old people messed up a lot of things. We’re the generation that’s on cleanup duty.”
Michael the greeter/waiter/sometimes cook doesn’t even come over to take our order; he just nods at us and tells the guys in the back to get started on two large orders of chili cheese fries, then he gets our extra-thick chocolate milk shakes going.
“I was serious about the swimming,” Luke says when our food arrives. I hate when he tries to act all dadly. Especially since he probably knows better than me how it’s done. Ja-fakin was one thing; since Dad died when I was only five, my memories of him are so blurry that they almost don’t seem real.
I shrug. “I don’t know why you keep harping on it, it’s not a big deal,” I say. “I’ll do what I gotta do, all in good time.” Which is never when it comes to swimming.
“Oh, big time, excuuuuse me,” Luke says, and he laughs. I don’t. “Just get on those swimming lessons this summer. You promised.”
“You promised you’d be here this summer,” I want to say, but instead I just say, “I don’t think I should be forced to learn something that I’ll never do for real. I’ve been fine without swimming all my life, nothing needs to change.” Especially not when everything is changing.
“That’s what I said about quadratic equations, and … well, never mind, that analogy isn’t going to work,” says Luke, and we both laugh this time. “And what about those hip-hop dance classes you wanted to take? Did you talk to Mom?”