Almost Zero (2 page)

Good thing I’m a better dresser,
Dyamonde sometimes thought to herself. Not that she’d ever say that out loud. Dyamonde thought being mean was the most uncool thing in the universe.

Monday morning, she and Isabel were standing in front of school talking when Tanya, Tylisha and Tameeka, the three T’s, paraded past like models on a runway, showing off their new matching hoodies.

Oh, puleeze,
thought Dyamonde.

Free snuck up behind the three T’s, swishing his bony hips like he was a model too.

“Stop it, Free!” said Dyamonde,
trying not to laugh. Free straightened up just as Tameeka turned around. Isabel covered her laughter by bending down to retie her shoes, and Dyamonde lowered her smiling eyes.

“Cool sneaks!” said Dyamonde, noticing Tameeka’s pink high-top sneakers.

“Thanks,” said Tameeka.

“Those come in red?” asked Dyamonde. Red was her favorite color.

“Yeah,” said Tameeka. “I saw some red ones at Sneaker Heaven.”

Dyamonde’s face fell. Sneaker
Heaven was expensive. She really liked those sneakers, though. Tameeka could tell.

“Why don’t you tell your mom to buy you some?”

“Huh?”

“Tell her. That’s what I do. If I need something, I tell my mom to get it.”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. Who ever heard of telling your mom what to do?

“No. I’m serious. I tell her
nice,
but, you know. She’s my
mom,
and it’s her
job
to get me whatever I need.”

Well,
thought Dyamonde,
I guess that’s true.

“You should try it,” said Tameeka. “Just tell her you need some red high-tops. That’s it.”

Dyamonde nodded. Damaris and Free, who were standing nearby, traded looks.

“Don’t do it, Dy,” said Free. “If you do, your mom will pop you one. Guaranteed.”

“He’s right, Dy,” Damaris chimed in.

“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Shows how much you know. She’d never do that. My mom doesn’t
believe in coral…in corporate…my mom doesn’t believe in hitting.”

“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Dyamonde shrugged him off.

That evening, when her mom was in the living room reading the funnies, Dyamonde marched in and cleared her throat.

“Mom, I need some red high-top sneakers.”

“Is that a question?” asked Mrs. Daniel.

“Not exactly,” said Dyamonde. “I really need you to get me some red high-top sneakers.”

“Dyamonde, the three pairs of sneakers you already have are just fine,” said Mrs. Daniel.

This isn’t working,
thought Dyamonde.
I must not be doing it right.

“No, they are not fine!” said Dyamonde, raising her voice. She crossed her arms and threw her shoulders back. “I need red ones, and you have to get them for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re my mother, and mothers have to take care of their children, and you have to get them for me. It’s your job!” Dyamonde was practically shouting.

Mrs. Daniel was silent for a moment.

“Is that so?” she said, in a quiet voice.

“Yes, that’s so,” said Dyamonde. Only now she wasn’t so sure. Her mom’s voice was scary-soft.

“I see,” said Mrs. Daniel.

Dyamonde gulped.

“Well, let me give it some thought.”

“Okay,” squeaked Dyamonde.

Dyamonde stood in the middle of the living room floor, bouncing from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do next.

“You can set the table for dinner,” said her mom. “That is, if you don’t
mind.
”

Oh, boy,
thought Dyamonde.
I hope I’m not in big trouble.

For the rest of the evening, she watched her mom, waiting to see if she was going to announce some punishment. But nothing happened. Still, Dyamonde had a hard time falling asleep that night.

Tuesday morning, Dyamonde tiptoed around the house, careful not to disturb her mom. They ate breakfast together, like any other day. And like any other day, her
mom smiled when Dyamonde said good-bye.

Free was on the stoop waiting for Dyamonde when she came out of the building.

“Well?” asked Free, getting right to the point. “Did you do it?”

“Uh-huh,” said Dyamonde.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did she pop you one?”

Dyamonde rolled her eyes. “I told you, my mom doesn’t believe in that stuff.”

“So, how’d it go?”

“Okay, I guess,” said Dyamonde.

I think it did.

I hope it did.

All Dyamonde knew for sure was that she didn’t want to talk about it.

“You choose what to read for your book report?” she asked Free.

“Huh? Oh, yeah! I found this great book on Jackie Robinson.”

Baseball,
thought Dyamonde.
It figures.

Once Free started talking baseball, he forgot about everything else. That left Dyamonde alone with her thoughts, and that was just fine.

The rest of the school day was normal. And by the end of it, Dyamonde had stopped worrying about whether her mom was mad at her or not. But when she got home, she was in for a big surprise.

“Mom!”
screamed Dyamonde. “Somebody robbed our house!”

“Stop screaming, child,” said Mrs. Daniel. “The whole building can hear you.”

“But somebody robbed our house!” said Dyamonde.

“No,” said Mrs. Daniel in a calm voice. “They didn’t.”

“But—”

“Is the television gone?” asked Mrs. Daniel. “Or the CD player?”

Dyamonde looked around the living room. The TV and CD player were there, exactly where they should be.

“If our house wasn’t robbed, then how come all my clothes are missing?”

And they were. The hall closet where Dyamonde kept her clothes was bare. The hangers were naked as a newborn. The dresser drawers were empty, each hanging open like the tongue from a dog’s
mouth. The only thing left in the closet was some underwear, a pair of neatly folded pajamas, and one pair of just-washed fuzzy bunny slippers. Those sat atop the dresser.

“What happened to all my clothes?” asked Dyamonde.

Her mom fell into her old recliner, exhausted. She slowly kicked off her shoes, one at a time. She removed her watch, carefully placed it on the end table beside her and made herself comfy before she finally spoke.

Dyamonde felt like shaking her.

“Nobody stole your clothes,
Dyamonde,” said her mom. “I packed them up and took them away.”

“Huh?” Dyamonde did not believe her ears.

“Last night, you told me it was my job, as your mother, to give you what you need. Remember?”

Dyamonde felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going.

“So, I thought about it. And you were right. It is my job to give you a roof over your head, a safe place to sleep, food to eat and clothes to wear.”

Dyamonde nodded. So far, so good.

“But guess what, Dyamonde. Nowhere does it say I have to give you
more
than you need. So I’ve decided, from now on, I’ll give you exactly what you need and nothing more.”

Dyamonde’s heart pounded against her chest.

“There are no clothes in my closet except pajamas. I can’t go to school wearing pajamas.”

“No, you can’t,” her mother agreed.

“Then what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?”

“The same clothes you wore today,” said Mrs. Daniel. Then she picked up the television remote and switched on the news.

Dyamonde’s feet were glued to the living room floor, and her mouth hung wide open.

“Better close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies,” said her mom.

Dyamonde balled her fists and made a choking sound. Then she ran to the bathroom, slammed the door as hard as she could and
plopped down on the side of the bathtub.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” muttered Dyamonde. Then she went to the sink and turned the water on full blast to cover the sound of her crying.

Wednesday
morning, Dyamonde stomped and banged doors as loudly as she could, hoping to make her mom as mad as she was. But it didn’t work. Her mom pretended not to notice.

“Big deal,” Dyamonde muttered to herself. “So what if I have to wear the same stupid clothes
I had on yesterday. I don’t care.” Dyamonde’s lie sounded pretty weak, even to herself.

Dyamonde pulled on her red T-shirt, which had a quarter-size mustard stain on it from the bite of hot dog Free gave her at lunch the day before.

“Shoot!” said Dyamonde.

She went to the kitchen sink, squirted dishwashing liquid on a sponge and dabbed at the stain. That only made the spot bigger.

“Crumb!”

Now she was really mad, but there was nothing she could do
about it. She had to leave for school soon or she’d be late. She zipped on her blue jean skirt, pulled on her striped vest and hoped the spot didn’t show too much. She pulled on her stinky socks, which slouched more than clean ones did, and Dyamonde hated that.

“Get a move on!” called her mom.

Dyamonde sucked her teeth and knelt to tie her white sneakers.

Her mom was at the door, holding it open.

“Have a good day,” said Mrs. Daniel.

Dyamonde looked at her mom
like she was crazy, but she didn’t say a word. She figured her mouth had gotten her in enough trouble already.

“What took you so long?” asked Free as soon as she hit the stoop. “I almost went to school by myself.”

“Then why didn’t you?” snapped Dyamonde.

“Hey!” said Free. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” said Dyamonde. “I’m sorry.”

Free scratched his head.

The two walked awhile in silence.
Free studied Dyamonde when she wasn’t looking.

“What happened to your shirt?” asked Free.

Dyamonde’s hand flew to the spot, still wet, peeking out from behind the vest.

“It had a mustard stain. I tried to wash it, but…” Dyamonde’s voice trailed off.

“So why didn’t you just put on a different shirt?” asked Free.

“BECAUSE I DIDN’T, THAT’S WHY,” yelled Dyamonde.

“Geez!” said Free, jumping back. “Alls I did was ask you a question!”

“I know,” said Dyamonde, calmer. “I guess I don’t feel like talking right now.”

“Okay by me,” said Free, throwing his hands up. “Later, then.” Without saying another word, Free jogged ahead, leaving Dyamonde to herself.

Dyamonde growled, mad at herself for chasing her friend away, even madder at Tameeka for her stupid idea.

God,
thought Dyamonde,
let Tameeka be sick today, just a little, just so she has to stay home. I don’t think I could stand to see her right now.