Because We Are (11 page)

“From the ghetto, attending Stanford.”

“All right! Got it. Let's go back to the piano,” Emma said, still ignoring Marvin.

“Let me meet some of these fine ladies first,” Allan said.

Emma introduced Allan and Gary around the room. There were never enough men at a party. Many of the girls joined them as Allan sat at the piano. Suddenly there was quiet and Emma was surprised as Allan tested the keys. “You didn't tell me you could play,” she cried.

He grinned. “You didn't ask me.”

The record player was no competition. Everybody wanted Allan to go on playing. Emma danced with Gary again and again. She learned he was a sophomore in pre-med. “So you're going to be a doctor, too,” she said.

“Why you say ‘too'?”

“My father's a doctor, and I'll be a doctor one of these days.”

“So you're not in awe of the profession. Good. I can relax and make some mistakes. Meeting you proves I'm lucky to know Allan.”

“Who doesn't feel lucky knowing Allan? He's my ace. How do you know him?”

“We played in a combo together before I left. He's a way-out musician, never had a lesson. But let's not talk about Allan. You're far more interesting. Where will I send my messages to you?”

Suddenly Allan stopped playing. “Start the record player,” he said. “I gotta git in one dance, at least.” He grabbed Emma.

In the middle of the dance, Marvin moved in. “What you trying to do, man? You know this is my woman. You guys from the ghetto think you can just come in and take over,” he said angrily.

Allan raised both hands and laughed as if to say he was not armed. “Say, man, I don't intend to take over. She's your lady. I understand that.” Allan moved away.

“No, Allan,” Emma said, taking his hand. “Let's finish this dance.”

“You come over here with me,” Marvin demanded, taking Emma by the arm.

To avoid a scene, Emma followed him into a corner. “Listen, Marvin, I don't like what you're doing.
I am not your woman
. I'm not your lady.”

“Since when?”

“Since you haven't bothered to call; since you can feel free to do with or without me; and since you're acting so silly. Allan is your friend as well as mine.”

“No such thing as friendship between a man and a woman. If you're not my woman, whose woman are you?”

For the first time she was beginning to see through Marvin's selfishness. She had known all along that he took her love for granted, unconditionally; but she could not admit it before. “I'm my own woman,” she said, trying to control her anger. “And I'll have you know, I'll dance with Allan, I'll dance with Gary,
I'll dance with anybody I please.
”

“Hey-y-y.” He took her hands and tried to draw her to him.

She pushed him away. “It won't work this time, Marvin. I never interfered with you and your women because I have no claim on you. I loved you, but that gave you no claim over me.”

“No, you
love
me, and I love you,” he shouted, taking her hands.

“No, no, no!” She pulled away and went to find Allan and his friend.

They had already gone. She was glad she had given Gary her address and telephone number. She went to phone her mother, feeling more relieved than she had felt in a long time. There was no longer a need for her to be grateful to Marvin for nothing. The rest of the vacation should be easy. She sighed. Ahead of her was: getting back to school—and the challenge of Manning.

Thirteen

Emma moved quickly through the crowded gym, scanning names above stations to make sure she got the best teacher at the right time, for the right class. She was feeling buoyant, pleased with herself for the first time in a long while. The rejection she had faced recently had forced a retreat into herself to find what was lacking. Not beauty. Certainly not brain. Her grade report for the first semester at Manning showed a continuing four-point average. Letters and brochures were pouring in from colleges and universities. This outpouring bolstered her ego; she was sought after.

If she were lacking in anything, it was the will to do what
she
felt was best to do. The central fault, she realized, was that, as if by nature, she always tried to please everyone else, sometimes at the risk of her own happiness. Armed with that insight, she resolved to make this, her last semester of high school, count for her. She would think
Emma
, do her work, graduate, leave Manning, and start fresh in a place that wanted her.

Now with class cards in hand, she waded through the crowd looking for Mr. Wheeler, her choice for American literature. Mr. Wheeler, a young Black, had completed only one semester on the faculty at Manning. Although he was a newcomer, he was gaining a good reputation. Emma was anxious to get into his class because he was the only American lit teacher there who included Black writers in his course. Allan had warned that if she wanted him, she had better get there early.

Finally she reached his station. Teachers on both sides of him were busy signing cards while Mr. Wheeler sat drumming on the table with his pencil, a half-smile lighting his face; yet, he had a distracted look, oblivious of the hustle and bustle about him. What luck, Emma thought as she handed him her card. In the moment that he took to read her card, she was aware of his long slender fingers, his large blunt fingernails, well clipped and groomed but not manicured.

“I've filled my lit class,” Mr. Wheeler said, handing her back her card.

“You wouldn't kid me now, would you, Mr. Wheeler?”

He laughed. “I most certainly would not. I'd be delighted to enroll you.”

“Aw! Can't you take just one more?”

“Sorry about that. Now, Mr. Kooner may be able to take you.”

Mr. Kooner sat right next to Mr. Wheeler. He glanced at Emma with a noncommittal look, then went on signing cards. Emma had a feeling he didn't want her any more than she wanted him. She must find Allan and get some advice.

Allan knew most of the teachers there by reputation. He could tell her what to do. Disappointed, she went looking for him. The crush was terrific. People were wall-to-wall. There was no escape from the odor of bodies, gym lockers, and shower stalls. Where was Allan?

She finally gave up and stumbled outside where the cold air was refreshing. Near the water fountain, Allan was having a hilarious time with Brenda and her friends. She hailed him. “There you are. I need you for a minute.”

“Can't y' see we talkin' t' Allan?” Brenda demanded harshly.

“Excuse
me
. I was talking to
Allan.
”

“I told y',
we
talkin'. Now if y' can't wait, then go on 'bout y' business.”

Emma looked at Brenda. Brenda was indeed attractive. It was her fire, her eyes—big, black—in an oval, velvety-smooth black face. She was small, but had an ample bust, and the
real
hips that some girls at Marlborough bought to give that full-rounded look in jeans. How could such a pretty girl be so mean?

“Cool out, Bren, we aren't talking about nothing. Let me give Emma some time,” Allan said and joined Emma.

Emma soon discovered that she had only two choices left for American lit: Mrs. Dohling and Mr. Kooner.

“Kooner is a dog,” Allan said. “Why you taking lit?”

“I have to. It's the only required subject I haven't had. I saved it for now because it's easy. I want nothing to worry about this last semester. I'm juggling my schedule, Allan, trying to get a good lunch period.”

“Fifth is best,” Allan said.

“Can't have fifth.”

“Then sixth. Whatever you do, don't take seventh. That's a drag.”

“I won't get anything if I don't hurry,” Emma said and rushed back to the gym.

The crush was even greater now as she pushed through to the English Department station, only to find that she was minutes late for Mrs. Dohling's class. It had just been filled. Oh, darn, she thought as she had to give in to letting Mr. Kooner sign her card.

To her dismay, his class was offered only at sixth period, forcing her to take seventh for lunch. At that time of day the food was like leftovers. Just to find space to stand and eat was impossible, and the sea gulls were then controlling the grounds. Despondent over her fate, she made her way toward the girls' rest room. Just outside she heard familiar voices and loud laughter.

When she walked in, there was a hush. The room was filled; Brenda, Liz, and the others were in the crowd. Brenda sat on the floor. The room reeked with tobacco and weed. Emma felt the ominous silence.

She washed her hands and had begun to comb her hair before the silence was interrupted.

“Some people 'round here think they such hot stuff they can come and call y' man while y' talkin' to 'im,” Brenda said.

“Who tryin' to burn you, Brenda?” one girl asked.

“They know. Think they can come down here from the hills and take over.”

Emma tossed her head as she combed her hair, trying hard to control the anger rising in her. She must not let Brenda get to her. She calmly took out her makeup.

“Aw, Brenda, you just making noise.”

At that pronouncement, Emma glanced around and saw that the girl confronting Brenda was Carrie. Carrie was wearing a soft pink-and-white sweater dress, just above the knee, with a single strand of pearls that came almost to the hem of the dress. Her pearl earrings were also extra long. Exotic was the word for Carrie. Tall, thin, but big boned, Carrie could wear silver-streaked hair, silver nail polish, silver shoes, and white stockings and get away with it well.

“You stay outta this, Carrie,” Brenda retorted.

“Bren, you know you ain't doing nothin' but talking stuff,” Carrie said.

“She needn't think 'cause she from a 'nother part o' town her ass won't be kicked.” Everybody laughed.

Emma bristled, then cautioned herself: Don't get in trouble with Brenda. Just one more semester. But could she continue to ignore knowing that Brenda had chosen her as a target? Could Carrie be right? Was Brenda just making noise? Emma thought, Maybe I should take a long shot, call Brenda's bluff, and settle it once and for all.

Carrie went on, “Aw, Brenda, shut up. Everybody in here knows if any ass is kicked, it would be yours.” Everybody cracked up.

Emma suddenly realized that at the moment she need not take any risk. She gathered up her things, and with shoulders down, head high, quickly catching a wink from Carrie, she walked briskly from the room.

She went to find Allan, remembering the incident with Brenda after the game and how the showdown was averted by her mother. Then by Carrie today. She wished she had the gift to really understand people—
really understand them
. She knew why Brenda made her bristle, but why had Carrie come to her defense? But was it her defense or Carrie's offense?

On past the water fountain she went, still wondering how Brenda could be so mean. What was she lacking? It certainly wasn't beauty. Was she jealous? Of what? Could there be something going between her and Allan?

Suddenly Emma remembered what Marvin had said to Allan—“… from the ghetto, taking over”—and Brenda's words about the “hills” had been similar. How stupid, she thought, claiming territory. Why couldn't she and Allan be friends? Did Brenda, too, believe there was no such thing as friendship between boys and girls, men and women?

Finally she saw Allan near the hash line, eating a sweet roll. She realized she was hungry. She must grab a bite and corner him for talk. He must know that besides the challenge of Brenda and the survivors she now also had the challenge of Kooner. Then, too, there was Carrie. Had she acquired a friend? She hailed Allan and rushed toward him. Whether Carrie was friend or foe, she had hinted that Brenda was just a showoff, a big bluffer. Emma would store this information. It might be useful at a more crucial moment. But why all this worry about Brenda? she thought. Kooner may pose a greater challenge.

Fourteen

Fifth period ended a few minutes before the bell, so Emma had time to get to her locker between classes. She wanted to put away Gary's last letter from Stanford. Having Gary's letters helped ease the pain of not seeing Marvin. She wished Allan was around so that she could share a line or two with him. Why was Allan not at school today? she wondered. Then she recalled that he had been acting a bit cool lately.

When he said anything at all, it was about his mother's inability to find work, or about his looking for a part-time job and being unable to find anything. She now remembered his saying “We have nothing. If something doesn't give, I'll have to do something crazy.” He had looked at her and as though he was angry, he said, “But what do you know about having nothing?” and walked away. Maybe he had quit school. Suddenly she realized, with horror, that she didn't know where he lived, nor did she have his telephone number.

She opened her locker, then quickly unfolded the pages of Gary's letter. She smiled as she read: “
Stanford is an OK place. It could be great if a lovely lady like you were around. Consider coming here, OK?
”

She scribbled on her notepad:
So you think I can make it at Stanford. I doubt it. That white sea is wider there than at Marlborough. I've had it with honkies
.

She was interrupted when a voice behind her exclaimed, “Hey, ain't that Marvin Richards? How you rate a picture of him?”

Emma looked up, wishing she had removed Marvin's picture from inside her locker door as she had planned. “Oh, hi, Carrie.” She put the letter away. “Marvin and I went to the same school.”

“You mean you went to Marlborough? Then you know Melanie Foster.”

“Yeah, I know Melanie.”

“Melanie is my cousin, know that?”

“No, I didn't know that,” Emma said.

“Yeah. She and her mother would like not knowing it, too.” Carrie laughed, wrapping her long, full black cape around her. “Her mother is so saditty, she don't wanta have nothing to do with us. And she's my mama's sister, girl.”