Chameleon (35 page)

The smile I hadn’t seen on her face in a while reappeared.

“Anyway, like I said, my decision is harder now because . . . when I think about Marisol and going to her party . . . it’s like the whole scene with Auntie never even happened. You know what I mean?”

She slurped her soda. “Oh, I know what you mean. I was like that with your father when we first met. I got a smile on my face and didn’t have a care in the world. . . .”

She stared at her plate, probably thinking about the good times. But the thought of Mama thinking about Dad that way was . . . weird.

“Wait . . . is that why you wanted Mexican?”

I tried to play it off by stuffing chicken in my mouth, but her “mmm-hmm” choked me up.

“So how long you been in love, Romeo?”

“I’m not in love!” I coughed.

“Uh-huh . . . right. Hey, if she makes your ‘gray skies blue,’ then that’s love, baby,” she said, singing the words “gray skies blue.”

I guess she was right. When something bad happened, I thought about Marisol and forgot all about it.

“Anyway, Marisol is as much a part of my decision as Auntie is, and you know how big a part Auntie is.”

“I do.” She sighed.

Her hands clasped together as she looked me in the eye. “You know, Shawn, I gotta say . . . you really do a good job with Sis. Considering how long you been dealing with her whole . . . situation — how much you’ve put up with her over the years — particularly today . . .”

Her eyes blinked down at her plate, then focused back on mine. “I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciate you taking care of her. Thank you.”

“Why you gettin’ all wishy-washy on me, Mama?” I joked.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying . . . I don’t envy your decision — it’s not an easy one. You have any idea what you wanna do? You know you only have until Sunday? Which happens to be the day after this party.”

Shoot. I knew the date was coming up, but I didn’t realize it was the day after the party.

“I still don’t know. And today didn’t make it any easier. Between Marisol, the Crips, the Pirus, Auntie, Marshall . . .”

“Marshall? What about Marshall?”

“You know, the pink-slip thing. Plus, the fellas told me that a few thousand students go there and we might not even see each other.”

“A few thousand?
That’s a lot of folks.”

I put my fork down and wiped my mouth.

“I know. On the other hand, at Carson I’ll have my freedom. I just won’t know anybody except Brian — and he’ll be a junior. He told me about the school and it seems cool, but . . . I don’t know. I just don’t know, Mama.”

She finished her soda and stood with her picked-over plate in hand.

“Well, the clock is ticking. Whatever you decide, just make sure you’re happy with it a hundred percent. Ain’t nothing worse than second-guessing yourself.”

I cleared my plate and joined her in the living room when the dishes were done. She curled up in her usual spot on the love seat, so I grabbed a pillow and collapsed on the couch. I didn’t tell her what time the party started, and I still hadn’t mentioned the gift.

“Can you take me to the party on Saturday?”

She flipped through the channels. “What time does it start?”

I hesitated. “Seven.”

Her finger paused on the remote. “Seven? Ain’t that a little late for a party?”

“Now, Mama, she’s turning fourteen, not four. She said her brother’s gonna have a DJ and everything. What’d you think it was gonna be? Cake, punch, and pin the tail on the donkey?”

“And what time is this party going to end?”

I never thought about that.

“I didn’t ask. How long can I stay?”

She flipped through a few channels like she didn’t hear me, then said, “You can stay until eleven — no later. If it ends before that, call me.”

Eleven? Heyyyy! That’s the latest she’s ever let me stay out. Probably because I never go anywhere. Kool and the Gang.

“You all right, Mama? Can I quote you on that? Should I get that in writing in case you forget?”

She rolled her eyes. Now I gotta get some money for the gift.

“You know, Mama, it is a birthday party. Which means . . .”

“What?”

“I need to buy her a gift.”

Silence.

“I know you heard me.”

She put the remote down but kept her eyes on the TV screen. “Yeah, I heard you. But I ain’t hearing you.”

“What?”

“I won’t have any money, Shawn, until I get paid on Friday. And even then, I still got bills to pay. I can’t help you right now, so you might wanna try earning a little something on your own before Saturday.”

On my own? Awww, man! How’m I gonna do that? I only have a few days, and unlike Lorenzo, I don’t have a big brother to borrow it from. Plus, who knows when Dad’ll be back. Shoot. What am I gonna do? Better yet, what am I gonna get her? At least that’ll tell me how much money I need.

“What do you think I should get her?”

Mama stopped the screen on
Wheel of Fortune.
A new puzzle was about to start. A phrase. Five words.

“How old is this girl gonna be again?”

Vanna turned around three
T
’s on-screen.

“I told you: fourteen.”

She was silent until the wheel stopped spinning. When $350 appeared, she said, “Well, let me ask you this: do you want her to know you like her?”

I do. No, I don’t. Wait. I do. No, no, no. I don’t.

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

Vanna flipped around two
H
’s.

“You guess so? You may not see this girl ever again after this party and you guess so? This is your chance, baby. You better jump on it.”

“I know. You right.”

Next, $1,000 appeared on the wheel.

“
N.
Ask for an
N,
” Mama shouted to a little old white lady on-screen, trying to decide which letter to call next. She called for an
L
and two appeared. She bought an
E,
and Mama said, “I hate when they buy vowels. Such a waste of money.”

“Speaking of money . . . my gift? You got any ideas?”

“I’m sorry, Shawn. I’m trying to solve this puzzle. You know what she likes?”

“You mean what she likes to wear?”

The wheel on the screen clicked to
BANKRUPT
.

“No, just what she likes in general. You gotta start somewhere.”

I stared at the puzzle on the screen as Marisol danced through my head. Wait . . .

“The writing on the wall!” I shouted.

“What?”

“The puzzle. I solved it.”

She looked to see if the spaces matched the words, then shook her head. “You did it again.”

“See . . . I should try to get on when they have Teen Week again. One–nothing, me. Now what was I saying? Oh, yeah, Marisol. The only thing I came up with is green. And pink. And purple.”

“What are you talking about? Green? Pink? And purple what?”

“I always see her in one of those colors. Pedal pushers. Hair clips. Whatever.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. You know any of her sizes?”

The blank look on my face and my shrug answered her.

“I didn’t think so. You mentioned a hair clip. And you said she has long hair. Right?”

“Yeah, it goes all the way down to her butt.” Oops.

She frowned at me and lowered her eyebrows.

“What? I’m just saying — to let you know how long it is.”

A new puzzle appeared on-screen. “Around the House” was the category.

“Maybe you could get her a nice hair clip.”

“A hair clip? That sounds kind of, I don’t know, cheap?”

A young white guy clapped on the screen shouting, “Big money . . . big money.” The wheel clicked to a stop at $500, and he shouted
“N.”
Nothing came up.

“Cheap? Not necessarily. A nice hair clip, a real nice one, can go for as much as fifty bucks. Some even more. I wouldn’t spend that much on one for myself, but if somebody gave me that as a gift . . .”

A hair clip? I don’t know. Seems so . . . small.

“But the best part is, she’ll think of you whenever she puts it on.”

Ahhhhh. I didn’t think of that. That
would
be cool. Real cool. But fifty bucks? That’s a lot of money. Especially when you don’t even have a dime. Dang! I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy.

A young black woman on the screen clapped as Vanna flipped around three
D
’s, two at the end of the first two words. The puzzle only had three words, but I had no idea what they might be.

“A hair clip, huh? That’s a good idea. I can’t afford fifty bucks though.”

“They don’t all cost that much. I’m just saying, that’s about how much a real nice one is. It don’t matter how much you spend, but how much it looks like you spent.”

She curled her legs onto the couch and stared at the screen.

“Polished hardwood floors!” she shouted.

“Awww, man. I had no idea what that was.”

“Big surprise. The category
is
‘Around the House.’”

The white guy asked for a
T
and nothing appeared. He had no idea either.

“Speaking of which, what are we doing this weekend? I hope we not gonna just clean up ‘around the house,’ you know?”

The white lady on the screen shouted out the answer after Vanna flipped around two
H
’s.

A grin crept across Mama’s face. “Well . . . I might be seeing Aaron.”

I turned in her direction. “Aaron? Who’s Aaron?”

“You know him as Professor Hopkins — Aaron is his first name. I thought I told you that.”

I swung my legs in her direction. “No, you haven’t told me anything about . . . Aaron. Y’all gettin’ serious?”

“No, we are not getting serious. He’s divorced, like me, and neither one of us wants to travel that road again. We just like doing stuff together: going to the movies, bowling, listening to music. You know, just having a good time. It’s good for me to get out once in a while.”

“I heard that!”

She flung the pillow in my direction. “Oh, hush up.”

I threw the pillow back at her. “I’m just glad you doing something on the weekends besides cleaning the house. Just don’t forget about the party — Saturday at seven. OK?”

She waved me off. “I got it, I got it.”

“Speaking of Professor Hopkins,” she said during a commercial, “you know he asks about you all the time.”

“He does? Why?”

“Well, he does teach literature, and you like to read, so we talk about that. Matter of fact, last time we spoke I told him you were reading
Malcolm X
and how it’s helping you with your big decision.”

I jumped to my feet. “My decision? You told him about that?”

“Calm down. We talk about lots of stuff.”

I sat back down, still facing her. “But he don’t know me.”

“But he does know
me.
So calm down. He was impressed that a fourteen-year-old was reading that book already — very impressed. A lot of the students in his class haven’t even read that book yet.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. When I mentioned some of the other books you’ve read in the last couple of years, he said he teaches some of them in his course.”

“For real? In college? Which ones?”

She looked to the ceiling. “The one that stands out most is
Invisible Man
. Probably because you read that not long ago, right?”

“Yeah, late last year.”

Her eyes rolled from me to the screen as
Wheel
came back on.

“He teaches freshman literature, so his students are fresh out of high school — eighteen, nineteen. He said you keep reading books like that and you’ll have no problem when your SATs roll around.”

“My SATs? What’s that?”

“That’s the test you take to get into college. There’s an English section and a math section. The higher your score, the better chance you have of getting into whatever college you want. You have thought about college, right?”

I’ve thought about my future — in high school. Not college.

“A little bit.”

Her hunched back straightened. “Just . . . a little bit?”

She didn’t sound thrilled. What could I say?

“College just seems so far away. This whole high school thing is right in front of me, so that’s what I’ve been focusing on.”

She settled back into her seat. “Anyway, I told Aaron you’re a smart kid; sometimes too smart for your own good”— she laughed —“and you’re gonna go far in life.”

“You said that?”

Her eyes bounced between me and the screen.

“Of course I did. You’re my child. I didn’t raise no dummy.”

The white guy was back on the screen clapping and shouting, “Big money . . . big money.”

The $5,000 spot on the wheel clicked to a stop, and he just about lost his mind.

“
S,
fool,
S
!” Mama shouted at the screen.

He called for a
B
and nothing appeared. Who calls for a
B
with only two letters on the board? This guy is clueless. What’s the category? “On the Menu,” huh? That’s right up my alley.

Mama stared at the puzzle, trying to figure it out when I shouted, “Garlic mashed potatoes. I got it again! That’s two for me, one for you.”

“I told you I didn’t raise no dummy,” she said, whacking me with the pillow before heading into the kitchen.

A few spins later, the young black woman finally solved it, winning $8,250.

Mama’s right; she didn’t raise no dummy. Shoot, if I was on
Wheel of Fortune,
I’d have enough money to buy Marisol a hundred hair clips. But I’m not. So I can’t. I don’t need a hundred anyway. Just one. All I need is money for one.

Hopefully tomorrow I’ll figure out how to solve that puzzle.