Come a Stranger (23 page)

“Sammy?”

“I said. Didn't you listen?”

Samuel Tillerman, Mina heard the name with a bubble of laughter and her eyes filling up with tears. She heard Tamer Shipp's bassoon voice saying it. She felt like getting up and
calling him up on the phone to say, “I found him for you.” She could imagine what Mr. Shipp would say.

“I didn't know you cared that much,” Louis asked her. “Maybeth stayed back a year, where they lived before, so she should really be in my class. She's the nice one. She's got friends, lots of friends. I talked to James a little at lunch one day because he looked lonely. I don't know if he was boasting, but he said they walked all the way here from Annapolis. Could they?”

“Across the bay?”

“I don't think he was lying, but he might have been boasting.”

“Where are their parents?” Mina asked. She knew she couldn't call up Mr. Shipp. But she didn't know how she'd wait all the time before next June to tell him. First, though, she had to make sure.

“James wouldn't say anything about them. That's all I know. Except, they've got an older sister.”

“I know about her. She's in my class,” Mina said. “Her name's Dicey, and she's not—not too friendly.”

“Maybeth is friendly,” Louis said. “She—” He didn't know how to say what he was thinking.

Mina knew, but she wasn't going to let him know she knew his private thoughts. Instead, she told him, “Do you know what Mr. Shipp once said about Alice? He said he thought God had done fine work when He made Alice.”

Louis liked that. “It doesn't matter if she's not black,” he said. “She's still pretty, isn't she?”

“I wish I could figure that out,” Mina told him.

I
t clearly mattered to the corps de ballet that Mina was black, and it was making Mrs. Edges nervous. Less and less of their PE time was used playing tennis, because drill exercises were the only way Mrs. Edges could keep the class in control.

It wasn't a terrific way for Mina to start out the day. When she thought about it—which was no more often than she had to, because thinking about it made her feel helpless and dangerously angry—she thought the easiest way would be to start in picking on Bonnie. When you want to claw your way up the pecking order, you start with the person on the bottom. But Mina didn't want to claw her way up—if it was up. She wanted to play tennis. What she really wanted was to go for the girl named Harriet, who set the styles for that group and set the tone. Leader of the pack, Mina called her, to herself. They were like a pack of dogs, and they treated one another like dogs—casually cruel if they thought Harriet would find them clever, cruelly careless about what they said to one another, and then they tried with emotional apologies to act as if they didn't mean what they'd said. But it was such a contest, what they called their friendship—who had the most records, who had the most lipsticks, whose father had the best job, which boys liked whom.

Mina ignored them, mostly. If they started hedging her in too close, all she had to do was look at Harriet and look at her. Harriet
wasn't about to tackle Mina straightforwardly. Mrs. Edges gave up the hope that everybody would get used to things and get along, and she would take Mina onto a court herself. They volleyed, or played a few games. Mina had a good, strong serve. The serve was the easiest part of the game for Mina.

Harriet didn't like this. She came hippity-hopping over one early October morning to say, “Mrs. Edges? My father says I'm not getting the quality of instruction he expected. He wants to come in and talk to you about what I'm learning.” The rest of the corps de ballet stood behind her, nodding their heads to show that their daddies felt the same way, smirking to see a student win a power play over a teacher, any teacher.

Mina couldn't have stopped herself if she wanted to. She took one look at the scene and started to laugh.

Harriet whirled around. “What's so funny?”

Mina couldn't help it. “You are,” she laughed. “You and the rest of your corps de ballet here.”

Harriet's henchman, Sandy, the only one with whom Mina had any classes, looked at Mina, looked at Mrs. Edges, whose temper was starting to show; and looked at Harriet. She grinned at Mina. “Nice try, Harriet,” she said, “but she's got you.”

Mina stopped laughing. She told herself that she couldn't just slam somebody on the head with her tennis racquet. It wasn't even her own racquet, it belonged to the school, and what if it broke.

“Wanna play a game?” Sandy asked her.

Mina wanted to say no and walk away. She didn't want to have anything to do with them. She didn't want Sandy thinking that Mina would be grateful for this little friendly gesture. She'd seen what their friendship was worth. But she also wondered how she'd do, and it was a beautiful morning out there on the tennis courts, the air cool and tasting good, the sun warm, the
leaves dark green on the tall trees. It was too beautiful a morning to let go to waste.

“Sure,” she said. “Two out of three? Shall I serve first?” she asked, smiling with all her teeth, Uncle Tomming the girl.

Sandy was dark-haired and round-muscled, with the body of a natural athlete. She was sure of herself, because she was the best of the corps. “Fine by me,” she agreed, her generosity put on as bright as her lipstick.

Mina aced her, all four serves, one after the other. She overpowered the girl. That took care of the first game. When Sandy served, they had to volley, and Mina concentrated on always getting the ball back over the net. They crept up to deuce, then the add point went back and forth, with nobody able to take the final point that would end the game. Mina stopped thinking about beating Sandy and started to think about winning the game. When she did that, she had to admit to herself that it had been fun to play against Sandy. Mrs. Edges was so much better than Mina, their games weren't really games; but Sandy made a genuine opponent.

“That's some serve you've got,” Sandy said. Mina nodded, but didn't say anything more. “Is that what you call us, corps de ballet?”

“Why not?” Mina asked. She had worked up a sweat winning the second game.

“With you as Odile,” Sandy cracked.

That got Mina's attention. She looked down into the white girl's tanned face and noted the crooked nose and short front teeth and the unmistakeable gleam of intelligence in the brown eyes. “Odile-Odette,” Mina answered.

Sandy laughed, a short quick laugh, and went off to the gym for a shower.

The next day, Sandy started off the class saying that she and
Mina would take on anyone else in doubles. Mina said, no, but she and Bonnie would if anyone cared to play them. Bonnie wasn't sure she wanted to, but Mina made her, without saying a word, just by assuming they would and summoning her onto the court. But the next day, Mrs. Edges took Mina aside at the end of class and said she was switching Mina's sports assignment.

“It doesn't bother me,” Mina said.

“It's not that,” Mrs. Edges said, embarrassed. “It's because you're too good.”

Mina's jaw wanted to fall open, but she held it closed.

“You've got excellent coordination and real strength. You move well, with natural grace. You're unusually disciplined. I want you to be in an intermediate class, not a beginner's. You'll be behind at first.”

“That's okay,” Mina said.

“But I think you'll catch up in no time. Miss Bower—she's the varsity coach—agrees with me. We want to build a tennis team. I think you're a good bet for it. We want you to take tennis for your spring sport too, if you'd like to.” Mrs. Edges waited, and then added, “So would you like to do that?”

Mina nodded her head while her mind was still trying to figure out words like natural grace and coordination. She wondered why Miss Maddinton had told her she'd grown up clumsy. She wondered why she'd believed that long-ago teacher. She wondered if Miss Maddinton just hadn't remembered that people grew and kept on growing; she hadn't looked with a long eye. Maybe, Mina thought, because a long eye wouldn't show her what she wanted to see.

“Thank you,” Mina remembered to say.

Since things were going along so well, Mina decided that she'd pair herself up with Dicey Tillerman when the science teacher announced that he wanted them working in pairs for a
rock classifying unit. It wouldn't do Dicey any harm socially. Mina's position in the class was becoming more what she'd expected. Everybody knew Mina Smiths, or knew who she was, or was going to. Moreover, she'd seen Dicey talking to a boy after school, while the boy played his guitar, so she thought Dicey must be coming out of her initial shyness. Then, which was most tempting, she'd seen Dicey's face wake up a couple of times in English class in response to something Mina had said. For all of those reasons, but mostly because of Tamer Shipp's Bullet, mostly for Tamer Shipp, Mina went over to sit beside Dicey Tillerman at the lab table in the back of the room.

Dicey looked up, not exactly pleased. Mina piled her books onto the table. “I'm Wilhemina Smiths, Smiths with an S at both ends. My friends call me Mina. You're Dicey Tillerman,” she added quickly, because she wouldn't put it past this girl to not introduce herself.

Dicey looked at her. Probably, like Mina, she was hearing the buzzes of conversation around them. Mina ignored her friends and met Dicey's eyes. They were hazel eyes, and suspicious.

“We're the smartest ones in here,” Mina kept her voice low to say that, even though she thought it was true.

Dicey didn't say any of the things Mina expected her to say. The usual responses would be, “Oh I don't think so,” with false modesty, or, “I know,” with pride, or, “Thank you,” for the compliment.

“How do you know that?” Dicey demanded.

Mina got busy arranging her books and kept her eyes on her hands to hide the laughter bubbling up in her. “I know about me,” she said, “and I've been keeping an eye on you.” That was certainly the truth, if Dicey only knew. “Don't worry.” Mina looked back at the hazel eyes, which were entirely alert now in the narrow face. “I won't eat you.”

Dicey was surprised to hear that, and then she just grinned at Mina, mischief and confidence all over that face now. The eyes flashed some different colors Mina couldn't catch. “I'm not worried,” the girl said, and Mina could have cheered aloud, if class hadn't started in right then.
Whoo-ee
,
she said, inside her head.

They worked well together. Dicey knew how to work with someone, although she always knew what she thought, loud and clear. When they disagreed on what kind of a rock it was they were classifying, or what was the best proof, they argued back and forth about it. Sometimes it turned out Dicey was right, sometimes that Mina was right, and sometimes their arguments got them to a new answer, which they both recognized as better than either of their own suggestions. Dicey didn't ask Mina any personal questions. Mina very carefully didn't ask Dicey any personal questions either, but she figured they had begun to be friends. Mina could never boss Dicey around, and she liked that.

When Mr. Chappelle assigned an essay in English class, Mina had such a good idea right away that she could barely stop herself from trying to talk to Dicey right then in the middle of class. She waited by the door for Dicey to come out. She told Dicey she had an idea she wanted to talk to her about.

“Sure,” Dicey said, not even slowing down.

Mina suggested after school, and Dicey said she couldn't. Mina suggested that the girl come by her house, but Dicey said she couldn't. There was a sinking feeling at Mina's heart—and a little anger at the way this girl just—dismissed her. She wondered if she'd been all wrong about Dicey and what she was like. Independent, just for starters. She didn't think so, because she was pretty smart about people, but she was watching the sharp face and she knew she didn't even have all of the girl's attention. Mina decided to turn it into a joke. “You sure are a hard person to be friends with, Dicey Tillerman,” she said.

She waited for some answer, but there was no answer given. Mina guessed that was a pretty clear answer.

But if Dicey thought Mina didn't know the smell of prejudice when she ran her nose over it . . . if Dicey thought Mina was short on friends . . . it wasn't Dicey Mina was interested in anyway, it was Bullet, if anybody wanted the truth of it.

Kat said it one day, walking down the hall behind Dicey's cold shoulder. “What do you want honky friends for anyway.”

“The way you talk, Katanga Beaulieu.” Mina prissed up her lips and minced on down the corridor.

Mina wrote her English essay the night before it was due. She had the house to herself that night. Louis was at Boy Scouts, Momma was at the hospital, and Belle had gone with their father to the meeting about plans for the Halloween party for teenagers. Halloween hadn't used to be like that, Mina remembered. Halloween hadn't used to need a party to keep the older kids at the church and out of trouble, or grownups going out with the little kids to keep them safe. On Halloween her father went out walking along the streets of the neighborhood, “doing his Mayor Lindsay act,” Momma had said.

“Who's he?” Mina asked.

“He was Mayor of New York during the riots after Dr. King was shot,” her dad said. “He went out walking on the streets those nights, trying to keep trouble down. It was a brave thing, and it certainly helped.”

“Those were terrible days,” her mother added. “You were just a baby, but . . . it was so terrible that Dr. King was shot, and the riots were so terrible, blacks tearing apart their own neighborhoods. I could sympathize, but I couldn't sympathize, if you know what I mean. I was glad we were down here, you can believe that. Things were tense down here, but not terrible.”