Deal With It (8 page)

Tameka

I
picked over my grits and eggs, on the verge of tears. Boy problems were never easy to deal with, especially when you really cared about the boy. My eyes were bloodshot from staying up almost the entire night, waiting for Vance to call or text. When I received neither one, my heart began to ache. I had blown it. He had moved on to someone else, someone else who was more willing to give it up.

“What’s wrong, Tameka? Why aren’t you eating?” my mother asked, pulling up a chair next to mine and putting her plate filled with bacon, eggs and grits on the table.

I played with my scrambled eggs. “Just not that hungry.”

“Today is Lifetime movie Sunday.” She smiled. “You ready?”

“Not today, Mom. I’m not really feeling Lifetime today.”

“You look tired. Were you up late again?”

“A little.”

“This is about a boy, isn’t it?” she asked. She knew me too well. “Tell me what’s going on. I can probably help.”

“It’s Vance.” I was no good at hiding things from my mother.
She was my best friend. “I think he’s messing around with another girl.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Well, Jade and Indigo said they saw him and Jaylen at the movies with some girls. Well, not Indigo. Jade said this.”

“It sounds like a case of that he said, she said stuff. What did I tell you about that?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. She went to the refrigerator and reached for the orange juice. “Did you ask Vance if he was at the movies with another girl?”

“Yes. And he denied it,” I said.

“Well, give him the benefit of the doubt,” Mom said matter-of-factly.

“He was supposed to call me last night, and I didn’t hear from him. No phone call, no text message. Nothing.”

“That’s why your eyes are red and you look like you’re sleepy. This boy is under your skin.” Mom plopped back down at the breakfast table. “Has he been in your pocketbook, Tameka?”

“No! Why would you ask me that?”

“Just checking. I told you about letting boys into your pocketbook before you or he is ready for it.”

“He hasn’t been.” I stuffed eggs into my mouth.

“Okay, okay. I’m done asking,” she said, “but don’t forget what I said about it.”

“I won’t,” I said. It was a conversation that was burned in my memory. How would I forget it?

The conversation stopped as my father stepped into the room.

“Good morning,” he said. “How’re my favorite two girls?”

“Good morning, sweetie,” Mom said and locked lips with Daddy right in front of me.

I observed how they interacted with each other. Wanted to see if there was some tension between them. Everything seemed good on the surface, but I never knew what they talked about
behind their bedroom door. Were they talking about splitting up? Did he know that Mommy was starting to resent him for being gone too much? Did he even care about her feelings?

“Morning, Daddy.” My lips brushed against his rugged cheek. “Ooh, need a shave, don’t we?”

“I’m letting it grow,” Daddy said and ran his hand over his five o’clock shadow. He pulled the carton of milk out of the refrigerator. Poured a glass.

“How you like Mom’s hair?” I asked.

“I, um, it’s nice,” he stuttered a little.

“It’s very short, huh?” I asked.

“It’s shorter than it usually is, but it’s nice,” my daddy said, carefully choosing his words.

That wasn’t the response I’d been expecting.

Mom stuck her tongue out, and then pointed her French-manicured nail toward me. “Stop trying to start stuff, Tameka. And mind your own business.”

“I was just asking if Daddy liked your hair.” I smiled. “That’s all.”

The cordless phone vibrated on the countertop, and Daddy quickly grabbed it.

“Hello, uh. Yes, just a moment. It’s for you, baby.” He handed me the phone and headed out of the room. “And tell that boy not to call during breakfast anymore.”

Boy? What boy would be calling me on the house phone?

“Hello,” I answered.

“Good morning.” Vance’s voice rang through the phone and was like music to my ears. “So you’re eating breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to call you back?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I was just finishing up.”

I quickly took my plate to the sink, scraped the eggs and grits into the garbage disposal. I glanced over at my mom. At first,
she gave me a cockeyed look, with raised eyebrows, but then she smiled.

“Is it Vance?” she whispered.

I nodded a yes and then headed out of the room, took the stairs two at a time to my bedroom.

“I thought you were gonna call me last night,” I said. “What happened to that?”

“Well, I tried to call your phone all night, but I couldn’t get through,” he said. “That’s why I finally called your house phone this morning.”

“For real? You called my cell phone?” I searched for my phone, and once I found it, I flipped it open. The screen was completely black. I hit the power button. Nothing.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” Vance teased.

Avoiding him? Not.

“No, my phone is dead. I need to charge it.” I giggled and plugged my charger in. Relieved.

“I was thinking about going skating today. You wanna go?”

“Yeah. That sounds like fun.” I accepted the invitation without even asking for permission from my parents, without giving any thought to what plans Mommy had for me.

“Can you meet me at Skate Towne later on, say, around three o’clock?” he asked.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I said.

“See you then.” He sealed the deal. “I’ll holler at you later.”

“Okay.”

I pressed the power button on our cordless phone, held it to my chest.

No matter what had happened to us on Friday night, Skate Towne would make it all better.

Indigo

I
bent over, panting; my hands touched my knees as I tried to catch my breath. I caught a glance at the muscles in my legs. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t worked for them; I’d done fifty sprints up and down the gymnasium floor each day before dance-team practice. With all our push-ups, sit-ups and crunches, we were in better shape than the boys’ basketball team. Miss Martin insisted that there was more to dancing than just shaking our booties to music. Dancing was a sport, she’d explained, which meant that we had to stay in shape. It required exercise. She even encouraged us to maintain a healthy diet.

“Stop eating all those greasy foods, like fried chicken and pork chops. Grab yourselves a turkey sandwich, and ask your mamas to buy you some yogurt to bring for lunch,” she’d smile and say. “And every now and then, you should consider a salad for dinner.”

She must’ve forgotten who she was talking to. Fried chicken was a staple in most of our homes, and it was a crime if we didn’t have chocolate cake or sweet-potato pie for dessert. Miss Martin
knew that. She was just as black as the rest of us. I admired her for trying, though. But, honestly, I couldn’t remember a time that my mother bought sliced turkey or those small cups of yogurt, which smelled like spoiled milk. The only time I was able to make a turkey sandwich was when we had turkey and dressing for Thanksgiving dinner, and Mama sliced the leftover turkey the next day and made sandwiches out of it.

I stood straight up as the cramp in my side started to ease up. I wiped sweat from my face and glanced over at Jade. She was breathing just as hard. Tameka pulled her hair into a ponytail and wrapped a scrunchie around it.

Miss Martin blew her whistle. “Okay, let’s get started, girls. I do have a life, you know.”

As Nelly’s voice echoed across the gymnasium, I got a visual of his muscular arms holding on to a microphone and of him bouncing around onstage—tattoos plastered across his sexy body. I had rushed to the mall the day his new CD was released and had bought it. I’d stared at the cover for longer than I should have—stared so long, I’d felt like I was cheating on Marcus.

Everyone took their places as we began to practice our new routine. It was a number that our team captain, Kim Elliott, had created. That is, before she got pregnant and had to go to a different school. Mother High was the nickname they’d given to the school where pregnant girls went. I felt sorry for her. It must’ve been terrible getting pregnant just six months before graduation. I’d heard about people ruining their teen lives like that, but I didn’t know anyone that it had actually happened to. It had been bittersweet, losing one of our best dancers, but with Kim gone, a spot had opened for a new team captain.

As the song faded, Miss Martin jotted notes down on a notepad. She looked up at us and began to pace the floor.

“As you all know, our team captain is gone,” she said. “We’re gonna miss Kim, but when we make adult choices for our
lives, we have to live with the consequences of those choices. Kim’s mistake should be a lesson to each of you.”

I glanced over at Shelly Richards. There was a rumor that she had once been pregnant, but it had never proved to be true. Some folks said that she’d had an abortion, while others claimed that she’d never been pregnant. I never found out what the truth really was, but I was grateful that it wasn’t me.

“I guess it’s obvious that we will be looking for a team captain to replace Kim,” Miss Martin continued.

I glanced over at Kelly Winslow as she ran her fingers through her silky flat-ironed hair, her lip gloss poppin’ like Lil Mama’s. Her muscular calves were twice the size of mine, and her breasts were at least three times my size. She was an okay dancer, but the truth of the matter was that she was a senior and had been on the dance team since ninth grade. Not to mention her mother taught algebra and geometry right there at Carver. Her mother, Mrs. Winslow, probably had lunch with Miss Martin every day in the teachers’ lounge. She had an edge.

Then there was Missy Jones, also a senior. Her short and sassy spiked hair was as stiff as a board from all the spritz she used on it. She was tall and looked as if she could dunk a basketball. With her dark brown skin and flat chest, she could dance her butt off. It was no secret that she struggled to keep her grades on point. She’d almost gotten kicked off the team last year because of her grades. Miss Martin didn’t play when it came to grades—if we failed our classes, there was no need to even show up for dance-team practice.

Miss Martin went on. “And instead of simply picking a senior for this spot, I think that we should give every girl on this team a chance to compete.”

Kelly Winslow and Missy Jones looked at each other and then looked at Miss Martin as if she’d lost her mind.

“And so I’ll be watching you over the next couple of weeks,
trying to determine which one of you is best equipped for the job,” said Miss Martin.

Kelly spoke up first. “But, Miss Martin, the team captain has always been a senior.”

“Yep, that’s how it’s always been, Miss Martin,” Missy added.

“Well, not anymore, ladies,” Miss Martin said. “Not necessarily. This time when I pick a team captain, it will be someone who deserves it based on talent, grades and character, and not simply because she’s a senior. Now, let’s run through the routine again.”

As Nelly’s voice bounced against the wall again, my heart began to pound. There was a chance that I could actually become the captain of this team, if I played my cards right. Jade and I looked at each other. I could tell that we were thinking the same thing. Just as I was thinking that I’d make the best team captain, Jade was probably thinking that she would, too. For the first time in our lives, we’d be competing against each other, and that felt funny.

After practice Jade and I stood inside to keep warm as we waited for her father’s SUV to pull up.

“Did you see that stupid look on Kelly’s face when Miss Martin said that the team captain wouldn’t
necessarily
be a senior?” Jade whispered.

“Missy was shocked, too,” I added. “Who do they think they are, anyway?”

“Seniors, of course,” Jade said.

“Everybody knows I’ll be the next dance-team captain.” I snapped my fingers.

“Excuse me?” Jade’s hand attached itself to her hip as she gave me a sideways look.

“You’re excused,” I said.

“Just think about it for a minute, Indi. Who did Miss Martin pick for the dance team, even though tryouts were over and done with?” Jade asked. “Me. And I didn’t even have to compete with the rest of you stank females.”

“If you recall, she only picked you because I begged her to.”

“Whatever, Indi,” said Jade. “We both know that’s not true. She picked me because she knew I had skills.”

“If you say so, Jade,” I said and opened the gymnasium door, bracing myself for the cold air. “Your daddy’s here.”

“So, are you saying that I can’t dance or something?” Jade asked as we walked briskly to her father’s SUV.

“I’m not saying that,” I said, suddenly wanting the conversation to end. It seemed to have taken a wrong turn somehow.

“Then what are you saying?” she asked, readjusting her gym bag on her shoulder and stopping in midstride.

“It is too cold to be standing out here, debating with you,” I said. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Yeah, let’s drop it,” Jade said, and we both hopped into the backseat of her father’s car.

“Hello, girls.” Uncle Ernest turned and looked at our cold faces. “How was practice?”

“Fine.” We both said it in unison.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Not really, Daddy,” Jade answered for both of us. “Can we just drop Indi off and go home? I have tons of homework.”

“You don’t want to stop for a burger?”

“No,” Jade replied and stared out the window.

I hadn’t meant to hurt Jade’s feelings, but she had to know that I was a much better dancer than she was—any day of the week.