Holidaze (14 page)

“Oh, this is our fellow ASB member, Nellie, and she’s been assigned to visit the class this period for research purposes,” Laura says, like she’s Nellie’s official spokesperson.

“Here’s the note from Mr. Wilkins, my history teacher.” Nellie passes the note to Mrs. Peterson, who’s eyeing it like it’s a counterfeit bill. She then looks from Laura to Nellie and nods her head in approval. White folks can get away with anything around here. Let me try to bring Mickey up in here for a visit. Note or no note, she’d be out on her ass.

“Fine. Please take a seat so we can begin.” The girls head to the back where Laura usually sits, but not before Nellie can throw some hater rays my way.

“Cute sweatshirt. Did I miss the sale at the Salvation Army?” What did this trick just say? Nellie must really be smelling herself these days to go there with me.

“Nellie, please. If you’re going to waste what few brain cells you’ve got left under that horse hair, use them to say something more clever than that.”

“Ouch,” the boys sitting behind me say in unison. Other students laugh at the intrusive episode in our class, which is usually dry as sandpaper. I might be grateful for the interruption if it weren’t at my expense.

“You’re just jealous because I’ve got everything you could never have.”

“Nellie, I do hair, remember? I’m sure I could put a few tracks in my head if I wanted to.”

“Damn, she’s not letting up on your weave, dude,” Sam, one of the class clowns, says to a steaming Nellie. Truthfully, that’s all I would say about her because I don’t want be too mean to her. I don’t like to get too ugly with anyone, especially not someone who used to be a good friend of mine.

“Well, Chance doesn’t seem to mind my hair or anything else about me.” Nellie puts her hands on her hips and rolls her neck at me. When did she get all that sass? She then sticks her nonexistent breasts out like she’s somebody’s mama. What’s gotten into this girl?

“That’s because Chance is a nice guy. What he sees in you is beyond me.”

“He sees that I’m a real woman and whoever he was attracted to before was a little girl.”

“Okay, ladies, that’s enough,” Mrs. Peterson growls from her desk.

“What do you mean, a real woman, Nellie? You’re a sixteen-year-old girl last time I checked, just like me, fool.”

“Some of us mature faster than others.” Nellie continues her trek to the back of the class where the queen bitch has officially claimed her throne for the hour. I hope this girl didn’t give it up to Chance. And I hope Chance didn’t give it up to her either. He’s liable to be more hurt from this relationship, the way Nellie’s acting these days. I’ll have to talk to him about this new development. I would ask Jeremy, but he looks as curious about Nellie’s revelation as I am. Maybe I can catch him before fourth period, since I usually see him walking to class. It’s a simple yes or no question, no long conversation needed.

By the time we get to fourth period the classroom is already packed with students. I haven’t seen Chance yet. I guess I’ll try to catch him later. I scan the room to see who’s arrived before I take my seat. There’s one student in particular who has caught my eye. It’s the new student who had eyes for me last week. I don’t know where he came from, but I’m sure glad for the new energy in the room.

“My name is Emilio,” he says in the sexiest damned accent I’ve ever heard. Where is this brother from, and can I go back there with him? Jeremy looks at me, and the rest of the girls salivate over the new student. He can’t talk; I’ve seen him eye plenty of asses since we’ve been dating.

“Are you from Mexico or something?” Shae asks, sucking on her Blow Pop a little too suggestively. I think he’s cute too, but does she really have to be so crude with it?

“No, I’m from a small village in Venezuela, originally.” He smiles at me as I sit down at my assigned desk. Mr. Adewale has made it perfectly clear he means business and I definitely want to stay on his good side.

“Okay, class, we have a lot to go over in this short period, so let’s get to it.”

I’m glad today is an early day. When I get to Netta’s after school, hopefully they’ll give me the clearance to do hair again. I need to make some money sooner than later. And it’s boring only having school and my spirit work to focus on. Hair is my therapy. Tomorrow I will be back on my grind and thankful for it.

I can’t believe it’s already Wednesday. I was so busy at Netta’s shop yesterday I came home last night and crashed, which is unfortunate because that means tonight and tomorrow night will be spent catching up on homework. But at least they temporarily gave me the okay to do hair again.

Mrs. Bennett has decided to reinstate our mandatory AP meetings at break and lunch on Wednesdays because she says we need the help. I’ll be so glad to graduate next year that I’m counting the days.

“Buenos días, Señorita Jayd,”
Emilio says. I smile my biggest smile and return the greeting.

“Buenos días. Como estas?”
He smiles at my wack-ass Spanish accent, but at least I got the words right.

“Bien, y tu?”
Damn, Emilio’s not letting the Spanish go. It’ll be cool to have another friend to practice my chosen foreign language with. Maggie and I go back and forth sometimes, but she mixes Spanish and English like that’s another language all its own. We call it Spanglish in the hood, but like Ebonics, I don’t think it’ll ever show up on the AP exams.

“Así así.”
Now we’re both cheesing. It’s been a long time since I met someone who could make me blush. Jeremy had that effect on me until our madness began. And Rah never really made me blush. All of the heat in my body rises when I’m around Rah, not just in my cheeks. I wish it weren’t true, especially now when it’s so hard loving Rah, but I can’t lie to myself. I’m confused about dealing with Rah and all of his baby-mama drama. But he’s not here right now and Emilio’s fine self is a pleasant distraction.

“Bien.”
He looks at me, his hazel eyes hypnotizing me for just a moment. But the noisy hall snaps me back into the present moment. I’ve spent enough time off in another world lately.

“Okay, that’s all the Spanish I know comfortably. English, please.” We begin our walk down the main hall toward the language hall. It’s another foggy morning, and according to the dark clouds outside, it looks like it’s going to stay that way. I watched The Weather Channel last night and it said the rest of the week would be sunny. So much for that theory.

“So, Jayd, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do, where do you live, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” Emilio’s more interested in me than the Census Bureau.

“Well, I like to make money and chill, I live in Compton and I’m an only child from my mother, and I have a brother and a sister from my daddy. How about you?”

“Wow, you only have two siblings? I have ten,” he says, turning the corner behind me, now directly in front of my first period classroom. Too bad he’s a sophomore. If he were a year older, I’d eat him up like a piece of chocolate cake.

“Well, I live with seven other people in a small house, so I feel like I have ten siblings.” Emilio laughs at me and I love seeing his pretty smile.

“As you already know, I’m an exchange student from South America, I’m staying in Redondo Beach, and I like to play chess, read, and dance. Do you like salsa?”

“Yes, I love it. My favorite is the spicy kind, although mild is good on tacos.” Emilio laughs hysterically at my comment. What’s so funny about dip?

“No, not the food. The music, salsa. I love to dance,” he says, putting one hand in the air and the other out in front of him like he’s holding a girl’s waist. “We should get together sometime. I’ll show you how.” As the warning bell rings above our heads, Mr. Adewale turns the corner and smiles at me.

“Good morning to you both,” Mr. A says. He passes us by and goes into the classroom ahead of me. I guess Mr. Donald is out today. I thought that since Mr. A has his own class now he was off of sub duty, but apparently not.

“I’ll see you in third period,
Señorita
Jayd.
Hasta luego,
” Emilio says before I have the chance to grill him some more.

“Okay class, quiet down,” Mr. Adewale says, writing our assignment on the board. “I’m going to be taking over your Spanish class for the remainder of the semester and it’s going to be very different from what you’re used to.” Mr. Adewale just made my morning with his presence, but crushed it with his announcement. If I know anything about him, it’s that he doesn’t play when it comes to academics. My first period was the one class I could count on being easy. Now all that’s going to change.

“Ah, hell no, man. Where’s Mr. Donald? He was supposed to change my grade to an A last week, but I think he forgot,” Chad says, one of the potheads who hangs out at the back of the classroom with my in-class homegirl, China, and the rest of their crew. They are used to being able to cut up and ditch class at will, like Jeremy. But not anymore. Mr. Adewale has little tolerance for any type of disrespectful behavior.

“Back to your new assignment,” Mr. Adewale continues, ignoring Chad’s outburst. “You’ll find your new syllabus online, which is also where your additional classwork will be housed. This class now has its own website where you can post your work every week.”

“Dude, I don’t have a computer,” Chad says, further antagonizing Mr. A, who has obviously lost patience with the high white boy. Mr. Adewale’s chiseled cheekbones tighten and his hazel-green eyes are now glaring. They almost look red from where I’m sitting.

“That’s why your school invested in a million-dollar multimedia system. Use it.” The stern tone in Mr. Adewale’s voice silences the entire class. If anyone was going to challenge Mr. A about anything else, I’m sure they’ve changed their mind by now. “Today’s class will focus on Spanish verbs. Once you memorize them, the rest of the language will come relatively easily. Please turn to page seven in your textbooks and read chapter one. Your homework is on the board. And please don’t try to rush through the chapter and do your homework in class. If you do, I guarantee you will flunk tomorrow’s quiz.”

Damn, Mr. A is on fire this morning. He seemed like he was in a good mood outside. Maybe it’s just because he’s new to taking over the course. Hopefully he’ll lighten up as the semester progresses. All I need is another reason to dread coming to school. Between my girls tripping and the rest of the frenemies present on this campus, the last thing I need is another hard-core teacher to make my school experience completely dreadful. With AP meetings all day and spirit work waiting on me when I get home this afternoon, I won’t have any time to myself today. Hopefully the day will go by fast. At least that way I’ll be one more day closer to Friday.

B
y the time I make it back to Compton I’m starving and I already know Mama didn’t make dinner. Today was one of those days I had no time to eat. I’ve been in such a daze, dealing with my own shit, that I’ve lost my stride with my schoolwork. It’s been kicking my ass and today’s no exception.

“Let’s see what I can eat real quick,” I say aloud. I walk into the kitchen, put my things down and wash my hands. I look around the bleak yellow kitchen and see years of grease stains on the walls. Mama must be in the backhouse cooking, because I smell something good coming from the spirit room. I’d better not take too long because I know Mama knows that I’m here. I glance at the old stove and wish I could change it into a new one for Mama just by looking at it.

“Cornflakes will have to do for now,” I say, reaching for the large box of cereal on the top of the refrigerator. Sometimes being five feet tall ain’t really that cute.

“Damn, you’re short,” Jay says, coming into the kitchen, reaching over my head and snatching the cereal box down like it’s easy. I don’t understand how he and his mom clear six feet just like Daddy, and me and my mom barely hit five. We are closer to Mama’s five-eight frame, but still considered the runts of the family gene pool when it comes to height.

“Give me that,” I say, reaching for the box. “I’m too hungry to play with you, boy.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be out back with Mama, killing chickens or something?” he says, finally giving me the cereal. I put it on the counter, get a bowl and spoon from the dish strainer, and pour the cereal into the bowl.

“Maybe, maybe not. If we do decided to kill one I’m sure you’ll have no problem eating it when we fry it up,” I say, returning the box to its place before opening the refrigerator to retrieve the milk, which isn’t there. “Damn it.”

“Ha! I could’ve told you we were out of milk. That’s what you get for being a smart-ass,” Jay says, leaving the kitchen to go back into the room he shares with Bryan and Daddy. He cherishes what little privacy he can get when his roommates are gone, and I don’t blame him.

“Whatever, fool,” I call after him. I can’t eat cornflakes with no milk. It just ain’t right. Maybe Mama has some milk in the spirit room I could use.

I take my bowl and the rest of my things and head out the back door. Lexi, Mama’s most trusted companion, wags her tail as I walk down the steps leading to the garage and backyard.

“I would pet you, girl, but my hands are full.” Lexi follows me to the small house attached to the garage, where Mama does some of her best work. The sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon lures me in, almost making me forget about my milk-less bowl of cereal.

“Hey, Mama,” I say, opening the screen door. “Do you have any milk back here? There’s none in the house kitchen, and I need to eat my cereal before I drop dead from hunger.” I drop my backpack and purse in the corner, careful not to let my Lucky bag fall to the ground. Mama has a thing about putting purses on the floor. She says if you want Legba to take your money, that’s the best place to leave it for him.

“I’ve got some Pet Milk in the refrigerator. You’re welcome to use that.” I hate using condensed milk on my cereal almost as much as I hate using powdered milk, but at least it won’t be dry. And I’m too hungry to complain.

“Thank you,” I say, reaching for the small can she hands to me and pouring its contents on the thirsty flakes.

“I haven’t talked to you about last Friday’s service. How was Tre’s memorial, baby?” Mama asks. Time’s flying. It’s already the end of January and I’m not ready for any more holiday drama. If I see another damned cupid or heart-shaped poster at school I’m going to throw up all over it.

“It was okay.” Mama’s been extra busy making all kinds of love potions for her clients. Next to Christmas and Halloween, Valentine’s Day is her busiest money-making holiday. After this she’ll have a break until Mother’s Day.

“Did you pour the libation to the ancestors?” Mama asks, returning to her post at the kitchen table.

“Yes, and so did some of Tre’s homies.” I would tell her about the hussies that helped Daddy out, but no need in me being the bearer of bad news, especially when Mama already knows how Daddy gets down. “What really got me was the fact that out of all those supposedly spiritual folks in that church, the gangsters were the ones pouring libation to the ancestors with me.”

“The youth are closer to the creator than old fools with closed minds, no matter how misguided they might be,” Mama says, raising my chin and checking me out.

“Yeah, I was shocked. But the service was good.” I don’t want to talk too much about Daddy’s job, but he’s good at what he does and I know Mama misses having that connection with him.

“You know why I was so smitten with your grandfather when I first met him? His charisma. He was on fire for his god and me for mine. When I first saw your grandfather walking down the streets of New Orleans, with his congregation behind him singing and carrying on, I was mesmerized. Much like Maman was when she first saw my daddy preaching too, although it was a completely different congregation he spoke to.”

“Daddy was on one up at the pulpit. He had everybody on their feet.” We couldn’t help but feel moved by Daddy’s sermon.

“That is his job, isn’t it?” Mama’s tone is saltier than a potato chip. “I had faith in the black church of the past. It was a revolutionary place to be. People wanted the truth; they wanted justice with or without peace most of the time. I thought we could make a change in the world, and we did. But as time passed, people got comfortable and greedy. They got forgetful and allowed fear to replace hope. And I got sick of the drama.”

“I hear you, Mama. It was nothing but haters up in that place.” I won’t tell her about the women giving me the evil eye, because I know that’ll just upset her more.

“Haters are everywhere. Speaking of which, how are your little friends doing?”

“Don’t ask,” I say, not ready to deal with my broken crew.

“I already did.”

“Well, Nigel’s not talking to Mickey and neither am I. Rah and I are talking again, but it’s still a little tense where Sandy and Trish are concerned. And Jeremy doesn’t get any of it. Oh, and Nellie’s still tripping. That about sums it all up in a nutshell.”

“Oh, Jayd, I’m sorry your friends are having so many issues. Have you asked your ancestors for their help?”

“Not really.” Other than my morning prayers, which I usually say in the shower, I don’t really commune with my ancestors or my orisha like Mama does. She’s always got one foot in this world and the other in the spiritual realm. I guess that’s why she only has one friend in her crew who rolls pretty much the same way that she does. Netta’s a true ride-or-die homegirl.

“Well, what are you waiting for? All hell to break loose?”

“Hasn’t that already happened? Once I started walking around in my sleep I figured Armageddon was on its way.” Mama laughs at my silliness, but I’m serious. I feel like the world as I know it is gone and all of my friends along with it.

“Speaking of which, how are your dreams? Have you been taking your prescription from Dr. Whitmore?”

“Well, not exactly.” Mama looks at me sideways like she wants to smack me, but manages to restrain herself at least long enough to hear the rest of my answer. “Mama, they’re too much. He couldn’t give me a tiny pill like an aspirin or something?”

“Girl, stop whining. I don’t care how you get that medicine in you, but you’d better do it. Here, start smashing,” Mama says, handing me the brown bottle with two spoons. She knows all about my aversion to taking pills and came prepared. I knew she’d count the pills if I left them on the nightstand, which I did by accident last night. I’m really slipping on my game these days.

After smashing two of the pills up with water and swallowing the bitter medicine, we sit in silence for a few moments, waiting to see if I feel any different. Mama continues her cooking and I’m still hungry, even with the lingering nastiness still present on my tongue.

“Your mama told me she made you some tea to help you sleep,” Mama says, changing the subject. If I’m forced to take one more damned thing I’m going to give up on this dream thing altogether.

“And that it did. I had crazy dreams, one in which you were picking my mom up off the floor in a restaurant. She had just found out my daddy was cheating on her with one of the waitresses—again.”

“Oh, I remember that day vividly. I was so upset at your father I could’ve killed him where he stood,” Mama says, beating the eggs harder than necessary. If she keeps it up she’s going to end up liquefying the meringue instead of whipping it for the banana pudding she’s preparing, one of my favorite treats. But this is no ordinary dessert. Mama’s making this special pudding for one of her favorite clients. The girl can’t cook worth shit, and she’s trying to snag a ring from her boyfriend this Valentine’s Day. Mama agreed to help her out. I’m sure she’s also agreed to put a little something extra in it to give the sweetness a boost, unlike this bowl of cereal I can’t force myself to down no matter how hungry I am.

“Mama, you couldn’t kill a fly,” I say, snacking on one of the vanilla wafers that’s going into the banana pudding, straight out of the box, and irritating Mama to no end. She hates it when I eat out of the container no matter what it is.

“What have I told you about that, girl? Children of Oshune do not eat leftovers, and by eating out of the box you’re making your next serving a leftover.” When it comes to taboos, Mama doesn’t make allowances. Mama and her logic. It’s not leftover to me yet, but who I am to argue with her?

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, reaching to the counter behind me and grabbing the roll of paper towels. I pour a few of the wafers out of the box and snack on my portion. I wish I could roll my eyes without getting smacked.

“Now, back to your crazy dreams. Have you had any more?” I didn’t want to get into it with Mama about my sleepwalking incident with Rahima, but I can’t help it. She’s going to find out anyway, and it would be better coming directly from me the first time around.

“Well, I had another sleepwalking incident while dreaming about Rah and me getting married. We also had a baby. It was freaky.” Mama stops what she’s doing and looks at me sternly, probing for what, I don’t know. I continue to snack on my cookies and let her look away.

“Did you tell Rah about it?” Mama asks. She returns to her meringue, ready to put on the final layer of cookies, custard, and bananas before putting the fluffy sweetness on top, making the perfect pudding. I hope her client knows how lucky she is to have Mama in her corner. Her man won’t have a chance once he tastes Mama’s homemade goodness.

“No. I didn’t really have a chance since I was going off on him about something else. I didn’t think I should, especially since I was watching Rahima at the time.”

“Watching Rahima? Where the hell was he?” Mama puts the finishing touches on the dessert and pushes it to the side of the kitchen table, ready to start on the next creation. Valentine’s Day keeps a sistah extra busy, I see. It could probably be a very profitable holiday for me too, if I weren’t busy going crazy.

“Working,” I say, with extra bitterness on my tongue, and it’s not from the pills. I’m going to be sour about this one for a long, long time.

“Mmmhmm,” Mama utters. “Don’t get pimped, Jayd.”

“Dang, Mama, why you gotta say it like that?”

“Because that’s how I mean it, young lady. I know Rah’s a good young man, but he’s still a man and sometimes they just can’t help themselves. They do stupid shit even when they know better. And Rah is not immune to the stupidity prevalent in his genes.”

“I hear you, loud and clear.” Unfortunately I agree with her one hundred percent. I’m just glad she said it and I didn’t. It makes me feel better knowing someone else is having the same thought that I am.

“And where was Rahima while you were walking around? Please tell me she was asleep too, and somewhere safe.”

“She was knocked out on the floor of my mom’s living room. I, on the other hand, woke up outside at the bottom of the stairs.”

“You were outside?” Mama asks, alarmed. I know it scares her to think about it. I was scared, too. If Shawntrese hadn’t been there to wake me up, who knows where I would have ended up.

“Yeah, luckily one of the neighbors came home late and woke me up. But it was still a bit much, especially with a baby upstairs I was supposed to be watching out for.” I shake my head at the thought of something happening to Rah’s baby girl.

“Was Rahima in the dream?” Mama takes a few small vials from one of the many cabinets lining the walls of the tiny house and places them on the kitchen table. She then opens them and sprinkles their contents on her sweets.

“Yeah, but she was a couple of years older. And Rah and I had a newborn. Weird, I know.” When I think about it, that was only a couple of years from now.

“Not really. You love him and his daughter very much. It’s only natural that you’d dream about them,” Mama says, mixing batter in the large, metal bowl. It looks like she’s making cupcakes now.

“If that’s the case then why were Esmeralda and Misty there? I have no love for them.”

“There how?” Mama asks, glancing in the direction of Esmeralda’s house next door. Her forehead crinkles up like she’s worried about something. She then whispers under her breath and returns to her work.