Leaving Atlanta (7 page)

Octavia hung the pink coat on the back of a chair. “I got to give the hall pass back,” she said.

“Get well soon, Tasha,” Monica sang.

Mama took the coat off the chair and helped Tasha into it.

“Good gracious,” she said. “What happened to this coat?”

“I fell,” Tasha said.

“This isn’t going to come out,” Mama said, as if she were talking to herself. “I told him not to spend all that money.” She
hit at the stain with her palm.

“It’s ruined?” Tasha asked.

Mama changed her tone. “Maybe not ruined. We might be able to get it where you can still wear it, but I doubt that we can
get all that clay out.”

She zipped Tasha into the coat and they stepped out into autumn.

Monica came to class on Wednesday wearing a brand-new pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, a yellow blouse with a white collar,
and even matching yellow-and-white tennis shoes. Balanced delicately in the palm of her hand were nine pink envelopes, the
color of stomach medicine, fastened with magenta foil hearts: She was having a slumber party. For the past two weeks, Tasha
had eavesdropped as Monica and Forsythia had revised the guest list at lunchtime, scratching off names and adding others.
Tasha tried not to appear anxious as Monica shuffled the envelopes, moving this one or that one to the middle from the top
of the stack, as if she were alphabetizing them.

It was possible that one of the fancy envelopes had her name on it. After all, there were
ten
to be given out and Tasha had been very good friends with Monica up until last month. Hadn’t Monica and Forsythia both come
to her birthday party last year? It was rude to get an invitation and not send one back. Mama had said that was a
social obligation.

Monica stood up and put one pink invitation on the corner of Forsythia’s desk. Tasha put a check beside For-sythia’s name
on the list she had written, hoping to predict Monica’s choices. There were seven girls sure to be invited, but six more would
have to compete for the remaining three slots. Tasha put a little star by those names to mean
alternate
like they did when they listed the girls who would be on the cheerleading team.

Carmen Montgomery said sweetly, “Thank you, Monica,” as she peeled back the magenta heart on her envelope.

Darn. Carmen was one of the alternates. As Monica came near, Tasha put her spelling book over her version of the list and
tried to seem like she was too busy studying her words to be concerned over the possibility of receiving an invitation.

Mr. Harrell’s sudden entrance sent Monica scurrying back to her chair. Her new sneakers squeaked as she scooted. Had she been
heading Tasha’s way? It was possible. Even though Tasha had not been asked to sit at their table since that day she had gotten
into it with Jashante, things had gotten better. Hadn’t they? Tasha didn’t have to eat lunch with Octavia anymore. Now she
sat with Tayari, who was fun to sit with because she was really good at imitating people’s voices. Tayari was on the list
of alternates.

After lunch, Monica had only one invitation left. She didn’t even walk over to the lucky girl to deliver it. Instead, she
handed it to the person next to her and whispered, “Pass it on.” The person looked at the name, written in big loops and circles,
and gave it to the next kid. Each project girl who handled the pink rectangle made an annoyed sound as she fairly threw it
along. The boys seemed uneasy and quickly sent the frilly thing on. Tasha kept her eye on the prize as it came her way; it
had to pass two alternates before it got to her. Angelite Armstrong passed it to Tayari and it stopped.

Maybe Tayari was just playing; after all, she was a cutup. Maybe she was going to hold it awhile, thank Monica in a funny
voice, and then pass it on. Surely Monica and Forsythia weren’t still mad about what Tasha had said to Jashante. They couldn’t
be.
Monica
had been the one who was talking about him living in the projects in the first place. And anyway, they didn’t even like Jashante.
He didn’t eat lunch with them again after that first day. Part of it probably was that he hadn’t been to school that much
this month. But when he was here last week, he sat with some other boys and didn’t even look over at Forsythia or Monica.
Maybe he had forgotten all about that day. Tasha had said hi to him when she was on her way to the water fountain a couple
of weeks ago. He didn’t say hi back, but he lifted his head up and jutted his chin a little bit to show that he had heard
her.

But what had Forsythia said that day?
I never did like her.
Monica had agreed. But that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. The two of them had been to her house. Twice. They might not like
her
now
, but they
used
to. And they might still. Tayari needed to stop playing around—she was really immature sometimes—and just pass Tasha that
pretty invitation.

Tayari ripped open the envelope, not even bothering to save the sticky magenta heart. Tayari looked as surprised as Tasha.
She spun her head on her neck, grinning so hard her molars showed. Tasha ran her finger down a column of spelling words, as
if this week’s quiz were the reason she was on the brink of tears.

“What’s the matter?” Daddy asked.

“Nothing.”

“Monica’s having a party and Tasha didn’t get an invitation,” DeShaun said while stuffing the end of a hot dog into her mouth.

“I thought Monica was your friend,” Daddy said.

Where had he been for the last month? On Mars?

“She used to be,” Tasha said.

“Well,” Mama said brightly, “let’s all go bowling.”

Bowling? Mama couldn’t possibly think a
family outing
would be an acceptable substitute for a party, could she?

Daddy took a swallow of beer and said, “Tasha, if Monica doesn’t want you at her party, then she was never your friend in
the first place. Don’t worry about it.”

Tasha could tell from his tone that he was trying to be comforting, but she burst into tears anyway.

Mama gave Daddy a see-what-you-did look and he gave back his confused what-did-I-do? glance. DeShaun slurped up the last of
the soda. “Ahh!” she said, like people on commercials.

Then, the phone rang. Mama answered.

“Hello? Why hello, Ayana,” Mama stressed the name. She raised her eyebrows to say
Do you feel like talking?
Tasha nodded.

“Tasha’s right here,” Mama said, looking to see if Tasha was composed. “So how are you liking middle school?” she asked.

Tasha was hurriedly drying her eyes as if Ayana could see through the telephone wires.

“Hey!” Ayana said, when Tasha finally got to the phone. “I thought your mama was going to talk me to death!”

“She’s just real friendly,” Tasha said, feeling guilty that her mother had appeared inappropriately loquacious just to hide
Tasha’s tears.

“Anyway,” Ayana said. “I was just calling to see if you want to go with me to Skate Towne.”

“Hold on,” Tasha said, covering the phone with her hand. “Can I go to Skate Towne with Ayana?”

Mama said, “Who’s taking you?”

“Ayana, Mama wants to know who’s taking us.”

“Cookie.”

“Cookie’s gonna drive us.”

Cookie was Ayana’s seventeen-year-old cousin who wore lots of brass bangles that sounded like wind chimes when she walked.

“What
adult
,” Mama said.

“But you let Cookie take us that other time!” Tasha reminded her, hoping to establish precedent.

“That was last year.”

Tasha said into the phone, “My mama won’t let me go.”

“Aw. Cookie says I can’t go unless I have someone to be with. She’s going to meet her boyfriend up there so she doesn’t want
me hanging around her.”

Tasha covered the phone again, “Pleeeeease.”

Mama said, “Tasha, I’m just thinking about your safety.”

“I’ll take them,” Daddy said, finishing his beer.

Tasha wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not. She needed to bounce it off Ayana.

“What if my daddy takes us?”

Ayana thought about it for a minute. “Will he be actually trying to skate or is he just going to be there making sure we don’t
get snatched or anything?”

“Daddy, you’re not going to try to
skate,
are you?”

He laughed. “You are not ashamed of your father, are you? No. I’m just going to play pinball or something.”

Tasha said, “He doesn’t want to skate.”

“Okay, he can come.”

Daylight was almost gone by the time Tasha got dressed and ready to go. It was already dark when they got to Skate Towne.
Daddy was complaining about the lighting.

“With all these kids that are around here, they need to install some lights.” Daddy took Tasha’s hand like she was a little
girl; this was a potentially embarrassing situation. “This don’t make no sense.”

When they got to the window to pay the entry fee, the girl behind the counter said, “One dollar to get in. Two for skates.”
She was about Cookie’s age, and very pretty, Tasha thought. That’s what she wanted to look like when she got to be a teenager.

“Why is it so dark outside?” Daddy demanded.

The pretty girl said something like, “Because it’s nighttime.”

Daddy didn’t laugh. He lowered his eyebrows and said, “Excuse me, young lady?”

She said, “I don’t know why it’s so dark out.”

“I need to talk to a manager.”

The girl disappeared from the window and came back with a man who was mostly bald. What hair he had left made a soft halo
around the sides of his head.

“Is there a problem sir?”

Tasha could tell Daddy was mad. That girl was going to wish she had never gotten smart with him like that.
Pretty face, ugly attitude,
Mama would have said. But Daddy didn’t even mention her. “I want to know why there isn’t any lighting out in this parking
lot. This place is crawling with kids. Common sense—”

“Sir,” said the halo man, “I have a daughter myself.” He smiled briefly at Tasha. “I opened this place back before all this
started happening so that kids could have a safe place to go. So it’s not that I don’t care. I just can’t afford to rewire
that lot.”

“But—” Daddy started.

“Let me finish,” the halo man said. “I allow the parents free entry to try to get them to come on out with their kids. All
of the lights in the world won’t help if people won’t supervise their children.”

Tasha wished Daddy would just give the man his three dollars so she could go inside and look for Ayana.

“Man, I’m sorry if I came off wrong,” Daddy said, finally going in his pocket for a roll of bills and peeling off three. “It’s
just that—”

“It’s alright,” the halo man said. “I understand. We got to look out for our own.”

Ayana was easy to spot, sitting on a bench tying her skates. She had pulled her white button-down shirt out of her jeans and
tied it up around her middle, exposing her neat navel. (If Daddy weren’t here, Tasha might have tried the same thing.) When
her skates were tight, Ayana reached a hand up and unraveled her braids, creating loose, even waves around her ears. Tasha’s
two braids were tacked to the top of her head like the Swiss Miss on the cocoa can. She wiggled a bobby pin that dug into
her scalp. Lucky Ayana shook her head, making her pretty hair bounce.

Tasha had laced her own skates and was ready to step out onto the rink when Ayana said, “Let’s go to the rest room and fix
our faces.”

Tasha said, “Makeup? I don’t know.” She pushed open the fuchsia door that said
FOXES
in loopy letters. She wondered how Ayana would get her hair back into neat plaits before her own mother saw her. Somehow,
Ayana always got away with everything.

Ayana pulled out a small jar. “No. Just Vaseline.”

Tasha was intrigued.

Ayana smoothed the thick white grease onto Tasha’s eyelids. “See?” she said. “Now that will bring out your eyes.”

Bring them out? What did that mean? Tasha looked in the mirror. The area below her eyebrows was shiny and it kind of looked
like she had on eye shadow. Sort of. She dipped her finger in the Vaseline and smeared her lips. Cookie used something called
Kissing Potion that made her lips glisten with the color and smell of strawberries. Vaseline was almost as good.

Tasha waited while Ayana finished primping. Although they were the same age, Ayana had been skipped a grade in school. At
the middle school, Ayana was learning all kinds of tricks from the seventh- and eighth-graders while Tasha was still fooling
around with elementary babies.

Ayana might have been more glamorous and experienced, but she couldn’t skate half as well as Tasha, who loved roller-skating.
The deejay turned the music up loud and Tasha could feel the beat in her chest just like when a marching band passed by in
a parade. She moved her legs easily with the rhythm and used her arms to go faster. As she pushed into the glowing darkness,
the reflections from the disco ball were indoor winter fireflies. Tasha lowered her eyes while she flowed, enjoying her breeze.

After a half hour or so, the girls were really hot—sweat rolled down their scalps, plastering their baby hair to their faces—but
they sipped their icy Cokes slowly to keep from getting headaches. Some boys came in the door, play-fighting and laughing
loud. The group of fathers sharing pitchers of beer looked up from their plastic cups suspiciously.