Pushin' (5 page)

“Hey, y'all want to come by after school and kick it for a while? We haven't had a good session in a while,” Nigel asks, looking at all of us. He's in an unusually good mood and I didn't even have to cool him off. What gives?

“Okay, what did I miss?” I ask, completely shocked by the mellow mood everyone's in. The last time I checked, Nigel was still in shock over Mickey finally admitting the baby she's carrying is Tre's, and Nellie and Mickey couldn't stand my ass because their boyfriends' mamas happen to like me, but I was able to calm them down. I didn't have anything to do with Nigel's newfound cool. Maybe because Tre, a gangster from our hood, saved Nigel from getting shot by Mickey's ex-man, he can live with his girl having Tre's baby.

“Nothing,” Mickey says, kissing her man's cheek like they're back in love. Whatever the case, I'm just glad they're back on point. I know my goddaughter is happy in Mickey's belly, too. She looks like she's going to make her appearance sooner than later. Her parents need to get with the program, and it seems like they finally have.

“Yeah, it's all good, Jayd. Chance, you down?” Nigel asks, getting the tally from everyone for the spontaneous after-school session. I wonder if Jeremy's invited even if Rah shows up, which is quite probable.

“Yeah, man. Why not?” Chance says, kissing Nellie before she walks off toward the main hall. I know he's thinking the same thing most of us are: Where's the real Nellie, and who is this imposter who took over her head? Nellie had the most beautiful jet-black hair, and now the blonde has completely taken over.

“I can't. Got surf practice. That reminds me, our competition is next Saturday. Hope you guys can make it,” Jeremy says, smiling down at me. I still can't believe there's such a thing as a surf competition, but I'm there to support my man.

“Cool, man. I got you,” Chance says with a strange pitch in his voice, like he's trying to change the way he speaks. Something's up with my friend and I can feel he wants to talk about it. I'll have to check on Chance when we get a minute alone, which is rare. But I can still call him and chat if I have to. There goes the bell. Lunch always seems to go by fast, but it's especially quick this afternoon because of the short Tuesdays for the weekly faculty meetings.

“All right, y'all. My house after school it is. Jayd, after work, girl. Promise you'll come kick it with your peeps,” Nigel says, making me feel loved. How can I say no to an invitation like that, even if a sistah's going to be wiped out after getting off work at Netta's this evening? But a girl needs to chill, too.

“Bet. I'll see y'all later,” I say, shaking the grass off my jeans before grabbing my backpack and heading down the hill to drama class. I'd much rather eat pizza and watch movies with my friends than sign up for cheer this afternoon. Luckily, it's Mama's solo hair day at the shop when Netta does only Mama's hair, and there won't be any other clients to take care of, making my job easier this afternoon. A kick-it session with the crew is just what I need to ease up on planning my future and enjoy my present.

 

I missed talking to Jeremy this afternoon because I was so busy at Netta's. As soon as I arrived, Mama and Netta had a grip of laundry for me to do, as well as other tedious tasks resulting from the aftermath of their initiations this past weekend. I've never seen so many white clothes and other fabrics. I was so glad to get out of there for the night. It's almost eight and Nigel has assured me there's still plenty of Domino's pizza and breadsticks left over. I'm grateful because I'm starving.

I pull into Nigel's gated community off Crenshaw Boulevard, instantly aware I'm turning into the money side of South Central, the local hood. It's funny how just on the other side of this fancy brick and iron gate there are homeless people, and three families living in one house they're so strapped for cash. Driving into Lafayette Square is like going back in time to where families were supposedly picture-perfect, like the two- and three-story refurbished homes they live in. I park in front of Nigel's picturesque home, ready to get my grub on and watch
Gladiator
in high definition for the fiftieth time.

Walking up the driveway I can see Mickey, Nigel, and Mrs. Esop, Nigel's mom, in the foyer through the screen door, and it doesn't look pretty. I hope whatever's going on doesn't come between dinner and me.

I knock twice before entering, knowing it's already unlocked for me. I just want to warn everyone I'm coming through the door in case they want to censor their conversation and let a sistah pass by in peace.

“Yes, I am well aware of the true paternity of the child in question,” Mrs. Esop says, looking at Mickey like she took a shit on the shiny hardwood floors. So much for me getting straight to the food. I wave to everyone, noticing Nellie and Chance in the living room witnessing the exchange I just walked in the middle of.

“Okay then, so stop tripping, Mom. Please.” Nigel looks from Mickey's stomach to his mother's eyes and she softens her glare. “Tre took a bullet for me. If it weren't for him, I might not be here right now. The least I can do is raise his seed like it's my own, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.” Nigel grabs Mickey around the waist, unable to fully fasten his fingers around her, but he's made his point. Nigel's not letting go now or ever, and that's good news to us all, except for Mrs. Esop.

“Nigel, I am grateful for the boy saving your life, but we don't owe her or that thug's child a damn thing.” Mrs. Esop is no joke. “Now, this discussion is over. There will be no babies or baby-mamas in this house or their mother's.” Mickey looks at Nigel, horrified by his mother's stance. Mickey was counting on Nigel being her ticket out of the hood and her parents' full house. I hate to lay it on my girl, but her plan was never a sure thing. I hope she's got a back-up arrangement because if not, she and her baby will be sleeping in her parents' living room.

“Mom, I'm not letting this go,” Nigel says to his mother, who's halfway up the first flight of stairs. Her and her husband's suite is on the third floor of the massive home. There's plenty of room, none of which Mrs. Esop's willing to share with Mickey, no matter what her son says.

Looking back at us and smiling at her son's vehemence, Mrs. Esop looks at me as if her son didn't say a word.

“Jayd, I'll see you at the tea on Sunday. And please dress appropriately. It's customary for our debutantes to dress as the young ladies they are becoming,” she says, looking from me to Mickey and then walking up the remaining stairs. Mrs. Esop's so serious about her shit. I'm actually starting to admire her no-nonsense swagger. If nothing else, Mrs. Esop's consistent about what she's about and what she's not. I could learn a lot from that kind of thinking. But Mickey's not feeling Nigel's mama at all, or the fact that Mrs. Esop obviously favors me over her.

“You're such an ass kissing little heffa, you know that?” Mickey says to me as if I went after Mrs. Esop on my own accord, forgetting whose idea it was for me to suck up to Nigel's mom in the first place.

“Mickey, I'm not having this argument with you again,” I say, walking into the living room and putting my purse on the couch. Mickey and Nigel follow me into the large space, standing near the couch across from the television screen. “The whole reason I agreed to be in the cotillion was to get Mrs. Esop to come to your baby shower, which she did. Don't shoot the messenger, Mickey. I did my job.” I walk toward the kitchen through the formal dining area to wash my hands before eating. Mickey follows me, ready to unleash all her anger for Mrs. Esop on me because I'm an easy target. I don't care what she says, as long as I get my food.

“Jayd, you're supposed to help me, not get in bed with my enemy,” Mickey says. If I had the time I'd tell her how silly her point of view is on so many different levels, but I can't deal with her reasoning tonight.

“I'm not getting in bed with anyone, Mickey. But I am getting tired of always being the bad one. Can I eat and watch the movie now, or do you want to keep blaming me for your beef with Nigel's mom?” Mickey looks at me walking out of the kitchen without waiting for her answer. She knows she's out of line. Scratching her growing belly, Mickey walks back into the living room and claims her space next to her man on the couch. I sit in one of the two oversized chairs across from the loveseat Chance and Nellie are sharing, ready to relax, when I notice Rah's missing. I'm not even going to ask where he is if no one's offering to tell me. Like Mickey, Rah needs to grow up and deal with the real. Until they do, I have to keep my friends at arm's length because I'm ready to spread my wings and fly, right after I eat a couple of slices and chill out for the rest of the evening.

C
arrying water on my head like one of my African fore-mothers, I balance the clay jug expertly, holding the right side with my hand and placing my left arm out by my side, helping me still my heavy load. Reaching my destination—a small, one-room house—I open the curtained entry-way and place the jug down on the floor, rushing over to the woman lying on the bed straight ahead. There's blood everywhere and she's breathing hard and gripping the once white sheets with all her might.

“I can't take it anymore. The baby's never going to come,” the laboring woman says in tears. She looks scared and overwhelmed. I get closer to her, hoping that I can provide her with some comfort, recognizing the woman as Chance's birth mother. The dream I had months ago of the day he was adopted was the beginning of my knowing his family secret.

“It's time. Wet these towels to clean the baby when it comes,” the elder midwife says from the corner of the room. She sounds like Mama and has the same feel as Mama does, but she doesn't look like my grandmother at all. This sistah is tall and thick with the same ebony complexion my mother has.

“Yes, ma'am,” I say, taking the white towels from her and soaking them in the tepid water. I ring the water out, seeing my reflection in the clear liquid, and don't recognize myself, either. I look like I could be the midwife's daughter.

“I'm going to need for you to push as hard as you can now,” the midwife says, holding Chance's mother's legs back while the laboring woman lifts her shoulders off the bed and gives it her all. But it's not enough. The young mother's exhausted and can't take any more pushing, but the baby has to be born.

“I'll help you push,” Mrs. Carmichael, Chance's adoptive mother, says, appearing by the laboring mother's side and placing both hands on the bulging stomach, helping to push the baby out on the next contraction. “There he is,” Mrs. Carmichael says, looking at Chance's infant self in the midwife's hands. “My son.”

“Your son? He's my baby,” Chance's birth mother says, looking at Mrs. Carmichael like an imposter instead of the woman who ends up raising Chance as her own child. She and Chance are closer than any mother and teenager I know. Mrs. Carmichael lets go of the angry woman's stomach, looking dead at me, her eyes red with pain.

“Jayd, help me, please! I'm losing my son,” Mrs. Carmichael pleads, looking me in the eye, but I feel like she's actually talking to me outside of my dream. The urgency in her eyes reaches my core, making me feel partially responsible for Chance's identity crisis. I have to help them both if I can. The midwife hands the baby to his mother to nurse, leaving Mrs. Carmichael completely out of the first bonding ritual between a mother and child.

“No! He's my baby. He's mine,” Mrs. Carmichael says, fading into the background from where she first appeared. Again, Mrs. Carmichael looks dead at me, now clearly in my head. “Jayd, don't let them take away my son. Please, I need you.”

 

“What the hell?” I say, shaking out of my sleep and almost hitting my head on the coffee table I neglected to push away from the couch that doubles as my bed. I was so exhausted after hanging with Jeremy last night and my friends the night before that I couldn't be bothered with taking the usual environmental precautions. I just wanted to sleep. Had I known I was going to experience a crazy dream like that, I might not have been so anxious to rest.

I've been meaning to talk to Chance all week, but he's been very evasive lately. Today I'll make it a point to catch up with my friend, come hell or high water. But first I have to get the day started, and that means getting to school. Jeremy and I have gotten into such a good groove it's hard to know when to quit. If I keep having late nights like we did last night, it's going to make me unproductive and we can't have that.

Our late-night sessions are also affecting Jeremy. I hope he was able to get up this morning. He's been practicing for his surf competition every afternoon, and for an hour every morning before school. I'd be surprised if he makes it to school today. I, on the other hand, have to get going regardless of my exhaustion. I have a long school day ahead of me as well as having to work all evening. Some people look forward to Friday as their chill day. For me it's the beginning of my weekend grind, and I'm ready.

 

Today is the last day for cheer tryouts and I still don't know what to do. I watched some of the cheerleaders practicing yesterday during sixth period and they actually looked like they were having fun. There are two black girls on the varsity squad and they hold it down. Because they are a part of ASB and seniors, I've never really talked to them, although we say hi on the rare occasion that we do run into each other. They don't hang out in South Central, where the other two dozen or so black students hang, and because they all have white boyfriends and friends, I just assumed they were the girls that Nellie aspired to be like: as close to white as black girls can get.

I hate to admit it, but my thinking may have been wrong in more ways than one. Is it possible that I might have fun as a cheerleader? I don't know, but it may be worth a shot. And if I don't make it, at least I tried, and that might be enough to let Mr. Adelizi know I'm serious about being in the college program. I'll sign up for tryouts at break and see how it goes from there.

After my crazy dream about Chance last night, I really need to find him and make sure everything's all right with my friend. He's been going through it lately and I don't know exactly how to help him, but I want to try cooling Chance's mind a little bit now that I'm getting the hang of my mother's powers. I've already called him twice and sent him a text, all to no avail. I usually run into Chance before first period, but he's nowhere to be found. Maybe his girlfriend will know where her man's hiding this morning.

“What's up, Nellie?” I ask, approaching her locker during our passing period between first and second periods. “Have you seen Chance?” Mickey waddles her way down the main hall, trying to avoid sideswiping the other students rushing through the crowded hall. It's kind of hard to miss Mickey, though: big belly, braids, and all. I'm amazed she doesn't seem to feel self-conscious about being the only pregnant girl that we know of on campus. I would.

“No, I haven't, and I need to talk to him, pronto,” Nellie says, switching out her history books and replacing them with her English texts. She slips the Louis Vuitton backpack onto her left shoulder and closes her locker door. When Nellie looks at me I notice her latest cosmetic addition. Not only did this girl dye her hair platinum blond, now she's got hazel contacts like the ones Mickey used to rock sometimes before her pregnancy. Mickey has opted for the simple life now because she says everything's too swollen to look too cute, including her eyeballs.

“Nellie, what's going on with those,” I say, pointing at her new look. Mickey finally makes her way to her locker next to Nellie's, looking tired and out of breath. She's moving into the last few weeks of her pregnancy, and I know she's grateful because it's obviously wearing her ass out. Even if Mickey's still irritated with me about getting in good with Nigel's mom, I don't wish her any type of grief. I just wish my girls would get their heads straight, especially Nellie.

“I'm just trying something different,” she says, looking at our friend open her locker. I guess she sees the same thing I do: a completely worn-down Mickey.

“Mickey, are you feeling okay?” Nellie asks, checking Mickey's forehead for a fever. Mickey jerks her head away from Nellie's touch. She shoots us both an evil glare.

“I'm fine, just pregnant,” Mickey says, scratching her stomach like she's got fleas. She pulls her sweatshirt up and really goes at it.

“Problem?” I ask, leading us out of the main hall and into the language hall where my English class is housed. My girls also have English now, but their classroom is at the opposite end.

“Yes. These pants are annoying the hell out of me.” Mickey's gray sweatpants are folded under her stomach, leaving her belly bare for all to see, and she couldn't care less. All she wants is to scratch her itchy skin, which doesn't seem to solve the problem.

“I don't think it's the pants,” I say, reaching out and touching her newly forming stretch marks. As a perpetually skinny girl, Mickey has never known what it's like to gain and lose weight, or the inevitable growth marks that come with the transition. “It's your mama tattoos,” I say, rubbing her stomach and connecting with my goddaughter, Nickey Shantae, who moves in recognition of my touch. I focus on her growing body, feeling her urge to get out, but it's not time yet. My mother's sight takes over my own vision, cooling both baby and mother down. Mickey stops scratching because I've soothed the itching for the moment.

“Don't they have some cocoa butter or something for that?” Nellie asks, looking at Mickey completely mortified. Being pregnant at any age is more than a notion, but in my opinion, no sixteen-year-old's body should be going through all of these changes. We've already got enough going on as teenagers without the added stress of growing a baby inside our bodies. I can only imagine what Mickey's going through, or so I think.

With my hands still on her bare abdomen, my fingers begin to tingle. I let go, surprised by the sensation, leaving Mickey's mind immediately. What the hell was that?

“It doesn't work,” Mickey whines, almost in tears. “Nothing works. I can't sleep, I pee every fifteen minutes, and I've always got gas.” Nellie and I look at each other, taking a step back in case our girl explodes in more ways than one.

“I can give you some of my grandmother's special belly balm, and I'm sure she has something to help your other issues, too,” I say, wishing there was more I could do to help my friend, but Mickey has to go through this on her own. Mickey looks at me hopefully—not the disgusted look she usually gives when I suggest some of our homemade remedies.

“Bless you, Jayd,” Mickey says, hugging me, which catches me completely off guard. Mickey's not the affectionate type with anyone other than her man. I guess between the pregnancy and me chilling her out a bit, she's losing some of that tough, gangster girl exterior, and not a moment too soon. Mickey's baby is going to need all the tender loving care she can get.

The bell for second period rings loudly in our ears and lucky for me I'm not far from Mrs. Malone's class in the language hall adjacent to the main hall. My English teacher's been more lenient on her students than usual now that the AP exams are over. All we do in class these days is read and chat about our journal entries—no more exams or papers for the rest of the semester. We have one more short essay due, but it's on whatever topic we choose, based on our reading list for the year. We don't receive our summer reading list until the last week of school.

“I'll talk to y'all later,” I say, heading toward my classroom. “And Nellie, when you see Chance, please tell him I need to talk to him about our scene before fifth period,” I say. Nellie slits her multicolored fake eyes at me and then nods her head in agreement. This girl is too much for me. I'd better send Chance another text message myself rather than rely on Nellie to promptly deliver my message to her boyfriend. Sometimes her jealousy gets the best of her and that doesn't do any of us any good. If last night's dream weren't so urgent I would've never involved Nellie in my communication efforts, nor would I be so worried about my boy. But I know better than to ignore my dreams, especially when they're as lively as mine was last night.

“Settle down, class,” Mrs. Malone says as we all file inside, ready to start the day. I guess Operation Find Chance will have to wait until break. Right now my time belongs to E. E. Cummings and Mrs. Malone. I'm actually enjoying reading his poetry. The cat's out there, but at least he's original with his shit, right down to the fact that he doesn't use capital letters in most of his writing. I like the white man's intellectual swag. It's the same type of confident genius Jeremy possesses. I can't wait to hug Jeremy up at break after I sign up for cheer. I missed seeing him this morning and I know he's still feeling tense after our run-in with Rah earlier this week. I've promised myself to be patient with Jeremy and let it flow because I like where we're headed.

 

It's break and I still can't believe I'm really doing this. I walk over to the long table where the cheerleaders are seated, taking my turn in line to sign up. I look around at the other dozen or so girls in line with me, noticing how excited most of them are. They look like they're freshmen, sophomores at most. I guess the juniors signed up earlier this week. There are three squads: freshman, junior varsity, and varsity, with the last two being based on ability more than grade level, but it's still an embarrassment for a senior to be placed on the JV squad, in sports and cheer.

“Hi,” the perkier of the two black cheerleaders says to me, handing me a fluorescent flier and packet with all of the information necessary to apply. “My name is Shauna and I'm the captain of the varsity squad. This is Alicia, my cocaptain.” Alicia's not as cheery as Shauna and I'm thankful for it. Maybe it's possible to be on the pep squad without being so damn peppy, which I equate with a white cheerleader's mode of operation. Perhaps Alicia's a real black girl after all; the jury's still out on Shauna.

“Hello, and welcome to the best week of your life,” Alicia says, grinning from ear to ear as she reaches out her right hand for me to shake, showing her true cheerleader colors.

“Well, it's actually next week, but still, it begins today by you signing up.” Shauna rises from her chair, smooths down her red and white pleated short skirt, and hands me the sign-up sheet and pen. Alicia looks at my hesitant stance, wondering if I'm going to actually do it, and the same question is running through my mind. Do I really want to do this?