Yankee Girl (10 page)

“This oughta be good.” Leland reared back in his seat, one knee hiked over the other, arms folded against his plaid shirt.

Valerie made her way down the aisle, her pleated skirt dipping behind her knees as she climbed the stage steps. She stood by the piano, hands clasped, took a deep breath, and fixed her eyes on the back of the room. And sang.

She sang like a grown woman, her voice warm and sweet. Like molasses and honey mixed up together. She sang the whole song without a quiver or a giggle.

“Wow,” whispered Jeb as Valerie returned to her seat. “Holy wow.”

“She's got it,” said Mary Martha. “Nobody else was even half as good.”

“Well, a nigra can't be the angel,” Saranne said in a sure voice.

“Why not?” Mary Martha asked.

Saranne blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Have you ever seen a picture of a nigra angel?”

“Have you ever seen a
real
angel?” Mary Martha shot back.

“I don't know what y'all are fussing about,” said Andy. “Debbie's gonna get it.”

Onstage, Miss Gruen and Miss LeFleur sat at the piano, heads bent over a clipboard.

“You just like Debbie,” said Jeb. “I bet she's your girlfriend.”

“Is not,” said Andy. “You take that back.” He balled up his fist. So did Jeb.

Miss Gruen crashed a chord on the piano, and the boys dropped their fists.

“Attention, please.” Miss Gruen stepped to centre stage, clipboard in hand. “Remember, your behaviour during practice will be reflected in your conduct grade.” She gave Andy and Jeb the Look. “The following students will have roles in the Christmas programme. Everyone else will sing in the chorus. Narrator: Tommy Wilbanks.” Tommy, a preacher's kid from Miss LeFleur's room, slumped in his seat, ears flaming.

“Mary and Joseph: Mary Martha Goode and Skipper Andrews.”

Oh, well. I didn't really expect to get Mary.

“The three Wise Men: Andy Cameron, Jeb Mateer, and Duane Hallum.”

Jeb shrugged. “What did I tell you?”

“Shepherds: Saranne Russell, Karla Briggs, and Alice Moxley.”

Oh, chicken hips! Saranne
and
Karla, the girl who tried to burn Valerie that time in the rest room.

Saranne jumped up, waving her arms. “Miss Gruen, girls can't be shepherds.”

“They can this year,” Miss Gruen said. “We have more girls than boys. Girls will be shepherds.”

Jeb nudged me. “I'll share my beard cotton with you,” he offered with a wicked grin.

A beard! No way! Darn old Toad Woman! She could take the fun out of anything, even a Christmas pageant.

“Now, the angel.” Miss Gruen paused. The sixth grade leaned forward in their seats. “We selected the person we felt would do the best job.”

Debbie looked at her lap, smiling modestly.

“The angel,” said Miss Gruen, “will be Valerie Taylor.”

Silence. Jeb cracked his knuckles. Then the room exploded.

“Boys and girls, boys and girls.” Miss LeFleur clapped her hands, but no one paid attention.

Where
was
Valerie? Alone as usual, two rows behind everyone else. Her face glowed with happiness. And something else, too. Fear?

Andy scowled. “How come Debbie didn't get the angel? I think she sings good.”

“Debbie sings very well, indeed,” Miss Gruen agreed. “That is why we need her in the chorus.”

Debbie burst into baby sobs. “It's not fair. Who ever heard of a nigger angel?”

Saranne leaped up again. “I think we should vote for the angel.”

Miss Gruen gave her the toad-eyed stare. “Saranne Russell, this is not a popularity contest. Now, sit.”

“No fair,” mumbled Saranne, flouncing back in her seat.

I hummed “The First Noël” on the way back to class. For once, Saranne and the Cheerleaders did not get their way. But they were my friends, weren't they?

I stopped humming, all mixed up again.

December had always been my favourite month. Not this year.

December crawled by, with rehearsal every recess. I hated every minute of it.

Karla pinched me with her pointy fingernails when no one was looking, just for meanness. I pinched her back.

“Was that supposed to hurt, Yankee Girl?” she jeered. My chewed-up nails didn't have the same effect.

“Girls, stop chitchatting and get onstage,” ordered Miss LeFleur.

Saranne, Karla, and I slouched onstage to a masking tape X on the floor.

“Where are the sheep?” asked Saranne. “We're shepherds, aren't we?”

“The sheep are imaginary,” Miss LeFleur snapped. “Pretend they're in the front row.”

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid,” droned Tommy.

“Tommy dear, could you please read with a little more expression?” Miss LeFleur pleaded.

“My daddy says the birth of Jesus don't need no playacting.” Tommy shoved his smeary glasses back in place.

“Nobody expects you to be Paul Newman, son,” said Miss Gruen from the piano bench. “Just try not to sound like you're calling bus stations.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Tommy cranked up again, in exactly the same voice. “And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not.'”

Valerie drifted out of the wings.

“Karla dear, could you please look afraid?” sighed Miss LeFleur.

“I am,” said Karla. She didn't look afraid; she looked mean. She glared at Valerie, like she might pinch the angel of the Lord.

“Well, try not to look so ferocious.” Miss LeFleur got crabbier every day, muttering about how hard the holidays were. Adults were weird. What was so hard about Christmas?

“And the angel said unto them…”

“Tommy dear, please don't hold your script in front of your face. We can't hear you,” called Miss LeFleur from the back row.

“But I can't read it,” Tommy whined. “It's all blurry.”

“Why don't you clean your glasses?” sneered Saranne.

Tommy lowered his script an inch. “And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.'”

Miss Gruen's hands hit the opening chord of the angel's solo. Valerie sang in that molasses-and-honey voice:

The first Noël, the angel did say,

Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay…

The rest of the sixth grade, on risers below the stage, jumped in with the chorus, “Noël, Noël, Noël, Noël, Born is the King of Israel.”

Another verse by Valerie, more Tommy. The Wise Men trailed out, late because they'd been arm wrestling backstage. We kneeled before the manger, Valerie and the chorus together belted out the last verse, and Leland, the one-boy stage crew, closed the curtains in a cloud of stage dust.

I thought Valerie's solo was the best part of the whole show.

I was the only one who did.

“Ain't fair,” whined Debbie. “Miss Gruen favoured that nigger.”

“We oughta do something about it,” Saranne chimed in.

“Like what?” said Carrie. “We're just kids.”

“What do you think, Yankee Girl?” asked Saranne.

“Well, uh, Debbie does sing good,” I stammered. I didn't say that Valerie sang better.

“See? Even Yankee Girl thinks I oughta be the angel,” said Debbie. “And I'm
gonna
be the angel.”

Debbie said that so often, we all stopped listening. Then one morning, a short woman with a beehive hairdo left our classroom just as we marched in.

“Debbie's mama,” said Jeb. “That don't mean anything good.”

I found out what it meant at rehearsal that day.

“We have decided to involve more students in the pageant,” said Miss Gruen. “So two students will play the angel. Valerie
and
Debbie.”

“'Bout time,” muttered Andy.

“Valerie will sing from backstage,” continued Miss LeFleur. “Debbie will be onstage, mouthing the words. We think this will satisfy everyone.”

I didn't know who “everyone” was. Valerie didn't look happy. Neither did Debbie. Only Miss LeFleur looked pleased.

“How come I don't sing?” Debbie pouted. “You said I could be the angel.”

“I said you could
be
the angel,” said Miss Gruen. “I didn't say you would
sing
.”

Valerie sat stone-faced in the back row, staring straight ahead.

Some kids wore big grins, nudging each other in the side as if to say, “We won!” Mary Martha stared at the floor, embarrassed. Jeb looked disgusted with the whole mess.

“Places, everyone, please.” Miss LeFleur clapped her hands.

“Why did Miss Gruen take Valerie's part away from her?” I asked Jeb as we made our way to the stage.

“Andy said that Debbie's mama said if that nigger was the angel, she would ‘take care of it'. Debbie's daddy's got buddies in the Klan. Last thing Mr. Thibodeaux and the teachers want is a fuss with the Klan. Anyway, Miss LeFleur thought up the idea of Valerie singing backstage.”

If Valerie didn't think it was fair, she never said. Each day she stood offstage and sang the angel's solo, while Debbie mouthed the words.

“Debbie ain't fooling anybody with that sorry act,” Karla said.

“It looks tacky,” Saranne agreed.

“It's all that nigra's fault.” Karla's lip curled.

Wasn't it Debbie's mama's fault? “But—” I began.

“But what?” Saranne and Karla said together.

“Nothing,” I muttered, looking away from Karla's fingers.

Who was going to listen to me? I was just the Yankee Girl.

The closer we got to pageant day, the worse things got.

Tommy came down with bronchitis and burst into huge hacking coughs between lines. Miss LeFleur gave him box after box of cough drops. They didn't help Tommy, but at least he shared them.

Karla went right on pinching. I had fingernail cuts all over my hands.

Then there was the day we practised the curtain call.

“Any questions?” asked Miss LeFleur after we had joined hands and bowed about a million times.

“When does Valerie take her bow?” Mary Martha called out.

Miss LeFleur's face turned Christmas green.

“Oh my,” she said in a fake-cheery voice. “We almost forgot Valerie, didn't we? Valerie can stand with the chorus for their bows.”

“But, Miss LeFleur—”

Miss LeFleur cut Mary Martha off. “I said Valerie would bow with the chorus. This discussion is over.”

Valerie did all the work and Debbie got the curtain call?

The Christmas pageant was turning into one big mess.

Just as big a mess was the class Christmas party.

Miss Gruen stood by her desk, rattling a shoe box.

“Draw your Secret Gift Buddy. Gifts may cost no more than two dollars.”

Jeb's hand shot up.

“Miss Gruen, did you separate the boys from the girls? I mean, could a boy get a girl's name?”

“I trust you are mature enough to purchase a gift for a girl if necessary.” Miss Gruen fired off her special holiday version of the Look.

“I ain't buying no girl a present,” Jeb grumbled.

“And there will be no trading names,” added Miss Gruen.

I opened my slip of paper. Carrie. No problem. A Nancy Drew book only cost a dollar ninety-seven, with tax.

I watched the rest of 6B reading their slips. I could tell by their expressions whether they liked their Secret Gift Buddy or not. Saranne looked pleased, Carrie mad, Leland disgusted. Valerie, as usual, stared at the chalkboard, as if there were something more interesting than today's homework assignment written there.

Valerie. Oh no. I knew that whoever got Valerie's name would
not
give her a present. Maybe I could buy two presents and give one to her.

Or maybe the room mothers would bring an extra gift that day. Room mothers made cookies for class parties and chaperoned field trips. They could bring a present for Valerie. But I knew they wouldn't.

I was beginning to see Miss LeFleur's point about Christmas. I wished for the good old days when my biggest problem was which toys to ask for from the Sears Roebuck Christmas catalogue. The good old days. Last year.

December glittered with possibilities. Pageants, parties, presents. And at the top of the shining pile, Christmas Day.

Now those same parties, presents, and pageants were booby traps, waiting to explode. I worried all the time. That the pageant would stink. About Karla and her fingernails. That Valerie wouldn't get a present.

What could I do about any of it?

Nothing, that's what. Like Carrie said, we were just kids.

Pageant day, and the whole sixth grade was a nervous wreck. Both classes were penned up in 6B, waiting our turn to go to the auditorium.

The Cheerleaders worked on Debbie's sleep-mashed hairdo with a rat-tail comb and a can of Aqua Net. Tommy paced the edges of the room, mumbling and sucking cough drops. I dodged from corner to corner, avoiding Karla and her iron fingernails.

Only Valerie remained calm, reading at her desk. She was really dressed up, in a red velvet sailor dress with a matching headband. Too bad no one would see her backstage.

Miss Gruen and Miss LeFleur were everywhere at once. Gluing cotton balls to the Wise Men's chins. Tying green crêpe-paper bows on the chorus. Making Debbie wipe off her white lipstick. Miss LeFleur looked extra pretty today in a green suit and heels, a cluster of tiny Christmas bells pinned to her shoulder.

Miss Gruen wore her usual brown.

Miss LeFleur fluttered her hands in the air, palms stained green from the crêpe paper. “Time to go, boys and girls. Line up, please. Chorus first.”