Love Me or Miss Me

by Dream Jordan

  “No, no, no!” Sekou shouted at me. “We’re not going to have this kind of conduct on our trip.”

  “Won’t be none,” I spat. “Because I’m not going.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I’m not going,” I repeated.

  When my mind is made up, it’s closed for questioning.

  I stormed away from Sekou before he could press me further. He called after me, “You’ll change your mind.”

  Yeah, that’s what you think.

  Felicia and I walked down Lewis Avenue in silence. Then finally, she spoke up. “Kate … are you sure about this?”

  Felicia has big brown eyes the color and size of walnuts. She stared at me for a long time, breaking my heart. But I stiffened my lip and said, “Listen, you can count me out—those snobby chicks left a nasty taste in my mouth.”

  Gwen. The kind of girl black like me but can’t relate to me. I could already tell that she came from money by the stiffness in her voice and the way she held her nose high. She reminded me of so many other snobs. And to think this crab and her cronies would be going on this trip? Oh no. I couldn’t go. I might just black out and punch somebody. May seem extreme to you, but have you ever been forced to live with strangers all of your life, going from house to house, feeling like you’ve got nobody and no clout? Try dealing with kids who have both parents and want to know why you don’t. Point blank, it’s hard. You have to put up fronts and cover up facts in order to feel normal around other kids. But you never feel normal. You never fit in. Two months was way too long for me to be dealing with that kind of bull. Sorry.

  But Felicia wasn’t giving up on me. She paused before she spoke, and then said, “Listen, I understand where you’re coming from. I don’t like dealing with girls like that either.… But I’m not about to let them stop me from experiencing South Africa.”

  “Well, good for you,” I said. “But I’m staying right here. Besides, Sekou kept harping on spending money—I don’t have it like that.”

  “Don’t worry, you know I got you.”

  “Nah, that’s okay,” I said, “Thanks, anyway … I’ll just make my own adventure in Brooklyn.”

  “Well—you still have time to think about it.”

  I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, leaned against the ONE WAY sign pole, and said, “Listen, I already thought about it.… The answer is still no.”

  Felicia’s eyes cracked into the saddest expression I ever saw. “Kate, please, I don’t want to go without you … and you’re going to regret it.”

  I was feeling so bad right now, so torn, watching my friend beg me like this. But I had to stay strong.

  “Can you leave it alone?” I snapped. “It’s bad enough I’m going to hear Tisha’s mouth, so I really don’t need to hear yours right now, okay?”

  “But I don’t understand.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I didn’t expect Felicia to understand. Sorry to say, but Felicia was raised by the Coldwells, who are big-time snobs. Big-time lawyers who hold their noses higher than the project towers they were raised in. Their world is so much more different from mine. Uncomfortable too. Every time I visit Felicia’s house and the Coldwells are present, I feel stiff in the jaws. Careful not to use ain’t in a sentence. Don’t even want to laugh too hard or loud. I just can’t be myself around them. I’ll never forget the first time I ate dinner over there. The Coldwells were so cold, hawking me as if I was going to steal the silverware, asking me a million questions like I was on an interview. It was my first time having steak, but I couldn’t even enjoy the moment because of their stuck-up nonsense.

  Between me and you, I truly believe if I wasn’t rocking the hot grades, the Coldwells would’ve sent our friendship to an early grave. I’m surprised they even let my girl go to public school.

  Anyway.

  When Felicia and I reached Lewis Avenue and were about to part ways, I told her: “Have fun for me, okay?”

  Before the words even rolled off my tongue, I was already regretting them.

  When I told Tisha what had happened, just as expected, she was extremely disappointed in me. She didn’t think I should let those girls stop me from going either. She said I would live to regret my decision. Surprisingly, she didn’t go on and on like I thought she would. She just said her piece, and then left it alone—

  * * *

  Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder: “Your time is up,” said the librarian, pointing at a sulky kid standing behind me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I told him.

  Yeah, I was sorrier than ever.

  Felicia was there. And I was here.

  Chapter 7

  On Friday, I was up to my knees in weeds. Every single weed I pulled, I imagined Lynn’s greasy hair in my grip. I took all of my frustration out on the weeds. Yank. Pull. Yank. The sun was beating down on my back. I was bent over, sweating bullets, pulling these doggone weeds taller than me. And I was thirsty—so thirsty, I was tempted to drink the sweat dripping down my forehead. This was some bull.

  Even though Lynn was pulling weeds besides me, I didn’t give a snap. Her help was no help, and this punishment was no fair. Lynn claimed this wasn’t punishment, but whatever, I felt punished.

  When Lynn ordered me to take an hour break, I wanted to scream, “Witch, no!” I didn’t want to hear about no one-hour break! I wanted to get this gardening garbage over and done with as quickly as possible.

  During the break, Lynn laid out two bologna-and-cheese sandwiches and a tall pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. She made me eat with her out on the patio. And as I sat, munching my sandwich in silence, Lynn asked out of the blue, “Read any good books lately?”

  Oh, now she done lost her mind!

  Lynn was actually trying to make small talk with me? Please, she would get nothing but sign language. I shook my head.

  Lynn got up and went back into the house. She came back carrying a book in her hand. “I want you to read this before the end of the summer.”

  So now she was giving me homework?

  I mumbled, “Thanks,” and rolled my eyes at the back of her head.

  After the break, I went back to work.

  When I pulled my last weed and Lynn finally dismissed me, I didn’t dare forget to bring inside the book just to avoid hearing her mouth.

  I stepped inside the house with my shirt full of dirt. Dirt caked on kneecaps, my sneakers. What a dirty trick Lynn had pulled on me today! And to think she wasn’t through. We still had a whole stinking pile of laundry to do.

  I ripped off my grimy clothes, showered, and came out smelling soapy clean, but still feeling dirty and disgusted with my situation.

  On our way to the Laundromat, Lynn marched in front of me like a dictator. I dragged the laundry cart behind her, avoiding any possible body contact. I took deep breaths to keep my cool. Dirt was still stuck between my nails. Mosquito bites itching the freak out of me.

  We passed four girls playing double Dutch on the sidewalk. I wanted to borrow their rope to whip Lynn’s big old butt with it. But no. Lynn’s butt was safe from me. After today? My lesson was learned. From now on, it would be all fake friendly smiles. No more attitude from me. Matter of fact, I was even smart enough to bring that book she had given me: Manchild in the Promised Land. And while our clothes dried, I cracked the book open. Honestly, I didn’t expect to get into it, but I have to admit, the book caught my attention from the jump: Shot! Expelled! Court date! Drama!

  I’d never been shot at before, but I could relate to everything else. Although I’m a fast reader, I didn’t make it past the first chapter because of Lynn. Oh brother, she wanted to chitchat again.

  “So are you excited about going to high school?” Lynn asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your favorite subject?”

  “Math.”

  And two plus two equals leave me alone.

  “Do you know what you want to do with your life?”

  “Yes.”
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br />   Lynn creased her eyebrows and said, “Well?”

  “Social work,” I began, “I want to help kids in care…” I wanted to add, deal with witches like you. But of course I didn’t say that.

  “Social work?” Lynn repeated. “Then why go to a school that specializes in environmental studies?”

  Because Felicia was going there, that’s why. Period. I didn’t need no stupid lecture from Lynn about being a leader and holding my own. Feels like I’ve been holding my own ever since I was born. So, if I wanted to stay close and follow my best friend around, that was my business. Lynn needed to mind hers. But instead of getting defensive, I just kept faking smiles at Lynn and nodding at every dumb thing she said. Oh no. I wasn’t about to let her block me from my beauty agenda again. Operation Get Fly was about to be in full effect.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, I bolted out of bed before the sun could climb high in the sky. One step ahead of Lynn, I rolled up my sleeves and cleaned the bathroom, did my dusting, mopped the kitchen floor. Now she couldn’t say one word to me about chores.

  At twenty past nine, I shot into the shower, shot out, got dressed, and threw a scarf over my head. Then I paused, thinking about breakfast. Should I? Oh yes, I should. I didn’t want my stomach grumbling in front of Naleejah. If she had to feed me too, I’d really be feeling like a charity case.

  As I stood over the kitchen sink, gobbling down a bowl of corn flakes, Ted walked in on me. I gulped down the last drop of milk and smiled. Always glad to see him. Too bad he was barely ever around.

  “Hey, Katie, what’s up?” Ted asked, all smiles, as usual.

  “Nothing much.”

  “Now, where’s my thermos?” he asked absentmindedly.

  Ted was getting ready for work at the garage. He worked six days a week, and it showed. His eyes were always red, most of the hair on his head was sprouting gray, and he walked with a slight limp. Poor guy.

  “Where did I put that thing?” Ted grumbled more to himself than to me.

  I helped him look for his thermos. I found it on a random shelf. He flashed me a grateful smile and said, “I can always count on you, huh?”

  “No doubt.”

  “So where you running to?” asked Ted, eyeing my gotta-go-gear.

  “My friend’s house.”

  “What friend?” Ted asked. “Felicia back already?”

  “No, this new girl I met named Naleejah,” I explained, ready to leave the kitchen before any more questions were asked.

  “Oh yeah? Where’d you guys meet?”

  “At a basketball game.”

  “Paying her a visit so early in the morning?”

  “Yeah … well … she wants me to come as soon as possible. We have a lot of stuff to do,” I explained vaguely. No, I couldn’t explain any further. I couldn’t risk Ted asking me if I had permission to get my hair permed.

  “Want a lift?” asked Ted.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  It turned out that Naleejah lived only about eight blocks away, but any time spent with Ted is time well spent. He always has a funny story to tell, always has some knowledge to drop, and I was always all ears with him. Never told him so, but I wished with all my heart he was my father. Before Ted, I never trusted grown men, especially not after a grimy ex–foster father touched my breasts. Once. Once, because the second time he tried to go there, I slapped his big grubby hands away from me and threatened to tell his wife.

  “Who do you think my wife is going to believe? You prancing around here like you want me, chest all hanging out.” That’s what he told me. But I knew that was bull. I’d worn nothing but baggy T-shirts and never once gave this creepy man any ideas. His fault for being a pervert. Not mine.

  I told on him and was instantly removed from that home.… But I don’t know why I just brought that up. I don’t even like thinking about it.

  * * *

  “Kate, give me a few minutes,” Ted called over his back.

  I decided to wait for him outside. One word: Lynn. I wanted to be out of the house before she could pounce on me for something silly. Five minutes later, Ted came outside, and we hopped inside his battered blue station wagon.

  I gave him Naleejah’s address, and we zipped off into the morning sun. On the way there, we laughed and chitchatted. At a stoplight, Ted turned to me and said, “So, Kate, tell me why did the chicken cross the park?”

  “The park?” I asked, “Don’t you mean ‘the road’?”

  “The park,” Ted insisted.

  “Okay, why?” I asked, already giggling.

  “To get to the other slide! Get it? Park? Slide?”

  (I didn’t say all of Ted’s jokes are funny.)

  Ted was about to tell me another joke when his cell phone rang. Forget the chicken joke, I busted into giggles at the sound of his silly ring tone. Ted had some old-school singers crooning some shoo-wop mess on his phone—straight-up hilarious. Ted was always complaining about gangster rap, so he stayed stuck in the old school; he knew nothing about Nas, Talib Kweli, and Common doing it real big and mostly positive in hip-hop. (Nas is my favorite, my biggest crush next to Charles.)

  I couldn’t tell Ted a thing about his music. As for his phone call, I could tell that Lynn was on the other line, flapping her lips. Clearly, she had to be complaining about me. Why else would Ted be glancing at me with one raised eyebrow?

  Finally, Ted clicked his cell phone shut and, at the next red light, turned to me and said, “Lynn tells me you’re always leaving the house without saying good-bye to her. Is that true?”

  “Um … yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because is not an answer.”

  “Well … I used to say bye all the time, and she’d just nod at me, no smile, no nothing—felt like she didn’t want to speak to me, so I’m figuring, why bother?”

  “To be fair, you weren’t so nice to Lynn when you first came to us.” Ted squinted his eyes like he always did when trying to make a point. “You weren’t nice to me either, but I knew how to get past that.”

  Embarrassed, I stayed quiet. Ted wasn’t lying. I always wear a scowl instead of a smile when I first meet grown-ups, a bad habit of mine. I tend to expect rejection from them, so I do the rejecting first.

  And it was true, when I first came into the home, Lynn had asked me what I liked to do for fun. I immediately shut her down with, “Nothing much.” And whenever she invited me to come out to cultural events with her, I always said, “No thanks.” And when Lynn told me that if I ever had any problems, I was welcome to come to her. I never came.

  I had my reasons. But if Lynn hadn’t come on to me so strong, and gave me time to get used to her, I would’ve eventually come around.

  Ted patted my shoulder and said, “Just try to be nice to Lynn, okay? Remember that high road I’m always talking to you about?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Meanwhile I was thinking I wished Lynn would take that high road with me. True, she tried in the beginning, but she should’nt have given up on me so quick.

  Of course, I didn’t debate this with Ted. I just nodded and agreed with his little lecture until he pulled up in front of Naleejah’s house.

  Wait … could this be Naleejah’s house?

  I double-checked the address. Yep, right address. Wrong first impression. I couldn’t believe Naleejah, the Fabulous One, actually lived in this hot mess of a house sitting slumped on the corner of Quincy Street. The house was gray, faded, and crumbly, just like the crib I lived in. The gate was swinging off the hinges, and the busted garbage cans outside were overflowing with beer bottles and junk in general.

  Now, please don’t get me wrong. I don’t go around judging people’s cribs. But boy, did Ms. Gucci have me fooled! Dressing like a diva and living in this dump? I’ve stayed in a bunch of private foster homes in and around Bed-Stuy, and I’m sorry to say, but Naleejah’s house was the worst I’d ever seen.

  Ted saw me hesitating, and called out
, “What are you waiting for, Kate? Everything all right?”

  I was still swearing up and down that I was at the wrong house. But Ted wouldn’t leave the scene without seeing who answered the door. (Maybe he thought I was sneaking to visit some boy.) To ease his mind, I finally pressed the bell.

  One minute later, the black metal door creaked open and out popped Naleejah, crying, “Kate!” like I was her long-lost friend and she hadn’t seen me in years. Satisfied at seeing a female, Ted beeped twice and pulled off.

  Naleejah’s head was tied up in a black silk scarf, and she had on a pink pajama set. She looked so cute, even rocking sleepwear. She ushered me inside and led me down a long dark hallway that smelled like fish. Two shadows were standing at the entrance. Naleejah introduced them as her parents. Her father, Mr. Mackie, was a super-tall dude full of bright white teeth. (I could see where Naleejah got her flashy smile from.) And Mrs. Mackie was short and had less flash. She had small brown eyes and a mean expression in them. She gave me a limp handshake and a wave good-bye like she wasn’t interested in getting to know me. Okay, forget you too.

  “I was just headed out,” Mr. Mackie explained. “Nice meeting you, Kate.”

  “Same here,” I said, smiling sweetly.

  Mrs. Mackie turned to Naleejah and said, “You should’ve cleaned up if you knew your friend was coming. What’s wrong with you?” Then she walked away from us down the long dark hallway.

  Naleejah pulled me into her bedroom, the biggest bedroom I’ve ever been in. But it looked like a hurricane hit it. Clothes blown all over the wooden floor, jeans and things draped over her desk, and a mountain of unidentified stuff piled up on her king-sized bed.

  “Ready to get fierce?” asked Naleejah.

  I cracked a smile. “No doubt.”

  Naleejah pulled a random white T-shirt from her dresser drawer and told me to put it on over my top.

  “Don’t want to be burning holes through your clothes!” Naleejah exclaimed. Then she started mixing the creamy concoction with a wooden stick like the one the doctor puts in your mouth during a checkup. The smell of the perm was so strong, it felt like my nose hairs were scorched. But I needed a strong mix. Shucks, as thick as my hair was? The cream would probably scream when it touched my head. “I want my hair to look just like yours,” I said. “Straight and shiny.”