by Lamar Giles
“Okay, okay. Got it.”
She exhaled, deflating right before me. “Funny part is that the way he acted with Zoey, all that stuff is gross to me now. His teeth are kind of gray; he’s insecure and mean. If I ever smell his cologne again, I’ll gag.”
She was clearly uncomfortable, twisting and staring at the wall.
“Maybe we should really study something,” I said, feeling guilty for taking us here.
“Don’t try to be Mister Do-Right now.” She repositioned herself, focused on her tablet. “I’ve got more TV to catch up on.”
We resumed our previous activities. I clicked through open browser tabs and ended up on my YouTube home page where, because website algorithms are scary and know everything, a familiar face appeared in my recommended videos. Cressie’s fourth episode of FemFam Presents was among the thumbnail offerings, and next to it, the YouTuber she’d been caping for in my car. Jaylan Knows, episode 202: “Sex Terminators.”
Say . . . what?
Shi had screwed earbuds in, totally unconcerned with me. I clicked on the Jaylan Knows video and watched an engaging, humorous, informative breakdown about highly sophisticated sex dolls. It was the most bizarre thing I’d seen in a while. When it was done, I immediately clicked on episode 201: “Why Are (SEXIST) Dress Codes Still a Thing?”
Before long, I was on Jaylan’s page, scrolling through various video titles, amazed at the topics from timely politics (“Bathroom Laws”) to racy (“Orgasms 101”) to hilarious (“The Five Worst Blind Dates Possible”). Didn’t realize an hour had passed until a light snore caught my attention. Shianne had dozed off, her tablet slipping to the mattress. I, on the other hand, was surprisingly amped after falling down a YouTube hole. Jaylan Knows had given me an idea. One that might impress Kiera.
Gathering my things, I shook Shi’s socked foot, rousing her.
“Huh?” She plucked her earbuds out.
“I’m gone. We can have another study session later this week.”
Groggy-grunting, she mumbled, “Okay. Sorry about things getting tense earlier.”
“Tense? What you talking about?” I tried to not hold grudges. Not with Shi.
“If you’re into Kiera, be real with her. It shouldn’t be so hard. Stop that faking church BS. Nothing’s worth all that.”
I didn’t see how she was qualified to give relationship advice. All things considered. “Go back to sleep, Shi. I’ll see you later.”
I told the Griffiths family goodnight on my way out. From my car, I sent a text.
Me: Hey, I got an idea. Wanna show you tomorrow. Can we meet like 20 minutes before service in the Pledge room?
Jameer: I’ll be there.
Kiera: See you in the morning.
The next morning I drove myself to church, beating the earliest early birds. Jameer and Kiera arrived together and found me in the Purity Pledge classroom, where I already had my laptop on and ready. Jameer sat next to me, Kiera sat on his other side (even though there was an empty seat next to me, and closer to the computer, though I tried not to think about that too much). I cued up some of the shorter—milder—Jaylan Knows videos. One video was on sexually transmitted diseases and was way better than anything MJ showed us in Healthy Living.
Another video was called “First Date Tips,” and was exactly that. Fun, humorous, with Jaylan and her friends role-playing dos (DO ask for that end-of-the-evening kiss, and be okay with it if the answer is no) and don’ts (DON’T expect anything more than pleasant company and conversation).
Jameer stopped the video midway, began scrolling through Jaylan’s other offerings as I did. A full catalog of titles from “Mini-Rant: Stare in Her Eyes, Not at Her Boobs or Your Phone” to recorded multi-guest panels called “State of Your Virginity: Keep or Lose.”
“These are great,” he said, his voice airy with awe. “We gotta show the group.”
“No,” Kiera said. “Y’all know I’m not too comfortable with this Q and A situation you got going on. We definitely shouldn’t be watching these videos here.”
“I understand why you feel that way,” I said, ready for this. “But I think this is where we get our purity presentation.”
“How?”
Jameer seemed genuinely perplexed, too. “Yeah, Del, you lost me.”
“We go to this Jaylan lady’s event, see what it is she’s talking about. Then we flip it. Do an opposite event. It’s kind of like a skit, mixed with a panel. We know what we’re going to talk about—purity—but we present it like we’re experts schooling the congregation.”
Kiera leaned back in her chair, considering. I was ready for that, too.
“See?” I raised my hands wide as if framing a huge neon sign that read, “First Missionary Crew Knows Purity.”
The flyer was folded under my laptop. I pulled the slip free and passed it to Jameer, who skimmed it, then passed it to Kiera.
“It’s at Commonwealth University? That’s an hour and some change from here,” Kiera said.
“Exactly.” I grinned, finally reaching my closing point. “Road trip.”
We had to get into the sanctuary for service before I could nail either of them down on a definitive answer. They both agreed to think about it, and I had a sense Jameer saw the beauty of my plan, even if he knew my ulterior motives. Regardless of why I was orchestrating this trip, it would get him away from his house, and Green Creek, for a few hours.
So, I felt good when I settled into the pew next to Mom, who beamed with all sorts of parental pride over the eager beaver routine that got me to church early that morning. I was even in a decent mood through all the announcements, and prayers, and overly long selections from the choir. My mood soured significantly when Newsome motioned toward the front pew while the choir wooh-wooh-wooed through their last selection.
A familiar, but at the same time surprising, face rose above the heads of the congregation members between me and her.
Her name was Tavia Roberts. A Baby-Getter. One of the few who hadn’t blown up a baby daddy with the BabyGettersToo hashtag. She hadn’t come back to school yet, so seeing her here for the first time since before summer felt extra wrong, like she needed directions to where she was actually supposed to be.
She took a few steps toward the short staircase that would put her at Newsome’s podium, hesitated, looked to a silver-haired woman I didn’t know. Her grandma, maybe? The old lady rocked a sleeping infant, and prodded her along with a flicking hand motion, the way people shoo flies. Tavia continued her slow march, each time she lifted her leg to take the next step looking like her feet were five-hundred-pound lead blocks beneath her floor-length flower-print dress.
Newsome pulled his mic free of its holder, said, “We have a homecoming today, family. A hard homecoming, but a homecoming just the same.”
Something in those words, they triggered an eerie premonition, and my gaze was drawn to Jameer like he had his own gravity. He didn’t look at me though; he was locked on to what was happening at the font, like everyone else. My attention skirted back there too, but even before Newsome spoke again, I knew what this was.
Bare your soul.
“Young Sister Tavia has come back to the Lord’s House. And we’re so grateful for that. Not only has she come back, but she has chosen to take the Lord’s word from Psalm 32:5 to heart. ‘Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin.’”
“Amen!” Coach Scott shouted in his mousy voice, triggering a few more eager confirmations in the sanctuary.
“Sister Tavia.” Newsome held the mic to her.
She didn’t want to take it. I couldn’t have been more sure if I was Professor X reading her screaming thoughts in an X-Men comic. Yet, she unfolded a sheet of paper she’d been clutching in her fist.
Tavia faced us, raised the paper so it nearly blocked her entire face, and only then did she take the mic and read her statement.
�
��First, I’d like to thank God for helping me see that me and my family should be here with you all, receiving the blessings of His word. Second I want to—” Her voice cracked, and never steadied. “I want to say I’m sorry for d-d-disrespecting God, Pastor, my grandmother, and all of you with my behavior. By . . . transgressing and giving in to temptations of the flesh, I have d-d-dishonored all the good God has brought into my life . . .”
There was more. More of the same. Tavia throwing herself before the people in this room, her classmates among them. Her sniffles were harsh echoes through the surround-sound speakers. I bounced around the sanctuary the way I did when Prayer Peeking, observed my Purity Pledge classmates. All stone-still, except Jameer. I swear I saw him flinch each time Tavia snorted snot to keep from sobbing, though at that point, what was really the difference?
I craned my neck to Mom, who was expressionless. Almost in a trance, horror or awe, I couldn’t tell.
The final words of Tavia’s confession were barely audible snivels. She pushed the mic back to Newsome and padded down the stairs back to her grandmother and baby’s side. All to applause.
Newsome said, “It’s hard to get right, y’all. It’s hard to get right. But the children will lead us.”
After service, I was glad me and Mom had driven separate cars. I didn’t want to have a conversation about Tavia on the ride home. It’s not that I didn’t want to discuss it at all. I was afraid that if I discussed it with her, she’d say she approved.
Jameer caught me in the parking lot, tense and twitchy. “Pastor is hugging Tavia right now. Like they won something together. Nobody wants that prize, Del.”
“Was it that bad for you?” Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. What was?
“It was that bad. Like ripping off skin.”
Him and his way with words.
“I’m down for the road trip,” he said. “Anywhere but here.”
That bit of good news brought me back to myself. “And Kiera?”
“She’s still in there, too. Probably praise dancing with her parents and Pastor as we speak.”
“No.” I worked to ignore the disgust in his voice. “I meant can you get her to go?”
His head cocked, the slightest bit of annoyance wafted off him, and I got defensive. All he said was “I’ll work on it.”
Jameer walked toward his parents’ car without a goodbye.
Later, at FISHto’s, I had more to say about what happened in church, and Mya was my captive audience. “How often does that sort of thing happen?” I asked.
She passed a bulging, grease-spotted bag through the drive-thru window, gave the customary “Happy Sailing” goodbye, then called over her shoulder, “Couple of times a year. Depending.”
“On?”
“How badly people want to be on good terms with the church.”
“With Newsome, you mean.”
She spun on her stool, faced me. “What do you really want to say, Del? It’s just us here.”
“I’m here!” Stu yelled from the grill.
Nobody cared about Stu. Tyrell was another story. I scanned the perimeter before I spoke. “I think it’s bullshit. Don’t you think it’s bullshit?”
Mya got frowny. “You don’t have to curse. I don’t make the rules, Del.”
“If you did, though, if you had a church, would you make people do that?”
“Tavia went up there because she wanted to.”
“You couldn’t have been looking at the same person I was if you believe that.”
Mya fiddled with the bunches of drinking straws protruding from a cubby by her register. “Maybe she didn’t want to be in front of everyone, but she wanted to get right with God.”
“Newsome,” I corrected.
Her eyes became slits. “I didn’t like it, Del. Okay? It creeps me out every time someone does it. But I don’t like that you keep trying to get me to talk bad about Pastor.”
“I’m not.”
She gave me a full-on Mom look. The “you know better” expression. Which I didn’t understand because that wasn’t what I wanted. At all. She made it sound so manipulative.
Stu chimed in. “That pastor dude does sound like a dick, though.”
Mya threw her hands up. “I’m not doing this,” she yelled toward the kitchen, “with either of you!”
Door chimes sounded, a family coming to my register to order. Then the drive-thru picked up with the Sunday-afternoon rush, and I didn’t discuss church and the confessions of a Baby-Getter anymore. Not with Mya, my mom, or anyone else who’d witnessed that horror show. By Monday, the Green Creek gossip mill was grinding with fresh Baby-Getter fodder and I’d all but forgotten about Tavia. Thanks to my sister.
Qwan rode to school with Angie, and I never saw him before homeroom, otherwise I might’ve gotten a warning since he kept tabs on Cressie so hard. It took till second period before I sensed something was off. Too many glance-aways when I caught someone kind of staring in the hall. Too many whispers.
As I was making a locker stop, a sophomore girl, Autumn Chan, approached me for the first time in life to say, “Del Rainey, is there any way you can mention me to your sister? I have so many things I’d like to talk about.”
Her wide-eyed hopefulness was mad spooky. Her request seemed like nonsense. “My sister?”
“I want to go on her show. It’s about time someone started listening to us.” She pressed a folded slip of paper in my palm. “My IG, Snapchat, and cell number are there. Thanks for putting in a good word for me.”
Autumn skittered into the hallway rush, leaving me so lost.
I whipped my phone out, opened YouTube. Cressie’s latest episode, “Small-Town Scandal . . . But Is It, Really?” had posted. The thumbnail image was Taylor Burkin, frozen with a hand raised, and her neck tilted, and her mouth open as if she was giving someone—most likely Colossus—the business.
With no earbuds on me, I couldn’t listen, and I didn’t want to play it in the open. Had to get to class anyway, so I stayed in the semi-dark all the way until lunch when Jameer caught me by the cafeteria entrance. “I think something’s going on with your sister, but I can’t figure what it is.”
“Same, Jameer. But we’re about to find out.”
Qwan was at our table, and I knew he had earbuds with him. Me and Jameer flanked him. “Have you watched it yet?” I asked, cueing it up on my phone.
“Yeah, man.” No snark, no further explanation. Very un-Qwan-like, and it made me nervous. He passed me the buds. I took the right, Jameer took the left. Cressie filled the screen.
CRESSIE
Hey FemFam, Cressida here. I’ve been hearing from some of you new subscribers and I’m happy to see that we’ve crossed the pond. A few ladies from the UK have joined the family, I see the countries of Nigeria and Ethiopia representing, even have one subscriber all the way from New Zealand. Thank you for tuning in and dropping thoughtful comments. Means a lot.
The UK? Africa? New Zealand? I glanced below the video, checking Cressie’s subscriber count. 2.4K. More than quadruple the number from when Qwan first showed me the channel.
CRESSIE
Got a special guest today. Y’all have heard me talk about where I’m from, and how it’s not the most progressive place on earth. Well, over the last year there’s been a situation of sorts. One that’s gotten a lot of unfair attention in the local media. It has to do with a group of young women who have been ridiculed and ostracized for arguably the most natural thing on the planet: giving birth. I’d like to introduce you to one of those young ladies, Taylor.
The video cut to a wider angle so we could see Cressie and Taylor side by side on a love seat in, presumably, Taylor’s house. Taylor wore a Green Creek varsity soccer shirt, triggering vague memories of her in a yearbook team photo. I think she was pretty good at the sport.
TAYLOR
Thanks for having me.
CRESSIE
Would you mind telling the FemFam about what happened?
TAYLOR
I sure don’t.
She gave a recap of the Baby-Getters drama in a way none of us had ever heard before . . . because it came from an actual Baby-Getter. Not a news reporter. Not the Green Creek Rumor Mill. She dispelled the myth of a pact (“Nobody planned this, it was a time when everyone was stuck at home, bored. Sex happened, then the babies. Hasn’t it always been that simple?”). She gave new information (“The vice principal kept saying stuff to my mom like do we think it’s a good idea for me to return to a potentially toxic environment—it felt like he didn’t really want me to come back to school”). And she said something that we probably all sensed on some level (“That stupid nickname they gave us hurts. A lot!”).
Her voice cracked and Cressie took over, giving her time to collect herself.
CRESSIE
I hear you, sis. It’s mad derogatory. The FemFam has heard me speak a lot on how we get labeled with the most demeaning things for simply existing in the same space as men, doing the same things men do. Which brings me to a movement you started when trying to reclaim that horrible nickname. Can you tell the fam about #BabyGettersToo?
Taylor. Went. In.
It’s the stuff we’d all seen in her IG story, so not new to us. But Cressie made sure to edit in some of the original footage for the people in the UK, and Africa, and New Zealand. When Taylor finished, Cressie added her commentary.
CRESSIE
What I’m hearing: there’s a double standard at play. The school administration would rather have you disappear than protect you. And the boys who should be held equally responsible, aren’t. Not surprising. What are you hoping to accomplish with #BabyGettersToo?
TAYLOR
Everybody else was telling stories about me, and the other girls. I wanted to be heard. My words, my way.
CRESSIE
That, I can relate to. We already know we can count on a healthy number of critics to keep shunning you, blaming you, denigrating you. But know that the FemFam has your back. So, I’m sure there are people in my hometown watching this—I’m asking what can we do to protect these young women, and their children, from the continued scorn of the . . . well, I was going to say “community,” but is it really? The comments are open. Until next time.