November Blues

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Maybe she has nothing to go home to. She never got married, never had kids, probably has no friends—this is all she has.”

  “What are you tryin’ to do, make me feel sorry for her?”

  “No way. You’ll get over that real quick anyway when you get in there. I just gotta warn you. I heard she’s really hard on the pregnant girls,” Dana said carefully.

  “That’s all I need,” said November as she held up her hands. “So far, this day has not been great, and it’s still early.”

  “Poor Olivia. I didn’t know she was so into Jericho,” Dana remarked sadly.

  “I don’t think she even realized it until she saw him with Arielle—that witch.”

  “How can boys be so stupid? Can’t he see Arielle for what she really is?” Dana asked in frustration.

  “Jericho is just looking at the good parts,” November stated as she picked up her book bag.

  “And we told Olivia he was deep.”

  “So much for deep dudes.”

  The two girls marched down the hall and into the classroom a full twenty minutes after class had started. The class was quiet, everyone busily writing in their red notebooks, but they all looked up expectantly when Dana and November walked in.

  “And the reason for your tardiness, young ladies?” Ms. Hathaway said harshly. She was a tall woman, angular and gaunt. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, so every line and wrinkle showed clearly on her pale face. Her gray-white hair was cut short, but without much style, November thought. She wore a red-flowered, long-sleeved dress, even though it was late August, but oddly, instead of the ugly black “old lady” shoes that one might expect, she wore comfortable-looking red sandals. We need to get her a subscription to Vogue magazine, November thought with a giggle as she and Dana stopped by her perfectly ordered desk.

  “We got lost,” Dana said with a grin. She looked over at Olivia, who was already seated in the back of the room, and tried to make her smile, but Olivia just looked away.

  Ms. Hathaway did not seem to be amused. “Miss Wolfe, your assignment is on the board, and you have less than fifteen minutes to complete it. I suggest you cease the banter and begin. Your assigned seat is the third seat in the fourth row. Your detention begins at three o’clock sharp. Do not dare to be late.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Dana, but made a face when Ms. Hathaway turned her back. No one had the nerve to laugh. November noticed that Dana looked really pleased when she saw that her seat was right next to Kofi’s.

  “And you, Miss Nelson,” the teacher continued, “I will see you out in the hall. Now. The rest of you continue working on your essays. Silently.”

  November glanced at Dana, shrugged, and followed the teacher. As soon as the door had clicked shut, Ms. Hathaway turned to November and demanded, “Why are you here, Miss Nelson?” She spoke quietly, but every word seemed to stab at November.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t they have that Rafiki program for girls like you?” Her deep-set black eyes never left November’s face.

  How dare she talk to me like that! “I chose not to go there, ma’am.” November refused to let this woman see her cry. “I wanted to be with my friends here at Douglass.”

  “This school is not a social club. Our purpose here is academic.” She paused and seemed to peer down the empty hallway. “You had so much potential, Miss Nelson. I must say I’m really disappointed in you.”

  “A lot of people seem to feel that way,” November answered, lowering her head. She looked down at her swollen ankles and noticed that even Ms. Hathaway had nicer legs than she did.

  Ms. Hathaway continued, “I’ve observed you since you were a freshman—poised, intelligent, articulate—always willing to volunteer for a good cause. You must feel awful.”

  November, surprised that the woman knew enough about her to make such a statement, replied angrily, “You have no idea how I feel!” The baby shifted and moved within her, but she gave no indication to the teacher.

  “Actually, I do,” Ms. Hathaway replied quietly.

  “Huh?” November was stunned.

  “I had a child once.”

  November gasped. Not this straight up hater! She couldn’t even come close to imagining her as young, or in love, or pregnant. “Yes, ma’am,” was the only phrase her mouth would form.

  “They took her from me. And then she died.”

  November couldn’t believe Ms. Hathaway was telling her this. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Really, I am.”

  The teacher shook her head, as if to clear her mind. All business once again, she said, “We must get back to the classroom. I will expect you to keep up with every scrap of homework so that you do not fall behind during your absence. If you do decide to go to college later on, I will not allow my class to be the one that prevents that from happening.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I promise to work real hard. I like English, and I’m a pretty good writer.”

  “We’ll see about that. In fact, I want you to write me a personal essay about your pregnancy—your thoughts, emotions, fears, everything. It will help you sort through your feelings, and give me something to grade you on while you are out of class. When are you due?”

  “November second.”

  Ms. Hathaway nodded. “Until that time, you are aware I have strict attendance and behavior policies in my classroom?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will do my best not to miss a day, except for, except for, uh, medical reasons.”

  As they walked back into the classroom, the chatter suddenly ceased and everyone returned to their writing as if they had been doing it the whole time. “Your seat is here in the front row, Miss Nelson. I will see you at detention.” November had already forgotten about the DT.

  She was relieved when Ms. Hathaway turned her attention to another unfortunate student—Jack Krazinski—who had come to class without a pen or pencil.

  “You were aware this was the first day of school, Mr. Krazinski?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you received my letter in the mail two weeks ago about my classroom requirements?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You are a senior in high school—about to graduate and become one of the decision makers of our society?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And yet you chose to appear before me without supplies?”

  “I forgot!” A few class members giggled, but stopped when they saw the fire in the teacher’s eyes.

  “It takes talent to make a failing grade on the first day of school. Congratulations, Mr. Krazinski. I hope you perform better in the marching band.”

  “How’d you know I played in the band?” Jack asked, scratching his head.

  “Small children in the next county huddle in fear from the noise of your cymbals, Mr. Krazinski!” The slightest hint of a smile touched her lips. The class allowed themselves a small laugh, then went back to work.

  November, who had been standing at her seat, watching the scene with amusement, finally decided to sit down. The desk, made of wood and full of pencil scratches and carved doodles from years past, was one of those that looked like a chair but had a lapboard to set books and papers on. November tried for several moments to find a solution, but no matter how she tried to adjust her body, she could not fit in the desk. She finally gave up in frustration and sat in a chair at the front table, right next to Eric Bell, who had to sit there because he was in a wheelchair.

  CHAPTER 37

  MONDAY, AUGUST 30

  IT WAS JUST BEFORE DISMISSAL, AND November, Dana, and Olivia sat together at a table in the back of the library. November, who couldn’t believe how hungry she was, was sneaking potato chips into her mouth when the librarian wasn’t looking. Olivia flipped through a magazine, but she had refused to talk about Arielle and Jericho.

  Finally, in order to break the tension, November asked, “You excited about the Excelsior game, Olivia?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just another football game. Sw
eaty boys. Simple girls who think cheerleading is an academic activity.”

  “Don’t forget about the band,” Dana reminded her gently. “The band always rocks.”

  “We’re going to look stupid—and dirt-poor. This is one of the richest schools in the country. I bet they laugh at us.” Olivia opened another periodical—one of those fashion magazines where all the models were incredibly thin and beautiful. She snorted and tossed it aside.

  November glanced through it and for the first time understood why Olivia would toss it away. Seeing the skinny girls in there made her feel like a blimp now.

  She didn’t know how to make Olivia feel better. “A whole busload of Douglass kids are going up to support the team and the band. We’ll scream and holler and cheer our guts out,” she said, trying to sound encouraging. “Plus a lot of people are driving up. Jericho told me his dad and stepmom, as well as Todd and Rory, are driving up Saturday afternoon.”

  “Are you going?” Olivia asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t miss it,” November replied. She figured she could use the distraction, plus she’d promised Jericho she’d come watch.

  “You know who rides up on the band bus,” said Olivia, her voice flat.

  “The cheerleaders,” November said sympathetically. She really felt for Olivia.

  “How am I going to put up with five hours of her skinny behind?” Olivia moaned. “She’ll be up and down the aisles, showing off, talking stuff, and making sure she’s in my face with all of it.”

  “You’re so much better than she is,” Dana stated.

  “Bigger, maybe,” Olivia said. “Look, I’ll be fine. This is the story of my life. I should be used to it now. Just keep my mouth shut, do my homework, and play my instrument. And don’t expect anything more.”

  November and Dana were silent, helpless to offer a solution. Finally Dana said, “We’ll be there to support you, Olivia.”

  Olivia looked up at them. “You know, you guys are great. I never really had close friends before. It makes all this mess a little easier to deal with.”

  “We got your back, girlfriend,” November said with a smile.

  “Me and Kofi are driving up to the game on Saturday morning, November. You think your mother will let you go with us instead of on the bus?”

  “Probably. She worries about everything, though—gets on my nerves. You have to agree to stop every hour so I can use the bathroom, though.”

  Dana laughed. “No problem. Anything to make the little mama comfortable.” Then, her voice suddenly serious, she asked, “Have you heard from the Prescotts lately?”

  “I have another appointment with them and their lawyer on September twenty-first. I need to make my decision by then.”

  “But why?” Olivia and Dana asked at the same time.

  “So when the baby comes, everything will be set. Either I will take her home forever, or the Prescotts will.”

  “You sound so sad. Are you sure you’ll be ready to make such a big decision?” asked Olivia, concern in her voice.

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “Are they still putting heavy pressure on you?” Dana wanted to know.

  “Josh’s mom calls once a week—trying to be nice, I guess. She offers to take me shopping for maternity clothes, or drive me to my doctor appointments. I guess they figure being nice to me is a better way to make me decide in their favor.”

  “Is it working?” Olivia asked.

  November shrugged. “Not really. But Jericho told me that as soon as they heard the baby would be a girl, they decorated one of the rooms in the house as a full nursery—done up in pink bunny rabbits.”

  “They must feel awfully confident about winning!” Olivia commented.

  “Pink rabbits? Give me a break,” said Dana.

  “Have you bought any baby stuff, November?” Olivia asked gently.

  November looked dreamy. “Not yet…. I just can’t yet…. But if I did, it would be yellow. When I think of her as a real person—a baby, a toddler, a child—I call her Sunshine.”

  “What a glorious name,” whispered Olivia.

  “In my mind I see her crooked little smile—just like Josh’s. I see her talking and walking and running in the park on a sunny day—with me,” November continued.

  “I was waiting for this to hit you,” said Dana quietly.

  “What do you mean?” November asked.

  “For your heart to catch up with your head.”

  November looked at Dana and Olivia, relief plain on her face. “You know what?” she said, the hesitation in her voice turning to confidence.

  “What, girl?”

  “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Do what? What do you mean?” Dana asked, touching November’s hand.

  “Give up my Sunshine.”

  CHAPTER 38

  JERICHO

  FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

  THE TEAM ARRIVED AT THE RITZ-CARLTON Hotel in downtown Cleveland about seven o’clock on Friday night. After five hours on a Greyhound bus, Jericho was glad to stretch his legs. He walked around the lobby of the swanky hotel, trying not to gawk at the marble floors and huge chandeliers above.

  Coach had made them all wear suits, with a white shirt and red tie, and he had to admit they looked pretty good as they checked in, even though they were a little rumpled. “Dinner in a half hour, men. We’ll eat at the restaurant here in the hotel. Suits and ties required. We’ve ordered steak Diane, potatoes au gratin, and steamed broccoli for everyone. Dinner is provided for us by the Excelsior Alumni Association Boosters, as are your rooms and everything else this weekend.”

  “Can I order me a deuce at dinner, Coach?” Roscoe asked with a grin. “Or maybe a forty!” The other boys held back laughs as they waited to see if the coach would go off on Roscoe.

  Coach Barnes seemed to be unfazed. “In the first place, a four-star hotel like this doesn’t even sell that cheap malt liquor your gangsta friends like to drink. And in the second place, if I ever catch you with so much as a whisper of alcohol on your breath, you’re off this team until you’re twenty-one—the age you’ll probably be when you get enough credits to graduate!”

  “Ooh, he got you, man,” Cleveland hooted. The rest of the team doubled over with laughter.

  Their voices echoed loudly in the tall lobby, and several of the other guests looked at the group of teenagers nervously. One old lady, Jericho noticed, clutched her purse tightly and scurried over to the elevators.

  Roscoe smirked and took it in stride. “You want me to take a lap around the lobby, Coach?”

  “Hey, I’m considering it!” Mr. Barnes said. “Get on up to your rooms now and get freshened up. I’ll see you down here in thirty. Remember, we’re acting like gentlemen and champions tonight.”

  “I’m starved!” Jericho said. “How much does a champion need to eat?”

  “Enough to help us win tomorrow. I want you strong and quick tomorrow, Jericho. Our defense is going to need you. Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, Coach.” Jericho boarded the elevator with the others. “Hey, do they have apple pie in that restaurant?”

  “You can have three slices—with ice cream!”

  “Gotcha. I’ll be back down in five minutes.”

  When Jericho and Roscoe reached the room they were going to share, they slid the keycard into the lock, opened the door, and just stood there for a moment, gaping at the two full-size beds, the thick, plush-looking comforters that had been turned down by the housekeeping staff, and the huge window that overlooked Lake Erie. Soft classical music played on the radio.

  “Man, this is the business!” Jericho said as he stretched his six-foot-three-inch body on the bed. “I could get used to this kind of lifestyle.”

  “Look, man!” Roscoe cried out. “Bathrobes! They got bathrobes in the closets! Only high-class places do that. I’m taking this home to give to my mama!”

  “Look, you little scatback. You better leave that here. Y
ou get charged for it, you know,” warned Jericho.

  “Am I payin’ for the room?” Roscoe had put the robe on over his suit, but it still engulfed him.

  “No, but the robes are for you while you’re here, man. Don’t be rippin’ the folks off.” He laughed. “Besides, you look like you got on your daddy’s clothes!” Roscoe was only five foot eight, but he was tough and wiry.

  “My mama would love this,” Roscoe replied, rubbing the silky fabric, but he hung it back up in the closet. “Well, let’s go eat as much of these folks’ food as we can. They brought us up here to slaughter us, so I’m gonna eat well before they cook us like marshmallows over a fire.”

  “Coach don’t want you talkin’ like that,” Jericho warned as they headed for the elevator.

  “Coach lives in a dreamworld. There is no way in heaven or hell we can beat Excelsior.”

  “But we’ve practiced all summer. Luis is a dynamite quarterback. Even you can be pretty fast if somebody sticks a lightning bolt up your behind!” Jericho said, faking a punch. “You think all those plays, drills, and skills he taught us won’t work?”

  Roscoe laughed. “Remember when we saw that movie in history last year—the one where the Romans put the Christians in the arena with the hungry lions so the people could watch it like we watch HBO?”

  Jericho nodded.

  “Those poor folks in that arena thought they had skills too. But they got ate up, man. Gobbled.”

  Jericho looked at his buddy. Was that what the fancy digs were all about?

  The elevator door opened to the lobby. Jericho and Roscoe joined Luis and the rest of the team as they headed to the restaurant. The meal was delicious, and Jericho really did eat three pieces of pie—two raspberry and one chocolate cream. The raspberry, which was tart but sweet, for some reason reminded him of Arielle. That second pie was really good.

  When he finally collapsed on the incredibly soft bed a couple of hours later, Jericho dreamed of lions and footballs and Josh standing helplessly, waiting to be gobbled.