Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Brandy Colbert
Cover art copyright © 2019 by Erin Robinson. Cover design by Marcie Lawrence. Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
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First Edition: August 2019
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Colbert, Brandy, author.
Title: The revolution of Birdie Randolph / by Brandy Colbert.
Description: First edition. | New York; Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 2019. | Summary: Sixteen-year-old Dove “Birdie” Randolph’s close bond with her parents is threatened by a family secret, and by hiding her relationship with Booker, who has been in juvenile detention.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018022809| ISBN 9780316448567 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316448574 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316448550 (library edition ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Family life—Illinois—Chicago—Fiction. | Secrets—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. | Identity—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Chicago (Ill.)—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C66998 Rev 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018022809
ISBNs: 978-0-316-44856-7 (hardcover), 978-0-316-44857-4 (ebook)
E3-20190724-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
Discover More
Also by Brandy Colbert
FOR MOM
THANK YOU FOR BEING YOU AND FOR LETTING ME BE ME
YOUR LOVEY LOVES YOU
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A STRANGE WOMAN IS SMOKING ON MY FRONT STOOP.
Actually, it’s the stoop of my mother’s hair salon. We live in the apartment upstairs. But my mom and Ayanna make their clients go down the street to smoke—none of them would ever sit right here in front of the door.
Maybe she just needs a place to sit. This is Chicago. We’re in Logan Square, near the California Blue Line stop—people are walking by constantly.
She takes a drag just as she notices me standing a few feet away, watching her. She exhales and smiles and lifts her hand in greeting. I give her a tight smile—this is Chicago—and quickly squeeze past her on the stoop, shutting the door to our stairway firmly behind me.
I’m in the kitchen getting a drink of water when I hear footsteps on the stairs and, a few moments later, the front door opening. It’s too early for my father to be home. I guess Mom needed to run up for something.
“Dove?”
I freeze. That’s not my mother. How could I have forgotten to lock the front door?
And then I turn around and see the woman from the stoop standing in the doorway, and I drop my glass. It shatters at my feet. Water splashes over my ankles and the tops of my school loafers. I back up, pressing myself against the kitchen sink. I don’t look at it, but I’m very aware that my hand is within reach of the knife block.
“Oh.” She takes in my frightened face. Holds up her hands. “It’s okay. You’re Dove, right? I’m Carlene.”
I stare at her, wondering if my mother would be able to hear me scream downstairs over the music and blow-dryers and incessant chatter of the shop. How does this woman know my name?
“I’m your aunt.”
I frown and then my mouth drops open as I remember that my mother has a sister. She’s her only sibling, and I haven’t seen her in so long I’d forgotten I have an aunt on that side. Mom doesn’t talk about her much. Never, really.
“Aunt Carlene?”
She smiles, and I wonder if I’ll see my mother in it, but I don’t. Thick, black Marley twists hang past my aunt’s shoulders. Her eyes are tired but friendly. “Remember me?”
“Um… just barely.”
Her smile fades a little. “Well, it’s been a long time. You’ve grown so much,” she says almost wondrously, her eyes roaming over me as if she’s trying to match the Dove she used to know with the one standing in front of her.
I want to ask her exactly how long it’s been, but something in her eyes tells me not to. Instead, I say, “I’m sixteen. I only have two more days left of sophomore year.”
My hands are still clenched into fists, even though I’m pretty sure she is who she says she is.
“I know.” She takes a couple of steps forward so she’s standing fully in the kitchen. The cigarette smoke clings to her clothes or her fingers or maybe both, and it’s not a good smell, but I try to pretend like it doesn’t bother me. “Seventeen next February, right?”
“Right.” I smile back at her, but I’m surprised she remembers. I didn’t think she knew any more about me than I know about her, which is pretty much nothing. “Are you visiting for a while?”
“I am.” She pauses then says, “I don’t know how long. But I’m hoping your mother will let me work in the salon while I’m here.”
“You know how to do hair?”
“Girl, who do you think taught your mama?”
Just then, I hear feet on the stairs again: thundering up. The front door bursts open and then my mother’s voice: “Birdie?”
“Birdie?” my aunt echoes.
“We’re in the kitchen,” I call back. Then, to Aunt Carlene, “That’s her nickname for me. You know… a play on the whole Dove thing.”
Mom stops abruptly in the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, staring at the worry lines etched into her forehead.
“Nothing.” She lets out a long breath as she looks back and forth between us. “I was just—it’s been a while since you’ve seen Carlene, so I wanted to make sure
everything is okay.” Then she spies the broken glass in front of my feet. “What happened?”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in and… I got freaked out.”
Mom presses her lips together as she heads across the room to grab the broom and dustpan. “I wanted to let you know before you got home, but Carlene showed up unannounced in the middle of an appointment. I couldn’t get away.”
“It’s a broken glass,” Aunt Carlene says, raising an eyebrow. “Nobody died.”
She tries to take the broom from my mother, but Mom shakes her head and motions for me to get out of the way as she sweeps up the wet shards.
I don’t think they’ve seen each other in years, either, but they don’t look so happy to be reunited. They’re not close; maybe my aunt doesn’t know her well enough to understand how much Mom values planning and order.
“Don’t walk barefoot in here for a while,” my mother says after crouching to make sure she’s gotten every piece that she can see. She tosses the broken glass into the trash can and leans the broom against the wall. She looks at Aunt Carlene. “I also wanted to make sure you’re settling in okay. Should I have Raymond stop anywhere on the way home?”
“I’m settling in just fine. I don’t need anything,” Aunt Carlene says. “I’m actually going to lie down for a while—I had a long day on the train.”
My mother’s lips are still pursed, but some of the tension leaves her body. “We’ll wake you for dinner.”
“Wake me up in time to help,” my aunt says over her shoulder.
I get a fresh glass from the cupboard and pour more water, then sit down at the kitchen table. Once the door to Mimi’s room clicks closed, Mom joins me.
She sighs, running a hand over her twistout. “I didn’t know she was coming.”
“Yeah, I kind of gathered that.” I watch her. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine, Birdie. Just tired.” She pats my hand. “You okay with her staying here for a while?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “I don’t remember her at all, but she seems okay. And Mimi’s not coming home this summer, right?”
“Right. Okay. Good.” Mom smiles.
“She’s going to work in the shop?”
“We could use another braider, but she has to be licensed, and that takes a lot of hours. I don’t know if she’ll be here that long.”
“She said she taught you everything you know about hair.”
Mom’s face drops so fast it makes me laugh. “Oh, she did? We’ll see how much she remembers after—”
“What?” I prompt her.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. She’s just been out of the game for a while.”
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay with her being here?”
“Carlene is family,” she says in a voice that doesn’t match her face. “Of course I am.”
My father comes home loaded down with bags of Thai takeout and a tired smile. He’s a team physician for the Chicago Bulls, but his main job is at Rush University, where he sees regular patients for sports medicine. He is always busy and always tired, but he tries to be around as much as he can be.
I’m in the living room, texting with Booker. At least I don’t have to pretend to have my nose stuck in a textbook every second of the evening now that final exams are over. There was plenty of studying over the past few weeks, but there was plenty of texting Booker Stratton in between.
I set my phone facedown on the couch and hop up to kiss Dad on the cheek. “Did you get lard nar?”
“I even got extra tonight since you ate it all last time.”
“Not my fault you and Mom are slow eaters.”
He shakes his head, laughing as he carries the bags into the kitchen.
My phone buzzes. I keep expecting this delicious, warm feeling to go away the more I hear from Booker, but the truth is that it only increases. Mitchell never made me feel this way, and we were together for a year and a half.
When can I see you again?
I pause, my fingers hovering over the phone as I think about this. It was easy to push away the question when I was in the thick of finals. Or even before that, since I go to a pretty demanding private school; academics take up the majority of my time during the year. But summer approaching means even more parties are approaching, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to escape the fact that my parents have my whole life planned out for me.
Maybe this weekend?
I don’t admit that the only way Mom and Dad will let me go out with him is if I introduce him first. I don’t know if either of us is ready for that yet.
The smell of Thai food floats into the living room, making my mouth water. I tell Booker I’ll text him later and head into the kitchen to help unpack the bags.
My parents are talking in low tones, their words sharp and pointed at the edges. Dad is pulling cartons from one of the bags, and I don’t even know how it’s possible for them to already be having such an involved conversation.
They stop as soon as I walk into the room. Mom looks over and smiles. “I was just telling your father he got so much food we’ll be eating leftovers for weeks.”
She clearly was doing nothing of the sort, but I’m too confused to challenge her. My parents rarely argue, and when they do, it’s behind closed doors, after they think I’ve fallen asleep.
“Well, we have company,” Dad says. “Gotta make sure everyone has enough to eat.”
I glance toward the hallway. “Should I go wake Aunt Carlene?”
“No, sweetie, I’ll get her,” Mom says. “You help your dad.”
It takes an extraordinarily long time for my mother to get my aunt. We’ve unpacked all the food and set the dining room table, and I’m grabbing the pitcher of water by the time they walk into the kitchen.
Aunt Carlene smiles at me before her eyes shift to my father, who is washing his hands at the sink. “Hi, Ray.”
He takes a moment to turn around, and when he does, there’s a strange look on his face. Almost like he’s seen a ghost. Which doesn’t make sense; he knew she was here. “Carlene. It’s been a real long time.”
“Indeed. You look good, Ray.”
“You too.” But it sounds like someone forced him to say it. I’m starting to wonder if anyone besides me is actually okay with my aunt staying here.
She looks over his shoulder at the food. “Chinese?”
“Thai.”
“Oh, I love Thai food.”
“Good,” Mom says. “Eat up. We have enough to feed the whole block.”
Aunt Carlene asks a lot of questions at dinner, but only to me. I end up talking the most, which I guess is okay because my parents are so quiet it’s unnerving.
“What are you up to this summer, Dove? Hanging with your friends?”
“A little bit, I guess.”
She frowns. “What else is summer for?”
“I’m taking some college prep courses,” I say, avoiding my mother’s eyes. “And working at the shop some.”
“That sounds… structured,” my aunt says, her eyes landing right on my mother.
“I like being at the shop.” And then I shove noodles and chicken into my mouth so I won’t be tempted to say what I really think about the college prep courses.
“Birdie is focused,” Mom says. “Both our girls are.”
Aunt Carlene takes a sip of water. “Focused is good. Lord knows our mother wouldn’t stand for anything else. Which is why we fought like we did.” She looks off into the distance, as if she’s remembering scenes from her childhood. Then she looks at me. “You know, Dove, your mother was always the overachiever. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“I suppose I always thought overachieving was better than the alternative.”
Even my father, who has barely said a word since we sat down and seems lost in his own world, looks in surprise at my mother. That sentence had claws.
Mom glances at us and exhales loudly. “Sorry. It’s been a long d
ay.”
But she doesn’t even look at her sister when she apologizes. Aunt Carlene stares down at her food.
I glance around the table as we finish the meal in silence, but their faces give away nothing. It’s times like this that I really miss my sister. I’m still not used to navigating this family stuff alone.
I like to text Booker before I go to sleep.
I like having someone to say good night to after my parents, and remembering his texts as soon as I open my eyes in the morning. I like knowing someone is thinking of me before they drift off, too.
Tonight, I get under the covers and text him as usual, but I wonder if I should be listening at my parents’ bedroom door. Maybe I’d hear the telltale murmurs of a disagreement—some clue as to what was really going on at dinner. He texts back:
Don’t know if I can wait much longer to see you
My cheeks flush with heat. We’ve kissed only a couple of times, but I remember it well, the feeling of Booker’s thick, soft lips on mine. One hand cupped around my face, the other palm pressed to the brick wall of Laz’s building behind me.
I think you have to? No going out on school nights over here
There’s a knock at my door just as his next message comes through:
You could always sneak out
“Come in.” I shove the phone under my pillow.
My mother closes the door behind her and perches on the edge of the bed next to me. “I can’t believe my baby is finishing her sophomore year in a couple of days. And that you’ll be taking the SATs in a few months!”
“Me either,” I say.
Mimi has done everything before me, so I know what my life is supposed to look like. I’m supposed to graduate at the top of my class and go to a good college where I will study something respectable that will get me an impressive, high-paying job. But it’s still weird to be doing all the things I watched her do, as if I never really thought they’d happen to me.
“I know it’ll be a busy one, but are you looking forward to the summer?”
“Mom.” I don’t like small talk in general, and I especially don’t like it with my mother. Also, we said good night earlier, so I’m not sure why she’s in here talking about my summer. “What’s going on?”
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