by Robin Farmer
Jesus Christ. Operation phone-off-the-hook starts tonight.
Heading down the hallway, I decide to chill out with Sister effective tomorrow. Why not? My Pledge of Allegiance boycott now involves some students in the seventh and sixth grades. It’s successful beyond anything I could have imagined. I’ll lay low for what promises to be my best revenge: winning the writing contest, which kicks off in two weeks.
Imagining that first-place award in my hand gives me the same rush I felt reading my fortune cookie and horoscope eons ago. It’s a gift of power. A solution. The answer that I need to fix my family—to stop a divorce.
Daddy no longer comes to the house. We see him and talk to him on the phone less and less. Mom may have pawned her new diamond ring. Godzilla can deep dive in the holes where me and Charles’s hearts used to be.
It’s up to me to win next month and unite us. There’s nothing else I can do.
CHAPTER 20
A church mouse would have been louder than me in school the past week. Yesterday, I stayed quiet after my homeroom classmates, with the surprising exception of Vietta, caved and recited the Pledge of Allegiance. Many Black students in eighth grade still refuse to do so.
Besides, I have no need to gloat. Sister Elizabeth and I can co-exist in peace. I’m thrilled she hasn’t called Mom at work since the home line stays busy. Coming up with reasonable excuses for the phone being “accidently knocked off the hook” is wearing me out and making Mom suspicious.
I watch the red minute hand circle the wall clock until the first period bell rings. I wait impatiently to file out. Feeling Sister eyeballing my spine, I glance back. Eyes shining, she flashes the cheeriest smile at me for no good reason. Chills spider up my arms. That’s weird. I will never understand her.
I erase her from my thoughts ’cause I need room for bigger things. Today is the day! We’ll learn about the guidelines for the writing contest that kicks off next week. I bolt through the corridor to get a minute with Mr. Harvey alone in class.
I jog into his room and listen to chalk clicking against the blackboard as he writes today’s assignment in his sloping cursive. He stops when he sees me. An uneasiness creeps across his face. Everyone is weirding out today.
“There you are,” he says. “Let’s talk.”
He studies me a beat too long then shoos me out into the hall. He gestures to the adjacent empty music classroom. We step inside, and he tugs the door behind him. He looks paler than usual. Maybe he’s catching a cold.
“What do you know about the contest?” he asks.
“Nothing!” I’m so excited I can’t stop fidgeting with the straps on my book bag. “I came early to find out the new rules.”
Sighing, he examines his scuffed up shoes then meets my eyes. “This is difficult. Sister Elizabeth was supposed to tell you in homeroom that the contest is bigger this year and so are the prizes.” Looking away, he runs his hands through his thinning hair then faces me. “You are ineligible to enter the essay contest because of your suspension.”
I wait for him to deliver the punch line. But he doesn’t crack a smile.
“I think you lost me. I don’t understand.” Shaken, I plop on top of the nearest desk.
“Since the winner will represent the archdiocese, good grades are a requirement.”
“I have good grades,” I say, watching the room spin.
“You failed effort and conduct in the first marking period, which makes you ineligible according to the good citizenship requirement.”
The news sucker punches me. Woozy, I clutch the edge of the desk to keep from falling off. “Excuse me? Mr. Harvey, can she do that? It sounds like these rules were created just to keep me from competing.” My voice catches. My tight throat makes it hurt to speak.
“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Mr. Harvey pats my shoulder. “I can’t change the rules. You know I would if I could.”
“Did Sister Elizabeth?”
His silence says everything. He takes a deep breath. “Look, in a few months you’ll be out of here.” He holds up four fingers for emphasis. “Don’t let this get you down, Roberta. You’ll win bigger contests one day. Stay cool. I’m asking you to, okay?”
“Okay,” I choke out in a defeated voice. “You sure you can’t do anything?”
He shrugs. When did he become so weak?
“I need to be excused, please.”
I break a record running to the bathroom without mowing down dozens of kids in my way. In the last stall, I pound the walls, not caring who hears. The contest was the one thing I wanted more than anything else during my last year at HSB, and Sister snatched it away with a devilish smile and an evil rule change tailored for me. Even if I hadn’t won, I probably would have placed second or third and been recognized at the awards program. My family would have been there to see me. Mom and Daddy, together and proud of me.
Blindsided by Sister Elizabeth again, fire runs in my veins. She struck again, only with an invisible slap covered in thorns.
Keeping me from competing wounds me as much as her reaction when I told the truth about her beloved president. Did Malcolm feel like this when Elijah Muhammad silenced him?
I storm down the hallway and rush into class, where Sister Elizabeth stands by the windows in conversation with the latest art substitute teacher, a hunched over man and a real pushover. At least he’s not cruel. She barely glances at me.
Ignoring whispered hellos from friends, I close my eyes, and try to count. I can’t. I open my eyes to grayness as the sub walks around me to leave. Sister, still by the window, looks me up and down, then addresses the class.
“Hold all questions until after I give instructions for the open book test.” She folds her arms. “Roberta, do you not have somewhere to be? You are interrupting my reading class.”
“I have a question about the essay contest.”
“I suggest you direct it to Mr. Harvey, who is in charge as you well know.”
“Not really, because if he had his way, I’d still be able to compete.”
Sister rushes over to her desk and slaps it. Her red marking pen rolls off and hits the floor. Bruce, who had a crush on me last year, rises to pick it up. She aims her finger at him like it’s a dart. “Don’t you move one iota.”
Sister approaches, the insubordination pad in her hand. I back up into the hallway.
“We can’t have the likes of someone like you who is completely disrespectful representing Holy St. Bridget, let alone the archdiocese. I warned you that I had my eyes on you. You blew your chance, you and your big mouth. Blame no one but yourself.”
“Wasn’t Jesus a troublemaker?”
“You’re comparing yourself to Jesus? Nice try.” She snorts, clutching her crucifix.
“It’s rigged anyway.” I try to sound nonchalant. “Everyone knows I should have won the last two. You can have your stupid contest any old way.” We stare at each other. I sniff the air as if someone stepped in dog mess, then walk away.
“One more word and off you go to Mother Superior for holding this class hostage to your illogical outbursts and for failing to be where you are supposed to be at this hour.”
“Like I care,” I mumble over my shoulder.
“Go report to the main office now,” Sister hisses.
My heart thwacks in my ears at being sent to the principal’s office again.
I will myself to stay poker faced as I head over. I will not cry. All I have left is my pride. And it’s in tatters.
After school, Bonnie waits by the flagpole. Her sad eyes search my face. I’m in no mood for pity. All I need is my father to fix this.
“I heard what happened. It’s so unfair what Sister did,” she says. “You suspended?”
“No, that’s how I know this rule change is aimed at me. Mother Superior had Mr. Harvey talk to me. He kept asking if everything was okay at home. I told him everything will stay messed up at home now that I can’t—” I swallow the brick in my throat and blink back the tears.
�
�I can’t believe her,” Bonnie screeches. “Get your parents to meet with Mother Superior. Swear to God, whoever heard of citizenship requirements for an essay contest?”
We fall behind a throng of students as Bonnie rants and raves on my behalf.
“Forget HSB. Please enter that Right On! contest. You see all those great prizes?”
“How am I going compete with kids around the country? I can’t even win the stupid contests in our stupid school.”
“Hold up.” Bonnie digs in her bookbag. She hands me a stamp. “Enter.”
I drop it in my pencil case to shut her up.
“Promise me,” Bonnie says.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. I will never enter a writing contest again.
“I bet your parents can do something. Sister can’t just make up rules to spite you.” Bonnie kicks a soda bottle to the curb. It smashes into a million bits like my sense of self. “She was afraid you might win.”
I shake my head. “No, I probably would have won second or even third place. That’s what I don’t understand. Why keep me out,” my voice breaks, “completely?”
Bonnie’s eyes glisten in sympathy. “Girl, Sister Excrement is just mad because you got Brother Fred to say Jesus was dark with nappy hair.”
“And because I said Nixon is a liar like Jefferson.”
“Truth hurts. She’s mad because you’re doing her job and teaching facts,” Bonnie says.
“I’m going to talk to my dad after school tomorrow. Want to come ride with me?”
“Sure do. Girl, I hate Sister for you.” Her words crack open a floodgate of tears I manage to hold in until after we go our separate ways.
Bawling, I run the last two blocks home, feeling smaller with every step. Sister erased me from the contest like I was a wrong answer. All I need to do is curl up in bed and never leave or try to write again.
CHAPTER 21
A ringing phone in the distance wakes me. Startled, I bolt up. I forgot to take Mom’s bedroom phone off the hook in case Sister tries to call and rat me out.
I jump out of bed. The house rule is four rings before answering, but Charles, hoping it’s Daddy, picks up sooner.
“Mom,” Charles shouts downstairs, as I rush into the hallway and freeze at the sight of him with the receiver pressed against his ear. “It’s Mother Superior.”
My insides twist. Sister Elizabeth got the principal to call. I’m toast. Now Mom will find out I’m ineligible for the contest. Not that she’ll fight for me like Daddy will. I left an urgent message for him before I cried myself to sleep. Could I hate my life more?
Tiptoeing into the dining room, I sidestep the new squeaky runner and eavesdrop as Mom cooks.
“How do you know Roberta instigated it?” Mom actually sounds skeptical. “I see,” Mom says after a long pause. “When did all this start?”
The kitchen floor creaks on beat, which means she’s pacing near the window.
“Oh, trust and believe me when I say that this nonsense stops right now. She will behave, because she can’t afford to get suspended or flunk conduct and effort again. If you can get Sister Elizabeth to resume the weekly reports, I’d appreciate it. Thank you for letting me know what’s going on before reprimanding her. Roberta can be mouthy.”
I bristle. It figures Mom would side with the enemy since she hates me, too.
I tiptoe upstairs and scoot in the bathroom to buy time. I’m watching the water run from the sink faucet and rehearsing my defense speech when the door flings open.
“Get out this damn bathroom!” Mom screams. “I am so tired of your nonsense. I work hard all day and then I come home and hear how you are still acting the fool? Talking fresh. I will take every one of your Christmas gifts and give them away to the Little Sisters of the Poor. There are kids with nothing, ingrate. Go unplug your stereo and speakers. I’m cutting your phone off. At this rate, you’ll be on punishment until after graduation.”
I stomp into my bedroom, furious. I am midway through dialing Daddy’s number when Mom rushes in, face flushed and eyes flaming.
“Get off that damn phone before I snatch it out the wall,” she yells. She yanks the cord, and the receiver flies out my hand and hits the floor.
“You might break it,” I wail, plopping on the bed.
“So what, I paid for it.”
“You’re going to believe everything you’re told? You haven’t asked me anything.”
“So what happened? What’s this about you being a gang leader? Never mind, that’s so ridiculous and I told her so. Did you tell the Black kids to refuse to say the Pledge of Allegiance? Don’t answer, because I know you did. If I wasn’t so mad, I’d find that amusing. But wait, let’s start with last month. Why were you kicked out of class?”
“Sister didn’t like my poem because I said Black people were considered boogeymen even though we look like Jesus.”
“Say what?” Puzzled, Mom tilts her head. “What in the Sam Hill are you talking about? Never mind,” she says, narrowing her lips. “And the second time you were put out?”
“She got mad because I said Nixon is a liar like Jefferson.”
Mom throws her hands up. “What’s your version of what happened today?”
“Um. Well. Because Sister got mad when I questioned why I wasn’t allowed to enter the contest, and she told me to stop talking. I guess she got mad because I kept asking questions because she knew it was unfair.”
“Didn’t she tell you if you said another word you had to go to the main office?”
“I guess so.”
“And what parting words of wisdom did you tell her?”
“I just said . . . I don’t know, I didn’t care.” I pause. “She makes me so sick.”
“You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. Do you really think Girls Academy will accept you if your transcript has two suspensions and shows you flunked conduct and effort twice?”
“Conduct and effort grades don’t matter. Just academic subjects.”
“They matter to me! Just when I was coming around to the idea of pulling you out of Catholic school for next year, you flirt with another suspension. You really do need a disciplined school environment. I see why you can’t enter the writing contest. I wouldn’t want someone who can’t follow the rules or act respectful representing my school either.”
Everything turns dark gray. My chest explodes from what feels like a thousand firecrackers going off. I can’t possibly hate Mom more than I do right now.
“And to add insult to injury, you running around lying, telling folks I told Mike Williamson about the first incident involving you and Sister Elizabeth and now the newspaper will investigate racism in Catholic schools. You’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”
That freaking big mouth Bonnie. Did word get back to Sister Elizabeth? Is that the real reason why Sister kept me out of the contest?
“I didn’t tell Sister that.” I run past madwoman Mom and nearly knock down Charles coming up the steps carrying a stack of comic books. I’d give anything to disappear into one of his stories. I race past him down the steps. Missing the last two, I fall hard and scrape my arm.
“Daddy will fix it,” I yell, rising from the floor. “He’ll straighten out the people you always believe over me. I don’t know why you hate Daddy. But you hate me because I remind you of him.”
I flee into the kitchen, reach for the wall phone. Flying downstairs on her invisible broom, Mom is on my heels in no time flat. She yanks the receiver away.
“I’m sick of your sass. Say another word, and I will knock you into tomorrow.”
I scoot into the corner, huffy and bold. “I want to live with Daddy,” I shout. “All you know how to do is fuss. I see why he won’t come back. He doesn’t want to live with you, and I don’t either.”
Mom’s eyes become slits. “Daddy will fix it? You think so?” She leaps across the room, a raised fist aimed at my mouth. Startled, I duck and close my eyes. Her punch whizzes by my ear like a bullet and lands
with a sickening crunch against the wall.
I can’t unhear the bones cracking as her knuckles slam into the plaster.
“Aieeee!” Mom screeches so hard she reveals the silvery fillings in her back teeth. Her shoulders are shaking, and tears drop off her chin. “Oh, Jesus,” she whimpers through gritted teeth.
All the open spaces in my heart close in at the sight of Mom’s agonized face. Me and my smart mouth.
Mom slumps against the wall, then slow motion slides down to the floor. She twists in pain.
Charles thunders in and skids to a stop at beet-faced Mom on the floor, her injured hand held high.
“Mommy, what happened?” He turns to me, eyes bleeding revenge. “What did you do?” He balls his fists. Charles. Really. Hates. Me. Now. I do, too.
Torn between knocking my block off and comforting Mom, he starts to kneel by her. Mom holds up her good hand for him to stop.
“Go next door. Tell Nancy I need you to stay there until I get back from the ER.”
“Why can’t I go with you?”
“Please, baby. Do what Mommy says.”
Breathing hard, he eye-stabs me and reluctantly stomps away. When he slams the door, I spring into action. Grabbing a dish towel, I get the ice tray and dump all the cubes into it. Mom takes the bulging towel and carefully lays it on her hand. Cringing and sucking her teeth, she immediately removes it.
“I can’t drive to the hospital. Walk with me to the ER. Grab my purse.”
In the messy coat closet I weed through boots and old book bags in search of umbrellas. My bones aren’t busted but my heart is. What did Mom ever do to deserve a loser daughter like me?
I help Mom up and into her raincoat.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I wished you had just hit me instead. I deserved it.”
“No way in the world would I punch you that hard. I’m the adult, and I’m supposed to be in control.” She steeled herself. “I need to tell you something. I know why you act the way you do. You love your father and blame me for the separation.” She meets my eyes. “But you need to know the truth. You are old enough to understand why I made your father leave. I wanted to protect you two, but I’d rather you hear it from me than somebody else.”