Cameo

by Tanille Edwards

  “Are you okay?” he asked again.

  I just looked at him. No words could form upon my lips.

  I walked past him to the gate. He walked by my side. He took hold of my hand. It took me a minute to decide if I should grab his tightly. It felt like he could see me, see inside me, and he would know how I really felt about him. There was a little voice in my head screaming, “Don’t show your cards!” In the blink of an eye, I was head over heels.

  I caught a glimpse of my grandmother’s eyes looking disapprovingly through the slightly drawn curtain in the front window. But I didn’t care what Jason and me coming home at 1 a.m. looked like. I stopped at the stairs leading to the door.

  “It’s late. You better go in. I hope you don’t get in too much trouble, babe,” he said.

  “If I can’t call you until graduation because my cell phone has been repossessed, wait for me. Won’t you?” I asked.

  “You don’t have to ask.”

  “Thanks for the ride home.”

  What I really wanted to say was “Thank you for giving a real damn about me.” He made me want to shower him with hugs and kisses again and again. You know, sometimes we fall, but the important thing is that we get back up, dust ourselves off, and get back in the dating game to win. All of the pieces of me felt like I had won.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, out front, 8 a.m.,” he said.

  It was the first time in a long time I was actually looking forward to school the next day. He kissed me on the cheek.

  “I like that.” I didn’t want him to go.

  “If beauty was complicated and crazy and it had to be personified as a person, it would be you,” he said with a triumphant smile.

  “Was that a compliment?” I asked.

  He blushed a little. I think it was the first time he’d been embarrassed in front of me—maybe the second.

  “See, I think you’re beautiful, but I couldn’t think of a way to say it and not sound corny.”

  “Being beautiful is never corny, not even in soap operas.”

  I mean, he was the only guy that could pull off “babe” without sounding kind of sugary, so corny was nothing for him. He could definitely pull off “beautiful.” For the rest of the night, I’d be replaying that moment in my head. I watched him walk away anyway. He turned back to me and waved. I broke out in a smile from ear to ear. Boy, was he everything! Somehow this guy had gotten a hold on my heart. And I liked that.

  Oh gosh! I was so embarrassed at how I liked him. Nothing that happened now could seem so bad, except maybe my angry mother.

  Chapter 12

  When I got inside, I was expecting to have to duck. I didn’t really know how angry my mother would be. I quietly closed the front door behind me. My grandparents had apparently recently renovated the first floor. It’d been so long since I had gone over there, I didn’t even know. I couldn’t dare turn the front hallway light on. Instead, I tripped over some strange built-in cabinet contraption they had erected just behind the front door.

  Whatever. I had more important things to focus on. I took a deep breath as I leaped toward the staircase.

  “Nia!” my grandmother whispered from the top of the stairs.

  I was so startled I nearly fell backward down the stairs. When I looked at her, she pointed down the hall.

  “Sorry, Grandma,” I whispered.

  “Baby, don’t worry about me. Your mama’s waiting for you in your Stephen’s old room. You better go,” she said.

  At the top of the stairs, I walked over to my grandmother and gave her a big hug and kiss. She was way cooler than I remembered.

  The walk up the hallway to my father’s old room seemed like eternity. I wondered if my father had gotten in trouble like this. When I stayed with him in the summer, he always told me stories of his crazy escapades. He was pretty mischievous. Me, I tried to mind my own business. Yet, somehow, I still ended up doing the walk of shame. It was inevitable that some form of punishment would ensue. But I had nothing to be ashamed of. I stood up for myself.

  What was I going to say? I couldn’t very well tell my mother exactly where I’d been and what I’d been doing. In teen movies, they always make it look like parents understand us, but in real life they just grounded you for longer when you told the whole story. I was about to open the door when my mother fiercely swung it open for me.

  “Come in, young lady. You’re finally here! Uh! You were supposed to be here hours ago. Where were you?” she asked.

  “I was out.”

  “What? I rushed to the airport. It cost over $1,000 extra for a flight change. Not once did you pick up your cell phone.”

  Once I started tuning my mother out, I noticed my father’s room. I usually stayed in the guest bedroom when I stayed at my grandparents’ house. I think I had only been in here once. It was great. There were model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, ’70s basketball posters on the walls, and two half bunk beds. I guess my father and my uncle had shared a bunk bed.

  “Nia! Are you listening?”

  “Yeah,”

  “We’re going to have to go down to the police station tomorrow and get a police report. I haven’t even gotten a chance to call Cindy’s parents. Imagine! This is very disturbing.”

  “Mom, I know it’s terrible and all, but it’s over. I found out who was doing it, and I took care of it.”

  “You know your grandmother thought you would try something like this. She said you probably went after whoever it was at the school who was bothering you,” my mother said.

  “She did?”

  “Those were her exact words.”

  “She was right!”

  “I wish you would’ve called. I was worried out of my mind, young lady.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve called.”

  “We’ll talk about this more in the morning. Get some sleep.” My mother walked out the door.

  “Wait. In here?” I asked.

  “Yes. Your grandmother thought you might want to sleep in here tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “She said that you and your dad have a lot in common.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re both rebellious.”

  “I am not rebellious.”

  “I think your grandmother thinks she’s psychic. She also mentioned something about you getting married at a young age.”

  “Who?”

  “Who knows? It’s late.”

  When my mom had married my dad, they were both around twenty-two. I was only seventeen! There was no doubt in my mind that my grandmother had gone nuts. You can’t just think things up and call yourself a psychic.

  “Good night, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I couldn’t go straight to sleep. I had so much anxiety. It was already three or four hours past my normal bedtime. So much had happened in one night, I couldn’t relax my mind. I kept thinking about this story my mother used to tell me. My mind was probably trying to forget my grandmother’s so-called predictions.

  It was an old fable about an African princess. She had to confront another kingdom to find out why their crops were missing. Every time they went into the field to pick their fruits and vegetables, many had already been plucked. The princess did not understand why. Everyone in her kingdom was well fed and very loyal. They were happy to be there, and she trusted them. So she knew it couldn’t be anyone from her kingdom.

  Upon confronting another princess from a neighboring village, she realized she would never be able to reason with her. The other princess insisted she was crazy and that no crops were missing. The princess knew she had to outsmart the other princess in order to save her village’s crops. It was time the other princess got a taste of her own medicine. So one night, after all the villagers had fallen asleep, the princess sent her soldiers to the neighboring village. The soldiers quickly captured the village’s crops and neatly stashed them away in the forest. The next morning, the princess waited for word
from the other princess.

  By the time the sun had reached its highest point in the sky, the other princess from the neighboring village had come. She asked the princess if she knew the whereabouts of her village’s crops. The princess told her that if she promised to make sure no one from her kingdom would ever steal crops from the princess’s land again, she would tell her where her crops were. It was a deal. After that, no one ever heard from the princess from the neighboring village or her ravaging villagers again.

  It was a simple story, but it reminded me of me. Maybe that’s why I thought I could stop this whole mess. The crazy part about it was that I had. Somehow, the end of the night was here, and I was in bed. Maybe not my bed, but in bed nevertheless, and the drama was over. I learned about courage from that story. Now I knew just how much courage I had. I was proud of myself.

  Chapter 13

  I was strolling across the school, heading from the college office to my locker. This was my last day as a high school senior. Yes! It felt great, like the world was ahead of me. I had completed all the tests and reports and filled out my college applications. I had never imagined what it would be like to be done. I had a real sense of accomplishment. Being here for four years had shown how much I had grown up. I was about to graduate!

  I had just taken my last final exam. All that was left for me to do was to clear out my locker. Since we were in the no-man’s land of lockers, only two staircases led to that part of the building. This was the last day of my inconvenient trek to my locker. Thank goodness!

  On my way, I passed Mr. Sui’s office. How odd. I saw Detective Smart standing outside the office talking and laughing with Mr. Sui. How did they know each other? As I got closer to the fast friends, I could overhear Mr. Sui inviting Detective Smart and his wife over to his house for dinner.

  “I can’t believe this place hasn’t changed,” Detective Smart said.

  “Neither have the personalities. I get the same kids each semester, just with different faces,” Mr. Sui said.

  “You think criminals are any better?” Detective Smart asked.

  Mr. Sui chuckled. Get a life. I wonder if the secret society existed when they went here. That would’ve been about twenty years ago. Hmmm. Talk about a legacy. Mr. Sui didn’t seem like he would join some nondescript secret society. He wasn’t a follow-the-leader type. But Detective Smart acted like he thought he used to be cool.

  I was walking by them when Detective Smart spotted me. I hadn’t heard much from him after I took care of business regarding the stalking issue. What was his deal? He hadn’t called me or my mother to tell us he’d be at the school today. My guess was he didn’t have any suspects.

  “We’ll talk, Harrison,” Detective Smart said to Mr. Sui.

  Harrison Sui? I hadn’t seen that one coming.

  “Hi, Nia. How are you?” Detective Smart asked.

  “Well,” I said.

  “We’re here today on official business for your case. We interviewed a potential suspect by the name of Michelle Washington. Do you recall giving her name as a potential suspect?”

  Why was he wasting my time with these useless questions?

  “Yes, I do,” I said.

  “Well, according to her and her friend, they were both getting their hair done at the salon that evening so she couldn’t have done it.”

  Was I supposed to believe that? I was right there when she got that bob. “Did you find out if she got a receipt for this alleged haircut, or did she conveniently pay cash?”

  “We’re going to look into this further. But don’t worry. I have a gut feeling this thing is over for the most part.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I got a thorough scolding from your mother. Seems you didn’t make it straight home that night. But you got there. Not my job to babysit. Especially not a teenager like yourself who’s got basements to raid,” Detective Smart said.

  “What?” I asked. Did he know more than he was letting on?

  “Good luck in college,” he said.

  Yeah, he might’ve heard about the raid, but obviously he was light years behind on the news about the bedroom brawl and the stalking collage! At the mere thought of that stalking board, I felt like 100 spiders were crawling all over my back.

  I wondered that if Detective Smart was a member of the secret popular society, would he not blame Michelle for it? Cindy had insisted on not pressing charges, so Michelle would only be charged for breaking and entering if she was found guilty. Either way, it was apparent she was never going to be prosecuted. That was a word I should’ve thrown at Detective Smart—“prosecute.” Were they looking to prosecute anyone? He would’ve probably dodged that by asking me more questions he knew the answers to, or reassuring me that this was over. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure this was a conspiracy. Who could I tell? Without my cell phone, I felt like I was just toiling around aimlessly in what seemed like a teenager’s life.

  When I got upstairs, I began to wonder why Cindy would opt to have a locker here next to me. It was sort of a test. I mean, if we were going to remain friends, then she might still be at the lockers. I didn’t want a showdown in front of everyone—meaning the nerds, misfits, and well-dressed freshmen who were steadily taking over no-man’s land lockers to claim it as their own area. I just wanted to talk.

  So this was me, cleaning out my locker at a snail’s pace. I was playing it passive-aggressive, waiting for Cindy to drop by. Three trips to the trash can and a slow walk to the bathroom right next door to check my makeup, the weather outside, how I looked in my jeans, and, well, I was all done. Maybe when my cell privileges were back and my pride let up, I would call Cindy.

  I left through the back entrance of the classroom. I felt compelled to turn around and take one last look.

  “Nia!”

  I turned around. To my surprise, Cindy was behind me. I jumped back. She looked as lost as I felt.

  “Before you give me your spiel on how I betrayed you, listen. I know I should have admitted that I was part of the society. I had no right pretending and stuff. But I was trying everything I could to get it to stop. You have to believe me,” she said.

  “I do,” I said.

  “If I would’ve said something, you would’ve blamed me for all of those things that were happening. You hate everybody who’s popular so much. I didn’t know if we would even be friends anymore,” Cindy said.

  “I don’t hate the popular. You make it sound like I’m discriminating,” I said.

  “No, I’m not. Part of the society rules is to keep it a secret. I was your friend, but I still had to follow the rules to the society I pledged. You have to know, I had no idea it would go that far. At first, I was upset that you thought I was just your friend for that club. I would never do that. I was totally your friend. You’re my best friend,” Cindy said.

  “Good, because I’m still your best friend,” I said.

  “That was easy. I was prepared to be screamed at. Poor Jason.” Cindy laughed.

  “Jason?” I said, confused. I shook my head. Poor me. He was trouble for me. I never planned on having a sweet spot for him.

  “He’s perfect for you. I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Cindy said.

  She sounded so mature. What had happened to her over the past week?

  “And what up’s with Peter? Are you two an item?” I laughed. Who the heck says “item” anymore? Spending the entire week at home with my mom was having a devastating effect on my vernacular.

  Cindy cleared her throat and tugged uncomfortably at her sweater dress. “No! He decided to go to prom with a junior,” she said.

  “You’re kidding me. We’re graduating! What does he think, he’s trading up for a newer model?”

  “I did like him. He was like …. I don’t know. I can’t even make an analogy. I thought he was different. My bad.”

  “What a loser.”

  “There were some problems. I didn’t want to do it again until prom, to
make it special, you know. And I don’t know. It bothered him.”

  I’d never seen Cindy like this, self-reflective and maybe even a little insecure. She almost always got to dump the guy first. I felt a little bad for her. I had been there before. Peter was fool’s gold. There were times when all the dating tricks and flirting in the world couldn’t change how things were going to end up.

  “I happen to know a hot guy that is dying to worship you.”

  “Really! Say it isn’t so!” Cindy perked up.

  “Are you going to start on your locker?” I laughed.

  “I think the only thing I’m really going to take is my makeup and my lock,” she said.

  “Did you bring an overnight bag?”

  “For what?”

  “Your makeup,” I said.

  “You know, there are two things of mine you don’t mess with: my man and my makeup. I have to be fly-i-i-i-i-i,” she said.

  She unleashed the beast inside her locker. Three Ziploc bags full of every type of cosmetic under the sun in all shapes, sizes, colors, and brands fell out. I bent down to help clean up the mess. A bronzer case fell right onto my head.

  “That itty-bitty supermarket shopping bag will not do. But I know somebody who probably has everything we need in his locker,” I said.

  “Uh, you think Jason is your superhero. Ha! Ha! Nia and Jason sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then come marriage …,” she said.

  “Shut up! I was not talking about Jason. And who said anything about love?”

  “I know love when I see it. It’s everything I try to avoid,” she said.

  “You had me fooled. You were all … ‘I really liked him, and he didn’t want to wait,’” I said.

  “Talk to the hand.” Cindy put her hand in my face, which would’ve been an appropriate response if it were 1990. Obviously, she’d seen one too many In Living Color reruns.

  “I’m referring to Roger. Please just call the boy. Get him to help you lug this stuff home. I have to walk home with my boyfriend.”

  “Roger? … Maybe.”

  “Wait. You mean, you are going to call Roger?”