Taneesha Never Disparaging

  I’d planned to tell my parents everything as soon as I finished getting my clothes together. Really. I had. But now I had a sick feeling that I’d put the conversation off a little too long.

  Moments later, I stood in the living room facing them. They sat on the edge of the green couch—Mama in a red pullover and jeans, Daddy in a white shirt and navy pants, grinding his teeth.

  “Have a seat,” he said, patting the space between him and Mama while the veins on the side of his temples bulged.

  I did not like the vibe in that room at all. If I sat on that couch, I’d be trapped between them.

  “That’s okay. I’ll stand.”

  “Taneesha, honey—” Mama began. Even though her face seemed a little softer than Daddy’s, her eyes scanned me like a lie detector. “—is there something you want to tell us?”

  I glanced around, up and down, as if I’d find the answer to that question on the ceiling or something.

  “Something I want to tell you? Like what?”

  “Anything unusual happen after school?” Daddy asked through his teeth.

  “Unusual?”

  I could have sworn I heard one of Daddy’s molars crack.

  “Taneesha, Carli’s father just called,” he said, matter-of-factly. “According to him, an older girl’s been threatening you after school. Why didn’t you tell us?” With this question, his edginess dissolved and the only thing left on his face was concern—and maybe disappointment.

  Now the couch seemed safe. I flopped down between them with a huff.

  “Carli was supposed to wait.”

  “What?” asked Daddy, sounding confused.

  “I told her I was going to tell you myself. She was supposed to wait before she said anything to her father.”

  I was glad to be able to pin some blame off me.

  “Well, that’s beside the point, Taneesha,” said Daddy, annoyed. “It’s a good thing Carli told. Now please explain what’s going on.”

  “Please honey. Why didn’t you tell us?” Mama sounded so pitiful you’d have thought everything was her fault. “We want to help,” she said.

  Guilt tugged at me.

  I didn’t want to say anything to hurt my parent’s feelings.

  But, then again, I didn’t want to hear another lecture either—and that was always a possibility with them, no matter how touchy-feely they were acting at that moment. Plus, hadn’t they both just asked why I didn’t tell them what was going on? How could they even think a crazy question like that?

  “Why didn’t I tell you? I couldn’t because—”

  “What do you mean, you couldn’t, Taneesha?” Mama butted in.

  There she goes—again.

  “I mean, it’s not like I can just talk to you and Daddy—”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  There he goes again.

  “You talk to us all the time,” Mama said.

  “No, Mama, you talk—”

  “Of, course. I’m your mother. Mothers and daughters should talk.”

  “And Daddy talks.”

  “I’m your father. Fathers and daughters should talk, too.”

  “But—”

  “But what?!” they both butted in, dagnamit!

  “YOU DON’T LISTEN! I CAN’T EVEN TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW. AND WHENEVER YOU DO LET ME GET A WORD IN, NO MATTER WHAT’S HAPPENING, YOU TELL ME THE SAME THING—CHANT! I KNEW THAT’S WHAT YOU’D SAY! SO WHY BOTHER TELLING YOU?

  “AND ANYWAY, I HAVE BEEN CHANTING. ON MY OWN. EVEN WITHOUT YOU FORCING ME TO! HAH! THAT’S IT, RIGHT? THAT’S ALL I GOT TO DO! AND I’M DOING IT! SO I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”

  I shlumped my back against the couch, panting.

  My parents didn’t say anything.

  I couldn’t tell if they were mad or what.

  We sat there like that for a long time. I didn’t look at them. My shoulders sagged. I kept my eyes on my hands—they drooped over my thighs like empty gloves.

  “Well, Taneesha,” Mama said, finally, “it seems like you have things under control.”

  Hey. She didn’t sound mad.

  “But—” Daddy began.

  He was only getting one word in; still, I noticed he didn’t use his angry voice to say it.

  Strange.

  “And,” Mama barreled over Daddy, “your father and I appreciate your honesty.”

  I noticed how Mama said each word extra slowly—as if she thought I’d break apart if she spoke normally. I started thinking that maybe she thought I was cracking up or something. Maybe they weren’t just being nice. Maybe they were afraid. Afraid they had a daughter with a few chocolate chips missing from her cookie.

  “Our concern is, however,” Mama said, “that this girl sounds like she might hurt you, Taneesha. At least that’s the way Carli described her.”

  Now I got it. They were scared. They were afraid I’d be hurt.

  Boy, was I lucky. I could have been on lockdown for life the way I’d just talked to them.

  I watched them, though. I had to make sure they stayed level-headed. I knew those two; they could switch up on me fast.

  “We can’t just let you get hurt, Taneesha,” Mama said.

  “I don’t want to get hurt either.”

  That was true. I saw an opening. A chance to explain myself more without screaming—and risking my parents ditching the understandingparent bit.

  “But—” I said.

  “Good,” said Mama. “I’m glad we have a point we all agree on. That being the case, why don’t I come up to the school tomorrow? Just to check out everything and—”

  My palms and underarms got sweaty. I had to make them see the spot I was in.

  “Mama, you know what? I want you to come. That girl said she’d beat me up and I believe her. But I’m afraid if she gets mad at me because I told on her, she’ll do something even worse. You’ll be at work then. Kids get jumped after school all the time. Their parents aren’t there or anything.”

  I paused, hoping I could somehow make a thing happen that probably wouldn’t. I ducked my head, squeenched my eyebrows, and I peeked up at my mother. Batting my eyes like a puppy, I made the saddest face I could without practicing in a mirror.

  “Mama, can you pick me up every day?”

  She looked uncomfortable. Guilty, maybe.

  “No, honey,” she said, softy. “I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of schedule.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  See.

  I knew they couldn’t help. Not really.

  You’re on your own, Taneesha.

  “Well, if the situation’s that bad,” Daddy’s voice crashed in like a wrecking ball, “then that girl needs serious help. Maybe she should be suspended or expelled or get counseling or something. I don’t care what’s going on. We can’t just have her bullying you and do nothing about it.”

  Hearing Macho Man, I perked up. Maybe I would live to see sixth grade. Lately, I was beginning to wonder about that.

  “Your father’s right, Taneesha. We’ll get the principal involved, her parents, whatever’s necessary. But we’ve got to do something, honey. We have to protect you. That’s our job.”

  In that moment, an invisible, cozy blanket wrapped around me and I realized something: It was true, I had to face life on my own. But I wasn’t alone. Even when my parents weren’t with me, their love was. And it always would be.

  “Tell you what,” said Mama, “how about we chant? Oops!” She slapped her hands over her mouth. “That one slipped out, didn’t it?”

  We all laughed.

  “That’s okay, Mama. I was thinking the same thing. But first I want to read something.”

  I sat in the center chair in front of the altar with my parents sitting on either side of me. In the Gosho lying opened on the altar table, I’d found the page I wanted. I read:Bodhisattva Never Disparaging was for many years cursed and humiliated, beaten with sticks and staves, and pelted with tiles and stones by countless people because he honore
d them by uttering…: “I have profound reverence for you, I would never dare treat you with disparagement or arrogance. Why? Because you are all practicing the bodhisattva way and are certain to attain Buddhahood” … Those who belittled and cursed Never Disparaging acted that way at first, but later they deeply respected him.

  I closed the Gosho, and, even without looking at my parents, I knew they were smiling. So was I. I’d read that passage because I wanted to. And I read it to say “Thank you” to them.

  I bonged the bell and we all started chanting. A warm, tingly feeling glowed from inside of me and spread all over. My body and mind danced together to the rhythm of my voice.

  Okay, girl with no name. So you’re a Buddha, huh? At least that’s what Never Disparaging says. He says we’re all Buddhas. Even when we’re mean, or stupid, or say dumb stuff. Even when we’re bullies.

  Tell you what: Tomorrow will be a good day. I promise. I’ll make it a good day for all of us.

  CHAPTER 18

  STANDING O

  On Thursday, next thing I knew, school was over way too fast for me. It seemed like 2:55 rolled around before my bottom hit the seat good in 509.

  I hadn’t won the day’s election. Ronnie Lawson did—even though everybody had given me all that applause yesterday. But I had too much on my mind to care a whole lot about how losing totally stank.

  Now kids, in all kinds of jackets and coats, were spilling out of Hunter like multicolored laundry powder from a box turned upside down. Carli and I walked toward the school building’s beige brick wall and waited there for our parents.

  Shivering, I jammed my hands into my coat pockets and hunched my shoulders, shifting my weight from left to right. I kept doing that, trying to keep warm. I looked up at the dull, gray sky.

  Man, I miss the sun.

  Then, a few yards in front of me, I saw something that hit me like a punch in the stomach.

  “Look, Carli,” I pointed in front of us, at Bernard Avenue.

  A giant tree had fallen clear across the street. It backed up traffic in both directions. Five firefighters hacked at the humungous trunk. There was no way Mama and Mr. Flanagan could get through. I felt doomed.

  “I hope our parents can get to us in time.” I said.

  I bet I sounded doomed.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Carli definitely sounded doomed.

  I started thinking up a Plan B.

  Maybe Carli and I should go into the building to wait. But Mrs. Andrews…The secretary will get mad at us…

  Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, you going to get your butt kicked!

  I AM NOT GOING TO GET MY BUTT KICKED!

  I almost jumped at the sound of me. I shook my head a little, surprised. Then I said it again: I AM NOT GOING TO GET MY BUTT KICKED!

  Suddenly, I felt free and bodacious, like a galloping horse.

  “Uh-oh,” Carli moaned. “Guess who’s coming down the street.”

  In slow motion, I turned toward the direction Carli nodded at. I didn’t have to guess. I knew who I’d see.

  Okay? Now what? RUN!

  I saw that big old girl walking, staring at me, looking like a dog with rabies—crazy, and almost foaming at the mouth.

  My bodaciousness flew away.

  “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo! Nam Myoho Renge Kyo! Nam Myoho Renge Kyo!” Without thinking, I’d started chanting quietly, fast and fierce.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I’m not running! I’m going to stand right here and face that girl!”

  “Okay. Then I’ll stand with you.”

  I looked at Carli quickly, then we both went back to watching doom approach.

  She walked along the sidewalk across the street. Her pit-bull eyes sliced into me. She kept coming.

  The firefighters had finally chopped the tree into big chunks. They cleared its pieces from the street. Half of it lay on Carli’s and my side of Bernard, half on the other. Firefighters directed traffic.

  The older girl started crossing over, zig-zagging through cars that crawled along Bernard’s muddy layer of snow slush.

  I stood still, ready to grab Carli’s hand and take off up the street if I needed to.

  With her eyes glued to me, the older girl stepped up and over the curb. Before I could duck, her fist flew.

  Suddenly, her feet slid around on a patch of ice. She lost her balance and fell facedown onto a shoveled part of the concrete sidewalk.

  Right at my feet.

  I heard the hard thud that must have rattled her bones and I jerked back.

  I remembered the fall I’d had just like hers yesterday. The fall I had because she pushed me.

  Yeah! Now you know how it feels!

  I soaked up the sight of her, my enemy, lying on the sidewalk. I drank in every sweet drop of revenge. It tasted even better than guava-mango juice. Delicious.

  The girl got to her knees slowly, as if it hurt to move.

  I looked down at her as she sucked blood from her lip.

  And something moved inside of me.

  As big as she was, she seemed kind of helpless.

  I blinked and opened my eyes wide to focus. Did I see a tear fall?

  What was I thinking? I’d just acted like somebody I didn’t know. I’d laughed over her pain. It was as if I’d turned into Evella—only worse. As if, for a few moments, I was somebody I didn’t like. Somebody I never wanted to be.

  I stooped down to help the girl up. Carli did, too.

  “Get away from me! I don’t need y’ all’s help!” The girl struggled on the ground for a moment, like she was fighting the concrete.

  Finally, she made it to her feet and started brushing dirt and snow off her coat. She straightened out her black backpack.

  Then she glanced toward the sidewalk.

  I saw her notice something there. She gave Carli and me a quick look. I could tell she didn’t want us to see what she saw.

  But I did see.

  The girl swooped down to the ground and crouched over a small blue pouch. The two medical needles and glucose meter lying near the pouch on the sidewalk must have fallen out of it.

  That’s her stuff?

  Peeking sideways at me, she waddled like a duck, snatching up everything, and quickly stuffed the needles and meter into the pouch. She pulled its drawstring closed, stood, wriggled one backpack strap off her arm, and tugged her backpack sideways in front of her. Then she tucked the pouch into one of the backpack’s side pockets, zipped the pocket, and returned the backpack to its place behind her.

  Her eyes narrowed into hardened slits. “What y’all looking at?!”

  I pictured Ebony, Shantay, and Loren at the hospital. They’d used the same kind of needles as the older girl’s.

  I looked her straight in the eye. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything but I decided to try.

  “Do you—do you have diabetes?”

  “Taneesha, let’s just walk away.” Carli sounded as if she thought I was lucky to still be alive.

  “None of your business what I got.”

  I shrank. Why had I even bothered? I was ready to take Carli’s advice and cut out.

  “And anyway,” the girl said, with a sort of softer mean face, “what you know about diabetes?”

  Hey, I’m not a little kid. Okay. Here goes again: “My mother’s a nurse.”

  I hoped my big announcement impressed her. I hoped she could tell that it wasn’t like I was some dumb little kid that didn’t know anything.

  But a second later, the big “SO WHAT?” all over her face killed my hopes.

  How could I convince her that I knew what I was talking about?

  “I met kids with diabetes at the hospital where my mother works,” I blurted. “I know sometimes people with diabetes take shots to keep from getting sick. They need um, um…” Dang! My mind scrambled to think of the name of—“Insulin! They need insulin. Is that why you’ve got needles?”

  “What’s it like having diabetes?” Carli asked.

&n
bsp; I watched that girl fighting to stay tough—and losing the fight.

  Then she sighed like she’d been holding her breath all her life.

  “I’m just finding out myself. I got it all of a sudden. The doctor say my body don’t use sugar like it’s supposed to. All I know is I can’t eat like normal people.” She looked downward. I could hardly hear her when she said, “Y’all probably want to laugh at me, right?”

  I shook my head slowly. Carli did the same thing.

  A wave of relief washed over the girl’s face. “I don’t know about those people at your mother’s job—” She spoke as if truth was rising up out of well deep inside of her. “—but I hate having to take a bunch of stupid shots all the time. I was scared if anybody found out I’m sick they’d think I’m weird. So I ain’t told none of my friends.”

  I wanted to tell her that I understood but the words stayed locked inside me.

  “Well, if they’re really your friends,” said Carli, “they won’t mind if you’re different. Real friends stick by each other.”

  Carli’s words nudged me to speak.

  “She’s right. Friends don’t care about stuff like that. Everybody’s got some type of problem. Anybody mean enough to make fun of you for having diabetes’s not your friend anyway.”

  The girl seemed to think about that.

  But that wasn’t all.

  I could tell something else pulled at chains inside her.

  “Sometimes…” she whispered.

  Then she stopped, like maybe she wasn’t sure she should go on.

  But then she did.

  “Sometimes I’d rather die than have this dumb disease.”

  There was silence after that.

  The three of us stood still.

  A light snow began to fall.

  Snowflakes softly landed like cool feathers on my cheeks and melted.

  The girl raised her eyes until they met mine, and Carli’s, too.

  The girl exhaled and a tiny cloud appeared and vanished in front of her face.

  “Sorry,” she said, with her head hung low. “Sorry I been so mean to y’ all. I guess—I guess I been in kind of a bad mood.”

  And then I knew. I knew what I had to do. Not only to help her break free, but for me, too.