by Brenda Woods
“What?”
“I’m gonna tell him to get out my face.”
Emako took a bite of her pizza and changed the subject. “So, what’s going on with you and Eddie Ortiz? I always see you lookin’ at him. I could ask Jamal to hook you up.”
“You must be kiddin’. Eddie’s a senior.”
“But he’s only sixteen and you need to stop bein’ so shy around him.”
“I get nervous,” I said.
“Next time he tries to talk to you, just act normal. A’ight?”
“A’ight.”
“He’s tryin’ to get early admission to college, at least that’s what Jamal told me,” Emako said.
“Someone told me he’s real smart,” I added.
“I’m serious. I could ask Jamal to hook you two up and then we could go somewhere, the four of us.”
“My parents won’t let me. Not until I’m sixteen.”
“How come?”
“I dunno. They treat me like I’m still a little kid. Like I don’t have good sense. Like they’re afraid something bad’s gonna happen. This summer I want to get a job, but they’re sending me to some SAT summer camp.”
“I’m sad for you, girlfriend. Real sad,” Emako said, “but they seem kinda nice . . . your mama and daddy.”
“I never said they weren’t nice, but I still can’t wait to get away from ’em.”
Jamal
I had been trying to get tight with Emako, calling her almost every night, but she was always talking about the friendship thing. All I kept thinking was that I didn’t need any more friends, at least not friends who looked like her.
It was a Saturday night, a couple of weeks before Christmas. I had picked up Emako after she got off work and we were riding, just riding through L.A., and somehow we found ourselves in Beverly Hills.
“Beverly Hills sure knows how to do Christmas,” Emako said as we drove.
“Wanna walk around? We could stroll down Rodeo Drive, scare the white people.” I laughed like the devil.
She tugged at her Burger King uniform and gave me a look as if to say, Dressed like this?
“Ain’t nuthin’, just Beverly Hills,” I said, and parked.
We got out of the car and walked along the crowded sidewalks toward Rodeo, two dark faces in a sea of white.
“I got a question,” I said.
“What?”
“Why in the hood do they say Rodeo like the rodeo where they ride wild horses, and in Beverly Hills they say Ro-day-o like it’s a different country or something? I mean, what’s up with that?”
“You crazy, Jamal.”
We stopped in front of a jewelry store where the diamonds glistened like ice under the lights, and I took her small hand and held it. I said to myself, I think I’m in love.
“You gonna buy me some ice, Jamal?” Emako asked.
“It could be like that one day. After I start producin’ my music and all that.” I gazed deep into her brown eyes. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” I said, pulling her toward the front door.
She let go of my hand. “I’m not goin’ in there and have them lookin’ at me like I don’t b’long. Which I don’t. Why you gotta mess with me?”
“I’m not messin’ with you. I just wanted to give ’em something to talk about when they go home tonight and turn on Jay Leno.”
The security guard had come to the door and he was hovering.
“See. That’s how it is. Soon as they see a black face, security is all up on us. Like I’m Bonnie and you’re Clyde.” Emako shook her head. “Let’s go.”
We went back to the car, but before we got in, I pulled her to me and kissed her. I could taste her strawberry lip gloss. Her mouth was sweet and warm, just like I’d imagined.
We got in my ride and took off. It started to rain and the streets were black and wet.
“You know, there’s this girl named Gina,” I said.
“I heard all about Gina,” she replied.
“Savannah?” I asked.
“Savannah,” she responded. “She said that you just tryin’ to be a player.”
“I’m not tryin’ to be a player, I’m just tryin’ to be real with you.”
“And what about Gina? You gonna rush home and call her on the phone and tell her all about me?”
I was silent, caught in my own game.
“Jamal? It’s just a kiss, nuthin’ but a kiss. I mean, if you gotta get into true confessions, then okay, but I’m not about that. What you think, one kiss makes me wanna have your baby? It don’t.”
“Oh, it’s like that?”
“Yeah, it’s like that,” Emako said, but I could tell she wasn’t mad.
The windshield wipers scraped the windows back and forth like a metronome, and I remembered the born-again Christian piano teacher and the smell of soul food that always filled her house, and my mouth began to water.
“You hungry?” I asked.
“No. I’m tired. Just take me home.”
“I wrote you some songs. Music and lyrics,” I said.
“You wrote me some songs?”
“Yeah, for your first CD. We could go to my house. I got a keyboard, some recording stuff.”
“And let me guess. Your mama ’n’ daddy ain’t home.”
“Outta town.”
“Yeah, you’re real slick, Jamal. Take me home.”
“Can’t blame a brother for tryin’. But I did write the songs. I’m in love with music.”
“You’re in love with music?”
“Yeah, everything from Miles Davis to Jay-Z.” I paused. “I love music almost as much as I love you.”
“You think you’re smooth, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you ain’t.”
Savannah
The night of the Christmas concert we were all wearing white choir robes because Mr. Santos said he wanted us to look like angels. What a geek.
The auditorium was almost full and I searched the faces, looking for my mother and stepfather. I couldn’t find them. They’d be late, as usual, so my mother could make her grand entrance, looking like a Patti LaBelle clone, my stepfather walking behind her with his shaved peanut head.
Mr. Santos approached the center of the stage and welcomed everyone. “It’s my favorite time of the year,” he said. He picked up his tuning forks and the lights went down.
Emako stepped forward and began to sing “Joy to the World.”
She sounded better than Whitney. Even I had to admit it.
I pictured her on the MTV Music Awards, performing with three thick brown backup singers, another ghetto girl making it big, thanking God and her mama.
When she finished, the audience gave her a standing ovation. I took a deep breath and swallowed.
The auditorium door opened and in the darkness I could see my mother and stepfather. She had missed her grand entrance and I felt like laughing. They hurried down the center aisle and found seats. I was glad they had missed Emako’s solo. Now I wouldn’t have to hear it for the next month. “That girl sure can sing.”
Emako took her place in the chorus and Mr. Santos hit the tuning fork. We began to sing “On the First Day of Christmas.” Applause.
Then a spiritual, “O Happy Day.” The crowd clapped again and I thought, I could get used to this.
Many more songs. More applause.
A solo from Eddie Ortiz, star tenor, “Danny Boy.” Mr. Santos had tears in his eyes.
We ended with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” The audience was on their feet.
We were that good.
My mother waved at me from her seat. I felt so good that I actually smiled at her.
Then it was over, and after we took our bows, Mr. Santos said, “See you next year, thank you for coming. Happy holidays. Drive safely.”
As the audience began to rush out, a woman rushed up to Emako and held her tight. I figured it was her mother. They hugged for a long time, like they loved each other or something, and these two little kids
were standing around them too. They had to be Emako’s brother and sister. They looked alike. Pretty.
I scanned the faces for my mother, but I couldn’t find her, and when I looked back toward Emako, Jamal was beside her, holding her hand like she belonged to him, and this short white dude was hovering around them. I heard someone say that he was from Aurora Records. He handed Emako’s mother a card and introduced himself. Then he took Emako’s other hand and shook it. Emako’s face was all lit up and I thought, It’s going to be just that easy for her. Easy like 1 + 1 = 2.
My stepfather took me by the arm. “Your mother is already in the car.” I followed him to the door, turning around for a last look at the small crowd that had gathered around Emako.
When we got outside, I got out my cell phone and punched in Gina’s number.
The phone rang and Gina picked up. “Hello?”
“Where you at?”
“At that black-tie thing. Daddy made me.”
“You are not gonna believe this. I just left our Christmas concert and there’s this little dude here from Aurora Records, all up in Emako’s face like she’s about to walk down the road of fame and fortune.”
“And . . . ?”
“Jamal’s holdin’ her hand like he’s about to go with her.”
Gina paused. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Whatever . . . but I don’t think you are catchin’ the seriousness of all this.”
“Thank you, Savannah.”
“Thank you? That’s all you gotta say?”
“I’ll call you later.”
I put my cell phone in my purse and got in the car.
I began to wonder why I was all up in someone else’s relationship. I mean, if Gina didn’t care, then why should I?
“It was a wonderful concert, dear,” my mother said to me later, from the front seat.
“Yeah . . . just wonderful,” I replied.
The very next night, Gina and Jamal had what you would call a major confrontation and she called me, crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“We broke up.” She sounded too pitiful.
“Right b’fore Christmas. That figures.” Now she wouldn’t even get a present, I thought. “What happened?”
“He said he just wasn’t feelin’ it . . . you know, me and him.”
“Yeah, but he’s feelin’ Emako, right?”
“He said it didn’t have anything to do with her.”
“And you wanna believe that? Even you’re not that stupid.”
“Why you wanna say that?”
“Becuz all he ever did was play you from the beginning.”
Gina was silent for a moment. “I thought you were my friend, Savannah.”
“I am your friend, but Jamal ain’t all that.”
“But I still love him.”
“Why?”
“Cuz he’s fine,” she replied, and started crying again.
I took a deep breath and sighed. I know she doesn’t think I want to listen to this madness all night. “I’m getting sleepy, Gina. I’ll call you tomorrow . . . okay?”
“Fine. Bye,” she said. I could tell she was pissed.
Eddie
Two days before Christmas I went to find a present for my baby sister, Hortensia. It was crowded and people bumped into one another like it was expected.
“Eddie!” someone yelled behind me.
I turned around and saw Monterey and Emako.
“What up, Monterey? Hey, Emako,” I said.
“Hey, Eddie,” they responded at the same time, smiling.
“It’s crowded, huh?” I said.
“It’s two days before Christmas, what you expect?” Emako said. “You here to buy us some presents, Eddie?”
I looked at Emako with a question in my eyes.
Monterey answered. “She’s just clownin’ with you, Eddie. You know she’s crazy.”
She spoke to me, I thought. Finally!
“I forgot,” I said, laughing.
Emako stared at my Arizona State sweatshirt. “You goin’ to Arizona State?” she asked.
“I dunno yet. I applied to ten schools.”
“Which ones?” Monterey asked as we made our way slowly through the crowd.
“All outta state. I gotta get away from here before . . .”
“Before what?” Monterey asked.
“Before I wind up just another cholo like my brother.”
“I understand,” Emako said.
“What’s wrong with L.A.?” Monterey asked us.
“Not much if you live where you live,” Emako replied.
“Oh . . . it’s like that,” Monterey said. “I ain’t rich.”
“But you ain’t poor and you don’t havta worry about going outside your house after dark,” Emako said.
“Or gettin’ nervous whenever a car slows down,” I added.
“Be quiet, Eddie. You don’t even know where I live.” Monterey sounded like she was getting mad.
Emako turned to Monterey. “One day when you start to grow up, you might see how it really is, but right now you’re blinded by your perfect little world.”
“My perfect little world?”
“That’s what I said,” Emako replied, and walked on ahead, leaving me behind with Monterey. She stopped in front of a store called Forever 21 and peered in the window.
“Why you gotta talk to me like that!” Monterey raised her voice.
“Don’t get all mad,” Emako said, and entered the store.
Monterey looked pissed, so I tried to change the subject. “I gotta find a present for my baby sister, but I don’t know what to get her.”
“I didn’t know you had a little sister. How old is she?” Monterey asked.
“She’s nine.”
“Get her a gift certificate. That’s what I got Emako, but don’t tell her,” Monterey said.
“I won’t.”
“One day she’s gonna be famous,” Monterey said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Emako. Somebody called her mother from Aurora Records,” Monterey whispered like it was a secret. “They were at the Christmas concert.”
“Cool,” I replied.
“But her mama told ’em that Emako was gonna havta finish high school b’fore she signs any contract. Don’t say nuthin’ becuz I promised not to tell anyone.”
“I promise.” I looked at Monterey. Her eyes and hair were almost black. Her skin was the color of caramel. Her lips were shiny pink. Suddenly, I decided to do it. “I could call you if I had your phone number,” I said.
She looked surprised. “Huh?”
“I said, I could call you if I had your phone number.”
“Okay,” she said, and smiled at me really big, showing her braces. She took a pen and some paper out of her purse, wrote it down with a smiley face, and handed it to me.
I put it in my wallet so I wouldn’t lose it.
I felt really good.
I looked over the railing down to the first floor, where a big white man wearing a Santa suit was sitting on a golden throne like a king. A line of children waited their turn to whisper wishes in his ear.
“Remember when you used to believe in Santa?” I asked.
“What?” Monterey replied.
“I said, remember—?”
“I heard what you said. You mean, Santa ain’t real?” Monterey was trying hard to look serious, but her lips parted and she grinned again.
Emako came back toward us.
“Emako? Did you know there ain’t no such thing as Santa Claus?”
“I thought you were mad.”
“Well, I should be, but I ain’t,” Monterey said.
“I’m sorry.” Emako smiled. “You know I’m just playin’ with you.”
“I know,” Monterey said as the three of us bumped our way through the swarm of shoppers.
“I still don’t know what to get her,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just give her a Christmas card and stick twenty dollars in it.�
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“For who?” Emako asked.
“His little sister. She’s nine.” Monterey answered.
“Get her a Barbie doll. That’s what I got for my baby sister. They pro’bly still have some good ones at that toy store on the lower level,” Emako said as a man pushed up against her and almost made her trip.
“That’s a good idea,” I said.
A little boy stepped on Emako’s foot. “Ouch! There are too many people up in here. Let’s go.”
Monterey agreed. “Okay.”
“I gotta get the Barbie doll,” I said.
“Later, Eddie. Merry Christmas,” Emako said.
“Yeah, Eddie, Feliz Navidad,” Monterey added.
“Feliz Navidad,” I repeated as they made their way toward the exit doors. I watched them until they vanished, swallowed by the crowd.
A woman ran into me with a stroller without apologizing, but I didn’t get upset, because it was Christmas and her baby was crying.
I opened my wallet and stared at Monterey’s phone number.
Monterey
My phone was ringing. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. It was 6:30 in the morning, Saturday, January 11, my birthday. “Hello?”
“You asleep?” Emako asked.
“What you think? It’s Saturday.”
“Happy birthday,” she said, and laughed.
I groaned. “Later, Emako. You ain’t funny.”
“But I got a present for you. I’ll be over there after work. You gonna be home?”
“Yeah, my mama is making me a birthday cake with sixteen candles and my nana’s comin’ over and some of my little cousins and my auntie and uncle.”
“Princess Monterey.”
“Good-bye, Emako.”
“Later.”
I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling. I was sixteen, but I didn’t feel any different. I turned over, closed my eyes, and went back to sleep.
When the phone rang again at 8:30, I thought it was Emako. “I’m still tryin’ to sleep, Emako.”
“Hey, Monterey. It’s Eddie.”
I sat up in bed. It was the third time he’d called since I’d seen him in the mall. “Hey, Eddie. I thought you were Emako.”