by Randi Pink
“My God.” I shot up from my bed, startling Deanté, who had fallen asleep on the carpet. Had we slept the whole day away?
“What is it?” he asked, alarmed.
“Mrs. Roseland!” I threw the covers from my legs. “Has anyone spoken to Mrs. Roseland?”
“What? I don’t think so. Why?”
I ran down the stairs, yelling, “Someone needs to call Mrs. Roseland. She’s the Alabama History teacher. Someone find her number and call her right now!”
I walked in on Mom, Dad, and Aunt Evilyn gathered around the kitchen counter, stapling flyers.
“I’m sorry,” said Aunt Evilyn. She clutched her purse and held it over her chest. “I’ll let y’all alone to talk. I wanted to help.”
“Aunt Evilyn?” I asked.
“Yes, little girl?”
“Is Mrs. Roseland still in your bowling league?”
“Betsy?”
“I have no idea what her first name is,” I replied. “Wears bright red lipstick and kitten heels?”
“That’s Betsy,” said Aunt Evilyn. “She’s in my league.”
“Do you have her telephone number?”
She smiled, obviously eager to help in some way. “I’ll check,” she said without making eye contact.
As she thumbed through her wallet-sized address book, Dad asked, “Why Mrs. Roseland?”
“I overheard them talking. She’s his Jesus.” I began pacing the kitchen. “She may have helped him.”
“Your cheek has my handprint on it,” Mom interjected. “I’m so sorry.”
“Mom. Later. Please.”
“I found it,” announced Aunt Evilyn.
“Deanté, give me your phone,” I said.
I dialed the numbers as Aunt Evilyn called them out. The telephone rang and rang, but there was no answer. “Do you have the address, too?”
Aunt Evilyn nodded. “I’ve dropped her off at home a time or two. She’s just a few streets over. Only pink house on Kensington.”
“Deanté?”
He grabbed his car keys. “Let’s go.” We ran to his mother’s Mercedes, while my mother and Aunt Evilyn squeezed into the Fiat with Dad.
* * *
The sun was setting as we pulled up to the only baby-pink house on Kensington Boulevard, Mrs. Roseland’s car parked in the driveway. When we rolled to a stop, I immediately jumped out, leaving Deanté in the car.
“Should we wait on your parents? They were behind me, but I think something may have gone wrong with the car.”
I was already halfway up the sidewalk, approaching the pale-green front door. “Go check on them. I’ll be here.”
I pressed the bronzed doorbell. “Coming, coming, coming,” I heard Mrs. Roseland chirp from inside.
Mrs. Roseland peeked through the right-most curtain and quickly cracked the door. “Toya, Toya, Toya! I’m happy to see you’re back.”
“Is Alex here, Mrs. Roseland?” I blurted. “He’s missing.”
“He’s in the in-law suite out back. He was waiting here when I got home from school on Tuesday. I heard him call your mom and tell her.” She saw my shock, and she held her palm to her lips. “He tricked me.”
I stormed off the wraparound porch and pushed the fence open. “Alex!” I howled.
In the distance, the Fiat sputtered to the curb, followed by Deanté’s Mercedes. Alex opened the suite door and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He wore green plaid pajama pants and a faded T-shirt that read Hello Courage. “How did you find me?” He gawked at me, squinting.
“The principal found your note in your cubicle.”
“Dang.”
“Dang is right,” I said. “He gave it to Mom and Dad, and Mom made a scene at school. The Gatekeeper put down her magazine to watch.” I smiled.
“So that’s what it takes for her to put down that catalog?”
“That’s nothing. Mom slapped me!”
“Shoot! I hate that I missed it.”
I laughed. “I’m sure you do.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a quarter I’d found in the woods, and held it to him.
He placed it back in my palm and closed my hand around it. “How many did you find?” he asked, staring at the ground. “I left most of them in the woods.”
“Thirteen dollars’ worth.”
“There’s more.” He smiled faintly.
“Alex! You’re all right!” Mom nearly knocked me down to get to her son. “Let me look at you,” she said, inspecting his arms, legs, and face.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You scared us, kid.” Dad stood a few feet away, unable to move any closer.
Even when I’d humiliated and abandoned him, he still thought to leave me his shiniest quarters. I felt undeserving of such a sibling. I took a few steps away from them to stand near the fence with Aunt Evilyn, who was still clutching her purse.
“You’ve grown up to be kind of pretty,” she told me. “You weren’t too pretty when you were little, but I shouldn’t have told you to your face.”
It was the best Aunt Evilyn had to offer. I’d take it.
FIERCE
Later that night, I checked on my spider. After hours of spinning and weaving geometric shapes, she perched herself in the center to reap the benefits of her magnificent work. She truly was fierce.
I opened my spider’s window a half an inch. “Hey there. I’ve been watching you for a while, and I just wanted to let you know that I think you’re freaking awesome. I love what you do with your web; it’s gorgeous, and you will always have a place on my window as long as you would like. But never—and I repeat, never—come into my room or I’ll squash you without a second thought.” I carefully closed the window and latched it shut.
Afterward, I powered up the computer in the bathroom. The Wi-Fi was running faster than I’d ever seen it. It only took fifteen minutes to log in to my hardly used e-mail account, then another twelve to look up the e-mail address to north-central Alabama’s NPR news station, based in Birmingham. That station housed the Southern Education Desk, which said it was committed to exploring the challenges and opportunities confronting education in the twenty-first century.
I gulped down one deep breath and caught my reflection behind the bulky computer. I focused on my large dark eyes, almost black but not quite. I hadn’t realized it, but my eyes were beautiful. No. Fierce!
To: Sam Watson
From: Toya Williams
SUBJECT: Do with this information what you will
Dear Mr. Watson at the Southern Education Desk,
I am a student at Edgewood High School in Montgomery, AL. I recently reported an attempted rape to my principal, Principal Smith at Edgewood High School, and nothing was done about it. Since the boy, Joshua Anderson, belongs to a well-respected Edgewood family, the principal rejected my claim. Joshua is the son of the owner of Anderson Toyota, Jeep, Dodge.
I’m writing you because though I was saved from outright rape, I fear this boy has and will continue to pursue other victims. I fear that I am forever changed by this incident, but I would feel accountable if I didn’t take further action in this matter, and God forbid, another girl is victimized.
I am contacting you first, but if you do not respond to this e-mail within a week, I will pass the story along to another station. If they don’t respond, I will pursue media outside the state. In other words, Mr. Watson, I will not stop until Joshua Anderson and Principal Smith are exposed. I would appreciate your help, but if you are not receptive, I’ll find someone who is.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
T.M.W.
My finger hovered over the send button, and I considered erasing the e-mail, shutting down the computer, and walking away, but then swallowed. The lump in my throat had shrunk from pea-sized to the size of a small seed. But it was still there.
Message sent.
* * *
I peeked in on Alex. He appeared to be fast asleep.
“You up?”
“I
’m up.” He pulled his covers up around his chin.
I stepped inside and stood in the center of the bedroom. “I know you’re going off to the big city.”
He sat up in his bed, still grasping his comforter.
“Before you go, I just want to let you know that you’re the most important person in my life. I’m not a good sister. I realize that. But somehow, as horrible as I am, I was blessed with the most wonderful brother in the wide world. I’m so proud of you.” I clenched my hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to yelp. “I love you, Alexander Williams.”
I ran downstairs and screamed for my mother and father.
They burst from their room, terrified. “It’s three in the morning. What’s going on?” Dad said.
“Oh my God! What’s wrong, Toya? Is it Alex?” Mom panicked.
“Are you guys sleeping in the same bedroom?” They looked at each other and shrugged.
“Mom, you’re loud and strange and mean to Dad when he doesn’t deserve it, but I love you more than you will ever understand. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and the most wonderful mother I could ever ask for. I know that you had a moment of doubt—everyone does. Get over it, I love you no matter what you do, and so does Dad.” Mom glanced over at Dad and smiled.
Then I turned to Dad. “No one understands you. You never pick up on social cues, and you do disgusting things like spill coffee on your floor and pee all over the toilet seat.”
Mom interrupted, “Who you tellin’?”
“Mom! Anyways, as I was saying. Yes, you have flaws, but you also love us enough to work double overtime so we can live in a good neighborhood and go to the best school in Alabama, even though it’s a terrible place. You have trouble showing it, but I want you to know that I know, you know? I know you love me so much it hurts, and I feel the same way.” I gave them both high fives, because I knew hugs would be too overwhelming for them. “Now, there’s something that I have to do.”
“What?” Mom said, fighting back emotion. Dad stood there with his mouth open.
“I have to go conquer Colossus.” I turned and walked out the front door.
“You don’t have any shoes on. What are you—?”
“Mom! I have to do this. Give me twenty minutes. If I’m not back by then, come get me.”
“Let her go, Mom,” Alex announced from the top of the stairs.
She took a step back. “Okay.”
“All right. And I’m taking Hampton.”
Hampton was waiting on the doorstep. I swear that dog had more sense than anyone gave him credit for. I knelt down to him. “I’m sorry that I’ve been such a horrible friend to you. Alex is the love of your life, I know that, and I’m a crappy replacement, but he’s leaving for a while. I promise to do my best by you.” I held the leash open for him to walk through. “Will you have me?” He tilted his head and walked through the collar to accept. “Good deal, let’s go.”
I walked the length of my street at three thirty in the morning. A gentle breeze made the leaves dance, and the Montgomery heat pulled beads of sweat from my forehead. Hampton didn’t tug his leash at all; he walked at my heels as if knowing the magnitude of the moment. I stood at the top of Colossus peering over, and I knew. We had to run it.
I dropped Hampton’s leash and knelt to him. “Look, I’ll take your leash off. I think we should both be free when we do this. I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to suck.” I unhooked the leash and tossed it in the grass.
“Ready? Set. Go!”
Jogging down the hill was not easy. I pointed my feet to keep from falling, and when I caught my stride, I focused on the stiff wind blowing in my face. I opened my arms to hug the air. The wind caught Hampton’s jowls and turned his mouth into an enormous smile. We reached the bottom in no time, which meant it was time to truly conquer Colossus.
I turned my head to the sky and said, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Then we took off. The first few strides made me want to give up. Every muscle in my legs, arms, butt, and stomach was working at capacity to keep me upright and running, but my mind was fixed on my big brother: his potential, his retention, his brilliance. I had always envisioned Alex as a sweater-vest-wearing history teacher at the community college, sharing his braininess with eager teenagers, but even then, I hadn’t given him enough credit.
I assumed he wanted to be popular, but he was reaching for something that I didn’t know existed—a world outside of Edgewood. He was shaping his life into something that would break the barriers of humanity, not just of the South. While I was asking God to change me, he was utilizing what he was born with to conquer all things. The least I could do was conquer Colossus. We made up the chant after we finally walked it without stopping, and there I was, running it. Alone.
If I cried, I wouldn’t finish, so I fought hard to stop the tears from coming.
“YOU STOP IT! Cry when you get to the top!” I screamed in one long, impossible breath. I was three-fourths of the way up. Pushing through the physical pain was easy; stopping the emotion was excruciating.
Alex tried so hard to make me smart. I’d always thought he was bragging about his own God-given genius, but I realized he just wanted me to go on the journey with him. He was trying to lift me up. Help me accept myself.
Hampton reached the top a few seconds before I did. He tried to collapse. “No! Not until we chant.”
He stood tall. “Woof!”
“Good boy,” I said, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
I stood there for a moment, thinking of myself two weeks ago and just how badly I’d wanted to be something else. Anyone other than Toya. How I’d asked my mother to change my name and asked God to turn me into something better. How foolish I was to ignore the one person who accepted me for exactly who I was, no matter what. I studied my sweat-drenched body and bare feet. My jagged toenails and half-bitten fingernails. My unshaven arms and legs. Closed my eyes and ran my fingers through the short hair that I’d loathed for so long. Opened my eyes to my skin. The color of a brown Crayola crayon or coffee with a single hit of cream.
I looked toward Hampton. “I have to change our chant.”
“Woof!”
I assumed the position. Two fists in the air, legs spread apart, and Rocky feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Colossus, the Great.
I am strong.
I am able.
I am God’s child.
I am who I am.
I am who I say I am.
I am black.
I am beautiful.
I am me.
I am …
Toya.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve always been an odd girl with an odd perspective. I see the world differently from everyone else, and since that can be isolating, I learned to bury my strangeness. Pageant-waving my way through life and nodding along to viewpoints I didn’t agree with or understand. Shrinking myself to the back of the room and allowing the louder voices to dominate. I accept that I’ll never be the loudest voice, but I have a secret weapon (well, it’s not so secret anymore): I write.
So my first, and most important, thank-you is reserved for my strangeness. I’ve buried you, covered you up, put lipstick on your face and high heels on your ailing feet. Still, you’ve never left me alone. I couldn’t have written a word of this book without you. I couldn’t have married the most beautiful human being in the world without you. I would be as boring as Barnhouse’s biology without you. And I want you to know, once and for all, I’m done hiding behind your twin sister, normal. I vow to hold you in my arms for the rest of my life.
A special thanks to my editor, Liz Szabla. Your patience, kindness, and incredible insight have transformed this book. You’re a brilliant woman, and I appreciate you more than you can ever know. Thank you to my publisher, Jean Feiwel, for welcoming me to Feiwel and Friends with such warmth! To the spectacular team at the Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group: You amaze me every day. Thank you
for working tirelessly to bring so many stunning books into the world.
To Marietta Zacker, agent extraordinaire: Thank you for helping me move forward when everything inside of me wanted to quit. For your encouragement, wise counsel, and overall awesomeness, I thank you.
To Kerry Madden and the Spring 2013 Children’s Literature Workshop: You made me believe, Kerry. Through your passionate instruction, you’ve made us all believe. We made magic happen every week in that class, and I’m looking forward to following all your bright and beautiful writing careers.
To the Night Writers: Thank you all so much for awesome insights and unyielding support. There’s something really special happening in our group! And I’m so proud of us. Special thanks to Tay Berryhill, Claudia Pearson, and Jo Kittinger. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would not be here without you three powerhouse women. I thank you. I love you. And I’m so lucky to have you all in my life.
To Alabama State University: Thank you for so many things—confidence, poise, and a sense of belonging. But most of all, thank you for accepting me when no one else would. First day of freshman year, you pulled me into your bosom and you have yet to let me go. Go, Hornets!
To SCBWI: Thank you for creating a bridge between a solitary author and her peculiar dreams.
Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank my precious family. Victor, you’re my due north. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I will always love you. Mama!!! Thanks for being such a force of creative energy. You are my BFF, a wonderful artist, and I’m so blessed to have you as my mama. Dad, thank you for valuing history, intellect, and knowledge. Your wisdom and guidance have helped me weather some tough stuff. I love you, and I’m blessed to have you as my dad. My sister, Imani, thank you for your sweetness, and I love you very much.
And a super-special thanks to my brother: I’ve loved you since the very beginning—catching crawdads, picking honeysuckle, and running through libraries. I wouldn’t want to do life without you, Allentown. Thank you.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Randi Pink grew up in the South and attended a mostly white high school. She lives with her husband and their two rescue dogs in Birmingham, Alabama, where she works for a branch of National Public Radio. This is her fiction debut. randipink.com. Or sign up for email updates here.