by Hannah Weyer
Three days before her thirteenth birthday, AnnMarie took Central all the way up to the Nassau Expressway, waited for the flow of traffic to die, then hustled across the four-lane, leaving her neighborhood behind. She knew the shopping center was somewhere in Lawrence, where the sidewalks widened and the homes stood in neat rows, glass in all the windows, and grass that was green. Teisha had told her, take Central all the way. The whole while AnnMarie thought about Janet falling for Tupak, how she’d never get tired of that movie, that girl making her poetry, beautiful poetry to get around the sad feeling of life. A whole hour of walking until she saw the line of stores stretching out before her and she quickened her pace, excited now to have arrived, icy money ready to be spent.
She moved past planter boxes and colorful awnings, white ladies pushing strollers, sipping ice tea out of plastic cups. Glancing in all the big plate windows, she saw cream-colored mannequin girls with narrow waists and pointy breasts. Designer clothes, starched and tagged and beautiful. Perfume and candles, jewelry, candied apples, chocolate and stuffed animals. Up ahead some kids lounged outside a ice-cream shop, one of the girls giving her the eyeball, but AnnMarie just strolled on by thinking, Bitch, fuck you, I got money in my sock. She found the store Teisha had told her about called Madeline’s, went inside and spent a hour trying on clothes. A salesgirl hovered near the changing room, making sure she ain’t try to steal nothing. AnnMarie didn’t care. She had cash money. Bought herself a brand-new pair of Diesel jeans size 2, hot pink Glitter Girl T-shirt and a black satin hoodie with the bright blue snake coiled around the left sleeve. Left off Madeline’s, walked into the shoe store she’d passed on her way in, tried on a pair of Tims. Almost bought the pink to match her T-shirt, then changed her mind and got the Classic.
At Niki’s house, she stripped out of her clothes and put on the outfit, head to toe, Niki watching the whole while, saying, Yeah, yeah … Girl, that hoodie is crack.
Word, you think so …? AnnMarie turned, looking at herself in the mirror. A ripple of excitement rose up and made her laugh.
Mm-hm, she said. Those jeans too. You a It Girl now.
Niki leaned back on the bed, tossing her loose curls while AnnMarie waited for her to crack stupid but she didn’t. She kept looking, halfways smiling and AnnMarie felt self-conscious all of a sudden so she cut her eyes away, unzipping the hoodie, saying, You want to try it on?
Hell yeah, Niki said, hopping up. She slipped it on, her fingers running down the snake. This look sick—you got the fashion sense, AnnMarie, true dat. I’ma make you my stylist.
AnnMarie laughed, watching her. Niki with her cinnamon skin and wash of freckles, stepping in front of the mirror, throwing up fake female gang signs. Posing, gangsta-ruff.
When they heard Niki’s father leave off for work, Niki pulled a half-smoked joint from a matchbox and lit up, passing the roach to AnnMarie. AnnMarie took a hit, then another, feeling her lungs expand. Niki laughed at nothing in particular, fiddling with the radio and AnnMarie lay back on the bed, feeling a buzz coming on. I got to get home, she said. My mother got me on curfew.
Out on the street, new clothes back in the bag, Niki was talking nonstop like she do when she high, telling AnnMarie how Teisha partied with some homie named Uno, a MC about to blow up big on the mixtape circuit. He got a single out, Nadette heard it on the radio. We got to get on the radio. You know Ronald, he knows somebody at Hot 97, I’ma talk to him see how we can get something going.
Yeah, yeah, AnnMarie said … The weed making her head hum, heart pounding, mouth dry. Couldn’t say much when she stoned, but Niki’s words danced in her head, You a It Girl now, making her smile spontaneous, the start of 8th grade right around the corner. Maybe Raymel would finally take her to meet Darius, check out his studio, choir class with Mr. Preston … Then Niki’s voice was cutting in again.
Say what? AnnMarie said.
I said, where the fuck that name come from anyway. Wu-Tang. Wu-Tang Clan, like Who-da-Tang …
AnnMarie bust out laughing. Niki snickered into her hand, saying Like Koo-da-Tang and Pootie-Tang. Both of them busting, bumping shoulders, all the way up Mott Avenue, a soft wind blowing, taking the punch out of the late-August heat.
No, I’m playing. Wu-Tang be dope, for real, for reals. You see they got a video out on MTV? Filmed it right there in Stapleton Houses. Goose-down, Champion hoodies, we got to make a video. The Night Shade, you wear your hoodie, I get one too, we all get ’em. Show some female swag, snake be our signature style, word …
AnnMarie laughed, saying, Hell yeah. Niki giving her daps. You a It Girl now.
Blessed was leaning on the walker when she walked in, a plate of cookies in hand, the plate resting on the walker like she’d stopped midstep, waiting like that for AnnMarie to appear.
Where have you been? Blessed asked.
Nowhere, AnnMarie said, her eyes cutting to the two strangers sitting on the couch, suitcases propped up one next to the other, crowded into the corner.
What kinda answer is that. Me asked you where you been, Ann Marie.
Shopping. I was shopping for my back-to-school. She raised the bag, showing it to Blessed. It ain’t even eight o’clock yet.
Blessed frowned and the room went silent, AnnMarie waiting for the lash-down, but all her mother said was, You remember Carlton and Carlotta. Pinky’s children.
AnnMarie glanced from one to the other, then said, Oh. Hey … Feeling their eyes on her as she took a step back and leaned against the door, glancing at the big-as-a-buffalo dude, thinking Carlton and Carlotta, who the fuck is they? His legs splayed, face wide-set, chin rolling into his fat neck.
You look grown, don’t she look grown, Carlotta?
Mm-hm, she does.
You don’t remember when you lived wit’ us, AnnMarie?
AnnMarie’d heard of Pinky. Knew she’d stayed with her before foster care and Grandma Mason—but it was a memory her mother had given her, not her own.
She said, Yeah, okay, not really.
Carlotta laughed. The girl had her hair pulled back into a bun like Olive Oyl. Mad stupid hairstyle, got the rubber-sole wedges you see grandmas wear. Dang. She get grown, hope she never look like that.
Carlotta was saying, She used to love those Ninja Turtle candies. Sit in front of the TV and eat those candies. You remember that, Miss Blessed? Thought they gave her superpowers.
That’s right, that’s right, Carlton said laughing.
Blessed smiled. She said, Oh, yes. Yes. But AnnMarie could tell she was faking. Her memory partways gone since the stroke. All the little things. In one ear, out the other.
Thought she could fly back to Miss Blessed, Carlton was saying.
Mm-hm … his sister murmured. She’d stand at the window. You don’t remember none of this, AnnMarie?
AnnMarie shook her head.
Well, Pinky’s gone back to Trinidad, Blessed cut in. Gone to bury her father so they’re staying with us for a while. Here, take these cookies, put them there …
AnnMarie crossed the room, took the plate from her mother’s shaking hand, set them on the TV tray. Thinking, for a while? What that supposed to mean, for a while, all a them cramped together in this box of an apartment.
Out the corner of her eye, she watched Carlton lean back and stretch, his belly lifting away from the thin black belt cutting into his waist. She wanted to go past him into her room, close the door, try on her new clothes again, but her mother was talking, saying, You want Fanta? AnnMarie, go down get some Fanta from the store.
So AnnMarie went, glad to be outside again. She cut across the street, went up to Cornega, picturing Carlton’s dumb smile, and tsked out loud. Don’t she look grown? It bothered her they knew things she couldn’t remember. Ninja-fucking Turtles. Superpowers. She thought hard, trying to picture Pinky’s house, push pass the hazy space in her mind, when all of a sudden Kayla and Leela popped up, clear as day. They’d been her foster sisters at Grandma Mason’s house. Twins, but not the identical kind. Both of them thin-boned a
nd small, same age as AnnMarie, but tiny like twiggy birds. One of them had dry skin. Leela. Flaky dry skin, that girl had some kinda skin trouble. Grandma Mason catch her scratching, she’d beat that girl with the belt she let hang from a nail by the window. There’d been Shemar too. Another foster brother, a year younger than the twins. He got the top bunk ’cause Grandma Mason liked him best.
No Ninja Turtles up there in the Bronx, AnnMarie thought. Never any candy at all. Except when the older boys came upstairs. Grandma Mason’s grandsons. With their Mars Bars and Nestlé Crunch. Grandma Mason would yank AnnMarie from the broom closet. Why you hiding, she’d say. They’s your foster brothers too.
At the bodega, AnnMarie reached up and pressed the bell. She waited, knowing somebody inside watching the video screen, checking to see who out there. She heard the buzz and went in, past the old man buying a lottery ticket, down the aisle to the back where the soda was. She plucked a Fanta off the shelf when the A-rab start up shouting, One at a time. One at a time. AnnMarie turned. She could see him behind the counter, looking intently at the video screen, then heard the buzzer as the door swung open and in stepped Raymel, his face lighting up when he saw her.
Damn, girl, he said. I was just thinking about you.
Hey Raymel, what up … Happy to see him too, but trapped now ’cause all she had was the food stamp in her pocket. No way she pulling it out in front of him.
What you doing, you going to Sunshine’s?
Sunshine, what they doing?
She having a little thing. Me and Jason headin’ over …
She knew Sunshine lived with her boyfriend somewhere over there on Walcott, behind Redfern Houses. He a dealer or something, but he had mad swag. Drove a car and everything.
Who gonna be there?
Everybody.
And that’s all it took. AnnMarie set the Fanta back up on the shelf and walked down the aisle. Yeah, yeah … I’ma go with y’all.
Raymel grinned, said to the man, Let me get a Zig-Zag.
Ma! She said into the pay phone. Ma, I’ma go to this little birthday party for Patrice. Patrice from choir? Her mother go to church with you, no ma, I just ran into them. Her mother throwing her a little party, please can I go. Since I ain’t getting my own party … please ma. Please. There gonna be cake.
Her eye flitting over to Jason and Raymel who cracked up into they hands.
When she crept in after midnight, all the lights were off. She let her eyes adjust, listening to the low raspy sound of someone breathing. The buffalo on the couch. She slipped across the floor and stood in her doorway. Carlotta asleep in her bed, window fan blowing hot air through the room. She went into Blessed’s room, unbuckled her sandals, left her shorts and T-shirt on and crawled in next to her mother, mad slow, careful not to bump her, even though she knew it took a thunder of elephants to wake her up.
She lay there for a long while, thinking about Sunshine’s party. How she’d seen Darius come in with his homies through the haze a weed smoke. She tried to find Raymel but he’d disappeared somewhere, the room packed tight with people she didn’t know. All a them older, outta high school at least. She wished she’d worn her satin hoodie. What would she have said to Darius anyway. Leaning up against the wall, looking mad fine. Some chick going up to him, talking in his ear. AnnMarie’d stepped on some girl’s shoe. She cringed at the thought. The girl had reared back, glaring. Bitch, watch where you walking. The fella next to her snickering. Peewee like you, why ain’t you home. Where your mother at.
A wash of anxiety woke her. She felt Blessed next to her in the bed and she stayed still, laying on her side, staring at the wall. Thinking, almost thirteen and you sleeping with your mother.
AnnMarie rolled over. She felt her mother’s hand against her side, felt the heat breathing off her skin. She used to love it, sleeping with her mother. Those first months in Far Rock, they’d had no furniture, just a chair somebody had left behind. At night, they made a bed outta blankets. AnnMarie’d crawl in next to her mother, listening for a long time until her breath evened out. Then she’d lift her mother’s arm, set it over her waist, and the shouts and clamor rising from the street below faded into a vague and distant preoccupation.
In the living room, Carlton and Carlotta sat on the couch, eating cereal.
Well, ain’t you grown, Carlton said with a fake-ass smile.
What you mean, she asked, going past him into her bedroom.
When’d you come home last night?
None a your business, AnnMarie thought, pulling open her drawers, digging around for a change of clothes. She heard him laugh, his eyes on her as she went into the bathroom. She locked the door, wondering how bad she gonna get it. Never knew with Blessed. Sometime she don’t say nothing. She stood under the warm water. Sang the Brandy song she’d been working on. Sang the entire verse without stopping, then sang it again. She liked how her voice sound in the bathroom. Bouncing off the tile. Got mad reverb.
When she got out, her mother was awake, the two of them still on the couch, watching TV. AnnMarie stood in the doorway and held her breath, watching Blessed’s face contort into a frown as she struggled to open a pill container. But all her mother said was, Open this for me, AnnMarie.
AnnMarie slipped across the room, took the pill bottle and unscrewed the lid.
This for your blood pressure? You know you got to eat food with it, Ma …
Her mother didn’t answer, just took the pill and swallowed.
Pass me my Percocet.
AnnMarie hesitated. Percocet first thing in the morning. Her mother be sleeping before she wake. They used to do things. Go to the rec center. Cook food. Her mother humming a little tune. AnnMarie leaned over to look at the labels. Pills for cholesterol, pills for pain, tremor pills, depression pills. Pills for the heart.
Ma, why you need this, first thing in the morning.
Just open it for me, AnnMarie, my leg painin’ me.
AnnMarie opened the pill bottle, then passed it to her mother, sitting down next to her on the bed. Her mother struggled to get the pills out with her shaky fingers but AnnMarie didn’t move to help.
Instead, she bent and picked Blessed’s wig up off the floor, bits of lint and a snarl forming. You want me to brush it out for you?
Just set it down, AnnMarie, her mother said sharply, and get out me room. Soon as me get me Medicaid fixed, Miss Jessica be back. She know exactly how me like things.
Her mother’s accent flaring. What you got to be angry for, AnnMarie thought. Acting like a invalid. Fuck that. She stood up and stepped through the doorway, saying, Fine, I hope you get your Medicaid fix. Miss Jessica come back, all y’alls can have a fucking party.
You hear that, Carlton. You see how she talk?
I hear it, Miss Blessed. Back home she get a cut ass for that. A cut ass.
AnnMarie scowled. Sitting there like he some kinda crowned prince. She said, Who you. Who the fuck are you?
Then Blessed was trying to stand, her good eye glaring. What you say? What did me hear you say? You must want me to box you down. That what you want?
AnnMarie cut her eyes away but kept her mouth shut.
5
Her birthday came and went with the blow of a candle. August became September and there was no stopping school coming on. 8th grade, first day, AnnMarie strolled up to the yard, looking mad o.d. fine in her brand-new Diesels and black satin hoodie. First day easy, forgetting all about Carlton and Carlotta in the house, with all the hey y’alls, what up, how your summer go and fake cheek kisses, looking to see who got coupled up and who still alone. Kids filing into classrooms, teachers and their first-day speeches, the what I expect from you speeches, no one paying attention ’cept to each other—who gonna be best friends, who gonna be beefin’, textbooks going around, pages ripped, marked-up and torn from the year before. Take one, everybody need a book.
Assembly, principal gave a speech, the expectation speech, the behavior speech, the we’re all one community speech … Crystal
was still gone so AnnMarie had taken a seat next to Patrice and Katelyn, girls she’d known since 3rd grade, PS 197. Choir girls. Good girls who could sing “Lord Take Thy Hand” and “Come to Me” on key, every note clear and beautiful. She spotted Brittany sitting three rows down front. What she got on. Fat bitch. Sitting between Shaquanna and Ashley. Tag-along 1 and Tag-along 2. Got her hair straightened, pulled up into a sweep. Spent some money on that, AnnMarie thought, but still she ugly. Suck-face ugly. Baboon-ass ugly. She watched Brittany lean in and whisper something to Tag-along 1, the girl laughing, her mouth moving ’til Brittany tsked and she shut up.
She didn’t know why Brittany hated her, just that she did. It all got started sometime last year, Brittany saying, Stay away from Rashad. AnnMarie’d said, Rashad? Who the fuck Rashad? But it didn’t matter, they jumped her anyway and it went on from there.
AnnMarie sat forward and re-tucked her Glitter Girl T-shirt, watching Brittany now, turn full around in her seat, her elbow flying. Tag-along flinched, cupping a hand to her cheek where Brittany had clocked her but Brittany act like she ain’t done nothing, neck craning, eyes scanning the auditorium. Tag-along just sat there, dumb.
AnnMarie stared daggers into that girl. She hope they eyes meet so Brittany could feel the cut, all them blades slicing her apart. But Brittany didn’t notice. Her arm shot up, waving to somebody across the auditorium. Fuck that girl.
Sixth-period choir. AnnMarie filed in with the other kids, called Hey, Mr. Preston, and took a seat next to the boy Crystal had been crushing on all summer. Wallace, who was leaning back in his chair with a new low fade and crisp white Polo. She said Dang, Wallace, you look nice, let me see. He turned his head, showing off the design the barber’d shaped into the side of his head—a swirly W ending in a curlicue. Is that a clef symbol, she asked. Nah, that be a dollar sign. Word, AnnMarie said, that is dope.
Mr. Preston rapped his baton on the edge of a music stand and everyone got quiet. He didn’t do no speech giving. He got right to it. Follow me one at a time, he said, and he sang a melody—high up for the girls, medium low for the boys. And when Brittany walked in ten minutes late, Mr. Preston just motioned her to the back of the room. AnnMarie ignored her. Eyes on Mr. Preston, she stood and took her turn, her voice rising sweet and clear until Mr. Preston said, We’re gonna go again, AnnMarie. He didn’t do that with none of the others. He said, This time we’re gonna harmonize, you and Wallace. Then he counted out a beat and nodded first to AnnMarie, then to Wallace who took the cue, his voice coming up underneath hers, blending deep and rich and beautiful. AnnMarie felt the vibration, like a living thing passing through the room. She watched Mr. Preston close his eyes and listen, swaying like he gone to heaven.