Patina

by Jason Reynolds

  So I called Ma for a practice run, and she walked me through how to make turkey wings in a way that definitely wasn’t Momly’s way—Momly put hers in the oven, but Ma told me to put mine in a pan on the stove. I was scared they were going to taste like bacon, because that’s how Ma had me cooking them—but they still tasted like turkey. Either way, Maddy and Uncle Tony devoured them, Uncle Tony, of course, being silly, eating his with a fork and knife like it was something fancy.

  “Goor-met Tur-Kay Wangs,” he kept saying, struggling trying to cut around the bones.

  After dinner, Maddy and I did our nighttime routine. And because it was Friday—five days after I did her hair—it didn’t take long.

  “Okay, let me see.” I fingered through her hair, counting each red plastic . . . cylinder? I guess they were kinda like cylinders. Math! “Looks like you have thirty beads left. You started with ninety.”

  “That’s not bad!” Maddy whooped. And it actually wasn’t, especially since it was such a crazy week. There’d actually been weeks when by Friday, Maddy would be beadless. I always figured during those weeks she was purposely taking the foil off the ends of her braids and shaking them out for fun. I had never confirmed it, but it seemed like something she’d do.

  “Nope, pretty good!” I agreed, squished up beside her in her tiny bed. Her room, so Maddy, full of weird-looking brown dolls with yarn hair and scary-movie eyes. She named them all Addison. Also a stuffed giraffe that was bigger than her, that Uncle Tony won for her at a carnival. She named him Giraddison. Of course. And taped to the walls were a whole bunch of pictures of our family. Some were photographs—Momly always went nuts with pictures, and Uncle Tony always went nuts with camera filters, and together they had the nerve to get cell phone pictures printed—and some were drawings. Crayon on construction paper of smiling pink mother, smiling brown mother with no legs, smiling little girl with big muscles and red circles all over her head, smiling man, and giant girl with shorts and jersey. That was me. But I wasn’t smiling. I looked cool, but, weird, everyone else was smiling. Huh. Then there were pictures of legs. Just legs playing kickball, or legs holding hands, which I thought was kinda funny. But my favorite one was of me, Cotton, Maddy, and Momly, with Ma floating above us, just a head and torso, and above her, for some reason Maddy had scribbled, Merry J Blyj.

  “I’m gonna tell you a story,” Maddy said, fluffing her pillow. “It’s a good-luck story, about a lady who almost lost her arm, but a girl saved it because she had thirty magic beads.”

  “Magic beads, huh?” I propped myself up on my elbow.

  “Yep, they . . . they . . .” She was thinking of the next part. “When the girl runs around, the beads go clickey-clickety-clickety and that’s like a magic spell that heals things. It’s like a special hairstyle.”

  “And did the beads have to be a certain color for this spell to work?”

  “Well . . .” Maddy smiled. And before she could even finish the story, I kissed her cheek and told her I loved her more than all the cupcakes in the world.

  The next morning I startled awake, still in Maddy’s bed, my body cramped, her face two inches from mine, her eyes wide open, willing my eyes open.

  “Uncle Tony said Momly can come home at noon!” she blurted, way too early, and way too close to my face. Not even a good morning. Maddy might be a YMBC too.

  “Okay,” I said, groggy.

  “So Skunk gonna take us to your meet, while Uncle Tony gets Momly.”

  “Okay.” This was basically what Uncle Tony had already prepped us for. No new information.

  “You think he might bring Momly to the track after he picks her up?”

  “Hmmm, not if she’s in pain, Maddy. I doubt it.” I hadn’t really thought much about the pain Momly might be in. I mean, I know the medicine is probably pretty strong, but still.

  “She’s still gonna be in pain?” Maddy said, the tone of her voice diving into concern.

  “I don’t know. I hope not. I’m sure she’ll be okay.” Then I repeated the same things, this time to myself, in my own head, to convince myself Momly was all right.

  I don’t know. I hope not. I’m sure she’ll be okay.

  “But she might be in pain, right?” Maddy doubled down, like she always does.

  I moaned, long and loud, like a train horn. “Maddy, I don’t know. I’m still sleep.” I rolled over and snatched the sheet over my head.

  “But you not sleep because you talkin’ to me,” Maddy said.

  And she was right, I wasn’t sleep no more. But I also had to get my mind right for the meet. I took a shower, then sat down at my vanity desk to do my Flo Jos and hair. For my nails, I was going to paint different-color squiggles all over them. It’s just part of my good-luck thing. And I could use a little of that. Plus, they made me feel fly. Like Flo Jo.

  Now for my hair. Here’s the thing: usually for the meets I either snatch it back into a ponytail, or I comb it straight and leave it out, also like Flo Jo. But today, after I was sure my nails were dry, I reached up and grabbed a chunk of hair, split it into thirds, and started braiding. Starting with the front, I worked the left side, then the right, and then after about thirty-five minutes all I had left was the back, which was always the hardest part to do myself.

  “Maddy!” I yelled. She didn’t come, so I yelled again. She was probably in the kitchen, eating breakfast and watching cartoons. Everybody left me alone on meet days because they knew I had my rituals—hair, nails, begging for Flo Jo to give me some of her magic from heaven. Oh man, I really am a YMBC. The sound of Maddy’s feet came skittering toward my door. “You called me?” she asked, knowing full well that I called her.

  “Yeah, come in,” I said, combing my fingers through the patch of hair left on the back of my neck. Maddy opened the door, and her eyes went wide. My hair was braided up just like hers. “You like it?” I asked.

  Maddy grinned. “Yeah.” She came over to me, pinched the ends of a few of my plaits, then patted my edges as if she was touching up my baby hair. “You did a good job.”

  “Well, I’m glad you approve.” I shook my head.

  “But you missed a spot.” Maddy noticed the unbraided bit in the back. “Unless that’s the way you want it.” She shrugged.

  My face went flat.

  “What? It might be a new style.”

  “It’s not.” I grabbed the comb off the desk and used the corner of it to pick through my kitchen—the back of my neck—again. “And I need you to braid it up for me.”

  “I can’t braid.”

  “Yes, you can,” I said, calling her bluff. I knew Maddy could braid because I taught her, and plus, she braided her dolls’ hair all the time. Now, she wasn’t very good, but she could get the job done.

  “But not as good as you,” she argued.

  “Yeah, well, maybe I want a Maddy braid. Maybe that’s my new style.”

  Maddy didn’t look convinced. “You sure?” she asked, now running her own fingers through it.

  “Waffle, if you don’t braid my hair—”

  “Okay, okay!” she said, focusing in. I watched her through the mirror, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth, concentrating, weaving the hair slowly, trying her best not to mess up. Ten minutes later, “Finished.”

  I ran my hand back there. Three of the fattest, loosest braids I’d ever had.

  “They’re perfect,” I said. Maddy crossed her arms across her chest, all cocky. All that. I laughed. “Now it’s time for beads.” I opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out the can.

  “You putting beads on ’em?”

  “Yep.”

  “What color?”

  “Hmm.” I pretended to be thinking. “I think I’m gonna go with red.”

  “Good choice.”

  “But I’m only gonna put thirty on there. That’s it,” I said, popping the top off the can.

  “Only thirty?”

  “Yeah, only thirty. Thirty red, good luck, magic beads. Just like you got.”r />
  TO DO: Nothing (but win)

  I HADN’T REALLY thought about the fact that I wasn’t going to have a parent at the track meet until the doorbell rang, and it was time to go. Before that, I was just focused on getting myself together. But now that Skunk had arrived, it hit me that when I looked out into the stands, Momly wouldn’t be there. Uncle Tony wouldn’t be there either.

  But Maddy would. And when I opened the door, I found out Cotton surprised me by coming too! Cotton! I thought she was coming home from her cruise the next day, but she showed up a day early.

  “I got so much tea to spill!” I said, throwing my arms around her. And instead of us immediately going in about everything, she whispered, “We’ll talk later. There’s somebody else here to see you.”

  I looked past Cotton, and there was a head full of tight curls poking out the passenger side window, a sly grin on her face. “You ready, Pancake?”

  “Ma? What are you . . .” I was so surprised I could barely speak. I mean, she never came to my meets. Not because she didn’t want to but because she was always so drained from the blood cleaning and Saturday was her only real recuperating day, and she needed to save up her energy for church on Sunday.

  “Yeah, you ready, Pancake?” Cotton repeated.

  “Shut up,” I said, giving Cotton another hug. Then I ran over to give Ma a kiss on the cheek.

  Uncle Tony came to the door with Maddy. Peered over at me standing at the passenger side of Skunk’s car, my mother’s face still out the window. “Bev? What a surprise!” he exclaimed. I shot my eyes at him: that goofy look on his face was a dead giveaway that he set this whole thing up. “What?” he said to me, his shoulders lifted to his ears. Then he waved me over so he could give me one. With his arms around me, he whispered in my ear, “I hope you’ve been practicing the Running Man, like I showed you.” Then he released me and did a quick two-second dance that looked like he was being electrocuted.

  I told him I hadn’t been practicing that—how to look ridiculous—and as he walked me and Maddy (and Cotton) to the car, he assured me that we could work on it some more later that evening when Momly got back. Then Ma told Uncle Tony that even though she had to tell Skunk to turn his music down because “ain’t nobody trying to go deaf with all that boom, boom, boom,” at least his car was clean.

  “And cleanliness is next to godliness,” she plucked at Uncle Tony as he closed the back door after Maddy and me climbed in. Maddy had to sit on the hump, between me and Cotton, my duffel bag on my lap. These people. They were my constellation, or however Becca was saying it. The dots all connected.

  “I know, Bev. I know.” Uncle Tony bent down and looked through the passenger-side window, past Ma over to Skunk in the driver’s seat. “You remember what I told you yesterday on the phone?”

  “Yeah, I got it, Mr. Tony,” Skunk said with that same annoyed voice that all of us get around naggy oldheads. “The speed limit.”

  “Not. One. Mile. Over it.”

  On the way to the park, Ma (who was sipping from a big cup of coffee) and Skunk talked about how Skunk was having a hard time finding a job, while Cotton and Maddy were doing their Maddy fo-faddy game. They were also yapping about how nice my hair looked, especially those three braids in the back.

  “She looks so chic, like a throwback Serena Williams,” Cotton said, trying to be funny, but Maddy didn’t get the joke, and loves Serena Williams (who doesn’t?), so she just whipped toward me and blurted out, “Yeah! You do look like a throwback Serena, Patty.” Skunk and Ma paused their conversation and had a good laugh at that. But I ain’t have time for all this jokey-jokey. I needed to get focused. Especially since Ma—Ma!—was going to see me run.

  The park was teeming with parents and friends, runners and coaches. But I was going to do my best to block out all the noise on the outside, and all the noise on the inside. I was here for one reason. To win.

  And so was Cotton.

  “You think if I wink at Lu on the track, he’ll wink back?” Cotton asked.

  “What? Are you serious? I can’t do this right now, Cotton.” I said that, but of course I still did it. “You think Lu is gonna be able to see you wink?” I pulled Ma’s wheelchair out of Skunk’s trunk. Unfolded it. Maddy held my duffel bag and looked out at the track.

  “Uh, Patty, have you seen these lashes? Yeah, I think he’ll be able to see me wink.”

  “He won’t. Trust me. When you’re on the track, the only thing you’re looking at are the runners around you, and the finish line. I mean, sometimes I can see family, but still. He might not even look up in your direction.” I wheeled the chair to the side, while Ma balanced herself and slowly slid onto the seat.

  “Well, even if he don’t see it, he’ll feel it and it’ll still be good luck,” Cotton said low so my mother wouldn’t hear.

  “Then wink at me, too.”

  “Patty, please. Maddy already told me you got all the good luck you need,” she teased, flicking one of my beaded braids. “And don’t forget, if you win, you gotta strut off the track like Mary.” Cotton did a few power steps, MJB style.

  “I got it, Pancake,” Ma interjected as I tried to push her. “You get over there to your team.”

  “Ma, it’s grass and other stuff over there. I’ll push you.”

  “Patty, go. We here to support you. Not for you to worry about us. I got Skunky here if I need help. Ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah, I got her, Patty.” Skunk hit the alarm on his car. Bloop-bloop!

  “So give me a hug.” Ma spread her arms out. I leaned into her, pressed my lips to her cheek again. She whispered, “Remember, you ain’t no junk.” She grabbed my hands and it was like she whispered electricity into me, my insides fluttering in a weird way. I couldn’t help but cheese. I couldn’t help but stand up straighter, roll my shoulders back like Momly always be saying, and if she was here, she would’ve said it again. To walk like there’s nothing on my back. No weight. And today, that’s what I felt like. Then, and I didn’t see this coming, Ma glanced down at my fingers. And then the glance became a stare. My nails! Uh-oh. And I snatched my hands from her with the quickness and tried to get going.

  “Let’s go, y’all,” I said, scurrying and rallying Cotton and Maddy, taking my bag back from her. And as the three of us headed toward the park, Ma called out to me.

  “Patina!” No. No. Please, not right now. Not today. Not here. Not before the race. I turned around, because if I didn’t, it was only going to be worse. “I like your nails.” She smiled wide, still rolled her eyes just a little, and wiggled her fingers in the air.

  I threw my duffel back over my shoulder and we headed toward all the action, my face feeling like a bright star.

  “Okay, Defenders, here we are, back on the battleground—” Coach was starting strong on his windup speech, when he glanced at me. I was sitting on my butt doing butterfly stretches with the rest of the team. “Nice hair, Patty. Different,” he said, which of course caused a few giggles, the loudest coming from corny Curron. Whatever. “The lineup will be the same as it was last week, which means relays are up first.” First? We were up first? My mind flashed to last week’s meet. Not just the whole second-place thing, but also the fact that during the girls’ 4x800 relay, one team dropped the baton. Yikes.

  After stretching, we went over to the benches, got our last-minute jitters out by adjusting our jerseys and tightening the drawstrings on our shorts. I checked my nails. No chips yet even after fooling with that wheelchair. Flo Jo perfect.

  Mrs. Margo, Coach’s wife, started handing out Gatorades. Lu’s mom, who’d been talking to my mom, was now bopping over with a Tupperware full of orange slices. “Hey, everybody!” she sang out. She been doing this—the oranges—since me and Lu ran for the Sparks. Then she was holding the container out toward me. “Hey, Patty-Patty.” Her voice only got scary-sounding when she was cheering for Lu. “Lu told me your auntie was in the hospital. Just talked to your mom about it. You know you can always come see me i
f you need to. I know you don’t live as close anymore, but I’m still Mrs. Richardson. You and Cotton still my girls.”

  I nodded thanks and waved off the oranges. I can’t eat oranges before a race. Too nervous.

  But at least I wasn’t first first. Boys’ 4x800 was. Curron, Mikey, Eric, and Freddy took the track and the rest of us erupted in cheers. They huddled together for a quick talk, and then Freddy headed to the starting line. The other guys stood by the side of the track until their leg was up. I watched closely, my heart kicking as if I was already out there. Freddy stretched his arms over his head, did a few jumps, readying himself. The other runners around him were doing the same. Then . . .

  On your mark, get set . . . Bang!

  They were off, Freddy keeping pace with the pack. No one broke out on the first lap, but on the second, Freddy and a kid from another team started to lead out. Mikey took his position on the starting line as Freddy rounded the final bend of the second lap and was about to take the straightaway. He was still neck and neck with the other kid. I glanced over at Coach, who had one finger in his mouth, gnawing on a nail. The red zone was coming up. The handoff.

  Now people began shouting at the top of their lungs as Freddy came charging into the handoff zone and Mikey broke out. We couldn’t hear him call “Stick!” but he must have because Mikey threw his arm back and two seconds later had the baton. The other teams did it the regular way, sort of, sidestepping and waiting for the runner to hand them the stick before taking off. Our coaches were right. This blind handoff would be the game changer.

  By the time the other second legs got their batons, Mikey had taken the lead. And his handoff to Eric was just as smooth, as was Eric’s to Curron, too. The other teams didn’t stand a chance; our boys smoked everyone. After we all finished screaming and cheering, I looked down the line at Coach. His finger was out of his mouth, and he was nodding. He caught my eye. You ready? he mouthed. Then he waved me and the other three girls over.