The Next To Last Mistake

by Jahn, Amalie

  “I don’t remember anything specific. Why?”

  She sighs heavily. “You gotta be careful who you talk to around here. Some a these girls ‘ill spit on ya as soon as look atcha.”

  I smile. It’s funny how wherever you go, there are always those people. “I know about mean girls,” I tell her as we come to a stairwell. “We have them in Iowa, too.”

  She shakes her head. “Oh no, you don’t either. You don’t have girls like this. They’ll eat an innocent little thing like you alive. Triflin’ heifers, the lot of ‘em.”

  Hearing this makes me cringe, but then again, it’s nice to know she sees herself in opposition to those who would be interested in consuming me. I open my mouth to admit how out of place I feel but decide against it. The last thing I want is to be labeled as some sort of outcast on my first day.

  “The girl seemed pretty nice. She gave me gum.” I say finally. “Hopefully we’ll see her again today, and I can point her out.”

  Leonetta grunts as we start up the stairs, and I don’t know if she’s grunting at me or from overexertion, but I pretend not to notice and follow behind, discreetly checking the stairwell sign. Number seven isn’t somewhere we’ve been before. I sidle up beside her at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey. By the way. I might need your help getting around again tomorrow because I have no idea how we got to first period.” I look around and notice we’re in yet another unfamiliar hallway. “In fact,” I continue, “I have no idea where we are now.”

  “Were you homeschooled or somethin’ before this?”

  I can’t help but smile at the notion. “No,” I tell her. “But my high school was small. Like way smaller than this. They should really give new students a map or something to help navigate this place. Otherwise, I may end up locked in some decommissioned mop closet never to be heard from again.”

  She laughs aloud, presumably at my joke and not at the image of my decaying body in a closet. Her loud, guttural guffaw takes me by surprise but also works to ease my fears. Is it possible I’m making my first friend?

  “Don’t worry about finding your way,” she says. “I’ll walk you around for as long as you need. It’s all part of my job.” The tone of her voice suggests she’s relieved by the premise of an extended assignment, and it strikes me that the benefits of our pairing might not be one-sided. Perhaps Mrs. Fields saw me as a good match for Leonetta as well.

  “You involved in any clubs?” she asks as we continue to second period.

  “I was in the chess club back home. Or, back in Iowa,” I say, correcting myself. I wonder how long it will take before I stop thinking of Iowa as home.

  “My dad tried to teach me to play as a kid, but I never got the hang of it.”

  “My dad taught me,” I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “I can totally teach you.”

  “That’d be cool,” she says with a smile.

  “Is there a chess club here?”

  She shrugs. “Not that I know of, but there could be. If not, you could always join the gospel choir with me. Do you sing?”

  “Only in the shower,” I tell her.

  We arrive at Mr. Hogan’s second-period chemistry class and file in with the rest of our classmates. Just inside the door, I spot the Orbitz girl from American History, and I nudge Leonetta to get her attention.

  “There’s the girl from the other class,” I say, motioning toward her with my eyes as nonchalantly as I can. “The one who sat beside me.”

  Leonetta smiles. “Oh, that’s Alice. She’s good people. Lucky break,” she says. “Come on. Let’s get you a seat.”

  Because it’s chemistry, the class is paired at lab tables, but unfortunately for me, everyone’s already matched. Leonetta leads me to the front of the room and introduces me to Mr. Hogan, a bald, doughy man wearing a pair of quirky horned-rimmed glasses and a bow tie. He shakes my hand and issues me a tray of lab equipment.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tess. We’ve got a group of three,” he says, pointing to a table in the back corner of the room, “so one of them will need to break off to partner with you.”

  Leonetta squeezes my arm, and by the looks on the faces of the three girls I’m about to divide, this is not going to end well.

  “Tess can partner with me and Desean,” she offers, her voice desperate.

  “No. No, that’s silly. Working in pairs makes things easier.” He raises his voice to call across the room. “Monika, come join Tess up front here at this empty table,” he instructs.

  There’s an audible groan from Monika as she snatches her bag off the floor and waves begrudgingly to her former partners. She struts to the front of the room, glaring daggers at me, and I can tell she’s definitely one of the girls Leonetta warned me about.

  We sit side-by-side for the entire class period without looking at one another. Her anger is palpable, radiating from every pore in her body, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t glance in my direction. And she definitely does not offer me a piece of gum.

  *

  By the end of class, I’m sweating profusely, perspiration pooling under my armpits as if I’ve been mucking stalls for five hours in the middle of July. The stress of sitting next to Monika made it difficult to concentrate on Mr. Hogan’s explanation of covalent bonds, and I’m beyond relieved to see Leonetta waiting for me outside the door after the bell.

  “Oh, girl,” she says. “I was hoping he wouldn’t do that, but he did, and you got stuck by the worst of them. Monika is the most triflin’ of the heifers.”

  “I noticed,” I say.

  “It wasn’t such a big deal today on a-count-a we weren’t doing any lab work, but once you have to work together on an assignment, you’re gonna have to watch out. That girl’ll sabotage you. Seen her do it before.”

  I don’t know whether I should be grateful or disheartened by her overtly honest opinion of my situation. I decide, as we lumber along through the throng of students on their way to third period, it’s probably better to know the truth so I can prepare myself for the worst.

  Leonetta’s trying to tell me something more about Monika, but the hallway seems busier than it was at the previous class change, and before long we’re overtaken by the mob, separating us from one another.

  Luckily, I find her waiting for me at the next stairwell where she explains about the overcrowding. “First lunch is at the beginning of this period. We go in the middle of class with second lunch, and third shift goes at the end. That’s why it’s so crazy. Folks can’t wait to get their lunch on.” She stops suddenly halfway down the steps as if she’s forgotten something important. “Did you pack or are you gonna buy?”

  I pat my back pocket where I stashed the five-dollar bill Dad left me on the kitchen counter. “I’m buying.”

  She nods approvingly. “Okay. That’s good. Make sure you stay with me through the line, though. That way Cecilia’ll give you the good stuff.”

  “Is there bad stuff?” I ask, although I’m not sure I want to know.

  “Let’s just say there’s the stuff the school system buys for us to eat, and then there’s the stuff Cecilia fixes. You will never eat another slice of cold, greasy school pizza again.”

  Although I don’t necessarily mind the rectangular anomaly that is school pizza, my stomach is already grumbling for lunch, and I’m eager for class to get underway.

  “Anything I need to know about this class?” I ask, following her into the room.

  She shakes her head. “Nah. Not really. This is English with Mrs. Alexander. Her husband is stationed at Bragg. He’s a colonel, I think. Anyway, she’s real nice, but this is her last year, so don’t get too attached.” We take two seats next to each other in the front row. “You like to read?” she asks, and I remember she was reading Girl with a Pearl Earring while she waited for me in the office.

  “I do,” I tell her, “but back home, on the farm, there wasn’t a lot of time for it. I mean, I read for my assignments and all, but there’s always a lot
of work to do on a farm.” I don’t add that any free time I did get was usually spent playing chess with Zander.

  “Oh,” she says. The disappointment in her voice makes me wish I had some literary point of reference to relate.

  “What are you reading in here?” I ask.

  “A Raisin in the Sun.”

  My heart leaps since it’s something I’ve read. “Lorraine Hansberry, right? About the Younger family and the insurance check and trying to decide what to do with the money?”

  “Yeah. That’s the one,” she says. “Have you read it?”

  I nod. “And I loved it. What about you?”

  Before she can answer, Mrs. Alexander appears at the front of the room, wearing a cheery sundress and a welcoming smile on her face.

  “Ah! You must be Tess,” she exclaims, seeing me in the front of the room. “Welcome to Hopkins. I’m glad you’ve met Leonetta.” She gives her a wink. “How’s your day been so far?”

  It’s easy to understand why Leonetta likes her, and I admit, to both her and myself, my day’s been fine.

  “Well, let me get you set up with our anthology,” she calls over her shoulder as she scoots down an aisle to the back of the room, her head of corkscrew curls bouncing with every step. “The rest of you turn to page 191, and we’ll pick up where we left off Friday, discussing the symbolism of Mama’s plant.”

  The first half of class flies by, with Leonetta contributing to most, if not all, of the discussion. I watch her light up as she shares her opinion about how the plant is the only thing the family has left, but the mother still nurtures it despite a lack of sunlight in the hopes of sustaining its life. It seems as though, somehow, the nurturing aspect of the symbolism is something she relates to, but before I have time to consider it further, the bell rings, and it’s time for lunch.

  Instead of bolting out the door with the rest of the class, Leonetta hangs back as everyone else funnels into the hallway. Once they’re gone, she approaches Mrs. Alexander’s desk.

  “What can I do for you, The Divine Miss L?” Mrs. Alexander asks.

  Leonetta crimsons in response to the teacher’s pet name, the affection between them undeniable.

  “Mrs. A, I was wondering, do we have a chess club here at school?”

  My breath catches in my throat and I hold it, realizing immediately the significance of this moment.

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Alexander glances out the window, trying to recall. “I don’t think so,” she says finally. “But I’m happy to find out. Why do you ask?”

  Leonetta motions in my direction. “Tess was in a chess club at her school back in Iowa, and I thought maybe she could join one here, too.”

  Our teacher nods. “That’s a lovely idea. And Tess, if you want, you’re welcome to join my literature circle as well. We meet after school on Tuesdays. Leonetta here is actually one of our founding members.”

  Leonetta looks at me, the pride visible in the broadness of her smile. “You should definitely come.”

  I don’t know her well enough to speculate about the nature of her invitation—whether she’s just an inclusive sort of person or if she genuinely wants me around. Either way, I’m grateful, so of course, I accept her offer.

  *

  By the time we make it to lunch, the cafeteria is jam-packed, the serving line extending most of the room’s length.

  “Holy crap,” I say, “how are we ever gonna make it through this line with enough time to actually eat?”

  Leonetta ushers me quickly to the end of the line and hands me a tray. “It moves fast,” she tells me. “Plus, Cecelia will take care of us.”

  As we shuffle toward the counter, I glance around the cafeteria and am struck by the pronounced segregation. There are large groups of black students huddled together, and interspersed between them, smaller pockets of white, Latino, and Asian students as well, each isolated from the next. It’s like back at East Chester with the jocks and the brains and the stoners. Only here at Hopkins, it seems as though race is the great divider, some sort of voluntary isolationism. Watching the close-knit groups makes me all the more grateful to have Leonetta by my side.

  True to her word, three minutes later, we’re already to the serving portion of the line. She leans down to whisper in my ear. “See the woman with the hot pink hair net on the end there? That’s Cecilia. Don’t take any food from anybody else ‘til we get to her. Follow my lead.”

  I shake my head as each of the other cafeteria workers offers me the standard fare: corn dog nuggets, tater tots, Salisbury steak. Finally, we reach the end of the line, my tray still empty.

  “Two plates today, Cecilia,” Leonetta tells the woman. “One for me and one for Tess. She just got here from Iowa.”

  Cecilia grins at me, as if I’ve just been let in on the world’s best secret. “Oh lawd, girls, are you in for a treat today,” she says over her shoulder as she shuffles off into the kitchen. A minute later she returns with two steaming plates of food. “Pork chop, collards, and homemade macaroni salad,” she says, handing them to us. “Woulda had some biscuits, too, Netta, but our flour delivery got delayed this week. Anyway, y’all enjoy. And it’s nice to meet ya, Tess. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you around.”

  I thank her and follow Leonetta to the seating area, which I’m discouraged to discover has limited availability. I figure, though, she probably has a place she always sits, like Zander and I did back at East Chester.

  I glance around for a familiar face, realizing how strange it is that she hasn’t introduced me to any of her friends. Is it possible she doesn’t have any?

  Does she typically eat alone?

  I’m still pondering her seemingly isolated existence as we make our way to what appears to be the last two open seats, nestled squarely between the wrestling team and mathletes. Taking my seat, I laugh quietly to myself, disbelieving of the irony in traveling 1,200 miles only to find the exact same kids I left behind—the jocks and the geeks—and am both annoyed and comforted by the universality of cliques.

  The pork chop appears to have been marinated in an unfamiliar spice, so I pick it up with my fingers to examine it more closely before tearing off a tentative bite with my teeth. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” I say. “What’s on it?”

  Beside me, Leonetta uses her utensils to cut off a corner of the chop. She shrugs. “Dunno. Cecilia won’t share her recipes with anybody. Says they’re her great-great-great grandmomma’s recipes from when she was a slave down in Louisiana, and she’s probably gonna take ‘em to the grave with her.”

  “Well, that would be a tragedy because this is delicious,” I say through a mouthful of my second bite.

  “You oughta try the collards,” she says. “And don’t worry, ‘cuz she’s already put in the perfect amount of Tabasco. You won’t need more.”

  I stop chewing, holding my chop in mid-air. “What’s Tabasco?”

  Now she’s the one who stops eating. “You kiddin’.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve never heard of it before.”

  She laughs aloud, and I’m afraid she’s going to spit her food across the table. “Girl, you sure got a lot to learn about livin’ in the South.” She clears her throat in mock seriousness. “Number One: Thou shalt douse Tabasco, also known as hot sauce, on pretty much everything, including, but not limited to, eggs, chicken, collards, and jambalaya.”

  “Should I be writing this down?” I ask.

  She nudges me in the arm with her shoulder. “Just try the collards,” she says.

  The collards are bitter and spicy, and I’ve almost convinced myself I don’t like them when I take another small bite to appease Leonetta who’s watching me with rapt anticipation. By the third bite, the richness of the flavors begins to grow on me and before long, I’ve cleaned my plate.

  “So, Tabasco,” she says, grinning through a mouthful of her own collards.

  “It’s the heat, right?”

  “Yes, the heat.”

  We chat together for a f
ew minutes about my friends back in Iowa before I decide to ask about her typical seating arrangements. “Am I keeping you from sitting at your regular spot?”

  She shakes her head but doesn’t look up from her food.

  “Oh,” I say. “Then who do you usually eat with?”

  She bows her head, wiping her face with her paper napkin to keep from welling up. I mentally slap myself for saying anything. “I’m sorry,” I say before she’s able to respond.

  “No. It’s fine. It’s just that recently, I’ve been sittin’ by myself, readin’ my book. But I used to sit with my best friend, Tanya. We met at the end of eighth grade and spent two and a half years together here. But her family PCS’d right after Thanksgiving.”

  “PCS’d?”

  “It stands for a ‘permanent change of station.’ They were military and she moved away, just like you.”

  Immediately, I think of Zander. About how I permanently changed my station, leaving him behind. But unlike Leonetta, he isn’t completely alone. He has the guys.

  My heart aches for her, and I struggle for the words to make it better. “Well, you’ve got a new lunch partner now if you’ll have me,” I tell her. When she finally looks up, I don’t know whose smile is bigger, mine or hers.

  *

  After lunch, Leonetta drags me into the hall, insisting I be the one to lead her back to English. We’re both surprised when I’m able to get there without making a single wrong turn.

  “You’ll know this building like the back of your hand by the end of the week,” she tells me as we take our seats together at the front of the room.

  By the end of class, we’ve finished our dissection of A Raisin in the Sun, and after Mrs. Alexander assigns our reading homework for the night, she stops us as we’re filing into the hall.

  “I asked some of the other teachers in the faculty room about a chess club, and we don’t have one,” she tells me. “But I bet Mr. Wilson might be willing to sponsor you if you’re interested in establishing one.”

  “Mr. Wilson’s our geometry teacher,” Leonetta tells me. “We’re heading there now. He’s really nice and really smart. He stays after school most days to tutor kids who need extra help, so I bet he’d let you hang out and play chess in the back of his room if you want.”