by Jahn, Amalie
Just as Zander and I were relegated to the corner of the library back at East Chester, I’ll be facing the same partitioned existence here. Apparently, regardless of the locale, chess doesn’t take priority on anyone’s hierarchy of afterschool activities.
I thank Mrs. Alexander, and Leonetta leads me to geometry, where I notice Orbitz-girl Alice sitting beside another girl I recognize from English. Their heads are knitted together across the aisle and they’re engrossed in conversation over a small spiral-bound notebook.
“Who’s the girl talking to Alice?” I whisper to Leonetta as we weave our way down the row in their direction.
“Summer Phillips,” she says. “Why?”
“Is she nice?”
She shrugs. “Don’t really know her that well. Why?” she asks again.
We snag two seats behind them and without thinking I say, “She and Alice are the only interracial friends I’ve seen today, that’s all.” It doesn’t occur to me until I hear it coming out of my mouth how my comment might be misconstrued, but before I have a chance to explain myself, Mr. Wilson strolls in. Craning my neck to properly view his face, he reminds of the basketball players Dad and I watch during March Madness—unimaginably tall and thin, with hands the size of dinner plates.
“What’s going on, Geometry?” he calls to the class, illuminating the smart board at the front of the room to reveal what I assume are the answers to the weekend’s homework assignment. “Check your proofs quickly and holler at me if you have any questions. One similar to number six threw a bunch of you last week, so hit me up if you’re still having trouble with triangle bisection.”
Alice and Summer have stashed away their notebook and are now checking their assignments with the rest of the class. Alice raises her hand, and as Mr. Wilson lumbers over to her desk he notices me.
“Overheard we were gettin’ a new addition today,” he says with a smile, teeth gleaming. He leans down, practically bending himself in half to shake my hand. “You’re Tess, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good to have you,” he says. “If you have time after school today, I’d love to chat with you about your situation.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Sir?”
He smiles again, explaining further. “You know, to get an idea of what you’ve been taught so far this year at your old school, to check for gaps between what we’re studying now and what you already know. Geometry-wise,” he adds.
“After school today?”
He nods. “Or tomorrow. Or anytime this week. Before school even, if that would work better for you.”
Ashley’s expecting me to be home after school today and will probably worry if I don’t show up. And I’m already looking forward to Mrs. Alexander’s literature circle tomorrow afternoon.
“I was actually taking Algebra II back in Iowa, but none of the Algebra classes fit into my schedule here so I guess they just put me in geometry and figured I’d catch up.”
His eyes widen. “Catch up? What are these guidance counselors even thinking? Dear Lord, we definitely need to talk, Tess. The sooner the better.”
“Do you think we can meet after school on Wednesday?”
He nods. “I’ll clear my schedule.”
As we’ve been talking, Alice has completely turned around in her seat and is now watching us intently. For a second, I think she’s upset that I’ve kept Mr. Wilson from answering her question, but her curious expression confirms she isn’t annoyed by the delay. Once we’re through, she speaks with him briefly, and as he ambles back toward the front of the room, she swivels around to face me again.
“You’ve never taken geometry before?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“But you already know what we’re covering in history?”
“Right,” I say, wondering what she’s getting at.
“How would you feel about tutoring one another?”
Her question takes me by surprise. “Really?”
She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “I’m practically failing history because Ms. Kenshaw’s such a craptastic teacher, and it’s killing my GPA. I’m a wiz at geometry, though, so I was thinking maybe we can help each other out. I work after school at Krispy Kreme but maybe we could get together at night or on the weekends or something?”
The desperation in her voice is unmistakable, and I’m definitely going to need the help in math.
“Sure. Let’s do it,” I say.
“You’re the best,” she replies enthusiastically, ripping a sheet of paper from her notebook. “This is my cell.” She hands me the paper which includes her name, the ten digits of her phone number and a heart, all hastily penned in her flowing script. “Call or text me tonight, after seven,” she says.
I open my mouth to respond, but Mr. Wilson’s at the board now, explaining the proof for an isosceles triangle on the coordinate plane. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I begin taking notes with the others just the same. Halfway through the explanation, I must be exceptionally focused because when Leonetta snatches Alice’s sheet off my desk, I nearly jump out of my seat. I don’t have time to ask what she’s doing because a moment later she returns the paper, sliding it beneath my notes. Now her name and number appear beside Alice’s in large block letters.
I turn to acknowledge the gesture and find her eyeing me expectantly as if she’s overstepped some unspoken boundary and is now second-guessing herself. I tear a corner off the bottom of the sheet, scribble my own digits, and slip the note back onto her desk. She returns my smile, visibly relieved.
After the exchange, class plods along through a blurry fog of confusion, and I’m relieved when the bell at the end of class also signals the end of the school day. Students flood into the hallways, more rambunctious now than they were at the start.
“You survived,” Leonetta says as we shove our way toward the student parking lot.
“It was good,” I admit, surprised by how good it actually was.
“I’m glad,” she says. “And hey, if you want I’ll text you tonight, and we can go through your Chromebook together to make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
We already discovered my Quizlet login doesn’t work, so there are bound to be other issues. “That’d be awesome,” I tell her. “Thanks. And you can text me anytime. I literally have nothing going on.”
“Okay.” She hesitates then, chewing the inside of her cheek. “You want me to meet you in the office again tomorrow morning?”
There’s a hopeful edge to her voice, but I really want to see if I can make it on my own. “How about if we meet at Ms. Krenshaw’s. I’ll try to get there by myself, but if I don’t make it by the warning bell, come look for me in the office.”
She agrees, and as we go our separate ways, she to her car and me to mine, and I’m struck by how easy spending the day together was. How effortless. How despite our obvious differences, we somehow managed to discover common threads between us, creating a tentative connection. In light of this observation, as I pull out of the parking lot, I’m forced to acknowledge that maybe fitting in here won’t be as difficult as I thought, and for the first time since November, I’m no longer dreading the days to come.
chapter 8
Go-Kart
Thursday, January 10
The sky fades from blue and red into a vivid shade of violet as Ashley, Dad, and I stand in the driveway waiting for Mom to arrive.
“How far out was she?” Ashley asks, pulling her sweater tightly across her chest.
“She called from Sanford about forty-five minutes ago, so unless she’s lost, she should be here any minute.”
It’s clear from the way she’s pacing Ashley’s impatient to go back in the house, but Dad already made it clear we’re to wait outside for Mom’s arrival. She’s scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the front stoop as Mom’s Jeep Wrangler rounds the corner at the end of the street.
“She’s here!” Ashley cries, racing across the l
awn in her direction.
Dad waves furiously as she pulls into the driveway, opens the driver’s side door, and throws herself into his waiting arms. Watching their embrace is awkward, and I can’t help but feel as if their reunion should be in private and not out on the driveway for the whole neighborhood to see. Despite my mortification, however, the two of them seem completely unfazed by their public display of affection.
“I don’t know how I’m going to handle being apart for months at a time,” Mom murmurs into his chest. “It was hard being away from you. I’m not sure this was such a good idea.”
Dad tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and whispers something as he gathers her under his arm and leads her toward the house. It’s an act I’ve witnessed between them hundreds of times, but on this occasion, it feels strangely sacred, a reminder to pay special attention to the joy they take in simply sharing the same space. “Girls,” he calls over his shoulder from the door, as if he’s suddenly remembered we’re there, “come show Mom around.”
Inside the front door, Mom embraces us both, first Ashley, then me. “After you’ve given me the grand tour, I want to hear all about the first week at your new schools,” she says to us.
The tour, as it turns out, isn’t so much grand as it is short, and after Mom gives her Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval to our new digs, we all end up in the kitchen: Dad perched on the kitchen counter, Mom leaning against the fridge, and Ashley and I on the floor with our backs against the wall where the table should be.
“The school is huge,” Ashley’s telling her. “I have like thirty-one kids in my homeroom and there’s barely enough seats for everyone. I already met these three girls, Kenna and Madison and Jillian, and we’re all going to the base movie theater tomorrow night. They go every weekend. It’s only a dollar, and Dad already said I can go. Madison’s mom is driving us.”
“What’s the movie?” Mom asks, giving Dad a small smile and a wink, which is code for ‘I told you so.’ She’d known, despite the protests, Ashley would take to her new surroundings like a duck to water.
“We’re seeing the new Disney, but before you say I’ve already seen it, I haven’t seen it here, with these people, so I’m going.”
Mom feigns a defensive posture. “If Dad already said, then Dad already said. We all know his word is the law around here.” She’s joking but there’s the tiniest drop of pain in her voice. If he hears it, Dad doesn’t let on.
“Tell her about your school, Tess,” he pipes up, readjusting his position on the counter. “Tell her about chess club.”
Mom’s eyes brighten. “Do they have one you can join? A real one?”
I shake my head and begin explaining. “They don’t currently have one, but Mr. Wilson, my geometry teacher, said he’s willing to sponsor me if I want to start one. We can meet in his room after school, and he already did some research and found out there are a bunch of schools in Raleigh and Durham we might be able to compete against. Like, a real match and everything.”
“That’s terrific,” she says, yawning. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” She slides her back down the length of the refrigerator and crosses her legs beneath her on the floor. “Ashley told me about her friends, but what about you? Anyone new and exciting?”
She’s worried for me because it’s no secret I’ve never been particularly good at making friends. Every friend I had back in Iowa came to me via Zander. He was always the liaison.
“Actually, yeah,” I tell her. “The school paired me with a buddy which sounds totally middle school—no offense, Ashley—but it turns out the girl they put me with is very cool. Her name’s Leonetta.”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Interesting name.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling the need to come to Leonetta’s defense against my own mother’s judgment. “It’s actually a sweet story. Her dad’s name is Leon and since he never had a son to call Leon Jr., he decided to name his daughter Leonetta instead.”
She nods, considering this. “That is sweet, but there has to be more to this new friend of yours than her name, as unique as it may be. Is her family military?”
“No. They’re townies,” I tell her, remembering the word Leonetta used to describe the city’s permanent residents. Mom waits patiently while I consider other relevant information. Does it matter she’s physically the exact opposite of me? She’s tall and I’m short? She’s voluptuous and I’m a beanpole? She’s black and I’m white? Does it matter she wouldn’t last half an hour with Zander and I on the farm, repairing loose tractor gaskets and digging manure out of the cows’ hooves or that I don’t know the difference between a chittlin’ and a corn fritter? I decide immediately none of those things matter. What matters instead is how kind she’s been to me. The compassion she’s shown for the difficulty of my situation. How open and giving she’s been of herself, despite the fact we’re little more than strangers.
The first few days, a nagging voice in the back of my head kept trying to convince me she wasn’t being nice because she liked me—she was just taking her position as an ‘incoming student liaison’ a little too seriously. Now, though, I’m starting to believe she actually enjoys hanging out with me.
Maybe making new friends won’t be as hard as I thought.
I’m not ready to admit any of this to my family, though, so instead I say, “She’s super smart. Loves to read. She’s a part of this literature circle our English teacher, Mrs. Alexander, runs on Tuesday afternoons. She invited me to come with her, and it was actually a lot of fun. She’s also a part of the school’s gospel choir, and she asked me to join, but…”
“You can’t because you’re not black,” Ashley finishes for me.
I narrow my eyes, offended on more than one level. “I was going to say I’m not joining because I can’t sing. And for your information, anyone can join.”
“I think you sing beautifully,” Dad interrupts, in an obvious attempt to ward off a sibling dispute. “You sing to the herd all the time.”
I want to correct him. I want to remind him I sang to the herd, past tense. But I don’t, because what would be the point. Instead, I continue to fill Mom in on my week.
“Anyway, Leonetta’s coming over this weekend to help me set up all the apps on my Chromebook, and I hope you don’t mind, but I invited her to stay for dinner…”
“Can we order pizza?” Ashley asks.
“Sure. Now stop interrupting your sister,” she says, turning to me. “Go ahead, Tess.”
Ashley and I glower at one another before I continue. “There’s also this other girl named Alice. We’re in a couple of the same classes, and it turns out we could both use some help. So, I’m gonna be tutoring her in history, and she’s gonna be tutoring me in math. We’re planning to meet here a couple nights a week if that’s okay.”
“Fine with me,” Mom says, throwing a quick glance at Dad across the room. “It sounds like you’ve gotten off to a good start with these girls.”
“Yeah,” Dad adds. “You’re really lucking out in the friend department, huh?”
I consider Dad’s use of the word ‘luck.’ It probably was nothing more than plain, dumb luck that brought Leonetta and Alice to my doorstep, but at this point, I’ll take it.
“Oh, and speaking of friends,” Mom says. “I can’t believe I forgot, Tess. There’s something out in the car for you.”
She heaves herself off the linoleum floor and hurries outside, returning a moment later, envelope in hand. “The movers found this under the mat on the front porch. It’s got your name on it. I can’t imagine who it’s from.”
She’s being facetious, of course. The chicken scratch barely passing for legible handwriting is quite obviously Zander’s. I take the envelope, feigning disinterest, but the tiny smirk playing at the corner of Mom’s mouth suggests she sees through the façade.
I take a step out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna go…”
Dad lovingly rolls his eyes. “You’re excused,” he says, motioning with his hand
s toward the hallway.
I stretch out across the sleeping bag and air mattress, the lone furnishings occupying the center of my room. They’ve been acting as a makeshift bed in the absence of my own mattress and box spring which, along with the rest of my belongings, are due to arrive in the morning. I carefully slide my finger under the closed portion of the envelope, noting it’s sealed and not merely folded under. Whatever he’s written inside must be personal, and I consider tossing it aside without opening it. There’s got to be a reason he’s ignored every text and call I’ve made to him for the last week, and since I’m barely handling my own unsettled emotions, I’m not sure I’m ready to confront whatever excuses the letter might contain.
But a moment later, the envelope’s on the floor and a sheet of notebook paper, creased into three distinct sections, is in my hands. I unfold it and begin to read.
Hey Tess –
I watched the movers at your house last night from our tree and saw them taking out the TV and the sofa and your dad’s recliner. It was weird, watching them deconstruct your house, room by room, piece by piece. And every time they’d bring something out, I’d think to myself: remember when I used to sit on that with Tess or watch that with Tess or use that with Tess? I felt like a totally creepy stalker the whole time, and my dad kept hollering at me from the garage to help him fix our broken snow blower (I know, again, right?!) but I couldn’t tear myself away. It was like watching a car crash, I guess. You know it’s gonna be ugly but you can’t not look.
Anyway, I was still watching when they brought the go-kart you and I made in fourth grade outta the tool shed. Remember that thing? I’ll never forget how you negotiated with Mr. Yearling for that old lawn mower engine of his. You were like a flea market trader, bargaining him down to two days’ worth of weeding and raking for it. Back then I thought doing all the work wasn’t gonna be worth it, but it totally was. Now, when I think about that weekend, all I can remember is how much fun we had. The snake we found under the crawl space. The giant pile of leaves we burned in a barrel to roast hot dogs over. And until I was just now thinking about it, I’d forgotten the poison ivy I got all over my arms. Watching them drag the kart out made me remember all those afternoons we spent building it and all the fun we had driving it through the fields that fall.