by Brenda Woods
I made a silent wish. Please send Athena back. Please.
7
ANOTHER WISH COMES TRUE
Three days of the first week of summer vacation had been spent at the rink, taking a class. I was never going to win any awards, but like Mom and Yaz finally convinced me, there is always room for improvement. The other days I helped Gam with her vegetable garden, and one day a week was set aside to spend with Poppy learning golf, which is much harder than it looks. Even my favorite thing, putting, takes what Poppy calls great skill.
The following Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. Mom had already left for the hospital, Gam and Poppy were sleeping in late in the spare bedroom where they stay on the nights Mom is on call, and Daisy was in the shower. I put my eye to the peephole and couldn’t believe my eyes.
Athena was back!
I screamed and threw open the door at the same time. “You’re back!”
We hugged and jumped up and down. “This wishing stuff is really working,” I told her.
“Wishing stuff?” Athena asked.
“I wished that you would come back,” I explained. “And you did.”
“Wishing had nothing to do with it, V,” Athena replied, and went on to tell me that she’d come back early because her mother had given birth to her baby brother more than a month ahead of time and her grandma wanted to be with her mom.
Because of the kind of doctor my mom is, a worry signal went off inside me. I didn’t want to start jumping for joy about Athena being back if there was a problem with her new brother. “Is the baby okay?” I asked.
“Healthy and cute,” Athena said.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Diogenes, after some Greek philosopher.” Athena’s parents are into ancient Greek stuff. “But everyone is calling him Dio. I wanted to name him a normal name like Evan or Blake.”
“But Dio sounds kinda cool,” I told her.
“Yeah, if you’re in Greece.”
“You’re really back! This is too awesome!” I yelled. And as I dragged her to my cave, I informed her, “I have a new family member, too.” I scooped up my kitten. “Introducing Hazel. Do you like the name?”
“I do. Plus she’s so adorable,” Athena gushed. “I want a kitty.”
“Just wish for one, like I did,” I told her. “I wish for stuff every night before I go to sleep.”
“You mean pray, right?”
“To God?” I asked.
“Of course, genius, who else?”
Unlike my family, Athena’s goes to church every Sunday and prays at mealtime. At my house, Mom mentions God sometimes and Daisy told me that when she was little, my mom and dad used to take her to church every Sunday. But after my dad died, Mom stopped going.
Athena changed the subject. “Did you notice my hair is lighter?” She flipped her hair with her hand.
It was, but only a few smidgens. I like the word smidgen. “It’s pretty.”
“My cousin in Athens did it for me. She put color on it to make it look sun-kissed. Does it look sun-kissed?”
I nodded.
Maybe if my hair were lighter, people would stop asking stupid questions. Maybe I’d look a little like Daisy and Mom. Maybe I’d be breathtaking.
“Could you color mine—make it sun-kissed?”
Athena stood behind me and fingered my curls.
“Okay,” she agreed. “It’ll look awesome. Trust me.”
• • •
The drugstore had so many kinds of hair dye, it was almost impossible to choose. I started getting a little nervous and wished Yaz were here to help. Finally, we decided on a color.
“This for your mother?” the checkout lady asked us.
Athena lied, “Yes,” and handed her the money.
When we got back to my house, I made a silent wish that Poppy was off doing his favorite thing, playing golf, but he was doing his second-favorite thing, cooking. “Where’ve you been, V?”
I clutched the bag with the hair color tightly. “At the drugstore . . . Gam said I could go.”
Poppy eyed the bag. “Whatcha got?”
Usually it takes me a while to dream up a lie, but this one just came right out. “Kitty stuff.”
“Oh,” he said, and went back to cooking. “Have a seat, little ladies. You’re just in time for lunch. I made my famous shrimp quesadillas.”
It smelled so good, we had to say yes. Hair coloring would have to wait.
When we were done, we helped with the dishes and were heading to my room when Poppy called out. He held up the bag from the drugstore. “Hey, V. You forgot your kitty stuff.” Something in the way he said it made me think he didn’t buy the lie.
And he was opening it up to peek inside when I took it from his hand. “Thanks, Poppy,” I said, smiling sweetly.
Athena laughed.
We cuddled Hazel and read the directions.
“We need something to mix the dye in,” Athena said.
That meant venturing back into the kitchen. I tiptoed down the hall. Lucky for me, Poppy was now in the family room, practicing on his indoor putting green and watching golf on TV.
I retrieved a bowl and small wooden spoon from the kitchen.
“It says if your hair is dark, you have to leave it on a little longer.”
“Okay.”
Athena parted my hair into four sections and said, “You sure have a lot of hair.”
“For real, huh?”
“And it’s so pretty and curly.”
“Duh.”
“Maybe I should call you Curly,” Athena joked.
“Not.”
Before long, my hair was covered with dye. We put on the plastic cap, and while we waited we played video games and yakked.
“Was Greece really pretty?” I asked.
“As pretty as Hawaii,” Athena claimed. “But my grandparents’ house is way up on the side of a hill, so there were a gazillion steps.”
“What did you do there?”
“We walked around some ancient ruins,” she answered.
“And what else?”
“I met a very awesome boy.”
“For real?” This was getting interesting.
“But he’s my first cousin.”
“Oh,” I replied disappointedly.
“But I met another cute boy, too.”
“And?”
Athena cackled. “Also my first cousin.”
“You are so lying,” I told her.
“Am not,” Athena declared.
I doubled over and belly laughed.
We looked at photos she had taken in Greece on the computer, including those of her two very cute boy cousins, and made a pinkie-finger pact to beg her parents and my mom to let me go with her next time she went.
After a while, I asked Athena, “It seems like it’s been a long time, doesn’t it?”
Athena glanced at her watch. “Oh no,” she blurted, yanked my arm, and led me to the sink. She rinsed out the dye, washed my hair, and said, “Hmm . . .”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I told her.
“It’s . . . different than I thought it would be.”
I sprang up and stared at myself in the mirror. “No! My hair! What happened to just sun-kissed?”
“Maybe we left it on too long,” Athena said nervously, “but I kinda like it. It’s sort of copper colored.”
“I don’t want copper hair!” I told Athena.
Athena tried hard to calm me down. “After we blow it dry and flat iron it, it should look cool.”
My mom’s going to murder me!
A knock on my bedroom door. “Violet?” It was Gam. Gam didn’t believe in closed doors unless you were a teenager. She turned the knob and cracked the door. “Violet?” she repeated.
&
nbsp; In a flash, I shut the door to my bathroom, quickly wrapped a towel turban style around my head, and frantically hid the hair stuff in the vanity. “We’re in the bathroom. Athena is doing my hair,” I hollered out.
“What’s that smell?” Gam asked as she gently pushed the bathroom door open. “Hi, Athena,” Gam added, sniffing the room.
“It’s a new hair product . . . from Greece,” Athena said.
“Or maybe the kitty litter,” I added.
Gam glanced at Hazel, who was resting comfortably on the bed, and sniffed again. “Maybe that’s it.”
“Athena is going to flat iron it straight.” I scooted past Gam and headed to Daisy’s room for the blow dryer and flat iron.
Gam protested, “But your curls are beautiful. I always wished I had curly hair.”
Athena chimed in again, “My mom claims we always want what we don’t have.”
“Maybe she’s right, but open the window for some fresh air,” Gam said as she left.
Athena turned me away from the mirror while she blew my hair dry and flat ironed it pin straight. “Wow, I never noticed it before . . . you really look like Daisy,” Athena proclaimed.
Finally, someone noticed the family resemblance! About that, I felt happy. I only hoped my hair wasn’t ruined.
Athena painted my lips with her pink lip gloss and turned me around to the mirror.
Now that my hair was dry, it was orange. I felt like crying.
And that’s when my mom, Justine Diamond, M.D., knocked on my door. “I got off early, V. Want to go to the movies?”
I’m dead.
I hid in the closet.
“Hi, Justine,” Athena said.
“Oh! Hi, Athena. I thought you were in Greece.”
“No, I came back early because my mom had the baby and his name is Dio and he’s really cute and plus my grandma is here, too, so you should come over and see them when you get a chance.”
“I’ll do that,” Mom told her. “Where’s Violet?”
“In the closet.”
I sank to the floor, closed my eyes tightly, and silently wished that this wasn’t happening. But when I opened my eyes and looked at a section of my hair, which was still orange, I knew this wish had not been granted.
8
NOT EXACTLY WHAT I WAS EXPECTING
Silence as the closet door opened wide.
Mom stared at me like I was a creature from another galaxy.
“Hi,” I whispered.
Athena bounced up off the bed. “I should be going.”
“Yes, you should be going, Athena,” Mom told her.
Athena left and Mom closed the door behind her. Her face looked like she’d been stung by a bee. “What? Why?” she asked.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be this color.”
“What were you expecting?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno . . . for it to be lighter. I just wanted to look like you and Daisy.”
Mom plopped on the bed. “You do look like me and Daisy.”
“Not to me I don’t.” I paused for a few seconds and added, “And I wanted to be beautiful.”
Mom stood up, came over to the closet, and pulled me up. She put her arms around me and hugged me. “You are beautiful, V.”
“It’s just sometimes I wish we all looked the same, Mom.”
Mom held my face in her hands. “There are two beautiful sides to you, the black side and the white side.”
“But all I know is the white side.”
Her face got that stung-by-a-bee look again.
Mom glanced over at my photo wall, stared at the big photo of my father, and started to cry. “Your father, Warren, was the dearest man I ever knew. Sometimes when I look at you, I can see him, especially when you smile. You were his gift to me . . . a part of him that lives on. I wish you had known him.”
So do I.
• • •
I expected Daisy to laugh when she saw me, but all she did was inspect my hair and ask, “What were you thinking? You had such great hair and you probably ruined it.”
“Athena said it would look . . . sun-kissed.”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “But what did your inner voice tell you?”
“My inner voice? What’s that?”
“That thing inside that warns you,” she replied.
“Oh, that.”
Daisy placed her hand on her hip. “Well?”
“It said . . . maybe this is a bad idea. But I didn’t listen and went ahead anyway.”
“And paid the price,” Daisy said.
“Yep.”
Daisy ran her fingers through my damaged hair again. “Huge mistake. Listen to your inner voice, li’l sis, promets?”
“Huh?”
“Promise?” Daisy said.
“Promise,” I replied.
Gam frantically called her beauty salon. They were booked solid for the rest of the day, and tomorrow was Sunday. Nine a.m. Monday was the best they could do.
“Kitty stuff, huh?” Poppy asked with a wink.
Why did I suddenly feel like I was the only one in the family who had ever made a mistake?
I wish they would all disappear.
9
THE UNIVERSE OF VIOLET DIAMOND TAKES A SWERVE
Against the rules, I locked myself up in my room and barricaded the door with my nightstand. I put my earphones in, turned on my iPod, and held Hazel close to my heart. The day passed.
“Pizza’s here!” Poppy knocked and yelled. It was almost dark out.
“Not hungry!”
A few minutes later, another knock.
“Go away! I’m not coming out of my room!”
This time it was Mom. “Pepperoni. Get it while it’s hot . . . some juice, too. I’ll leave it by the door,” she said.
“I hate cold pizza,” I told Hazel as I grabbed the pizza and juice bottle. And much later, when I figured everyone was asleep, I headed to the kitchen to feed my kitty. But on the way back to my room, I heard voices. Mom and Gam were talking in Mom’s bedroom. I heard my name, so I stood there and eavesdropped.
“Haven’t I always taught Violet about African American history?”
“Don’t take this so personally, Justine. This is normal kid stuff. You’re making it a race issue.”
As if Mom hadn’t heard her, she asked more questions. “Haven’t I encouraged her to be friends with Yaz and her family? And taken her to the Dance Theatre of Harlem and Alvin Ailey? And don’t we spend almost every Thanksgiving with the Nevilles?”
Mrs. Neville was Mom’s good friend from work who’s a speech therapist—and black.
“Stop it, Justine.”
“It’s not enough, is it? I should be doing more. Maybe we should move back to Seattle so she’s not so isolated. It’s my fault. She only knows the white side. That’s what she told me,” Mom said tearfully.
“It’s true, Justine. But it’s not your fault.”
“I’m calling her again.”
Who was her? I wondered.
“You sure that’s wise? She never returns your phone messages or answers your cards or letters.”
“She’s Warren’s mother. I want Violet to know her.”
“She knows where to find you. All this nonsense because her son married a white woman.”
“There’s more to it than that and you know it,” Mom said.
“Justine! The accident was not your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” Mom sobbed.
“Hush,” Gam whispered.
Silence followed.
Quieter than a mouse, I tiptoed down the hall to my room, closed the door, and plopped on the bed. The accident was her fault? I’d never heard anyone say that before. What had happened? Hazel nuzzled my pant leg, so I picked her up. “What
else don’t I know?” I asked out loud.
The accident was her fault? The question repeated over and over in my head. I got up and stared at my father’s photograph on my photo wall.
Then my eyes shifted to our family reunion pictures from past summers. The white faces of Mom’s family, my aunts/uncles/cousins, stared back at me. It’s always easy to pick me out, the only brown person. Just like in my class pictures.
Next, I looked at the photograph of my dad’s mother and father that hangs right next to his. I knew my father’s dad had died while my dad was in medical school. He and my father almost looked like twins. Finally, I examined the her Mom and Gam must have been talking about, my father’s mother—my other grandmother, Roxanne Diamond.
My middle name is Roxanne, after her, but I’ve never met her or even talked to her on the phone. And when I was little, I used to wonder about why I never got to see her. Whenever I asked, I got answers from Mom like “she travels a lot” or “she’s living in Europe.” So, after a while, I just stopped asking. The way no one ever mentioned her name, it was as if Roxanne Diamond was kind of dead.
Even if she is mad at my mom, doesn’t Roxanne Diamond at least care about me?
Gloomy clouds got in my mind again and I felt sorry for myself. I had every right to, didn’t I?
Daisy’s grandparents on her father’s side are always sending her cards and presents and stuff, and almost every Christmas either Daisy goes to Connecticut for two weeks or they come to Washington to spend time with her. Plus, Athena spends every other summer in Greece with her grandparents. That’s what grandparents are supposed to do, right?
I turned on my computer, and as I’d done a few times before, but not lately, I searched for the name Roxanne Diamond.
Thousands of results popped up. Quickly, I went to her website. She had new stuff on her pages, mostly photographs. A photo of her at a gallery stared back at me. She looked a lot older than the picture that’s on my wall, but it was definitely her. My grandmother, Roxanne Kamaria Diamond, the famous artist. Recently, it said, she’d moved back to California.