Leaving Atlanta

by Tayari Jones

  She moved in the direction of the kind voice. She looked at the faces of the kids she passed, trying to figure out who had invited her.

  “Right here.”

  The offer had come from Octavia, the one the kids called the Watusi.

  Tasha hesitated; if she was the person that nobody liked right now, then Octavia was the person that nobody ever liked. If she sat with Octavia today, she could never eat with Monica and Forsythia again. Unpopularity was terribly contagious.

  “You don’t have to sit here,” said Octavia. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  Tasha set her tray down and slid onto the red stool. “No. I want to sit with you.”

  She shrugged as Tasha opened her milk carton.

  “Thank you,” Tasha said, eager to demonstrate that she was a person somebody could be nice to.

  Tasha watched Octavia pick translucent pieces of onion off of her slice of pizza. She should turn her attention to her own plate before Octavia looked up and said What you looking at? and sent her away. But Tasha was suddenly consumed with an intense curiosity about her new lunch partner. Octavia was black—black as night, Roderick had said, laughing. That’s why kids called her the Watusi, because she looked like a black African. Tasha had never really looked at Octavia closely enough to see more than that darkness. But now, two trays apart, Tasha saw that Octavia wasn’t ugly. Her hair was a mess, though. It was all trying to go back into one ponytail but the hair around the edges wasn’t long enough or straight enough to make it to the red rubber band; that hair stuck out around her face like the rays of the sun in a kid’s drawing. Last year, Mrs. Willingham got so tired of seeing Octavia come to school with her hair all over her head that she took her into the teacher’s lounge and plaited it herself. Or that’s what Monica had said. But she had also said that Octavia smelled worse than a black African because she didn’t have soap at home to wash with. But Octavia smelled like lemonade.

  Tasha carefully lifted the droopy rectangular slice of pizza to her mouth but put it down, embarrassed, observing Octavia cutting hers into neat triangles.

  “So why you not sitting with all your friends?” Octavia asked.

  Tasha shrugged and looked down at her green sectioned plate. “I don’t know.”

  Octavia gave Tasha a look that was so much like Mama’s that Tasha felt herself starting to confess in spite of herself. “Jashante wanted to be my relay partner and I said no. So then he pushed me down. I got up and said something bad to him and now everybody is mad with me.”

  Tasha waited for Octavia to finish chewing.

  “How come you didn’t want to be his partner?” she asked.

  Tasha didn’t say anything right away. Her big mouth had gotten her into enough trouble for this one day. And besides, the truth was humiliating now. She opened her mouth to say, “I didn’t want to run in the race with my good coat on,” when she noticed Octavia’s wrists protruding from the sleeves of her turtleneck sweater. When Tasha’s clothes started fitting like that, Mama would pack them up and send them to cousins in the country or to the Goodwill. How could she even mention fur-trimmed pink satin, now marked with red clay, to someone so obviously poor? Tasha couldn’t say anything in her own defense. She felt hopelessly lost and unsure. She wanted her father.

  “How come you didn’t want to be partners with Shante?” Octavia asked again. Her voice was challenging.

  “I just wasn’t feeling well. That’s all,” Tasha said.

  She had never been sadder. The tears came suddenly and deeply as the enormity of everything pressed her chest and stole her air. She cried for her father’s empty dresser drawers and the TV pictures that had brought him back. Her tears were for deserted playgrounds, clothes that didn’t look like they did in catalogs, and words that wouldn’t be taken back. There was no air. Her mouth was open but there was no noise. No air. Asphyxiation. Octavia was out of her seat, shaking her shoulder, shouting, “Mr. Harrell! Mr. Harrell!” Tasha inhaled. Lemonade.

  Mama came to pick Tasha up with the rapid worried clatter of heels against tile and the nervous jingle of keys.

  “Tasha—” She said her name almost like a question as she entered the sick bay and sat on the edge of the narrow bed.

  “Mama, it was such a bad day.”

  Mama pulled her onto her lap. Tasha was getting taller; her feet touched the ground as her mother rocked her gently. She smelled like coffee and peppermint. Tasha shut her eyes.

  Mama whispered to the nurse, “Where are her things?”

  “In her classroom,” the nurse replied, looking up from her paperback.

  “I don’t want to go in there,” Tasha said.

  “It’s okay,” Mama said, rubbing her back in tiny circles.

  “Will you stay home with me?” Mama was in charge of the payroll department at Pitman and Sons. She often complained that the whole place would fall apart if she took even a day off.

  “Of course I’ll stay with you.” Mama kissed the top of Tasha’s head.

  “Mr. Pitman said it was okay?”

  “You let me worry about Mr. Pitman. Family comes first.”

  Tasha closed her eyes until there was a tiny polite tap on the door.

  “Come in,” Mama said.

  Monica came in carrying Tasha’s book satchel. She put it on the cot.

  “Hello, Monica,” Mama said in a friendly voice.

  Tasha squeezed her eyes tight. There was nothing she could do to keep Monica from witnessing her curled up in her mother’s lap like a baby, but she didn’t have to see Monica seeing her.

  Mama felt Tasha stiffen and held her a little closer. Tasha never wanted to go to school again.

  Monica put the red-and-white satchel on the floor near the bed. “I hope you feel better, Tasha.”

  She didn’t open her eyes or reply, although she could feel Monica standing there, all innocent looking, waiting for some sort of response.

  There was another knock. Tasha wiggled from the warm lap. She wasn’t going to be humiliated twice.

  Octavia opened the door. She looked a little startled to see so many people in the cramped sick bay.

  “Her coat,” she said. “Monica left it.”

  Mama said, “Thank you, young lady.”

  Octavia returned the smile and then looked at the floor. “I got to go. I got to get this hall pass back before I get into trouble.”

  Monica, standing by the door, mashed her lips together as if it were taking all of her strength to keep from lying on the floor laughing and banging her fists like kids in cartoons. Tasha wished that Monica were as concerned about returning her hall pass.

  Mama said in the voice she used to talk to Tasha’s friends, “Thank you very much for bringing the coat.” Then to Tasha, “Is this nice young lady a friend of yours?”

  Monica looked like the force of laughter held in would make her eyeballs shoot from their sockets. Tasha hated Monica. After all, she was the cause of all of this. If it hadn’t been for Monica saying separated that day, none of this would be happening. And now, Monica standing by the door biting her lips was keeping Tasha from saying Mama, this is my new friend, Octavia.

  Monica made a sound like the first noise of laughter breaking free from her glued-together lips.

  “Is there a problem?” Mama asked Monica.

  “No’m,” Monica said.

  Mama said again, “Is this your friend?”

  “Kind of,” Tasha mumbled.

  Octavia hung the pink coat on the back of a chair. “I got to give the hall pass back,” she said.

  “Get well soon, Tasha,” Monica sang.

  Mama took the coat off the chair and helped Tasha into it.

  “Good gracious,” she said. “What happened to this coat?”

  “I fell,” Tasha said.

  “This isn’t going to come out,” Mama said, as if she were talking to herself. “I told him not to spend all that money.” She hit at the stain with her palm.

  “It’s ruined?” Tasha as
ked.

  Mama changed her tone. “Maybe not ruined. We might be able to get it where you can still wear it, but I doubt that we can get all that clay out.”

  She zipped Tasha into the coat and they stepped out into autumn.

  Monica came to class on Wednesday wearing a brand-new pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, a yellow blouse with a white collar, and even matching yellow-and-white tennis shoes. Balanced delicately in the palm of her hand were nine pink envelopes, the color of stomach medicine, fastened with magenta foil hearts: She was having a slumber party. For the past two weeks, Tasha had eavesdropped as Monica and Forsythia had revised the guest list at lunchtime, scratching off names and adding others. Tasha tried not to appear anxious as Monica shuffled the envelopes, moving this one or that one to the middle from the top of the stack, as if she were alphabetizing them.

  It was possible that one of the fancy envelopes had her name on it. After all, there were ten to be given out and Tasha had been very good friends with Monica up until last month. Hadn’t Monica and Forsythia both come to her birthday party last year? It was rude to get an invitation and not send one back. Mama had said that was a social obligation.

  Monica stood up and put one pink invitation on the corner of Forsythia’s desk. Tasha put a check beside For-sythia’s name on the list she had written, hoping to predict Monica’s choices. There were seven girls sure to be invited, but six more would have to compete for the remaining three slots. Tasha put a little star by those names to mean alternate like they did when they listed the girls who would be on the cheerleading team.

  Carmen Montgomery said sweetly, “Thank you, Monica,” as she peeled back the magenta heart on her envelope.

  Darn. Carmen was one of the alternates. As Monica came near, Tasha put her spelling book over her version of the list and tried to seem like she was too busy studying her words to be concerned over the possibility of receiving an invitation.

  Mr. Harrell’s sudden entrance sent Monica scurrying back to her chair. Her new sneakers squeaked as she scooted. Had she been heading Tasha’s way? It was possible. Even though Tasha had not been asked to sit at their table since that day she had gotten into it with Jashante, things had gotten better. Hadn’t they? Tasha didn’t have to eat lunch with Octavia anymore. Now she sat with Tayari, who was fun to sit with because she was really good at imitating people’s voices. Tayari was on the list of alternates.

  After lunch, Monica had only one invitation left. She didn’t even walk over to the lucky girl to deliver it. Instead, she handed it to the person next to her and whispered, “Pass it on.” The person looked at the name, written in big loops and circles, and gave it to the next kid. Each project girl who handled the pink rectangle made an annoyed sound as she fairly threw it along. The boys seemed uneasy and quickly sent the frilly thing on. Tasha kept her eye on the prize as it came her way; it had to pass two alternates before it got to her. Angelite Armstrong passed it to Tayari and it stopped.

  Maybe Tayari was just playing; after all, she was a cutup. Maybe she was going to hold it awhile, thank Monica in a funny voice, and then pass it on. Surely Monica and Forsythia weren’t still mad about what Tasha had said to Jashante. They couldn’t be. Monica had been the one who was talking about him living in the projects in the first place. And anyway, they didn’t even like Jashante. He didn’t eat lunch with them again after that first day. Part of it probably was that he hadn’t been to school that much this month. But when he was here last week, he sat with some other boys and didn’t even look over at Forsythia or Monica. Maybe he had forgotten all about that day. Tasha had said hi to him when she was on her way to the water fountain a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t say hi back, but he lifted his head up and jutted his chin a little bit to show that he had heard her.

  But what had Forsythia said that day? I never did like her. Monica had agreed. But that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. The two of them had been to her house. Twice. They might not like her now, but they used to. And they might still. Tayari needed to stop playing around—she was really immature sometimes—and just pass Tasha that pretty invitation.

  Tayari ripped open the envelope, not even bothering to save the sticky magenta heart. Tayari looked as surprised as Tasha. She spun her head on her neck, grinning so hard her molars showed. Tasha ran her finger down a column of spelling words, as if this week’s quiz were the reason she was on the brink of tears.

  “What’s the matter?” Daddy asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Monica’s having a party and Tasha didn’t get an invitation,” DeShaun said while stuffing the end of a hot dog into her mouth.

  “I thought Monica was your friend,” Daddy said.

  Where had he been for the last month? On Mars?

  “She used to be,” Tasha said.

  “Well,” Mama said brightly, “let’s all go bowling.”

  Bowling? Mama couldn’t possibly think a family outing would be an acceptable substitute for a party, could she?

  Daddy took a swallow of beer and said, “Tasha, if Monica doesn’t want you at her party, then she was never your friend in the first place. Don’t worry about it.”

  Tasha could tell from his tone that he was trying to be comforting, but she burst into tears anyway.

  Mama gave Daddy a see-what-you-did look and he gave back his confused what-did-I-do? glance. DeShaun slurped up the last of the soda. “Ahh!” she said, like people on commercials.

  Then, the phone rang. Mama answered.

  “Hello? Why hello, Ayana,” Mama stressed the name. She raised her eyebrows to say Do you feel like talking? Tasha nodded.

  “Tasha’s right here,” Mama said, looking to see if Tasha was composed. “So how are you liking middle school?” she asked.

  Tasha was hurriedly drying her eyes as if Ayana could see through the telephone wires.

  “Hey!” Ayana said, when Tasha finally got to the phone. “I thought your mama was going to talk me to death!”

  “She’s just real friendly,” Tasha said, feeling guilty that her mother had appeared inappropriately loquacious just to hide Tasha’s tears.

  “Anyway,” Ayana said. “I was just calling to see if you want to go with me to Skate Towne.”

  “Hold on,” Tasha said, covering the phone with her hand. “Can I go to Skate Towne with Ayana?”

  Mama said, “Who’s taking you?”

  “Ayana, Mama wants to know who’s taking us.”

  “Cookie.”

  “Cookie’s gonna drive us.”

  Cookie was Ayana’s seventeen-year-old cousin who wore lots of brass bangles that sounded like wind chimes when she walked.

  “What adult,” Mama said.

  “But you let Cookie take us that other time!” Tasha reminded her, hoping to establish precedent.

  “That was last year.”

  Tasha said into the phone, “My mama won’t let me go.”

  “Aw. Cookie says I can’t go unless I have someone to be with. She’s going to meet her boyfriend up there so she doesn’t want me hanging around her.”

  Tasha covered the phone again, “Pleeeeease.”

  Mama said, “Tasha, I’m just thinking about your safety.”

  “I’ll take them,” Daddy said, finishing his beer.

  Tasha wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not. She needed to bounce it off Ayana.

  “What if my daddy takes us?”

  Ayana thought about it for a minute. “Will he be actually trying to skate or is he just going to be there making sure we don’t get snatched or anything?”

  “Daddy, you’re not going to try to skate, are you?”

  He laughed. “You are not ashamed of your father, are you? No. I’m just going to play pinball or something.”

  Tasha said, “He doesn’t want to skate.”

  “Okay, he can come.”

  Daylight was almost gone by the time Tasha got dressed and ready to go. It was already dark when they got to Skate Towne. Daddy was complaining about the l
ighting.

  “With all these kids that are around here, they need to install some lights.” Daddy took Tasha’s hand like she was a little girl; this was a potentially embarrassing situation. “This don’t make no sense.”

  When they got to the window to pay the entry fee, the girl behind the counter said, “One dollar to get in. Two for skates.” She was about Cookie’s age, and very pretty, Tasha thought. That’s what she wanted to look like when she got to be a teenager.

  “Why is it so dark outside?” Daddy demanded.

  The pretty girl said something like, “Because it’s nighttime.”

  Daddy didn’t laugh. He lowered his eyebrows and said, “Excuse me, young lady?”

  She said, “I don’t know why it’s so dark out.”

  “I need to talk to a manager.”

  The girl disappeared from the window and came back with a man who was mostly bald. What hair he had left made a soft halo around the sides of his head.

  “Is there a problem sir?”

  Tasha could tell Daddy was mad. That girl was going to wish she had never gotten smart with him like that. Pretty face, ugly attitude, Mama would have said. But Daddy didn’t even mention her. “I want to know why there isn’t any lighting out in this parking lot. This place is crawling with kids. Common sense—”

  “Sir,” said the halo man, “I have a daughter myself.” He smiled briefly at Tasha. “I opened this place back before all this started happening so that kids could have a safe place to go. So it’s not that I don’t care. I just can’t afford to rewire that lot.”

  “But—” Daddy started.

  “Let me finish,” the halo man said. “I allow the parents free entry to try to get them to come on out with their kids. All of the lights in the world won’t help if people won’t supervise their children.”

  Tasha wished Daddy would just give the man his three dollars so she could go inside and look for Ayana.

  “Man, I’m sorry if I came off wrong,” Daddy said, finally going in his pocket for a roll of bills and peeling off three. “It’s just that—”

  “It’s alright,” the halo man said. “I understand. We got to look out for our own.”