A new video got posted less than half an hour ago! I want to click on it and watch it, but I also want to wait. This is what always happens. It could be weeks before another new episode gets posted. And sometimes waiting in between is so hard I can’t stand it. So I try to put off watching for as long as I can to draw it out.
My finger rests on the enter button, and I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, wondering how long I can hold out, and then I double-click. I’ve never been able to wait more than a few seconds.
I wonder if Aubrey is watching right now too.
21
Don’t Worry
In the morning, everything I put on seems wrong. Usually I don’t care what I wear, but maybe Mama’s right about me needing to dress more like everyone else. I put on the sparkly sweatshirt she got me, but the sequins are just too much. If you’ve ever been invisible, you know sequins have no place in that business.
When Mama shouts for me to hurry up, I pull on a blue T-shirt that used to be Malcolm’s. It’s too big, but it’s soft and has a picture of Bob Marley on it, and whenever I wear it, I sing to myself, Don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.
I don’t know many Bob Marley songs, but I love that one. If you sing it enough, you really can make yourself believe everything is going to be fine.
Downstairs, I grab an apple and follow Mama out the door. I’m already in the car before I realize I didn’t make myself a lunch.
Mama must realize the same thing, because she tells me to go into her purse and pull out five dollars so I can buy today.
I don’t want to go to the cafeteria at lunchtime. But I take the money and smoosh it into my pocket.
“Mama, do you ever wish you lived in another time?”
“What?”
“You know, like if you could pick. Go back a hundred years, or two hundred. Would you?”
“So I could be a slave? No, thank you!”
Astrid Dane was born hundreds of years ago, all the way back in the 1600s, so of course she was around during slavery times. In one of the episodes, she was actually a slave. But she ran away. It helped that she could do stuff like stay underwater until dogs got tired and her master figured she’d drowned. She didn’t stay in America after that.
Those are the types of things Mama loses patience with about Astrid Dane. She’s all like “Really? A kid can just leave America and escape to a whole other continent?”
I don’t point out that it’s a lot easier to do that on an animated show, because then Mama would just rattle off her low opinion of “cartoons.”
Sometimes I wonder if Astrid Dane gets tired. Living for hundreds and hundreds of years like that? I love everything about Astrid Dane, but I wouldn’t want to be immortal. One lifetime is enough.
“Okay, Mama, say you could live in any century and in any part of the world, so you wouldn’t have to be a slave. What then?”
“Jenae, you’re going to give me a headache.”
“Come on, Mama.”
Mama taps her fingernails on the steering wheel. I don’t think she’s going to answer, because she doesn’t like to play along when I start wondering what she calls outlandish things, but then she says, “Egypt, back when there were pharaohs? I wouldn’t mind seeing just how they built those pyramids. And seeing brown folks in charge? Shoot, sign me right up for that.”
“Me too,” I say, shocked that Mama picks the exact time and place I would pick.
“Then I guess you’d still be my daughter,” Mama says with a smile.
Mama isn’t sweet all that often, but it sure sounds like she’s saying I’m her daughter no matter what, and that makes me feel like one of those gooey candies with the sugary burst of flavor inside just exploded in my mouth.
I’m feeling so good, I make the mistake of asking a question Mama doesn’t like. “Do you think Malcolm is going to be okay?” I don’t look at her when I ask, because I’m hoping she’ll lie to me, and I don’t want to see the truth written all over her face.
“That boy will be fine once he realizes basketball isn’t the end all be all. Best way to lose yourself is thinking you only got one dream in this world.” Her voice isn’t sweet anymore, and the deliciousness I was feeling evaporates.
I look at her. She has an angry/sad face going strong. It’s not one or the other. “So you don’t think he’ll be able to play anymore? His knee isn’t going to get better? The surgery didn’t fix it?” At each question, more and more of my breath slips away until I’m almost gasping.
“I don’t know, Jenae. The doctors don’t know either. All I know is he best not give up on living if he can’t ball.”
“Having a dream is important, though,” I say.
“Did you hear me say it wasn’t? But one dream? Like there’s only one thing in the world that can make you happy? That doesn’t make any kind of sense. That’s believing in that soul-mate, happily-ever-after garbage.” She cuts her eyes at me, but then she surprises me by smiling. “I know you’re too smart for that.”
I’m definitely not too smart for anything.
I give Mama a kiss goodbye and scoot out the car. The people with fliers are back, but now the people with signs supporting the name change are there too.
The two groups are making a point of not standing near each other.
Mama keeps her window rolled up and doesn’t take a flier.
A man with a huge beard hands me one and says, “Support the Duke!”
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say anything back, and I look uneasily at the people with signs. I don’t want them to think I’m taking sides. My mouth gets dry like someone stuffed cotton balls in there.
“Jenae! Jenae!” a voice hollers, and the cotton dissolves.
“Hey, Aubrey,” I say, turning away from the man. I can’t help smiling, because if I thought Aubrey’s smile was big before, it’s nothing like it is now.
“Did you see it?” he just about shouts at me.
I nod happily, too full of the thrill of sharing the excitement of a new Astrid Dane episode with someone to put words together.
Aubrey is practically jumping up and down like he’s a piece of popcorn in some hot oil.
“I watched it three times!” he says.
“Four,” I admit. When you don’t know when you’re going to get a new video, you have to watch a new one over and over. I mean you really have to.
“I knew you’d beat me,” Aubrey says, like he doesn’t mind. Like me watching more times than him is better than the other way around.
Almost everything about Aubrey surprises me. He’s not quite like anyone else. He’s a jigsaw puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into any of the empty spaces.
“Come on, let’s get to class!” he says, and even though he’s talking loud and being the opposite of invisible, I stick next to him all the way to history.
22
No Big Deal
All those people in the front of the school are hard to ignore, and Mrs. Crawford spends the first ten minutes of class talking to us about Sylvia Mendez. “The reason not as many people are familiar with her,” Mrs. Crawford explains, “is because Sylvia Mendez’s case was argued in the California Supreme Court, not the United States Supreme Court. It took Brown versus Board of Education to end segregated schools across the country.”
I’m glad Gee had me do that research, because it makes me feel smart to already know this stuff about Sylvia Mendez.
Mrs. Crawford tells us how the Mendez case was a really important moment in California’s history. And how Sylvia Mendez received the Presidential Medal of Freedom when Obama was president for the work she did to ensure all children have equal education opportunities.
I guess there’s no way to go through what Sylvia did as a kid and not keep thinking about it for the rest of your life.
Addyson Gentry blurts out, “She sounds cool and all, but our school has always been John Wayne. Why can’t they just name a new school after her?”
Aubrey flings his arm up, but Mrs. Crawford ignores him.
“Partly because new schools don’t get built all that often,” she tells Addyson.
Aubrey starts waving his arm around like he’s on fire. Of course, everyone turns around to stare. I press back in my seat and lower my head. Aubrey just doesn’t know how to do things quietly.
“Yes?” Mrs. Crawford asks with a tightness in her voice, as if she’s exhausted by Aubrey.
“Just because something has always been one way doesn’t mean it should stay that way,” Aubrey says. “And if one of your friends started saying all sorts of bad stuff about you, would you still want to be friends with them? I wouldn’t. And I don’t think we should want to go to a school named after someone like that.”
“What do you mean?” a boy calls out. “What did John Wayne say?”
Mrs. Crawford’s cheeks get pink, and she grips the back of her chair like she needs some support.
Aubrey is just about bouncing in his seat. “A bunch of racist—”
Mrs. Crawford cuts Aubrey off. “Thank you, Aubrey.” She sounds like she’s putting a period on the conversation, so I think she’s going to change the subject, but instead she says, “John Wayne publicly questioned the intelligence of Black people, and he suggested that Native people were selfish to want to hold on to their land. He stated his belief in white supremacy.” Mrs. Crawford’s cheeks have gone from pink to red. “And while it can be argued that it was a different time, it could also be argued that that’s exactly why things should change. Most of us would like to believe people don’t think like that anymore. And to have a school in this neighborhood be more reflective of the community would be a good thing.” She smiles, and I notice some kids are sitting up straighter and nodding, like they think it would be a good thing too.
Mrs. Crawford claps her hands, signaling the discussion is over. “Let’s get back to the gold rush! Take out your homework, everyone.”
Aubrey nudges my foot with his, like I might’ve forgotten we did our homework together.
For the first time, I get all the answers on my history homework right.
When we leave class, Aubrey says, “See you later!” Then he starts down the hall, and it’s not until he has almost disappeared into the sea of students that I realize I didn’t tell him I would be eating in the cafeteria.
My mouth goes dry. I can still see his bright red hair, and if I shouted his name, he’d probably hear me, but I don’t. Other people can be loud and shout to their friends, but I can’t do that. His name is tied up and tangled in my mouth and refuses to come out, and before I can do anything about it, he’s gone.
I tell myself it’s no big deal. He probably won’t even care. And he’ll just go hang out with all the friends I’m sure he’s made in his other classes. I bet he has tons of people asking him to sit with them at lunch. He’s not like me with no friends. But even though I don’t even want to sit with anyone at lunch, it would probably hurt my feelings if I thought someone was going to meet up with me and just didn’t show.
So, in second period, I decide that at the beginning of lunch I’ll just run over to the spot behind the container and wait for Aubrey, and then we can go together to the cafeteria.
But in third period, that doesn’t seem like such a great idea. What if he doesn’t even really want to sit with me at lunch? Maybe he just felt sorry for me when he saw me sitting by myself. Maybe he wasn’t even talking about lunch when he said later and was really talking about fifth period.
By fourth period I’ve convinced myself Aubrey won’t care. Why would he? We’re not really friends. We both just like Astrid Dane. But he calls himself a Danish, and I don’t. And he’s loud like he wants to be heard. He likes giving speeches and debating and all that. Besides, he has that wild hair. You definitely want to be seen with hair that color. If we were truly friends, he would at least tell me why he dyes his hair neon red; he knows I want to know, but he won’t tell me. Then there’s him being all into jazz and offal, which is just too strange for a seventh grader. No, we definitely aren’t friends, and not meeting up with him is no big deal.
23
Everyone Else
I hate the cafeteria.
There are long lines for food, no matter what you want to buy. Even if you just want a burrito or slice of pizza. The line for the full lunch is the shortest, but I can’t stand the thought of eating those runny mashed potatoes, canned veggies, and chicken nuggets that look hard and dry.
I keep checking the big clock on the wall as if I’m late for something. Every time I see five more minutes pass, I picture Aubrey over by the container, wondering where I am, and thinking I’m kind of a jerk for not being there.
When I finally get my soggy, leaking burrito, I stare at all the tables, wondering where to sit. We’ve only been in school for a week and it seems like everyone is already set. No one else is standing with their food, not knowing where to go. Everyone else is scarfing down their lunch, or still in line, or laughing, or throwing peas, or holding hands. Everyone else belongs somewhere.
I would just take my food outside, but I saw the sign when I walked in:
ALL CAFETERIA FOOD MUST BE EATEN IN THE CAFETERIA
Who came up with that dumb rule?
A girl with a bright pink sweatshirt emblazoned with magenta sequins spelling out L-O-V-E bumps into me. It’s the same sweatshirt Mama bought me.
“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t see you.” She dashes to a loud table full of laughing girls, all wearing bright colors. The table is like a garden sprouting in the middle of the beige-and-gray cafeteria.
I head away from that table, to the first empty chair I see, squeeze a packet of hot sauce on my burrito, and slump over my plate. I don’t look at anyone. No one says anything to me. I have settled into invisibility. And it’s not hard, but it doesn’t feel as good as it normally does.
I chew as quietly as I can and stare at the clock. Ten more minutes of lunch. That means that if Aubrey went behind the container, he’s been wondering where I am for thirty minutes. And I know even if we aren’t friends, and even if maybe he didn’t really mean he was going to meet me at lunch when he said later, I should’ve gone over there first before the cafeteria.
I know something else too. I’m scared to see his face in English. Scared that instead of his usual smile, he’s going to have a big, fat frown and it’s going to be aimed right at me.
24
The Opposite of Fun
When I get to English, Aubrey’s already in his seat. I glance over, and he’s not frowning. But he’s not smiling either. I look away fast.
Mr. Humphries announces he’s going to change up our persuasive speech assignment a little. “I am going to make this assignment a lot of fun! Instead of individual speeches, I’m going to have you partner up, and you and your partner will take different sides of the argument. One of you will argue for something, and the partner will argue against it.”
For an English teacher, Mr. Humphries is not very good at words, because he clearly doesn’t know the meaning of the word fun. But when I look back at Aubrey, he has a huge grin on his face like Mr. Humphries’s news is the best thing.
“And,” Mr. Humphries says, then pauses dramatically like he’s ready to deliver the most wonderfullest thing ever. My stomach sinks to my knees, because I know whatever he’s about to say is not going to be wonderful at all. “Some of you may not know this, but I run the debate club. It’s quite popular, and it’s really just for eighth graders, but as a special incentive for you all to do well on this project, I’m going to let two people who do the very best job join the club if they’d like. Members of the debate club are eligible to go to debate camp in the summer. You’re going to want to get picked just for that alone! I’m going to ask some of the club members to come watch the speeches to help me judge. So work hard, all right?” He grins broadly at us, and I frown back.
None of his news makes the assignment fun. It is the opposite of fun.
“We’re doing debates?” Aubrey calls out, sounding excited.
I kick one of the legs of my desk. Of course Aubrey would be happy about this. He’s probably already imagining all his new friends on the debate club.
Mr. Humphries shakes his head slowly. “I’m hesitant to call these debates, because there are very specific rules governing those. But in the very loosest definition of the word, yes, you and your partner will debate a topic. Make sense?” He pauses, and even though no one says anything, he says, “Great. You can talk after class about who you’re going to partner up with.”
I stare hard at my desk. I can’t see it, but I know all around me people are doing that partnering-up thing, catching the eyes of the person they want to work with. I know no one wants to be my partner. Not after the horrendous job I did the first day in class. As much as I don’t want to give any type of speech ever, I can’t help but feel sad knowing no one wants to be my partner. Maybe if I had met up with Aubrey at lunch, he’d be grinning at me, letting me know we’re a set.
After class, I hear someone calling Aubrey’s name, and I know they want to be partners with him. I don’t stick around to see how no one is calling my name. I doubt any of my classmates know my name, or even see me. Or if they do, they see the worst speech giver in the history of the world.
When I leave sixth period, I don’t wait around to see if Aubrey appears; I just start my walk home, moving as fast as I can. I check behind me a few times to see if Aubrey is following me, or even just going the same way I am. I don’t see him. And trust me, I’d see that red hair if he was anywhere around.
He seemed so excited about Mr. Humphries’s idea about the debate speeches. How can he and I be so different? And more important, how can I get out of giving my side of a stupid speech?
Something to Say Page 7