Something to Say

by Lisa Moore Ramée

  I think about the people who have been outside of school with fliers and posters and how they’ll probably be at the school board meeting too. “Do you think there’s more people who want it changed than don’t want it?”

  “There must be,” Tía Rosalie says, and I can’t tell if she is just hoping so or if she knows so. She turns off the flame and pours out three steaming cups of cocoa. When she hands me my cup, the smell is so fantastic, at first I just sit there inhaling big whiffs. Gee starts drinking his right away. I take my first sip, and it’s delicious. Thick chocolate and a tiny hint of cinnamon.

  “Mmm,” I say, and lick my lips. Gee takes a big loud slurp and that cracks Tía Rosalie up.

  “It’s delicious, right?” Tía Rosalie asks, and then nods as if she’s answering herself. “I love this country, but Mexico will always have the best hot cocoa, and always a piece of my heart. Yes, there’s a lot about my culture to celebrate.”

  Even though it’s not my culture she’s talking about, I feel like we’re on the same side. And it makes me realize our school’s name isn’t about being against anything, it’s all about being for something. If I was going to give a speech, I would make sure that point came across loud and clear. I’m still glad I won’t be giving one, though. Just thinking about it makes my mouth go sour, and the cocoa doesn’t taste so good anymore.

  I thank Tía Rosalie and get Gee up and out.

  As we walk back down the walkway, I can tell Gee has a little extra pep in his step. I need to get him back home, but it seems like being outside and doing his old routine might be helping him.

  All while we head back down the street, I pepper Gee with questions, trying to get him to talk. What Mama told me about Gee sounds like he’s just choosing to stay quiet, so I figure if I can ask him something interesting enough, he won’t be able to help but answer. And he seems like he’s in a good mood, so maybe that’ll make him want to talk.

  But things that usually get him going, like Lakers basketball, gardening, favorite drives, the cost of stuff now versus when he was my age, aren’t getting a peep out of him. Birds dart around from tree to tree and they are doing lots of talking, but Gee stays quiet.

  “Do you think Sylvia ever got mad at her parents for making her go to that school?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I don’t know if I would’ve been mad, but I sure would’ve been scared. What if someone was mean? What if they threw things at me? Would you have been scared?”

  Gee doesn’t answer.

  “Were you scared when you delivered mail? Is that why you had the gun?”

  The corner of Gee’s mouth edges up, but I’m not sure if he’s smiling or trying to say something.

  I bet Sylvia would’ve made herself invisible if she could. “If I knew people might shout mean things at me, I think I’d be too afraid to leave the house.”

  Gee stops us in the middle of the sidewalk and faces me. He has a storm brewing in his eyes, and his mouth is scrunched into a frown.

  Gee thinks being afraid is about the worst thing you can be. When I was six and didn’t want to get into Aunt Jackie and Uncle Phil’s pool, he made a huge deal about it and said I better get in before he tossed me in. I wasn’t sure if he was serious, but I knew I better jump into that pool. And I didn’t tell him that day, but the moment my toes left the wet concrete, that one second I had in the air before my belly slapped the water, I felt a little like a superhero.

  He doesn’t say anything, but his head shakes a little. Maybe it’s just him trembling, but it seems like he’s telling me no.

  I can’t imagine what he would say about me not being able to give my part of the speech. If he could, he’d probably throw me in front of my class and demand I do it. I get nauseous at the thought. “Okay, Gee, we got our mail all delivered. Let’s take a break, okay?” I ask.

  Although Gee doesn’t answer, he must agree, because he lets me lead him back home.

  Gee grasps the handrail to help him get up the front steps. Luckily, there’s only five of them, and they are nice and wide.

  “I’ll get us something cool to drink,” I tell Gee as we walk through the front door. Malcolm’s not back, and that makes me smile; I’m sure after my text, Rox reached out and now he’s visiting her! She’ll make him happy.

  But by the time I get back from the kitchen with two glasses of water, Gee’s already snoring away. Mail delivery is exhausting. I’m feeling worn-out too. I didn’t realize worry is hard work. It’s like climbing a mountain. But I start on my homework instead of dozing off like I want to.

  A phrase from Malcolm’s basketball playing pops into my head: No harm, no foul. I don’t know if I’d be in trouble for taking Gee out like I did, but he’s fine, and I’m fine, so no foul.

  When Malcolm gets back, he doesn’t have any food with him, and he was gone for a long time. Long enough to maybe see an ex-girlfriend.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I got caught up, but no problems?” he asks me.

  I shake my head and start picking at little tufts of fabric on the couch pillows. “Probably nice to get a break, huh?” I feel nervous, like he can see through me. If he saw Rox, did she tell him anything about our texting each other?

  “It was all right,” he says, and I see the smallest hint of a smile. It’s not much, but it’s progress. Now that Malcolm’s moving in the right direction, it’s time to take care of plan number two. The bad plan. The phrase comes into my head again. No harm, no foul. This plan is a foul for sure. I’ll be harming Aubrey by not showing up. And if Mama finds out, she’ll be so disappointed and angry. Plus she’s sure to punish me, and that’s harm to me. But facing a whole room full of people who are staring at me, and judging me and seeing how I don’t know anything and can’t get my mouth to cooperate? Standing in a puddle of sweat so big it will probably drown me? And my sweat stinking up the whole place? That’s harm too. I can’t give the speech. My dad has to get me out of it.

  Before I can change my mind, I quickly type a message to my dad letting him know I need a favor.

  I’ve set the groundwork, and it makes me feel frozen inside.

  41

  Pile of Lies

  It’s time to go to bed and I still haven’t heard back from my dad. I keep checking and checking, but I only get messages from Aubrey. Some facts about Sylvia Mendez. A message saying how hard it must’ve been for her and how maybe she didn’t have any friends when she was going to school. Each message makes me feel worse, and I respond with only one-word answers. He’ll be so upset when I’m not there on Wednesday.

  I click on the message I sent my dad. Maybe he hasn’t answered because he thinks I might be asking for too big a favor, so I type:

  I just need you to pick me up from school early next Wednesday.

  I stare at the message for a full minute, sucking my bottom lip. My lungs don’t seem to be working right, or have shrunk down to grape size. I still don’t see any other choice. I press send.

  Before I get into bed, I check my phone one more time, and I still don’t have a message from my dad, but I have another from Aubrey.

  I’m glad we’re friends.

  I stare at the word friends for a long, long time. I went from having no friends to having one. And it’s scary to admit, but having a friend, even one as over-the-top as Aubrey, feels better than having no one.

  I feel like an awful person. I should text my dad back and tell him never mind. But then what?

  I text Aubrey back:

  Me too.

  And get an immediate smiley face back.

  I stare at my ceiling for a long time before finally falling asleep.

  When I wake up in the morning, I see my dad texted me in the middle of the night. He’s probably in another time zone, because he couldn’t think I would be awake at two o’clock in the morning.

  As long as it’s okay with your mother.

  I text back that Mama said it was fine, she’s just too busy at work to do it herself, and try no
t to think about how many lies are piling up and how lying is a really terrible thing to do.

  Just pick me up from school at 10.

  I could have him pick me up right after lunch, but I doubt I could sit next to Aubrey all through lunch pretending I’m going to be around for fifth period. I’ll see him in history, and then that will be it.

  And if my dad picks me up and brings me home before six, Mama won’t ever even know I missed a day of school. I probably should be worrying less about getting busted and more about how bad it is what I’m doing. Even though I don’t understand why Aubrey cares about dumb debate club, he does. A lot. And I’m lying to Mama and my dad too. All of it is so wrong.

  Mama drops me off at the corner instead of pulling into the drop-off zone the next day. She says she doesn’t want to be hassled by the crowd that seems like it’s getting bigger each day. My feet feel heavy as I walk to the front of the school. Tía Rosalie isn’t there today, which is a little disappointing. I could use her smiling face. She has a way of making me feel better.

  I’m not looking forward to seeing Aubrey. Now that I’ve actually asked my dad to get me out of school, I feel like there’s this huge big deal between us. I’m dreading what’s going to happen. I know if I tried to explain again about not being able to give a speech, Aubrey would argue and say it’s just nerves. He might even say it was quack. Or that I was quack.

  At lunch, Aubrey asks me if I’ve decided what side I want to take for our speech. Since I know I won’t be doing it at all, it doesn’t matter, and I figure the fair thing to do, the nice thing to do, would be for Aubrey to get to pick the side he wants.

  “What side do you want?” I ask over my crunchy gherkins. I love all sorts of pickles, but the tiny ones are my favorite. They’re so cute.

  “Well, the side I’m on is changing the name. But it’s harder to represent the side you don’t you really believe in, and I know you don’t like giving speeches, so I should probably take the tougher side. Click, right?”

  “Right,” I say, not wanting to argue. “I guess it’s . . . click.” I feel a little silly using that word.

  He raises his water bottle and taps it against mine like we’re doing cheers.

  Then he says, “It’s funny how you don’t like giving speeches and I love doing them! Especially when it’s going to be a debate! In Chicago, I even went to a debate camp. It was so sway, and I learned a bunch. I’m like a secret weapon! No one knows how good I am at this. You got the best partner!”

  I don’t see what’s funny about it. It’s just a clear sign that we’re not meant to be friends.

  But I’m sure he is right about me getting the best partner. Unfortunately, he got the worst.

  42

  Cowboys

  After school, our principal, Mr. Martinez, is telling people they can’t stand in front of the school since they are getting in the way of students trying to leave. He and some of the teachers have them go stand on the other side of the street.

  One group is dressed in cowboy boots and hats and they have signs showing a smiling John Wayne. A woman with a long ponytail is sticking fliers through windows into the cars in the pickup lane, but Mr. Martinez doesn’t make her stop.

  I’m surprised to see blazing-red hair right in the middle of the cowboy group. He sees me too and waves me over like his arm is a windmill. I take a step back. I don’t want to go over there. But then he hollers, “Jenae! Jenae!” and his windmill arm is now caught in a storm, whipping around frantically like I might not see him.

  In order to make him stop making a spectacle of both of us, I force myself to cross the street and join him.

  “I’m collecting info for our speech!” he says. “They want the school to stay John Wayne Junior High.”

  Since I know Aubrey isn’t actually for our school staying John Wayne, I’m surprised he sounds so excited. I feel embarrassed, especially since some people holding Sylvia Mendez pictures and SAY YES TO CHANGE! signs are looking over like we’re against them.

  Aubrey points to a man standing close by. “He’s the head of the committee!” The man has friendly blue eyes, and he doesn’t seem to mind when Aubrey asks him why he doesn’t want the name to change.

  “Too many people want to change the past,” he says. “History is important. This school was John Wayne Junior High when I went here. There’s no good reason to change it.”

  “But do you know about Sylvia Mendez?” Aubrey asks. “About people not wanting her to go to their school just because she wasn’t white?”

  I can’t believe Aubrey asked that, even if it’s true. Honestly, I can’t believe Aubrey is talking to this man at all. My mouth is getting tight, and I’m not even the one saying anything.

  I can tell Aubrey’s question bothered cowboy-boot man, but his eyes haven’t gone mean. “Lookit,” he says. “What happened back then? Trash. Complete trash. But that was a long time ago. And it didn’t even happen at this school.”

  The woman with the fliers moves nearer to us. “We’re right by Hollywood,” she says. “John Wayne was a Hollywood star.” She is talking to us like we’re dumb and don’t know who John Wayne was.

  “What about John Wayne making racist comments when he was alive?” Aubrey asks, not sounding mad but just curious.

  The man sighs, and the woman gets an angry look, and I just want to leave.

  “It was a different time,” the man says. “And when you think about what he said, he wasn’t saying anything different from what a whole lot of people were thinking at the time.”

  One thing about Astrid Dane is, no matter what time she’s living in, when something’s wrong, it’s still wrong.

  “Besides,” the woman says, “you can’t believe everything you read, kids. And they sure can honor anyone they like, as long as they leave this school alone.” She nods, like case closed, and moves back to the line of cars idling in the pickup line so she can go back to shoving fliers through people’s windows.

  I don’t like the way she said they.

  “Come on,” I tell Aubrey. “Let’s go.”

  “The school board isn’t going to change the name,” the man calls after us. “Too many people are against it. They’ll definitely see that at the board meeting.”

  Oh, yeah? I think. It’s right on the tip of my tongue to say, but I don’t let the words out. I didn’t think I cared that much what our school was called, but now I sure hope that man is wrong. I really want the school’s name to be changed to Sylvia Mendez, and I’m glad Aubrey thinks so too.

  43

  Not Exactly Lying

  “Hey, do you have to go straight home?” Aubrey asks.

  I actually don’t know. This question has never come up before, since I never had any place to go after school except home.

  “Why?” I ask, stalling.

  “Do you want to go to my mom’s restaurant?”

  “S-s-sure,” I stutter. “What’s she like?”

  Aubrey frowns. “She worries too much,” he says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him sound sort of angry, but he rubs a hand over his face, and it’s as if he wiped the bad feeling away, because when he puts his hand down, he’s smiling again. “She used to, anyway. Now she’s pretty sway, I guess.”

  “Let me just text Malcolm to let him know.” My hands tremble a little as I take out my phone. I text Malcolm, and Aubrey watches me, and I shove my phone into my bag trying to pretend that texting my brother to tell him I’m hanging out with a friend after school is the most normal thing ever. My mouth is dry, so I try to swallow a few times.

  “Come on,” Aubrey says, and I follow him going the opposite direction than I normally go.

  It feels okay. Strange, but okay.

  The restaurant where Aubrey’s mom works isn’t that far from school, and it is probably the cutest place I’ve ever seen. It’s called Nook, and stepping inside is like walking into a fairy tale. There are little tables and frilly curtains and tiny white lights running across the ceiling a
nd down the walls. There are paintings of large brown women holding fruit, and baskets of fresh vegetables and piles of bread lining a counter. It feels cozy and special at the same time, and it smells like heaven.

  A short smiling woman with blondish hair in a big sloppy bun comes out of the kitchen and greets Aubrey with a hug and big smacking kiss on the check. “My boy!” she says, as if seeing Aubrey is the best thing that has ever happened to her.

  I’m not surprised at all that Aubrey’s mom is white. As fair as he is, I figured he was mixed. I also figured a Black mom wouldn’t let her kid dye their hair like that. At least not any Black mom I’ve met.

  “Ma, quit it,” Aubrey says, squirreling out of her grip. “I have company!”

  His mom’s eyes light on me, and she dusts off her flour-covered hands on her bright red apron, leaving white handprints on her hips. She looks older than Mama, and maybe older than any of the moms I’m used to seeing picking up kids from school. It’s funny to me that she has a bright blue streak in her hair, and a few tattoos on her arms, because it doesn’t seem like something someone her age would do.

  She thrusts her right hand out to shake mine. I can see one of her tattoos is swirly lettering that spells out Tasty. “Hi! Hi! I’m Ellen Banks, Aubrey’s mother, obviously. So nice to meet you!”

  I see where Aubrey gets his need to talk in exclamation marks. I wonder if the two of them are just exhausted at the end of the day. That’s a whole lot of energy to put into talking.

  “Hi,” I say shyly, extending my hand to meet hers. “I’m Jenae.” We shake, and I feel the soft silt of flour.

  “Oh, Jenaaay,” she says, and gives Aubrey a nod. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Aubrey goes so red, his face almost matches his hair. “Ma!”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m being a little extra, aren’t I?” Mrs. Banks asks me, and then winks. “Can I get you two something to eat?”

  “Sure!” Aubrey says.

  Mrs. Banks looks at her watch. “We don’t open for dinner until five, so I have just enough time to make you something quick before I have to finish my prep.”