Something to Say
Page 20
I walk to sixth period feeling like I’m moving through molasses.
Right now Mr. Humphries is probably telling Aubrey that they couldn’t really judge Aubrey without me being there. Aubrey is going to hate me forever.
Not even math helps today, and when I leave school to head home, I’m not surprised there’s no red-haired boy waiting for me.
The street seems oddly quiet with all the protesters gone. The banner saying SYLVIA MENDEZ JUNIOR HIGH is back, covering the John Wayne sign, and I guess this time it will stay up.
I walk slowly, wondering how I’m going to get through the school year.
“Jenae!” a voice shouts. “Jenae! Hey, Jenae, wait up!”
I turn around and see Aubrey running toward me, and a whole bunch of people staring. Whatever. Let them look.
When Aubrey reaches me, he’s all out of breath. “Have you seen it?” he yells at me.
I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Aubrey, I—”
“The video? You haven’t seen it? On YouTube?” Every question is a shout.
He must be talking about a new Astrid Dane video, and I don’t even care. “Please, Aubrey, we need to—”
“Just check!”
“Fine!” I take out my phone.
He huddles close to me, and when I type in Astrid Dane in the search, he grabs my phone away.
“No! Here, let me.” He types in something else, and a video starts.
But it’s not Astrid Dane. It’s me.
At the school board meeting. Giving my speech.
When it’s over, he says, “I can’t believe you did that. And you’re on YouTube. Like Astrid Dane.” His voice is full of admiration.
We both are staring at my phone, even though it’s now playing some random video about turtles. My mouth feels glued shut, and inside, the words are twisted up like a bird’s nest. I turn off the video and put away my phone.
“Me speaking up at the school board meeting doesn’t change what I did,” I say sadly. “What I didn’t do, I mean.” Each word feels heavy.
“But what you said in class does,” he says, and shuffles his feet. He gives me a quick glance before looking away again. “You didn’t have to do that. I know how hard that must’ve been for you.”
We look straight at each other, and I know for sure that Aubrey really sees me. But I see him too. “It was hard. But I did have to,” I say. “Because of me, you don’t get to be in the debate club, and I knew how important that was for you.”
“About that,” Aubrey says, and starts twisting his hair. “You know what Mr. Humphries told me after class?”
I shake my head.
“He knew I really wanted to join the club, so he wanted to let me know why they didn’t pick me. Instead of arguing the side of keeping the name, I argued the other side. Because that’s what I really thought, that the name should be changed. But I hadn’t prepared for that side, so it was just a lot of me sort of . . . shouting? I—I didn’t really do a bunch of debates in Chicago. I sort of did pretend ones in my room. And the camp was a virtual one online. But I thought I was pretty del.” He says the last word hesitantly and blushes. “Mr. Humphries showed me the video of you to let me see what a good speech about calling our school Sylvia Mendez Junior High would look like. Sort of funny that if you had showed up to school and given that speech, you’d be in the debate club now.”
There’s nothing funny about that. “But if I had been there, you would’ve given the speech you prepared. So you might’ve been picked.”
Aubrey shakes his head. “It was my fault for switching. I shouldn’t have done that.” He gives me a shy look. “I was mad at you for not coming to school. Like you got mad at me for not telling you about being homeschooled and everything. I should’ve answered your texts, but there was a bunch of times you didn’t answer mine. And I was really upset and I just needed . . .” He almost smiles, but it’s not his big face-eating smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s talking slow and enunciating everything extra careful, like he wants to make sure I understand him. “I guess to think about things? I knew you felt bad, but I wasn’t ready to forgive you.”
I’m not sure if he’s saying he is ready now.
“Or maybe I wasn’t ready to admit I was wrong too.”
At my questioning look, he goes on.
“You tried to tell me. You told me you couldn’t do it. I didn’t listen. And that’s not how a friend should act. At least I don’t think so. Honestly, I don’t have much experience. Maybe we should make a pact to tell each other the full honest truth all the time, and to listen to each other?”
I nod. It sounds like what friends should do. “So we’re . . . okay?” I ask, barely speaking above a whisper.
“Click,” he says.
If it wouldn’t be spectacularly weird, I think I would give him a gigantic hug.
65
Finish What’s Started
It doesn’t take us long at all to get to my house, and we’re not even through the front door when I hear the television. It’s blaring like usual, and Gee is sitting in his chair snoring, and Malcolm is on the couch connected to his knee-bender machine.
At first, I’m disappointed, because it seems like nothing has changed.
Aubrey and I step all the way inside and I shut the door firmly behind us.
Gee’s eyes pop open, and he holds his arms out, and I quickly close the gap between me and his chair and deliver a loud kiss to his cheek. And I tell him what I’ve been wanting to say for what feels like years.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his ear. Malcolm and Mama and Aubrey don’t think it’s true, but I know what I know. Sometimes thoughts really can hurt someone.
Gee swipes at his ear like I’m a mosquito. He clears his throat and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You’ll talk when you’re ready.”
The front door opens, and Mama walks in, her face a thunderstorm. “Jenae Monique Dorrian! Did you ask your father to get you out of school yesterday?”
My happiness blows out like a candle. I had forgotten all about that. “Mama, I’m sorry.” I glance over at Aubrey. I don’t want him thinking about how badly I worked to get out of school.
“You’re gonna be sorry, all right,” she says, her voice hard steel.
“Oh, Mama, chill,” Malcolm says. “The dude didn’t even do it.”
Before Mama can argue and get on me about faking sick, Malcolm asks her, “Do you want to hear about my plan or not? You’ve been steady asking me. Now’s your chance.”
Mama glares at me, but then she sets down her purse and keys. “Go ahead, then. Tell me,” she says to Malcolm.
“Well, I wanted to tell y’all yesterday after I met with Coach Naz, but there was a bit of drama going on.”
“Malcolm, will you please just tell me what’s going on?” Mama asks, sounding exasperated.
“I’m going back to school. I’m not going to be able to ball, obviously. At least not this year, but yeah. I’m going. That’s my plan.”
“’Bout time you came to the right decision,” Mama says, but she doesn’t sound angry anymore. She sounds relieved.
“Registered this morning. The quarter starts Monday,” Malcolm says, “so I’ll need to fly out this weekend.”
I feel like there are a million butterflies in my belly. “I’m going to miss you,” I say.
Malcolm pats the spot next to him on the couch, and I go sit down, and Aubrey plops down next to me. We put our matching Astrid Dane bags on the floor.
“I’ll miss you too,” Malcolm tells me. “Just like before.”
I’m sort of shocked. I didn’t really think Malcolm missed me at all.
“So let’s hear it,” Malcolm says. “What was your worst thing?”
“Oh, not this foolishness,” Mama complains.
I think about all the bad things that happened lately. Which was worst? Mama clears her throat, and I can guess what she thinks
is the worst thing. I know for sure I’ll be hearing about a punishment later, but right now, I just shake my head.
“Okay, then, what was your best thing?” Malcolm asks, smiling at me. There’s a lot on that side too. Maybe more.
“A seagull didn’t poop on my head,” I say, and my smile is so big, I swear it’s about to eat my whole face.
Mama slides out of her high heels and says, “Girl, you are seriously odd.”
“Yep,” I agree happily. “I’m not like anybody else.” But then I think, except maybe, sort of, I’m a little bit like the strange boy sitting next to me.
Gee makes a sound that could be a cough or him trying to say Quiet down! He waves his hand at the television, and I can almost hear him yelling about trying to watch his program.
“Sorry, Gee,” I say. “We won’t say another word.”
As she heads to the kitchen, Mama says, “Why don’t you put on that foolishness you like. It’ll do Daddy some good to watch something from this decade for a change.”
Aubrey and I say at the same time, “It’s not foolishness!”
“Two of you.” Malcolm shakes his head.
“Yep,” I say, and look at my friend with his flaming-red hair and smile as vast as an ocean. “Two of us. Click.”
Acknowledgments
My vision for this book was always difficult for me to describe. There was so much I wanted to do (Art! There needs to be art!) and complicated things I wanted to say. I worried that no one was going to get it. I’m so grateful I got to tell this story my way.
One of the things I love about publishing is the moment when I move from the very solitary time of drafting a novel to being part of a team. I am blessed to have a great team. My critique partner Jenn Kompos always knows exactly the right thing to say. My awesome agent, Brenda Bowen, is a great coach and source of so much wisdom, and my editor, Alessandra Balzer, is simply incredible and continues to make me such a better writer with gentle (but strong) nudges and suggestions. And thank goodness for the copy editors who make sure I get my facts right—talk about unseen and unsung heroes! So many others brought this book to life, but a huge shout-out of thanks to Nicholle Kobi, who brilliantly brought Jenae to life on the cover, and Bre Indigo, who just blew me away with her ability to illustrate my crazy creation—Astrid Dane.
Thank you to everyone at Balzer+Bray/HarperCollins, especially Caitlin Johnson, Patty Rosati, Mimi Rankin, Stephanie Macy, Robby Imfeld, and Molly Fehr.
I’m so grateful that sensitivity reads are a thing and that this book benefited from a strong expert read. (That being said, if there are still problems, the fault is mine alone.) Even with the best intentions we can get things wrong, so having someone point out areas where I can do better, is such a blessing. Speaking of experts, thanks, Dr. Chris, for answering my pediatric leukemia questions (and apologies for anything I got wrong). Thank you to Camille and Steph, who gave me insight into dealing with a basketball injury.
Thank you to my wonderful critique group: Sally, Kath, Lydia, Stacy, and Rose. I talk a lot about how great they are at providing input and insight, but maybe more important is the laughter they bring to my life and their constant support through the highs and lows.
Thank you, Nic, Sabaa, Angie, Keely, Lindsay, Karen, Mariama, and Alicia. You all are not only amazing writers but also so quick to offer your time and support, and are so willing to answer my many, many questions. Huge thanks to Renée Watson, whose amazing guidance in a workshop at a Kweli conference brought a pivotal scene to life. I also so appreciate the nice things you said about the book!
My SOTYs, my coworkers, my NorCal writing community, and my zumberas are so hugely, incredibly supportive, it truly blows me away. Special shout-out to Christy Jane and Angela for just being incredible. Thank you, Alice, for making sure I stay sane at work, and I’m not sure where I’d be without Griff, who stands by me through it all and allows me to be completely, utterly ridiculous.
Biggest, hugest thanks to my family. They encourage and support me every step of the way. Thank you, Keith, Morgan, and Jordan; your love and belief in me mean the world. Thank you, Mom, for being proud of me no matter what. Jimmy, Pam, and Linda thanks for celebrating me as if I were a big shot when I am still simply your baby sister.
Thank you to the readers out there who have written me and let me know how my words have touched them. That is the very best part of this whole journey.
Finally, thank you, God, for always being there. I sure have needed you.
About the Author
Photo by Rod Searcey
LISA MOORE RAMÉE was born and raised in Los Angeles, and she now lives in the Bay Area of California with her husband, two kids, and two obnoxious cats. She is the author of A Good Kind of Trouble, which was named a Walter Honor Book.
YOU CAN VISIT HER ONLINE AT WWW.LISAMOORERAMEE.COM.
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A Good Kind of Trouble
Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
SOMETHING TO SAY. Text copyright © 2020 by Lisa Moore Ramée. Interior illustrations copyright © 2020 by Bre Indigo. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2020 by Nicholle Kobi
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Digital Edition JULY 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-283673-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-283671-7
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2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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