Naomis Too

by Olugbemisola Rhuday Perkovich

  “The only thing that should be leathery is a jacket like this, right?” He rubs the sleeve of his black-leather jacket. It looks older than Great-Uncle Lloyd.

  “Mmmm,” I say, which is a way of not saying what you think when what you think isn’t very positive.

  “I know, it looks ancient. Belonged to my grandpa. I’m a fan of all things vintage.”

  He’s also wearing a fedora, a vest, and a tie. But with baggy jeans. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “Anyway, just put them in the compost bin,” he says. “Zero waste!” He hands me a flyer. It says there’s going to be a meeting about the Chisholm funding “scam” in the playground across from school on Friday.

  “Why is it a scam?” I ask.

  “This guy is trying to do something good only to cover up worse stuff he’s doing. The last school he ‘helped’ ended up having to switch all their tech and their textbooks to his company.”

  “We don’t use textbooks here, though,” I say.

  “It’s about control,” says the boy. “Anyway, come to the meeting.”

  I go over to Gigi, who’s waiting by the door with her bag lunch. We’re going to have our lunch in the library and help Daisuke shelve books. “I would not have the nerve to talk to a tenth grader like that,” she says. “Especially DeVante Swing.”

  “The salad bar guy? His name is DeVante Swing?”

  “Well, really DeVante Johnson, but Swing is his nickname. He’s the most popular boy in school. How do you not know that?”

  I shrug. “Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want to spend the whole lunch period talking about someone named DeVante Swing.”

  “I’d be happy to use it talking to him, though, for real,” says Gigi as we leave. I look back to where DeVante is using a salad spork as a mic as he sings “All Up in Your Face.” He’s not afraid to be silly, that’s for sure.

  “I guess he is sort of cute,” I say.

  Gigi holds up a hand for a high five, and I miss, which makes us completely crack up.

  Katherine has been teaching us about our “writing territories,” where you realize the things you care about by seeing what you write about over and over. I go through my Writer’s Notebook and see Jenn Harlow and Jennifer Bile are all up in it. I can hear Xio say, Why are you wasting time on them? You know they’re not thinking about you!

  But why am I?

  Asking myself why makes me think about the kids protesting the Eco-Casita and that Cranstock guy again. They don’t really get in trouble; some of the teachers even seem to respect them even though they can get loud. And DeVante Swing—how does he make being silly look like the right thing to do? How can I do things like get good grades but act like I don’t care about them? And learn how to dance without looking like I ever had to learn? How can I show up for justice and binge-watch Idris Thompson, Teen Detective all in the same week?

  There were a couple of times today when I could have gone up to Jen, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. She thinks I don’t see her chronic side eye. I don’t want her thinking I’m scared of her. She’s probably telling her stupid squad she shut me down. I need to be like Okoye from Black Panther. No respectable Dora Milaje would be worried about Jen Bile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Naomi E.

  Halloween is tricky when you’re eleven. I still want to go trick-or-treating, but I feel too old for it. I’m a little jealous of Brianna, to tell the truth, because there’s no question about it when you’re in kindergarten. You are all in for Halloween. If I were Brianna, it would be simple—I’d be a trick-or-treating Makeda the Marvelous.

  But today I am the luckiest person in the world because I am at Annie’s! Which would be great on any day. But it’s the most great today because they’re putting up their Halloween decorations.

  Every Halloween, they hang these giant ghosts in the trees. Webs hang down from the roof. (Only Annie’s dad is allowed on ladders, which seems like one of the strangest rules since he’s the clumsiest person I’ve ever known. He once opened a cabinet and a mug fell out, shattered into pieces, one of which dug a big hole in his hand. He literally needed stitches just because he opened a cabinet.)

  Annie and I are setting up the graveyard by their front steps when her little brother Chase comes out of nowhere to say, “Wanna know what Mom said no to this year?”

  “Sure,” I say. He’s older than Brianna, and I used to find him so annoying, but today he’s been fun to be around. He must have changed.

  “No rotting corpses; no dead bodies in a bag or not in a bag; no dead dolls, especially if they’re baby dolls; no heads with insides hanging out of the neck. But we have some new things—there’s a Grim Reaper, and instead of putting all the ghosts in the tree, we’re figuring out how to make them stand by the front door.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  “Naomi, can you grab that skeleton wreath?” Nice normal sentence, Annie. Skeleton wreath, sure. I reach for it, and it is exactly what she describes—the kind of wreath people put on their front doors, only made of bones.

  It’s so good to be with people who call me Naomi. Just Naomi. Not Naomi-e. My mom calls me Naomi too. It’s a very small group of very excellent people.

  “Oh, we bought this hook thing,” Annie says. “I think it’s—”

  Her mom steps outside then, hook thing in hand. “Right here,” she says. And then she looks at me, smiling and shaking her head. “We’ve missed you,” she says.

  Tears spring to my eyes because my body is great at mortifying me. “I’ve missed you all so much,” I say. Annie doesn’t have much free time because of soccer. And I have to divide my time between parents already. It doesn’t leave a lot for hanging out. “I hope we can do this more often.”

  “We’d all like that,” she says. “Why don’t you two take a break inside now. I got you some goodies from that bakery you and your dad like so much, Morningstar.”

  That just about melts my insides into a buttery mess. “Thank you,” I say.

  Annie’s looking at me like I’m an emotional alien. “Don’t start crying. It’s cookies. Just come on,” she says, and I follow her inside.

  There’s a big box on the counter, and we open it to see what we’re dealing with. Nice! I’m impressed by quantity—two of everything—and quality—she got the triple-chocolate chip cookies, and croissants, including two chocolate ones. Oh my.

  “Milk?” Annie asks.

  “Of course,” I say.

  She grabs it from the fridge, and I go to the cabinet and admit I open it slowly in case some mug decides to take a tragic leap and break into pieces that make a hole in my hand.

  We sit at the counter, and it’s quiet at first because eating requires attention when the food you’re eating is this kind of good.

  “Mmm,” I say.

  “No lie,” Annie says. Then she looks at me. “Tell me stuff. And next time I want to come to your house. I’m sick of my brothers. You’re so lucky you landed in a family with sisters.”

  I smile, but I know it’s not very convincing.

  “What?” Annie says.

  “Remember Beatrice Copley in fourth grade?”

  “Duh. Yes. Wait, she’s at your new school?”

  “Ew, no, of course not.” I pull the Morningstar box over. So much deliciousness to choose from. How about one of these M&M’s cookies? Yes, thank you.

  “I’m not saying Naomi Marie is like her in most ways, because she’s not. But you know how Beatrice Copley was the girl every teacher picked for everything? And how she did extra credit even when it wasn’t assigned? Well, Naomi Marie isn’t like her, I mean, she doesn’t act like she’s better than me. But, wait. Let me ask—do you have a ton of homework this year? Like, way more than last?”

  Annie shrugs. “There’s more, but not a ton more. Do you want to split this coffee-cake thing?”

  I nod. I want everything. “Chisholm’s really hard. But only for me, not for her. But it’s not just school stuff. Like, remember when you a
sked, the first time you came over, if it was weird, the color thing? And I said it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t. But since then, I found out she thinks I don’t care enough about race stuff, maybe?”

  Annie is staring at me, mouth open, midchew.

  “EW!” I say. “Close your mouth, disgusting-face!”

  “Of course you care,” she says, and I’m glad to hear it, even if it does mean seeing chewed-up coffee cake.

  “I know. But I still say wrong things. And I don’t know enough. And wait—you know how you’re way smarter than your brothers?”

  “Yeah,” she says. Because it’s just the truth.

  “Well, she’s a lot smarter than me. Or at least better at school stuff, and thinking about big things that I never thought about. And it’s . . . I don’t know if I’m going to be in trouble with my dad and Valerie, because there’s no way I’m going to do anywhere close to how she does in school.”

  Annie nods like she’s getting it. “And when you were an only child, you were always the smartest one and the best student. The best at everything.”

  I feel like there’s a lot more to say. But in a way, Annie just summed it all up. So we sit and eat, and it is so, so good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Naomi Marie

  “Oxtail!” Brianna yells as she runs past Daddy into the kitchen. I hug him and walk at a more dignified middle school pace, even though I’m really hungry and I can smell all kinds of goodness.

  “Yep,” says Daddy proudly. “And stew peas . . . jasmine rice . . . of course some callaloo.”

  “Yay everything except callaloo!” says Brianna. “Daddy, I made a baguette in school.” She takes out a piece of what used to be bread. “I saved you a piece. Question: Do you have butter?” She opens the fridge.

  “Brianna, that’s too old and stale for Daddy to eat,” I say. “You’ll poison him.”

  Brianna’s lip gets all poked out for a second; then she looks up. “Like a fairy tale? Oooh, then what would he turn into?”

  “A big bunch of callaloo,” says Daddy, trying to pick us both up. It doesn’t work. “Oof, you girls are getting big.” He turns to me and mouths, Thank you.

  “I’m thinking I should call you Pops,” I say. “My favorite character on Ocean Hill calls her parents Guidance and Pops; she’s in sixth grade too. Can we watch Ocean Hill tonight, Daddy? After Brianna goes to bed?”

  “No watching shows without me,” says Brianna calmly. “Momma says.” I stick my tongue out at her.

  “Guidance?” asks Daddy. He shakes his head. “Never mind, I’m sure I don’t want to know. And we are not going to be watching shows tonight. After we enjoy this sumptuous feast—”

  “S-U-M-P-T-U-O-U-S, sumptuous,” I say automatically. “Easy peasy.”

  “As I was saying, you both clearly have a lot to tell me, and I have much to share with you, and I worked like a dog to take a cab all the way to Islands to get this food, so we are going to finish it all and talk the night away!”

  “Games?” I ask.

  “You know it,” says Daddy. “Including Bananagrams.”

  Yes!

  “Sounds good to me,” I say. “Let’s eat. I’m so hungry I could eat all of this!”

  “You have to do portions,” says Bri. “I know about MyPlate, Daddy. First Lady Forever Michelle Obama said that it’s all about portions. I learned that in school.”

  “And I’m so proud of you,” says Daddy. “Let’s celebrate with DINNER!”

  One of the great things about being at Daddy’s is that since we’re already eating on the fluffy L-shaped couch, we only have to shift a little and roll away from our empty plates when we’re done.

  “Whoa,” says Brianna, patting her stomach. “My belly has a lot of portions inside.”

  I pour us all some sorrel. “Pops, I need some advice.”

  “Pops? What happened to Daddy? I am going to be your daddy forever, and—”

  “—Just like First Lady Forever Michelle Obama!”

  “Exactly.” Daddy nods as he scoops us both up into a hug. “Just like First Lady Forever Michelle Obama. Even if you are in kid-nergarden and middle school. You’ll always be my little girls.”

  “See?” Brianna says to me. “Daddy says it the special way too.”

  “I can’t keep calling you the same thing she calls you, Dad,” I say, glaring at Bri.

  “White Naomi doesn’t call Momma anything,” Bri says.

  I think about that for a second. I didn’t realize it, but I guess she doesn’t. Should I ask her why? She’ll probably tell me to let it go, like everything else.

  “Anyway,” I say. “Daddy, remember I told you that this rich guy is giving money to our school?”

  “Eco-Casiiiiitaaaaaa,” sings Bri.

  “Uh-huh,” Daddy says. “I really like the things they’re doing there. Your mother worked hard to get you all spots in that school.”

  “Eco-Casiiiiiiitaaaaaaa,” sings Bri.

  “Well, I went to a protest meeting. . . . A lot of people are against it.”

  “Follow the money,” says Daddy. When I just look at him, he adds, “Sorry, All the President’s Men reference. Classic film. We’ll watch it next time.”

  “But my teacher says we’ll get new equipment,” says Bri. “It’s gonna teach us a lot of science, and I am going to be a scientist. And a tightrope waaaaaalker.”

  “Yeah, so anyway,” I say, “me and Gigi—”

  “Gigi’s your BFF?”

  “Don’t say ‘BFF,’ Daddy—it’s embarrassing . . . and yeah, she’s my good friend at school. But she’s not replacing Xio or anything. Me and Gigi wonder if it’s okay for him to help the school even if he’s not so great.”

  Daddy nods slowly. “Well, I can see that it’s complicated. Have the protesters talked to the administration?”

  “Question: What’s ministration?” asks Bri. I’m glad she stopped with the singing. “Eco-Casiiiiiitaaaaaaa!”

  I thought too soon.

  Then she jumps up and adds a little dance. I have to laugh.

  Daddy turns to me.

  “It’s, like, who’s in charge; at school it’s Carla,” I say to Bri. “Also, it’s spelled A-D-M-I-N-I-S-T-R-A-T-I-O-N.”

  Daddy nods. “On one hand, you don’t necessarily want to be in bed with an organization or individual that doesn’t reflect the values you stand for . . . but it’s also true that people can do good work and do things we disagree with.”

  “Question,” starts Brianna.

  “He means sometimes people are good and bad at the same time; we can’t always judge,” I say quickly. “Or they do bad and good things.”

  “On Community Court, there’s always a judge,” Bri replies.

  “Different kind of judge,” I say. I’m quiet for a minute. “I think I need more information before I can make up my mind about this whole thing.”

  “Whatever you do or don’t find out, you have to decide for yourself what you stand for. Sometimes that takes a while. And that’s okay. Rushing to judgment is never a good thing.”

  “Amber drew a line on the edge of the sand table,” says Bri. “In marker. That’s not appropriate. I told on her.”

  “Don’t be a snitch,” I say.

  “On Community Court, the judge always pounds her hammer on the high table,” says Brianna, ignoring me. “Question: Is Carla going to have a hammer? What if she pounds you by mistake?”

  “Oooh, Community Court!” says Daddy. “I love that show!”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to encourage her,” I say.

  “And speaking of not watching inappropriate TV,” Daddy says quickly, “who’s up for Bananagrams?”

  “ME!” I yell right along with Bri.

  “Okay, I’ll set us up. Teams?”

  “You get Bri,” I say, fast. She’s always trying to make me use “words” like ackinopolis in word games.

  Daddy laughs and high-fives Bri. “We will be unstoppable!” he says. “Naomi Ma
rie, why don’t you check the kitchen counter. I believe there are some coconut cupcakes from Shelly Ann’s in there.”

  “Woot!” As I head to the kitchen, I turn back. “Oh, wait, Daddy, didn’t you have something to tell us too?”

  “Oh! Yes, I do.” He pauses, and I hold my breath, just in case it’s something bad that I have to pretend is good. Like . . . a serious girlfriend, or ladyfriend, as Xio says. I’m still getting used to Tom. I need Daddy to be just Daddy for a little longer. I realize suddenly that I don’t want to call him Pops.

  “I’m going to get . . . a dog!” says Daddy. “And I want you girls to come to the shelter with me tomorrow so we can meet the newest family member together.”

  “YAY!” shouts Bri, dancing around again. And maybe I do too. A dog! This is way better than a ladyfriend! “When you read Weekends with Max and His Dad to me, Naomi Marie, we can talk about doggy names!”

  “I thought you asked Naomi E. to read that to you already,” I say, trying to sound casual. “When did I say I’d read it?”

  “I’ve been saving it for you because we have weekends with our dad. And you don’t have to say you’ll read to me. It’s like you don’t have to say you love me every day. I know you will, forever. Just like—”

  “First Lady Forever Michelle Obama,” I say, scooping my little sister into a hug.

  “Also, remember when we used to play Ranger in Time? And you put my water dish—”

  “Yay, Daddy’s getting a dog!” I say quickly, hugging her again. “Daddy, can I text Xio before we start? I have to tell her about this!”

  “She’s on her way over,” says Daddy, smiling. “That’s my other surprise.” I hug him, and Bri does too, because she keeps forgetting that Xio is my friend.

  “You are the best at surprises,” I say. “Like, you totally win at them!”

  As the doorbell rings, I think about how I was just happy to be sleeping over at Daddy’s tonight and I got bonus dog news and Xio. Maybe Josh Cranstock is becoming a good guy, or at least better. Maybe DeVante Swing will think that I’m the most mature sixth grader he’s ever met. Maybe Jen Bile will stop being racist without me saying anything, and Naomi E. will start saying something about anything.