by Robin Talley
I blink at her. So does everyone else.
No hands go up.
Mrs. Mullins just finished explaining that from now on, if we want to sign up for any clubs or teams, we can, as long as we talk to her and our parents about it first. To make sure it won’t be something that’ll bother the white people too much. (She didn’t actually say that last part.)
Mrs. Mullins frowns at us, her perfectly curled hairdo looking cockeyed as she tilts her head. “We thought you’d be happy to have this opportunity.”
“I’m not about to sign up for anything,” one of the sophomore boys says. “I don’t want to spend any more time with the white people than I have to.”
“I’m always so happy at the end of the school day because I know I’m leaving soon,” Yvonne says. “I don’t want to stay at that place any longer.”
“There’s no point,” Ruth says. “They don’t want us in their clubs. Why should we bother?”
I frown at her. “What about cheerleading?”
Ruth rolls her eyes. “As if anyone could even hear my cheers over the white people. They’d all be too busy shouting at me.”
My heart dips in my chest.
“Well I’m glad Sarah doesn’t feel the same way all of you do,” Mrs. Mullins says. “I’m sure she’ll do us proud at her audition tomorrow.”
Ruth and her friends glare at me.
I can’t believe I ever thought joining the choir was a good idea.
I lower my eyes and brush carpet fluff off my skirt. It’s old, gray and woolen, longer than the style is now. I’ve had this skirt since junior high.
It used to bother me that I couldn’t wear my nice clothes to school. Now I can’t imagine caring about something like that.
Ennis nudges my arm. “Don’t worry about them. You’re going to be great.”
I try to smile at him, but I don’t have the energy for that, either.
“Hey, listen,” Ennis whispers after a minute has passed. Mrs. Mullins has moved on to talking about class schedules. Chuck is still trying to get transferred into advanced Physics, even though the principal has already said twice that it’s impossible, no matter how many extra Science classes he took back at Johns. Mrs. Mullins is telling Chuck there’s nothing more to be done, but Chuck’s shoulders are clenched tight.
“Are you doing anything Saturday?” Ennis whispers.
I shake my head. The white people’s spring dance is this Saturday. I wonder if she will be there. With her fiancé.
“How about going to a movie with me?” Ennis whispers. “There’s a new one with Tony Curtis.”
I blink.
A movie? With Ennis?
I turn to face him. He ducks his head.
Ennis just asked me on a date. A normal, Christian, boy-girl date.
“Yes!” I say too loudly. The others turn and look at me again, but I don’t care this time.
Ennis beams. “Pick you up at six-thirty?”
I nod. I even manage a smile of my own.
This will all be all right.
I can forget about what happened yesterday. I can learn to be normal.
I just have to make sure I do everything right.
I try to smile at Ennis again, but he isn’t watching me anymore. So I look him over, considering.
Ennis is a nice boy. He’s polite. His clothes are always clean and pressed. He doesn’t have a car, but he can borrow his father’s. He makes good grades and he’s from a good family. My parents will like him.
I’ve never really thought of him in that way before, but what does that matter? Anyway, it’s only because I haven’t had time to think about very much at all since school started. Any normal girl would be happy to be with Ennis.
I wonder how soon I can get him to ask me to go steady.
He’s tapping his right hand against his knee. He’s wearing his class ring, the one we all got last year at Johns. I picture how his ring will look on a chain around my neck.
Once she sees me wearing it she’ll know I’m not really like that. There won’t be any point to her spreading stories about me. All of this will be behind me.
Not that I want her to ever look at me again.
“Mrs. Mullins? Could I say something, please?” Paulie’s raising his hand.
Mrs. Mullins takes off her glasses, wipes them with a cloth and nods. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. Paulie stands up and takes a breath.
“I wanted to let you all know today was my last day at Jefferson,” he finally says. “I’m transferring back to Johns for the rest of the year.”
I gasp. I’m wide-awake now.
“Noooo,” Ruth whispers. She clasps Yvonne’s hand.
“What?” Ennis stands up, his smile long gone. “You’re not serious.”
“You can’t give up, Paul,” Chuck says, his voice breaking.
But Paulie’s already given up. It’s clear from his face.
I can’t blame him.
He kept saying he was all right after what happened in Study Hall yesterday.
He wasn’t. No one would be.
It wasn’t only the injury. The doctor looked him over and said he was lucky. He’s got a knot on his neck and a bruise on his forehead but nothing more.
If the baseball yesterday was the only thing that had happened, Paulie could’ve kept going. I’m sure of it. But there was the baseball, and the rocks, and the spitballs and the pencils. And the shouts, the notes, the whispers. The footsteps behind you everywhere you go. Looking over your shoulder all the time to make sure no one’s followed you.
I’m not the least bit angry with Paulie. I wish I were Paulie.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Paul,” Mrs. Mullins says. “After your mother called me last night I’d hoped you might reconsider.”
“No,” Paulie says. “I’ve had as much as I can handle.”
The adults are shaking their heads. Behind me Miss Freeman mutters something to Mr. Stern about “setting back the movement.”
I have to stop myself from snorting. What business is it of Miss Freeman’s, or any of theirs? They weren’t in that room with Paulie when it happened. They didn’t get detention from the principal for trying to help their friend, like I did yesterday. They aren’t getting called names all day by angry white people, like all of us are.
It’s hard to think about the good of the movement when you can’t hear yourself think for the shouting.
The grown-ups always act like they’re the ones who have it hard. None of them knows the first thing about what this is like for us.
We’re pawns in their game. The Negro parents versus the white parents. Bo and Eddie and their friends, they’re pawns the same as us. The same as her.
I wonder how many of the grown-ups on either side would sacrifice us pawns if that’s what it took to win.
Paulie is still standing above us, his expression fixed.
If I were at Johns I’d be having a normal senior year. Taking college prep classes. Getting ready for prom. Rehearsing for my guaranteed solo in the spring concert. Instead I’m studying junior-high algebra and steering clear of white people’s spit.
If I’d stayed at Johns I wouldn’t have met her. None of that would have ever happened.
I want to go with Paulie. I want to be the girl I used to be.
It takes all my strength to keep the tears from falling.
“We’ll miss you, buddy,” Chuck says, shaking Paulie’s hand.
Everyone goes over to say goodbye.
We’ll still see Paulie. There will still be church picnics and neighborhood dances. Dates and parties and ice-cream socials.
But when we see him again, he won’t be one of us. He’s leaving us that much more alone.
Yet even when I try, I c
an’t be angry with him.
Ennis walks out with me when the meeting is over. Ruth goes down the hill to Mama, who’s talking to Miss Freeman by the car.
“So I’ll see you on Saturday,” Ennis says.
Right. Our date. I force another smile. “Of course.”
“We might have the movies to ourselves,” he says. “There’s a dance all the white people will be at.”
I nod. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about seeing her there.
Paulie comes through the door behind us. Ennis shakes his hand.
I wonder how long it’ll take Paulie to forget Jefferson. If he’ll keep dreaming about being followed for months to come, or if it will all go away once he’s living a normal life again.
I want to ask him, but I don’t know how. I still don’t know how to talk about this, even with my friends. Ruth and I don’t talk about it, either, not anymore. We feel it so much we don’t want to talk about it. Talking about it means feeling it all over again.
“Did your daddy give you a whupping when you told him?” Ennis asks Paulie.
Even though Ennis was joking, Paulie doesn’t smile.
“My father didn’t say much,” he says. “He said it was my decision. Then he went out to the garage and worked on the car. He was banging on it for the rest of the night so loud I could hardly get to sleep. My mother cried when I told her, though. She said it was because she was so happy. It’d been making her sick, me going to that school every day.”
I swallow.
“They never wanted me at Jefferson in the first place,” Paulie goes on. “I’m the one who signed up. I didn’t know it would be like—well. It doesn’t matter now.”
Ennis and Paulie start talking about their community baseball league. I stop listening and watch Ennis’s face as he talks. I wonder if he’ll try to kiss me on Saturday.
It’s wrong to French-kiss on a first date, but if he tries I won’t stop him. I need to erase what happened.
Ennis is still talking about baseball. “My father is always after me to quit because they won’t let us play against the white teams, but I told him if I can’t play ball I’ll just about lose my mind, and he said— Hey, Sarah, are you all right? You look funny.”
That’s because I’m still thinking about kissing him.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I have to go. My mother’s waiting for me.”
“All right. See you Saturday. Oh, and tomorrow, too, at school, of course.”
He smiles at me again. I don’t know how he can muster up smiles so easily. I couldn’t do that even before it happened.
I say goodbye and join Mama and Ruth at the curb. Mama is looking from me to Ennis and back with a smile. That should make me happy. Instead it makes me want to cry again.
This should be the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Going on a date with a boy.
Maybe if I try hard enough it will be.
* * *
Mr. Lewis told me to come to the Music room during lunch for my audition.
After I slide the last few pages of our French assignment into Judy’s locker, I spend the rest of the morning going over my audition song in my head. It’s one I’ve sung countless times before. I practiced it five times last night after dinner, with Mama playing the piano and reminding me to stand up straight.
I’ve sung solos in rooms full of people plenty of times, but never in a room full of white people.
I wonder if they’ll scream names at me during my audition. If they’ll throw things. If they’ll shove me into the piano in the middle of a verse.
If my audition had been last week I’d have kept singing no matter what. Even if it was with the last breath I took. I wouldn’t have given the white people the satisfaction of seeing me do otherwise.
I’m not sure I’m strong enough for that today.
But when I get to the Music room it’s empty.
There are no choir members crowded on the risers. No lines of people waiting to take their turn at the piano. Just a huge vacant room full of crumpled sheet music and the smell of teenagers’ sweat.
The desk lamp is shining under Mr. Lewis’s office door. I knock.
“Come in,” he calls.
I open the door and stand in the threshold, wondering if I misunderstood him about the audition time. Or if I misunderstood altogether and this was all just another trick.
“Ah, Miss Dunbar.” Mr. Lewis nods and comes out into the Music room. “Ready for your audition?”
“Yes.” I look around at the empty room. “Where are—”
“I decided to hold individual auditions this year. Takes the pressure off some, doesn’t it?”
The relief is so strong I want to cry again.
“Do you mind singing along with a recording?” Mr. Lewis moves toward an ancient record player and gestures for me to go to the front of the room. “Normally we’d have a student accompany you on the piano, but everyone’s at lunch right now.”
“That’s fine.”
“‘Amazing Grace,’ right?”
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
I clasp my hands in front of my face, close my eyes and say a quick prayer. Then I open my eyes and smile, the way Mama told me to.
The familiar opening notes chime on the record. I take a breath. And I start to sing.
It’s strange, singing alone in this big room with no one but Mr. Lewis in front of me. I’ve never sung here like this, with my full voice. During choir practices I’m always too busy looking around for the people whispering at me or throwing things, but today I let my voice ring out the way I do when I sing in church. Mr. Lewis watches, his chin resting on his hand, his lips pressed together tightly.
When I finish I hold my place and keep smiling, the way you’re supposed to when you’re waiting for applause, but Mr. Lewis is still making that strange face. I shift my stance and glance behind me.
I nearly jump out of my skin. Three white girls are standing just outside the door, gawking at me.
Then the one in front steps aside, revealing a fourth girl.
Her.
She’s fiddling with a gold chain around her neck. She sees me looking and bites her lip, but she doesn’t turn away.
Is she here to sabotage my audition? Surely it’s too late. Surely Mr. Lewis won’t let her do anything. Surely—
The girl at the front of the group turns and runs away, clutching her books to her chest. The other two run after her. Their chattering voices echo down the hall.
I can only make out a few words. One of them is uppity.
She goes last after her friends’ footsteps are already far down the hall. She’s still chewing on her lip as she walks away. As if there’s something she wants to say.
Did she tell the others? Is that what they’re giggling about?
Why is she acting this way? What’s she thinking?
I hate not knowing. Before it happened I used to be able to tell what she was thinking just by the look on her face.
“Don’t you worry about those girls,” Mr. Lewis says. “Curiosity is only to be expected.”
Mr. Lewis is either a liar or too naive for his own good.
He rifles through a stack of papers on the piano, pulls out a few pages and passes them to me. It’s the sheet music with the vocal melody for “Amazing Grace.”
“I’m glad we invited you to audition,” he says. “I spoke to Mrs. Pinkard over at Johns, and she told me you were the best singer she’d taught in years. She said I’d be out of my mind if I didn’t give you a solo in our spring concert. I see now what she meant.”
A solo? In the spring concert? The white people will have my head.
But I remember what Daddy said. I can’t let him down.
“Thank you, sir,”
I say.
He nods and scribbles something onto a notepad.
“We’ll have you reprise that performance. With a pianist accompanying you, of course.”
I nod. It’s done.
The night of the concert may well be my last night at this school.
If I even make it until then. Once word gets out that I’ve been assigned a solo, the white people will never leave me alone. I’ll have to be constantly looking out for baseballs and worse.
I turn to go. Mr. Lewis calls after me when I’ve got my hand on the door.
“By the way, Miss Dunbar? You should be very proud. It took a lot of courage for you to do this.”
I drop my eyes to the ground and thank him. Then I hurry down the hall.
Mr. Lewis doesn’t know the first thing about me.
I can’t ever be proud of myself again.
Lie #17
“I DON’T KNOW why you keep your hair so long.” Mama jerks at my scalp with the curling iron. “Let me take you down to see Estelle. She’ll give you one of those pretty shorter styles like your friend Frances has.”
“I like it this way.” I grit my teeth for another yank.
“It’s so old-fashioned.” Ruth pats her own short hair. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, eavesdropping when she’s supposed to be doing her homework. Mama always does our hair in the kitchen so she can heat the combs on the stove. “You’ve got the longest hair of anyone in school.”
“I said, I like it this way.”
Mama frowns but doesn’t say anything more. Ruth rolls her eyes at me when Mama’s back is turned.
The truth is, before it happened, I’d been thinking about cutting my hair. It’s getting down past my shoulders now. It takes forever to set it. And Ruth is right: it’s old-fashioned. None of the other girls at Jefferson have hair past their chins.
But long hair is feminine. Everyone knows that. Until I’ve fixed this problem I need to be as feminine as I can.
Tonight is my first date with Ennis. My one chance to do this right. I can’t take any more risks.
“Yee-haw!” Bobby screams, running through the kitchen in his cowboy hat. All three of us jump, and Mama nearly drops the curling iron on my head.