Text copyright © 2014 by Patrick Jones
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jones, Patrick, 1961–
Outburst / by Patrick Jones.
pages cm. —(The alternative)
Summary: After spending time in a juvenile detention center for a crime related to severe anger issues, seventeen-year-old Jada Robinson is sent to a foster home and enrolled in an alternative high school, and begins to move past her old life.
ISBN 978–1–4677–3901–6 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper)
ISBN 978–1–4677–4634–2 (eBook)
[1. Anger—Fiction. 2. Foster home care—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. African Americans—Fiction. 6. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 7. Letters—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.J7242Ovd 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2013041392
Manufactured in the United States of America
1 – BP – 7/15/14
eISBN: 978-1-46774-634-2 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-46777-383-6 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-46777-384-3 (mobi)
THREE MONTHS EARLIER
“You always say you’ll change, Jada, but I don’t believe you!”
Jada pushed back hard against the harsh words with both hands. Her shove earned her another slap. She hardly felt the sweaty palm against her face. Her cheeks were already burning with anger, along with the rest of her.
Jada’s first blow shut her critic’s mouth; the second broke her jaw. The fists that followed knocked her to the ground, where Jada’s kicks landed hard against soft flesh.
“How could you say that to me?” Jada shouted, but there was no response. Her accuser was down and out. As Jada stared down, her body shook with all the familiar emotions. Like every time before, Jada felt anger, sadness, shame, and regret, but mostly fear. Always fear.
Jada bent down beside her bleeding victim. Softer now, through tears, Jada asked again, “Why did you say that to me?”
Jada knew there would be no answer. But she kept repeating the words as she fumbled for her phone and dialed. Soon, the sounds of sirens—not uncommon in her neighborhood—would blast through the St. Paul night. One siren would be the ambulance. The other would be a police car for Jada.
1
Dear Judge,
Thank you for placing me here in JDC for a little while so I could learn my lesson. I know I have made some bad choices in the past, but I’ve changed this time. It will be different if you let me go back to my mom and don’t send me to foster care. If I go home, I will get involved in activities such as Girl’s Club and teach young kids how to shoot hoops. But mostly I’ll learn to control my anger when people disrespect me. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. I’m done fighting and causing problems at home with my mom. She’s got enough problems being sick without me hurting her too. I’m sorry for breaking the law. I’ll stop shoplifting, smoking weed, and acting out all angry. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if means I got to stop hanging around with my friends who sometimes get me into trouble. So I’m asking you to give me one more chance.
I know it is hard to deal with kids like me and I understand that I have to follow the rules, so that is why I am writing this letter to you like my PO told me I had to. If you let me go home, then I will write a letter like this to my mom as well to apologize for what I did that caused me to get locked up again. If you just give me one last chance then I promise I’ll control my anger and you won’t see me back in this courtroom ever again. Please, please, please.
Thank you judge!!!!!
Jada Robinson
2
Jada squeezed the short yellow pencil in her hand. Writing with the tiny tool made her feel like a giant with her thick, tall frame. I mean it this time, she thought. This time will be different. She carefully folded the letter and put it in the envelope. She didn’t need a stamp; she’d read it in person to the judge tomorrow. Jada hated speaking in front of people, especially adults with authority, but she was getting used to it. Just like she got more used to the colorless world of Ramsey County Juvenile Detention Center with every visit.
Back home, Jada was a color queen: lips, hair, nails, name it. Whatever she could change about herself, she would. Whatever she could shoplift from the Walgreens or Dollar Tree, she’d use and share with Kayla, Tamika, and Tonisha. They felt more like siblings to her than her two half-brothers, both of them full-on trouble. They’d both been in and out of the JDC many times. They’d all probably written the same letter—it wasn’t even the first time Jada had written one—to the same judge.
Everything was gray in the JDC, aside from the faces, which mostly, like hers, were brown. Except in court, where the judges’ faces were almost always white. And the judges never smiled, which made no sense to Jada, since judges had all the power and control, and the kids had none.
Jada picked up the Free on the Inside Bible that the chaplain had given her last Sunday. He’d asked if she had a favorite passage. Jada said Matthew 5:39, which her mother always told her she’d better learn to obey: turn the other cheek. Truth was, she’d never read the Bible. Nor had she read any of the books she took from the JDC library. She’d flipped through the hip-hop and sports magazines. Lots of those stars got into trouble when they were kids, Jada thought. All I need is a break like them. All I need is one more chance.
3
“Do you understand the rules of our home?” asked Mr. Markham, the balding foster father. He’d handed Jada the paper list almost the second he took custody of her, upon her release from JDC. She’d stared either at the paper or out the window the entire trip from Ramsey County Family Court to the driveway at the Markhams’ house. “Once you’ve read them, then sign at the bottom of the page.”
Jada shifted in the small seat in the un-air-conditioned old-school minivan. When she moved her feet, she heard a snap. Since the van’s floor held a collection of small toys, plastic spoons, and cereal, Jada guessed there’d be little kids in the foster house. She’d liked having kids around in the past. But she didn’t like that Mr. Markham—or other fake, white dads before him—called it a foster “home.” It was a house, not a home. And unlike before, the judge said this wouldn’t be a short-term placement. Three months, minimum.
“It’s important that I know you understand the rules before we go into the house, for everyone’s sake,” Mr. Markham added.
Mr. Markham hadn’t said much on the trip from the courthouse downtown to the house in the east St. Paul burbs, but it was more than Jada had said. She’d used all her energy—which wasn’t much, since she couldn’t sleep or eat or do much but worry while at JDC—to keep from crying at the judge’s unfair decision. If I don’t cry, Jada reasoned, then I’m still in control.
“If there’s any section you don’t comprehend, let me know.”
Jada wanted to crumple up the papers and shove them down Mr. Markham’s throat, so he’d
feel what it was like to have people always choking you with their rules. But she knew a burst of anger like that meant a trip right back to JDC. If she blew this placement at the Markhams’, Jada was pretty sure the judge would never let her go home.
“Gimme a pen and I’ll sign the stupid thing,” Jada muttered.
“When you ask for something in our house, we expect you to say please. Understand?”
“I need a pen, please.”
Mr. Markham clicked the pen and handed it to Jada. “You’ll do fine here.” She wanted to jab it into his satisfied “I won” face.
Jada signed her name on the last page like she hoped to sign autographs for fans one day.
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to ask about any of the rules,” Mr. Markham started up again. Jada handed him back the pen. I signed your stupid paper, Jada thought. Now just shut up.
“Not all our girls like our rules. You saw there will be no makeup of any kind?”
Only girls? While it wouldn’t be like her girls back home, maybe one or two would be nice. Doesn’t really matter, though, Jada thought. Her friends would never leave her, even if she did live way out in white land. She’d hit her girls up online as soon as she got inside. So what if she’d told the judge she wouldn’t contact them? No way the law would find out. Besides, didn’t they have real criminals to catch? Bangers shooting into houses and killing babies? They shouldn’t be wasting time on her.
“Jada, did you even read the rules?” Mr. Markham said.
Jada paused. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t be honest. “Most of ’em.”
“You need to read and understand all the rules before you can enter our home.”
“I didn’t know all the words.” Plus I don’t care about your rules, she thought.
Mr. Markham nodded. “Your PO told us that you had reading problems and that you were behind in credits from missing so much school, so we’re going to solve that in two ways. First, you’ll be attending Rondo Alternative High School. You’ll start after Labor Day. You’ll be in tenth grade.”
Jada said nothing. At seventeen, she should be graduating from high school, the first in her family to get that far. But she’d missed so much school and failed so many classes, she needed a miracle to still make that happen.
“And second, I’m giving you one of the best books in the world.” Mr. Markham handed her a thick book.
“A dictionary?” Jada raised an eyebrow. She scanned the cover of the red book, with all the letters of the alphabet lined up A to Z in a row like good soldiers. That’s what the world wanted: good soldiers, people to take orders. It didn’t matter if it was teachers at school, crew leaders on the corner, Mr. Markham and his stupid list, or Jada’s mom with her unfair rules.
“So if you don’t know a word, you look it up.” The book sat in Jada’s lap. “It’ll help you in school and in life.”
Jada sat silent.
“We want you to succeed, but ultimately, that’s your choice. Understand?”
That word again. With her left hand, Jada pointed her middle finger at the letter F on the book cover.
“Jada, don’t you have anything to say?”
With her right hand, Jada pointed her middle finger at the letter U. Then she looked up to meet Mr. Markham’s stare.
4
“Jada, welcome to Rondo Alternative High School,” said the dark-skinned black woman with curly hair and a big blue sweater. “I’m Mrs. Baker, the school principal. You’ve met Mr. Aaron,” she said as she motioned to the older guy next to her with short gray dreads. He’d met her at the front door and walked her into the small office. “And this is Mrs. Howard-Hernandez,” the principal continued, introducing a younger white woman who smiled at Jada.
One of me, three of them. Adults always got the odds, Jada thought as she yawned. No way was she getting up crazy early again. She hoped, since it was the first day, that it was a one-time thing. If not, it didn’t matter if she learned these people’s names and faces, ’cause she wouldn’t see much of them until after ten.
“Normally, Jada, school starts at eight,” the white woman said. Her short hair was blonde. Probably fake like her smile, Jada thought. “We wanted you to feel no pressure on your first day, so we asked you to come in early, to help you get acquainted.”
“Thanks,” Jada mumbled.
“I’m the language arts teacher, and I’ll be your coach,” Mrs. Howard-Hernandez continued. Jada wondered what she meant by coach. Her basketball coach back at Central High was the only coach who’d ever gotten her to listen or taught her anything. But Jada knew enough about alternative schools to know they had no sports teams.
“We’re here to help you get a fresh start at our school,” Mrs. Baker said. Jada noticed that the woman had a yellow folder on the desk. No doubt it held everything you always wanted to know about Jada Robinson’s messed-up life but were afraid to ask. They say you get a fresh start, Jada thought, except as soon as you show up, there’s a yellow folder in some adult’s hand, branding you. She’d hated reading The Scarlet Letter in school last year, but that part of it had stuck with her.
“Now, you played sports—you’re an athlete, right? So you know all about teamwork,” Mr. Aaron said.
Jada nodded. She’d played her part in this scene many times. Adults talked about expectations and that nonsense; she nodded, smiled, acted polite like they needed, and then did what she wanted.
“We’re a team. Our goal is to have you finish this year with enough credits so next fall you can enter as a junior. Do you think that’s a reasonable goal?” Mrs. Baker asked.
Another nod directed at Mr. Aaron. He smiled, but Jada didn’t give him one back.
“Like any team, everybody plays a role,” Mrs. Baker continued. “Your role is the hardest because you’re the point guard. You need to decide when to shoot, when to pass.”
Man, I always shoot, Jada thought. They obviously hadn’t read her file, because Jada played power forward. Point guard was for smart, short, scrappy white girls with no touch.
“And like any sport, there are rules, but mostly what we have here are expectations,” Mrs. Baker said. Jada sank in her seat and waited for someone to hand her another rule book. “It’s simple: show up on time, work hard, and give students, teachers and staff the respect that we’ll all show you.”
Jada sniffed and rolled her eyes.
“Mr. Aaron is the educational assistant, and he—” Mrs. Baker started.
“I set a mean pick,” Mr. Aaron said, then laughed. When he laughed, his dreads bounced. “I’m here to watch out for you, make sure you succeed. You come to me first.”
“For what?” Jada asked. Ain’t no adult watched out for me before, she thought. Usually it was all talk.
“To avoid trouble. Many of our students have backgrounds similar to yours. They’ve had trouble with the law, as have people in their families,” Mr. Aaron said. “So we understand.”
Mrs. Howard-Hernandez spoke up softly. “We’re interested in that history because it helps us—and you—understand your past decisions so you can learn from mistakes. We don’t care about who you were, but who you are.”
“And who you want to become,” Mrs. Baker added.
Jada said nothing as she looked around the small office so she could avoid eye contact with these strangers who wanted to act like her friends. She hated that people always said she had to earn their trust, even though they expected her to trust them from day one.
“So, we’ll help you with your schoolwork and whatever else we can,” Mr. Aaron said.
Mrs. Baker took over. “We want you here, Jada, and we want you to succeed, but—”
Here it comes, Jada thought. With every ‘but,’ there’s an asshole.
“If you show up not in shape to learn—and you know what we mean—we’ll call home,” Mrs. Baker said. “If it happens more than once, then we’ll recommend a treatment program.”
Jada felt like rolling her eyes. She had lots of
problems, but that wasn’t one of them.
“If you’re violent toward other students or staff, we’ll send you home,” Mrs. Baker continued. “If it happens more than once, then we’ll speak to your probation officer.”
Jada knew what that meant: back to JDC.
“Finally, if you don’t do the work, you need to tell us why.” Mrs. Baker reached her hands across the table, palms up, like she wanted Jada to grab them or something. That ain’t happening, lady, Jada thought. “Open up, let us know what’s holding you back, and then we can all move forward together.”
“Do you have any questions?” Mrs. Howard-Hernandez asked. Jada looked at the clock.
“When does school start again?” Jada held back yet another yawn.
“Eight,” Mr. Aaron answered and laughed again. “I’ll show you to your locker.”
5
“So, how are things in your foster home?” asked Jada’s probation officer, Mrs. Terry.
“Alright,” Jada answered. I’ve gone a whole week not acting out, she thought, and this is my reward: another old white person sitting behind a big brown desk, asking me questions like they really care about me.
Jada crossed her arms, covering the fugly gray T-shirt. The social worker still hadn’t gotten her clothes from home, and the stuff the Markhams bought for her was too cheap and too loose.
“I know it’s an adjustment, but the structure the Markhams provide is crucial to helping you change your behavior. You need to control yourself and avoid those bursts of anger that cause trouble.”
“Maybe,” Jada mumbled. The less she talked, the less chance there was of saying something bad.
“The Markhams will hold you accountable. You know what that means, Jada?”
Jada nodded. Not only did she know what it meant, she’d written down the definition. Mr. Markham had made Jada go through the list of rules one by one and tell him what each of the big words meant. The ones she didn’t know, like accountable, he made Jada look up in the dictionary. He said looking up the words and creating a word list was making her smart, but Jada thought the opposite. It made her feel stupid.
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