by Mitzi Miller
As usual, the activity in the cafeteria bordered on organized pandemonium. Out of the three separate lunch periods during the school day, third period was always rowdiest. In one corner the jocks horsed around loudly and entertained the giggling dance-squad members with antics that occasionally included harassing the tech geeks who sat huddled together discussing the latest high-speed gadget they planned to use their allowances to purchase. In the opposite corner, the future Black Republicans of America pretended that they were a “different kind of black people” from the tight-knit circle of young men wearing baggy jeans and the latest Billionaire Boys Club T-shirts engaged in a particularly heated rhyme battle. Drama club members predictably rocked their uniform head-to-toe black attire like a badge of honor as they shared a table beside the large-windowed wall with the members of the band. The distinct smell of weed and days-old smoke assaulted Sydney’s nostrils as she made her way past the table of sleepy-looking stoners. A heavyset lunch monitor with a tacky auburn weave and serious attitude problem named Miz Bea wandered slowly between the various tables throwing dirty looks and threats of after-school detention toward any individual who seemed on the verge of cutting up.
“I already know Sydney is having her usual extra-large, strawberry, banana, and wheat-germ smoothie, but what about you, Rhea?” Carmen asked as the girls made their way toward the tower of food trays.
“Depends. My bathroom scale says a chicken-salad wrap, but I must say those Tater Tots are calling my name…”
“You are so damn ghetto, talking about the Tater Tots calling your name,” Carmen giggled. “You know you need to back away from the deep fryer.”
“I know, I know,” Rhea answered remorsefully. “I just can’t help myself.”
“Please try,” Sydney said playfully as she passed trays to Rhea and then Carmen. “Next thing, you’ll be requesting smothered chicken, red Kool-Aid, and a side of watermelon.”
“Hey! I happen to love smothered chicken and watermelon,” Carmen asserted as they reached the serving area.
“And yet, we love you anyway, Carm,” said Sydney.
“Whatever.” Carmen laughed good-naturedly as she examined the expiration dates on the various flavors of yogurt.
When the three finally finished collecting their respective lunches—a health shake for Sydney; yogurt, turkey sandwich, and Perrier for Carmen; and a wrap with Vitamin Water for Rhea—the girls headed over to their table in the very center of the cafeteria.
“So I was telling Sydney that the boy from the golf-pro shop finally called me,” Carmen told Rhea.
“Sweet,” Rhea responded as she stopped to grab napkins and straws.
“We shall see. He wants to hang out on Saturday afternoon. I was kinda hoping that we could all swing by the mall after school so I can try to find something to wear…”
“I’m in. What about you Sydney?” Rhea chirped. “Syd? Hello, Earth to Sydney…”
Once again, Sydney was completely distracted from the conversation around her. But this time she was far from spacing out. In fact, her attention was completely focused on what appeared to the uninformed eye to be a casual conversation between Sydney’s boyfriend and her sister’s best friend. “Um, sure. I’m down. You guys ready to sit?” Rhea and Carmen barely had time to reply before Sydney was halfway across the cafeteria and all the way up in Dara’s face.
“I’m sorry, I’m not interrupting anything here am I?” Sydney questioned innocently as she inserted herself between Marcus and Dara on the table bench by discreetly elbowing Dara in her side.
“Oh, hey, Sydney! I didn’t even see you come in the café,” Marcus explained uneasily as he scooted farther away than necessary from Dara and turned toward the still-standing Rhea and Carmen. “Hey, ladies.”
“Hey, y’all,” Dara offered lamely as she now teetered precariously on the edge of the short bench for two.
“Hey,” Carmen and Rhea replied in unison as they walked around to the empty side of the table and assumed their regular seats.
“Well, it’s no wonder you didn’t see us, what with Dara all up in your face like that, sweetie,” Sydney continued in a deceptively cheerful tone as she picked up one of the many straws on Rhea’s tray and pulled it out of the paper wrapper. Rhea’s eyes bulged as Carmen gasped audibly.
“Well, then, on that note I think I’ll head back over to my table…” Dara said, as she quickly stood up to leave the table.
“Yes, why don’t you?” Sydney finished with a sneer. “Unless, of course, there’s something that you’d like to share with all of us?” She looked at Dara expectantly.
“Have a nice lunch, Marcus,” Dara huffed as she retreated back across the room to the dance squad’s table.
Carmen, Rhea, and Marcus sat in shocked silence as Sydney took a long pull from her shake and looked across the table innocently. “What’s wrong with you guys?”
“Nothing, nada,” Carmen and Rhea replied, starting to eat their respective lunches as if their very lives depended on it.
Marcus cleared his throat, “So, yeah, me and Dara were just talking about the exam that we have next week.”
“Is that so?” Sydney questioned as she stared Marcus down. In between bites, Carmen and Rhea discreetly exchanged looks of disbelief. In four years, they had never once seen Sydney so much as disagree with Marcus, let alone talk smack to him in the middle of the café.
“Uh, yeah. And I was just telling her that because of a conflict in my schedule she was probably gonna have to find someone else to study with from now on.”
“Hmm, that’s unfortunate for her. We all know Dara’s not really the brightest,” Sydney said without breaking her steely gaze.
In response, Marcus tugged at the French cuffs of his white-and-blue-striped Brooks Brothers button-up. “I’m sure she’ll be all right,” he mumbled.
Just then, Jason and a couple of teammates strolled past en route to the jocks’ table. Jason slowed down as he reached Sydney’s back. “Hey, Syd, what’s good?” Jason said with a smile as he lightly brushed Sydney’s shoulders to get her attention.
“Oh, hey, Jason. How you doing?” Sydney turned from Marcus and stood up to offer Jason a hug and a smile. She barely suppressed a laugh as she imagined the look on Marcus’s face.
“You know, ‘bout to get my grub on,” he continued easily, as if unaware of the three sets of eyes blazing holes in his face.
“Well, let me not get in your way then,” Sydney retorted playfully, stepping back.
“True, true. I’ll holler at you later,” he said, and with a quick general head nod at the entire table, Jason was gone.
As soon as Sydney could sit back down, Rhea jumped all over her. “Well, excuse me. I didn’t know you knew Jason,” she teased good-naturedly as Carmen raised her eyebrows suggestively at his retreating back. “You holding out on us now?”
“Yeah, Syd. Since when are you and Jason Darden so tight?” Marcus seethed.
“What can I say? You’d be surprised at the things that I know,” Sydney hinted slyly.
“Is that so?” Marcus struggled to keep his voice even as he noticed Carmen and Rhea watching the couple go back and forth, like Venus and Serena at the final round of the US Open. “’Cause this one’s news to me, too.”
Sydney pretended not to hear Marcus’s last comment and instead focused on her girls. “So anyway, Rhea, you were saying that Mr. Hicks was giving out pop quizzes?”
“Uh-huh.” Rhea replied between sips of her Vitamin Water.
“Hmm, well, in that case, you all will have to excuse me. I was way too stressed out this weekend to get any studying done. I’m gonna go grab my notebook and try to squeeze in a last-minute review ‘fore the bell rings,” Sydney announced as she rose from the table with her bag and turned to walk away.
“Did you hear me, Syd?” Marcus countered, obviously frustrated as he stood up and grabbed her arm.
Sydney turned and shrugged him off with her fakest smile. “My bad. I didn’t
realize that I had to inform you of everyone I hang out with.” Marcus paused with his mouth slightly agape. “Hmm…sound familiar, Marcus?” Sydney asked.
And with that, she walked away.
10
LAUREN
Lauren had checked the time on her Sidekick no less than a half dozen times by the time Jermaine rounded the corner into the Lenox Mall Food Court. It was 8:45 P.M. He was fifteen minutes late. And despite the boy had clearly kicked up his wardrobe a notch—his pants were still sagging a little too low for Lauren’s comfort, but his argyle sweater and crisp white vintage Jordans were a welcome respite from the standard white T-and-Tims thug uniform he’d rocked the two other times she’d seen him—she was hardly impressed that he kept her waiting on the wooden bench like she was some common mall rat with nowhere else to be. His pearly white smile was met with a MAC Hug Me lipstick scowl. “Um, so is there something wrong with your watch?” Lauren sneered.
Jermaine looked casually at his bare wrist and, still smiling, gave Lauren a simple: “Don’t have a watch. How you doing?”
“I was fine fifteen minutes ago. You’re late,” Lauren said, grabbing her gold clutch and folding her arms.
“Yup, I figured as much,” Jermaine said just as nonchalantly, his eyebrows raised. “I let my man borrow my car, so I took MARTA over, but you know how those trains be running.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Lauren snapped.
“Well, the way you drive, maybe you should take a ride every now and again,” he said, acknowledging Lauren’s attitude by mockingly wiggling his neck. Really, Jermaine wanted to get off the subject of his car. More specifically he needed to take his mind off the events leading up to his handing over the keys to his ride. To Rodney. Who wasn’t a friend but his brother. His recently-released-from-prison brother. Let’s just say that it wasn’t a happy homecoming; not more than ten minutes after Jermaine got to work at the MLK Community Center at West End, Rodney came strolling in, yelling over the rowdy scrimmage basketball game Jermaine was refereeing.
“Baby brotha!” Rodney called out, strolling onto the court, seemingly unaware of the rush of ten-year-olds pushing the basketball across the worn-out wooden floor. “What up, man?”
Jermaine’s shoulders slumped, if only for a second, and then squared themselves as Rodney took his place in front of him. Jermaine blew his whistle. “Take five, young’uns—get you some water,” he said to his team, without taking his eyes off Rodney. He let his eyes roll from the top of Rodney’s lint-buzzed cornrows to the bottoms of his worn-out sneakers and then back up to his eyes. They looked tired, like those of a guy who’d led a hard-knock life. For sure, Rodney fit the bill, but it was his own doing. “Ain’t no babies here, brotha,” Jermaine said.
“My bad, shorty, my bad,” Rodney said with a chuckle. “You right. You damn sho ain’t no baby. You look good, man. It’s good to see you.”
Nothing from Jermaine.
“I stopped by to see Mama,” Rodney continued, ignoring his little brother’s shade. “See you took real good care of her.”
“Somebody had to,” Jermaine said, fire in his eyes.
Rodney smirked and sucked his teeth. “Yeah, little man—enough of the chitchat. Look here, Mama said you had a car. I need to ride for a minute—where the keys at?”
“Nah, man, I need my car. I got things to do tonight. Besides, don’t you felons got curfews or something?” Jermaine asked coldly.
“Felons, huh?” Rodney asked as he fixed his mouth to lay into his brother. But he was cut off by Little Mike, the star of the MLK Thunderbirds, who sidled up to the two brothers midcourt, unaware of the tension that had enveloped them.
“Hey, Mr. Jermaine, I brought you some water,” Little Mike said to his coach, thrusting a bottle of Crystal Springs in his face. Jermaine took the water and thanked his young charge.
“Good looking out. Why don’t you go get the guys to run some drills? I’ll be over in a second,” Jermaine told Little Mike, who looked at Jermaine and then over to Rodney and then back at Jermaine again. Something was wrong—Little Mike could feel it.
“What up, little man,” Rodney said to the boy, raising his chin in greeting.
“Hey,” he said.
“Playing a little ball, huh?”
“Yeah,” Little Mike said.
“Look man, go on over and run some drills like I said,” Jermaine said, growing uncomfortable. He watched as Little Mike trotted off, then turned his attention back to his brother. “Listen, I need my car, man. Wherever you got to go, you need to figure out another way to get there.”
“Well, I can definitely find another way to get there—you know that,” Rodney said, a grin spreading across his face. “I figured I’d start out on my first week out the pen doing the right thing.”
“The right thing, huh?”
“Yup, the right thing. So you gonna help your big brother out, or I need to find an alternate means of transportation?”
That, Jermaine didn’t want to have any part of, considering the last time Rodney found an alternate means of transportation, it led to a multicount indictment involving a car-theft ring that spanned three states, with Rodney all up in the middle of it. Desperate to prove her son’s innocence, Eugenia Watson put her house up for his bail; that fool skipped out on his first court date and left Eugenia and Jermaine holding the bag.
Jermaine looked Rodney up and down again. This, right here? He. Did. Not. Need. He reached into his gym shorts and pulled the thick ring of keys out of his pocket. He fingered them for a moment as he stared intensely into Rodney’s eyes.
“Don’t worry, baby brother, I’ll take good care of your ride,” Rodney said, slowly pulling the keys from Jermaine’s grasp. He tossed them in the air and winked at his little brother, then trotted off the court, Jermaine gritting his teeth enough to make the veins in his forehead dance a jig.
Yeah, the last thing Jermaine wanted to think about was his car.
“So you gonna spend the rest of the night being mad about a few minutes you can’t call back, or can a brother get a bite to eat and see a flick? Get a little conversation going? Chop it up? What?” Jermaine folded his arms; a smile smoothed easily across his face, his lips creating the perfect frame for his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Lauren definitely didn’t want to push the car issue anymore—no need to include Jermaine in her tragic family saga, and definitely no need to dredge up ugly memories of the verbal smackdown and stunningly harsh punishment Altimus Duke administered that she was still suffering under. Besides, she just could not resist the dimples.
“Whatever. Come on here, boy,” she said, smiling slowly and standing to reveal her cuffed jean shorts, fitted red leather jacket, and beige silk Bebe camisole, an ensemble she sweated over for a good forty-five minutes before she decided it had just enough flash to make his eyes bubble. It worked.
“I ain’t hardly a boy, but I’ll definitely follow if you’re leading,” Jermaine said, slipping his hands around Lauren’s waist and pulling her close to him. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Ms. Duke. How are you today?”
Lauren practically melted into the patchwork of tile beneath their feet, so taken was she by this man. “Ms. Duke is just fine, thank you,” Lauren said, savoring his kiss. She was about to kiss him back, but then remembered where she was: in the middle of a busy mall with hundreds of people making their way to the restaurants and movie theaters just beyond them. Though the risk was low that she’d run into somebody she knew (her friends and her mother’s friends, too, tended to frequent the more upscale Phipps Plaza just down the road), didn’t nobody, especially those who knew the Dukes, need to see her all booed up with Thug Passion, no matter how nice his sweater was, Lauren quickly decided as she pulled back from his embrace. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we? I don’t think we have time enough to sit and eat; you can buy me some popcorn after you get my movie ticket.”
“So much for women’s equality, huh,” Jermaine teased as he too
k her hand into his and followed along. “I thought you independent women liked to pay your own way.”
“Oh, I’m independent,” Lauren insisted, smiling sweetly. “But I’m also a lady—don’t you forget it.”
Now Jermaine was having his whatever moment. “Okay, Ms. Lady. So, what are we going to do to kill forty minutes if you’re not going to let me take you out to eat?”
Just then, Lauren’s eyes zoned in on a pair of hot-pink-and-burgundy BCBG heels; her instantaneous love affair with the glorious creations made her go temporarily deaf but miraculously improved the speed of her limbs, which wasted no time dragging her, Jermaine in tow, to the window for a closer look.
“Um, okay—I guess this is your way of telling me you want to window-shop, huh?”
Window-shop? Not quite. Lauren, who treated the purchase of shoes, clothes, purses, and jewelry like it was a stealth Marine mission to liberate prisoners of war, had no intention of leaving those pumps behind. “My God, I have to have those shoes,” Lauren said, her nose pressed against the window so hard that a small cloud of breath fog formed on the glass. “Just look at them. The most perfect…hot…pink…suede…shoes…ever. I can’t breathe,” she said, patting her hand on her chest.
Jermaine laughed, thinking she was being theatrical for kicks. “Must-have’s, huh?” he asked, just as a saleswoman slammed down the store’s gate.
“Oh, no, excuse me—can I get in real quick? I just need those shoes in size seven,” Lauren said, rushing over to the entrance and knocking on the glass door.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” the saleswoman said, shrugging. “We’re open at ten A.M. tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Lauren fumed.
“Well, I’m sorry, but the register is shut down so you can’t buy them tonight, and the store’s closed,” the saleswoman said as she walked away.