Maybelline flicked her eyes toward Suki. “How long she working till?”
“Midnight,” I said.
She sighed, then tossed me a cleaning cloth. “If you’re going to be here all night, be useful,” she said. “Wipe down them tables for me.”
I couldn’t think of a reason not to. It was better than drawing mustaches on Princess Kate. I went from table to table, wiping away all the crumbs, including from under the salt and pepper shakers and off all the chairs.
I checked the clock. Quarter to nine. Not even halfway through Suki’s shift. I looked over at her, and her fingers were flying, grabbing all the groceries and running them across the scanner, punching in numbers for the fruit. She looked great.
I gave the cloth and bucket back to Maybelline. “Anything else?”
She looked me up and down. “You can refill the salt- shakers.”
That sounded kind of fun. Maybelline gave me a big ol’ jug of salt and I went at it. You’d think pouring salt without spilling would take enough concentration to get my mind off things, but the truth is, salt’s another thing that looks a lot like crystal meth.
* * *
■ ■ ■
Clifton must have been away driving his truck the night Mama blew up the motel room. Clifton never did meth. I didn’t know how much he knew about Mama’s habits or how much he cared. I didn’t remember anything about how Mama and Clifton acted around each other. Five-year-olds don’t remember stuff like that. Suki was eleven when the motel room blew up, so I suppose she remembers more of it, but I never asked and she never said.
Mama took us to meet some other guy—not Clifton, I never knew his name—at a motel across town. The man was cooking meth, or he and Mama were cooking meth—even Suki didn’t know that part, I did ask that. But being in a motel room makes perfect sense. Meth blows up all the time. Not even the worst addicts are dumb enough to cook it where they live. I have no idea why Suki and me were there. Would have made a lot more sense to leave us at home. Probably the opportunity just came up sudden or something—I told you before, Mama had no more sense than a hamster.
She was a lot like a hamster, come to think of it. Up all night. She’d have run round and round on one of those little wheels if she had one. Meth messes with you in all kinds of ways.
Anyway, Mama and whoever were in the bathroom, cooking meth, and Suki and me were sitting on the far bed away from the bathroom door, on this ugly weird slippery orange bedspread, watching cartoons. Mickey Mouse. Suddenly Mama yelled something and ran out of the bathroom, and so did the other person, and then the whole bathroom blew up. Flames shot out right around Mama, like in the movies, but she didn’t catch fire.
“Get out of here!” Mama yelled. Suki snatched me up. She had to carry me right past the blazing bathroom to get out of the room. The air was so hot it hurt. Mama drove this old pickup truck at the time, had it parked outside. The doors were locked, because of course you always lock up your truck outside the cheap motel where you’re cooking meth. Suki dropped the tailgate, shoved me up into the bed, and climbed up after. The smoke alarm in the motel room started blaring, lights were coming on everywhere, and all sorts of people were yelling and scurrying around. The guy who’d been with Mama took off running. They never did find him. Meanwhile the room was still on fire, curtains catching now, so all around the window were these orange flames, like decorations. More smoke than you could believe.
Mama tried to open the truck door, but it was locked. The truck keys were still in the motel room, with the fire. Mama kept working the truck door, over and over, pulling on the handle and saying bad words. It was like she’d forgotten all about us and the fire and the meth, and could only think that if she wiggled something just right the door would spring free.
“I can’t get into the truck!” she yelled.
Suki popped her head out of the truck bed and yelled, “That’s because it’s locked, you snowflake!”
Then the firefighters showed up, and right after that the cops. Mama got taken away in one car, handcuffed. Suki and me got taken away in another, holding hands.
I don’t know what ever happened to the truck.
* * *
■ ■ ■
Later on, the same night of the fire—oh jeez, I’d forgotten this part. What a thing to remember in the middle of Food City—Clifton showed up at the police station and took Suki and me.
We were sitting side by side on hard plastic chairs. Still holding hands. A policewoman had gotten us sodas and kept trying to tell us everything would be fine, but with Suki so tense, she could hardly breathe, I didn’t trust anything the policewoman said. The fire had scared me. The police room, all weird harsh lights, the way Suki’s hair smelled like smoke and her eyes were so blank, that scared me too. I remembered it all in one scene, like a movie, just while I was sitting in the Food City deli, pouring salt.
I remembered Clifton coming in the door. He walked across the room straight to us, and he knelt down and looked Suki right in the eye. He said, “I told you I’d come get you.”
It sounded like a threat. Even still, at the time I’d been glad—glad that we had somewhere to go, that we had someone to come get us. I didn’t know about people like Francine.
Suki’s T-shirt had princesses on it. Those ones from Frozen. She looked at Clifton, then down at Elsa and Anna, and then, for just a moment, she closed her eyes. Flinched, like somebody’d slapped her. And when she opened her eyes again, I could see she’d made a decision. “Yes, Daddy,” she said. She stood up. Clifton put his arm around her, gave her half a hug. Nobody touched me. We went out of the police station, and from then on Mama was gone and we lived at Clifton’s house.
Clifton told them he was our father. He didn’t show proof—didn’t have proof ’cause he isn’t—but nobody at the police station much cared. He had a job and he wasn’t on meth. He got us set up going regular to school— kindergarten for me, sixth grade for Suki—and after a while, the social services people figured we were all fine, and quit poking around.
That was a mistake. The lawyer we got now, who’s supposed to stand up for Suki and me, she said it was awful that Clifton never had to prove nothing, that no one investigated him at all. She said the State of Tennessee dropped the ball but good.
She said she’d personally make sure they didn’t drop it again.
Uh-huh. Because I fully believe everything all these government people tell me.
Back then, I wouldn’t have thought Suki and me had it so bad. We had enough to eat. We didn’t have to keep moving around. Clifton always paid the light bill and we had heat in the house and cable TV. Even after what almost happened to me, I wouldn’t have thought it was so bad, not really.
I was wrong.
My mama blowing up a motel room and us probably never seeing her again, that’s bad, but it’s not even close to the worst. I’m getting there.
* * *
■ ■ ■
Just not yet. Can we have some happy in this story? I’m about done with sad for now.
* * *
■ ■ ■
“Hey, Maybelline!” someone bellowed behind me. “Whatcha doing, putting your grandkid to work?”
10
It was a short old white guy with a round bald head and round eyeglasses and eyebrows that looked like they were made out of fur. Like everyone else, he wore a shirt that said FOOD CITY. He had happy eyes.
“I’m filling saltshakers,” I said.
“You on the payroll?”
“I’m helping,” I said. “Paying back the cookie.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“What’s the deal with people always asking about my mother?” I said. “Nobody ever wants to know where my father is.”
“Okay,” the guy said, “where’s your father?”
I shrugged. “Never met him.”
“Tony, it�
��s okay,” Maybelline said. “She’s a friend of mine. She ain’t bothering anybody. She’s shopping, she just paused to help out.”
Well, that was nice of her.
The guy thought for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Tony Kegley,” he said. “Friday night manager. You finding everything you need here at Food City?”
I shook his hand. “I’m Della,” I said. “I got most of my groceries”—I nodded toward my shopping cart in the corner—“but I’m having real trouble deciding what flavor creamer to buy.”
Tony’s face crinkled like I’d made the best joke ever. “Don’t go with creamer,” he said. “Lord alone knows what’s in that stuff. You want to water down your coffee, stick with good old-fashioned half-and-half.” He nodded at Maybelline. “Looks like she’s working harder than a cookie. Let her have something else to eat.” He walked off, and I heard him saying to someone else, “Hey! You finding everything you need here at Food City?”
“He’s nice,” I said.
Maybelline said, “He might be the nicest man in the world.” She gestured to the deli. “What do you want?”
I looked at the luncheon meat, the cheese, the cakes and cookies and cupcakes. Sushi. Who in their right mind would eat sushi? Especially sushi made at a Food City in East Tennessee. Fried chicken, meat loaf. Then I saw it. I grinned. I said, “I’ll take some of that mac ’n’ cheese.”
It got late. I went around the deli and turned all the chairs upside down on the tables, so the night janitors could mop the floor. Maybelline said they’d do that once the store was closed. Maybelline started pulling the hot stuff off the deli line. I took my cart over to where I’d hid our cold stuff, put it back in, and took it over to Suki.
In addition to her paycheck for working at Food City, Suki got 10 percent off anything she bought there. That was why we were doing all Francine’s shopping. Francine said, so long as we bought everything she wanted us to get, we could take the 10 percent and use it to buy whatever else we wanted.
Anything in the whole store.
Francine’s list came to $147, which meant Suki got $14.70 off, which meant $7.35 for each of us. Suki took a quick bathroom break. On her way back, she went over to the cheese counter and picked out some weird mushy cheese with garlic in it. “Always wanted to try this,” she said. It cost $6.99, so you can see why she never did.
I decided on Flamin’ Hot Crunchy Cheetos, a family-sized bag, and a two-liter of Mountain Dew. Next morning, Suki slept in, Francine slept in, and I ate the whole bag of Cheetos for breakfast, washed down with Mountain Dew.
It was heaven. Or, you know, Nevaeh.
11
Monday morning, Ms. Davonte handed back the math quiz we’d taken on my first day. I got an 8. As in, percent. Eight percent. I’d gotten two answers right out of twenty-five.
Ms. Davonte said, “Don’t worry about it, Della.” Then she made me stay in at recess and go over it with her. She said my old school must not have gotten to this stuff yet.
They had, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. She’d figure out eventually that school and me didn’t get along. School was just a place I had to go.
I missed the entire recess. The school had a dirt playground with some big trees and swings and slides and stuff to climb. Instead of swings and trees and sunlight, I got extra math. The whole afternoon I felt twitchy. I tapped my feet under my desk until Ms. Davonte made me stop.
Someone knocked on the classroom door. Ms. Davonte answered it. “A note for you, Della,” she said, handing me a paper.
It said I was supposed to take a different bus after school, not home, but to the after-school program at the Y. The note was signed Francine.
Not Suki. Francine.
Over the weekend Suki and Francine had been talking about some kind of after-school program, but I hadn’t really listened. I never thought they’d spring it on me like this.
Plus I’d never gotten a note in the middle of school before. Plus I’d never been to the Y. I didn’t really know what a Y was.
I raised my hand. “Is this real?”
“Is what real?” asked Ms. Davonte.
“This—” I held up the note. “It says I have to take the bus to after-school at the Y.”
Ms. Davonte looked impatient. “Of course it’s real. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Nevaeh tapped my desk. “I go to the Y after school,” she said. “It’s real.”
Okay, that much was good. But why was I even going? I could stay home by myself after school. Or with Suki, like I was supposed to.
* * *
■ ■ ■
By the time I figured out which bus went to the after-school program, it was almost entirely full. I could see Nevaeh in the way back, but there weren’t any empty seats near her. I don’t think she noticed me. Trevor was sitting in the very first seat. I went past him and squeezed in next to some little kids.
When we pulled up at the Y, there were buses from all the elementary schools, and a whole swarm of kids heading into the building. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I stood around until a girl Suki’s age pointed me to the front desk. I showed the woman there my note from school.
“You’re all set,” she said. “Head into the big room for snacks and homework time. Then it’s either the gym or the pool. Did you bring your swimsuit?”
“No.” I’d never owned a swimsuit.
“Bring it with you tomorrow,” she said.
I’d never been in a pool. I didn’t know how to swim.
She said, “Today you can play in the gym. Do you like wall climbing? Basketball?”
How would I know?
* * *
■ ■ ■
In the big room everyone was sitting down at round tables, eating granola bars. I hesitated in the doorway.
“Della!” Nevaeh said, waving. “Over here!”
I sat down at the empty spot at her table. She introduced me to the other girls. One of them, Luisa, was in Ms. Davonte’s class with us. She had dark skin and hair, a thin face, big glasses, and a quick smile. I didn’t recognize the others.
I sat and ate a granola bar, and then the teenagers who were bossing all of us said it was homework time.
The only homework I had was redoing the answers I missed on the math quiz. That meant Nevaeh and all the other girls were going to see my quiz with the 8 written on top.
I took the quiz out of the folder Ms. Davonte gave me. I folded back the top of it to hide the 8, but I couldn’t hide the red marks covering all the rest. I hunched my arms around the paper.
“Hey.” Someone tapped my shoulder. Nevaeh. “Can I see?”
When I didn’t move, she added, “I’m good at math.”
I said, “Lucky for you.”
The other girls looked at me like I was being snotty, and who knows, maybe I was.
Nevaeh yanked the quiz out of my hands. She actually did. “Don’t—” I said, but she was already looking at it. She studied it for what felt like a long time. Meanwhile my face got hotter and hotter. I stared at my hands.
She looked up. “You aren’t making careless mistakes,” she said. “You’re getting the answers wrong in the same way every single time.” I didn’t understand. “It’s like if someone taught you that two plus two equaled six,” she continued. “Every time you were asked to add two and two you’d put down six, and it would always be wrong. Here,” she said, “let me show you.”
“I don’t want you to show me,” I said. “I didn’t want you to even look at it.”
“But I can explain it to you,” Nevaeh said. “Then you’ll understand.” She frowned. “I’m trying to help.”
As if it was going to be any easier listening to Nevaeh than it had been listening to Ms. Davonte. I grabbed my quiz back, crushed it into a ball, and threw it toward the trash can in the corner of the room. I missed.
Luisa whistled soft between her teeth.
Nevaeh walked over to the trash can, picked up the crumpled quiz, and brought it back. She smoothed the paper flat again. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I was trying to help. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to rip that quiz to pieces and throw them all into the air—I’d like to see Nevaeh try to fix that—and part of me wanted to quit being such a snot.
I don’t know which part would have won, because the counselors said it was time for recreation.
“Did you bring your swimsuit?” Nevaeh asked, sliding the quiz back without looking at it again.
I shook my head.
“Bring it tomorrow. Swimming’s fun.”
“Sure,” I said. “If I remember.” Would I be at the Y tomorrow? Was this an everyday thing? I wished I’d paid better attention to Suki and Francine. At least then I’d know more about what was going on.
Nevaeh and the rest of our table went off to the pool. I followed some kids I didn’t know into the gym. It was huge—three or four times as big as the gym at my school. A bunch of high school kids were already shooting basketballs at a net in the corner. The after-school counselors divided us up into different groups—volleyball, Hula-Hoops, something with rackets.
“Ever played basketball?” one of the counselors asked me. “We play a lot of basketball here.”
She was bouncing a basketball on the floor while she talked. Suddenly she grabbed it and threw it hard against the floor. The ball bounced once and hit me in the gut. It ricocheted off me and knocked into—oh, snow. Trevor. The strike-out king. He scowled and flung the ball back at me like I’d hit him on purpose.
“Cool it, Trevor,” the counselor said. “It was an accident.”
Fighting Words Page 5