by Nikki Grimes
• • •
“Good morning, class,” said Paris’ teacher the next day.
“Good morning, Miss Broadnax,” said the class.
“Who can tell me what today is?”
Brian rolled his eyes. He was always rolling his eyes. One day, thought Paris, they’re gonna roll right out onto the floor. Then I can squish them good.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” someone answered.
“That’s right,” said Miss Broadnax. “Now, I know you all brought valentines for your friends, and you’ll have a chance to exchange those later. But today, we’re going to work on a special valentine for your mom.”
Which mom is that? thought Paris. The one in New York City? The one who didn’t love Malcolm and me enough to keep us together? The one who liked going out with strangers better than staying at home with her kids? Or the mom who comes to my room every night?
Paris sighed. Last Valentine’s Day, me and Malcolm made valentines for each other. But this year—
Paris hated how easily sad thoughts could sneak up on her. One thing she was absolutely, positively not going to do was cry in front of everybody.
“What is it?” asked Ashley, next to her.
“Nothing,” said Paris.
“Okay,” said Miss Broadnax, “I need a helper to pass out materials. Paris, give me a hand, honey.”
Paris loved Miss Broadnax.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, thought Paris. She was happy to be busy so she wouldn’t have to think so much. So she wouldn’t have to remember.
• • •
When the cards were finished, Miss Broadnax collected them all, including the cards students had brought from home. Using one manila envelope per student, she placed every valentine with his or her name on it inside. Later that morning, she called the students up one by one, and handed out the envelopes. That way, no one had to know how many, or how few, valentines everyone else received.
Paris eyed the size of each envelope. Most were a little pudgy, some were stuffed, and a few were fairly flat. One was thin as a jelly sandwich. Paris figured that one was hers, and she was right.
It doesn’t matter, Paris told herself.
At recess, David found her under a stairwell, clutching her manila envelope, her face dirty with tears. She wouldn’t tell him what the tears were for. She hardly knew herself.
• • •
That evening, when Paris went to her room after dinner, she found an envelope stuffed into her top dresser drawer. The envelope held a splashy red velvet heart, trimmed in silver. Inside were the words, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Paris.” Paris flipped the card over, hunting for a signature, but there was none. Even so, somehow Paris knew that the card had come from David. It was the same kind of thing Malcolm would have done.
Realizing that warmed Paris from the inside out.
Chapter 20
FAST TRACK
Two sleds. Boys versus girls. Saturday mornings in winter were made for this. Paris was sure of it.
“You know we’re gonna beat your butts, right?” said Ashley. “My dad taught me to sled, and my dad is the fastest.”
“Talk is cheap,” said David. “And you’re all talk!”
“Let’s just go,” said Paris, anxious to get started.
Jordan clutched David’s waist, steadying himself for the ride. David gave the word.
“Ready. Set. Go!”
With Ashley steering, she and Paris took off first, getting a good three-foot jump on the boys. Paris felt her heart leap inside her as their sled picked up speed, careening down the steep hill.
“Hold on!” Ashley yelled into the wind, as if Paris needed a reminder. Ashley might well have a tough time peeling Paris off of her once the race was over.
“Whew!” Catching up, the boys came dangerously close to a parked car, then spun out into the intersection, full throttle. Paris looked up in time to see a Jeep bearing down on all of them. The driver swerved, missing both sleds by a hair. Both pairs of racers crashed into the curb and rolled before coming to a complete stop.
For several moments, there was silence. Then, one by one, Paris and the others jumped up, patting themselves to make sure no bones were broken.
Once Jordan knew he wasn’t going to die, he broke out laughing. Ashley joined him, then David, then Paris. The air was so cold, every breath they took was visible. Laughing together, the four of them kicked up quite a cloud.
“So, who won?” asked David, wiping tears from his eyes.
Paris and Ashley shrugged. Once that car was coming at them, they’d lost all focus.
“All right,” said David. “We’ll call it a draw. There’s still the park, though. Let’s see who’s fastest there.”
He and Jordan righted their sled and lugged it the few feet into the park. David picked a strapping maple to mark their new starting point. Paris and Ashley joined the boys there, ready for the next challenge.
They raced down the slope, dragged their sleds uphill, and raced down again too many times to count. They finally stopped when their fannies were sore and the cold drove them to daydreams of hot chocolate.
Frozen as her arms and legs were, Paris had never felt happier.
My friend, she thought, rolling the words around in her mind. My brothers.
Paris smiled as the foursome trudged up the hill.
“We’re back!” David announced, as the four filed in. Mrs. Lincoln came to the door. “Hello, Ashley,” she said.
“Hi, Mrs. Lincoln.”
“Paris,” said Mrs. Lincoln, “can I see you for a minute?”
Paris followed her into the dining room.
“While you were out, your mother called. She wants you to visit her in New York next weekend. She’s already made the arrangements.”
Paris sank into the nearest chair, the winter chill suddenly melting in the heat of her anger.
Ashley came into the room. “Paris?” she said, sensing a change in her friend. “What happened?”
Paris looked up at the girl and shook her head.
You’d never understand, thought Paris. Not in a million years.
Chapter 21
THE VISIT
Paris stepped down from the train at Penn Station and slowly made her way to the terminal. Why hurry? It wasn’t as if she wanted to be there.
She is your mother, thought Paris, feeling guilty.
So what? I still don’t want to see her.
Paris rode the escalator up to the main hall, already longing for the return trip the following day. As soon as she reached the top, she heard her name.
“Paris! Over here,” said Viola. “Hi, baby.”
Viola bent low to give her daughter a hug. Paris recoiled at her mother’s touch, but feeling another wave of guilt, she allowed herself to be held for a moment before wriggling out of her mother’s arms.
Viola pretended not to notice. Instead, she grabbed Paris’ overnight bag and said, “Let’s go home.”
Paris coughed, choking on the word.
Home? What is she talking about? She must mean her home. I don’t have a home here anymore, thought Paris. Especially not with her.
Paris kept tight-lipped, following the familiar stranger onto one subway train, then another, and finally up the steps that led to a third-floor walkup on 147th Street and Convent Avenue.
The apartment was clean enough, with no bottles of brandy in sight, but Paris knew they could be hiding in cabinets or dresser drawers. She’d even found one behind the hamper, once.
Give me a few minutes, thought Paris. If there’s a bottle here, I’ll find it.
Viola noticed Paris giving the place the once-over. “I know it’s small,” she said, misunderstanding.
“Where’s my brother?” asked Paris, before she even knew the question was on the tip of her tongue.
Caught off guard, Viola said, “Well, honey, I don’t think now is the time to—”
“Where is he?” Paris almost shouted.
“
In a group home. At St. Christopher’s, in Dobbs Ferry,” said Viola.
Dobbs Ferry. Dobbs Ferry. Paris remembered those words. She’d seen them. Where?
“It’s a few train stops before Ossining.”
“I want to see him,” said Paris.
Viola sighed. “All right. I’ll make arrangements for sometime soon. But you can’t see him today. Now, let me show you around.”
Paris nodded stiffly, then dutifully followed her mother around the one-bedroom, railroad-style apartment. A narrow hall ran the length of it, doors on the right and left opening onto a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bath. Paris looked but didn’t really see anything. All her thoughts were on Malcolm.
• • •
The day marched by in a most unusual fashion. Viola took Paris out for a lunch of burgers, took her shopping for new boots and sweaters, then made her a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs—her favorite. The food was delicious, and Paris liked her new clothes, but she couldn’t help thinking that her mother was trying to make up for missing Christmas, or maybe even trying to buy her love.
It won’t work, thought Paris. I don’t love you anymore.
But even as she thought it, Paris knew it was a lie. She still loved her mother. She just didn’t want to. Loving her meant getting hurt, and Paris had had enough of hurting.
• • •
The following day Paris slept in late and woke to the spicy smell of sausage and the sizzle of pancakes in a skillet.
Over breakfast, Viola ventured a question about Ossining: “What’s the house like?”
At first, Paris was vague. “Nice. Old, but nice.”
“And the family?”
“They’re nice.”
“I hear they have a dog.”
Paris smiled. “Jet. He’s as big as a pony. Malcolm would like him.”
Viola sighed, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. She tried again.
“Have you made any friends since you’ve been there?”
Paris thought of Ashley, wondering what her friend was up to that morning.
“There’s one,” said Paris. “Her name’s Ashley. She lives down the street.”
“What’s she like?”
Paris thought for a moment. How would she describe her new friend?
“She’s not like anybody,” said Paris. “I mean, she doesn’t care what anybody thinks, she’s not afraid of anything—she’s different. You could tell that right away.” Then Paris told her mother about that first day in class, how she’d met Ashley, and how they’d turned out to be neighbors. She described the super Valentine’s Day card Ashley’d made for her, and about the great sled race, and before Paris knew it, she and her mother were smiling and laughing together. Paris loved her mother’s deep-belly, let-it-all-out laugh. She’d almost forgotten that laugh. And the music. There was always music playing in the house, and suddenly Paris realized where her own love of music came from. She’d gotten more from her mother than her eyes and nose. Paris smiled at the thought, feeling more connected to Viola than ever.
• • •
Late that afternoon, Viola took Paris back to Penn Station. Viola escorted Paris onto the train, balancing her overnight case and her extra bags of new clothing. She helped Paris get settled in her seat.
“All aboard!”
It was time to say good-bye, and this time, when Viola hugged Paris, Paris hugged her back.
“See you soon, sweetie,” she said, then rushed off the train.
Paris waved to her mother through the window, a sudden flash of sadness blinding her, stinging her eyes, making them wet.
“Good-bye, Mommy.”
Chapter 22
HOMECOMING
Paris returned to the welcome routine of school. She slipped into her seat beside Ashley as Miss Broadnax began taking the roll.
“Patti Anderson.”
“Here.”
“Matt Brooks.”
“Here.”
“Where were you all weekend?” Ashley whispered. “Ashley Corbett.”
“Shh,” said Paris. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Ashley Corbett!”
“Oh! Here. Mostly.”
Paris grinned.
That girl’ll say anything.
• • •
Come lunchtime, Paris had made up her mind to tell Ashley straight out. She might as well. Ashley would probably bug her to death until Paris told her, anyway.
“I went to see my mother—my real mother—in the city.”
“Oh!” said Ashley, between bites of her sandwich. “So? How was it?”
Paris considered the best word to use. “It was—weird. At first, I didn’t want to see her at all. Then, I was kinda glad to see her again. Then, by the time I left, I was sad to go, but also happy to be coming back here. It’s all mixed up in my head.”
Ashley nodded as if she understood. Paris knew that she didn’t but she could see that her friend was trying, and that counted for something.
“Want some oatmeal cookies?” asked Ashley, after a time. “My mom packed a bunch of extras today.”
“Sure,” said Paris, happy to return to safer ground. “Hand them over. Mmm, mmm, mmm! Your mom makes the best cookies!” said Paris, licking the crumbs from her fingers.
“My daddy says she’s the best cook in seven states!”
“Where is your daddy, anyway?” asked Paris. “I never see him.”
“He’s a salesman,” said Ashley. “Always on the road. You’ll meet him, one of these days.”
Paris shrugged. It seemed like most of the daddies she knew were ghosts. Why should Ashley’s daddy be any different?
“I’m starving, here,” said Paris. “I need another cookie. Hurry, or I’ll have to call 911!”
Ashley shook her head, and broke the last cookie in half.
Chapter 23
CHOIR PRACTICE
Paris’ math workbook was one colossal smudge.
That’s what you get for rushing, thought Paris. But she couldn’t help herself. According to house rules, unless she finished her homework on time, she couldn’t go to choir, and if she didn’t get to go to choir, she’d die. No question.
Paris solved the last problem on the page, slammed the workbook on her desk, and grabbed her jacket.
• • •
Easter was less than two weeks away, and Star of Bethlehem’s choirs were getting ready. The youth choir had two songs to sing: “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” which they’d sing together with the adult choir, and a punched-up version of “Because He Lives,” which would show off all their hard work on three-part harmony. Paris couldn’t wait.
“What’re you wearing?” asked the girl standing to her right.
“What?”
“On Easter. Did you get your new dress yet?”
Paris shook her head, suddenly concerned.
Briana’s right. What am I gonna wear?
Half the kids in the choir had been buzzing about the new clothes their moms had bought them for Easter. New hats, too. Not everyday boots and sweaters like Viola had bought Paris, but patent-leather Mary Janes with bows on them, flouncy taffeta dresses with poofy sleeves for the girls, and navy blue suits with crisp white shirts for the boys. Nobody had taken Paris shopping for those kinds of clothes.
I’m gonna be the only one wearing old clothes, thought Paris. I’m gonna stick out. Shoot! Why can’t we wear robes like the grown-up choir?
“Good evening!”
The youth choir director tapped the music stand with her baton to get everyone’s attention.
“All right, kids. Time to focus. Let’s get serious, now. Remember: God is watching.” Paris looked up, as if to catch a glimpse of him.
The director led the choir in scales, as a warm-up. Then she tapped the music stand a second time.
“Good! Now turn to ‘Because He Lives,’ page two hundred thirteen. Although most of you should know the words, by now.”
Good thing the music arrangement wa
s up-tempo. Otherwise, Paris would have rocked herself to sleep in its rhythm. As it was, she closed her eyes while she sang so that the words could sink into her.
Because he lives, I can face tomorrow.
Because he lives, all fear is gone…
Paris sang the words and they became true for her. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of being beaten, or being locked in a closet. Not of the dark, or of never seeing Malcolm again, or of nobody wanting her. And she wasn’t even afraid of sticking out on Easter. Paris could hardly recognize the fearless person she was turning into.
Because I know he holds the future…
She was learning to keep God in her pocket, and because she had him to talk to, she was beginning to have faith that she’d be all right.
Chapter 24
SATURDAY SURPRISE
Saturday morning found Paris playing hide-and-seek with David and Jordan. Jordan was It, which meant that he was hiding in the shed. David and Paris both knew that because it was where Jordan always hid. Either he didn’t quite get the game, or he liked being in the shed, they couldn’t figure out which. Either way, they took their time “finding” him to stretch the game out.
“I wonder if Jordan’s behind this bush,” said Paris, loudly. “Nope. Not here.”
“Hey! I know,” said David. “I’ll bet he’s in Jet’s doghouse!” A giggle came from the shed. That was when Paris pushed the door open.
“Gotcha!” she cried. Still giggling, Jordan stepped out onto the grass. Now, it was Paris’ turn. She loved the game. She was better than anyone at hiding. That was the main reason David agreed to play. Paris made it a challenge.
The boys both covered their eyes and started counting to ten.
“One.” Paris sprinted toward the house. There were more places to hide inside than there were in the yard.
“Two. Three.” Paris opened the screen door gingerly, careful not to let it bang behind her.
“Four. Five—”
“Kids!” called their mother from the living room. “Get in here.”
Paris groaned. So much for hide-and-seek.