by Renée Watson
I wait for about fifteen minutes, and I think Nikki has fallen asleep, so I go into the hall, stand at the top of the stairs, and listen to see if Dad is up. I don’t see any lights on, or hear any noise, so I go downstairs, make my way to his office.
He might have the questions. I’m sure he helped come up with them.
I get to the bottom of the steps and all I have to do is walk through the living room to get to Dad’s office. But before I start walking, I see light seeping through the bottom of the door. Is he in there or did he just leave the light on?
I walk barefoot across the hardwood floor, step inches in front of his office door, put my hand on the knob, and the door opens without me even trying. “Maya?” Dad is standing in the doorway, startled but relieved. “I thought I heard something. Girl, you’re going to give your ole man a heart attack.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Dad turns off the light to his office, closes the door. “What are you doing up so late?”
“Can’t sleep.”
I am hoping Dad will say something like, “Well, don’t stay up too late,” and go to his bedroom so I can sneak into his office, search for the questions. But instead Dad says, “Me neither.” He walks into the living room, takes the remote control, and turns the TV on. “Want to join me?”
Chapter 70
“Girls! Girls!” It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Why is my mother screaming? I turn over, pull my covers tight.
My door opens. “Maya, wake up.” Now Mom is standing at the foot of my bed. “Nikki!” she yells. “We’re in Maya’s room. Come on. Get up.”
Nikki stands in the doorway, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She yawns. “Mom.”
“You have to open them together,” Mom says. She hands both of us thick envelopes from Spelman.
I sit up and come from under the covers.
Nikki has her letter in hand before I can even get my envelope open. We read the letters silently. Both of us smile and scream and jump up and down.
“I’m so proud. So proud,” Mom says. She and Nikki start making plans—what to pack, what to buy there, how early we should get to Atlanta so we can get acclimated before classes start.
“So you’re coming with me?” I ask Nikki.
“Yes. I’m going with you to Spelman,” Nikki says.
I put my letter on my desk next to the brochures that Tony gave me. I stretch. Long. Reach for my ceiling and let out a yawning sigh. My eyes water. Maybe because of the yawn, maybe because when I look out the window and see Tony’s shadow moving against his curtain, I think about how much I am going to miss him. Or maybe it’s because Essence is in the guest room, probably pretending to be asleep, pretending she can’t hear that her two closest friends are moving. And this time, the distance is a lot more than forty-five minutes away.
Chapter 71
“I want to see you,” Tony says.
It is stormy outside and I don’t feel like going anywhere.
“Are your parents home?”
“Yes. Yours?”
“Yep.” Tony sighs. “Well, just come on a ride with me. We won’t even get out of the car. I just want to see you.”
“I’ll be out in five,” I say. I have on jeans and one of my dad’s sweatshirts. I don’t change, I just put on socks and shoes and run down the stairs. Mom is in her sewing room, Dad is in his office. “Dad, I’m going out with Tony. I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.”
Tony is waiting for me when I get outside. He has the car running, and when I get in, the car is already heated. He doesn’t drive off just yet. We sit for a while, looking out at the rain. It crawls along the window, then disappears.
“Congratulations,” Tony says.
“I wanted to be the one to tell you!”
“Kate,” Tony says, smiling. “Nikki called her to tell her the good news.” Tony takes my hand and traces his finger along my palm. “Do you know what I’m writing?” He presses into my skin three times.
“Do it again,” I say.
He repeats the three marks, slowly.
“I?”
“Yes.”
He keeps writing on my hand with his finger. “You can’t look,” he tells me.
I close my eyes. “That tickles.” I pull my hand away and wipe it on my jeans.
Tony takes it back and keeps writing, but after three tries I can’t guess what it says. So as he writes, he talks slowly, “I’m proud of you.” He taps my hand as if to leave a period.
I take his hand and kiss it. “I’m going to miss you,” I tell him.
He squeezes my hand, leans back in his seat.
We sit in the car, surrounded by rain and dark sky. The streetlights glisten against the fallen water, making the windows shimmer like a sequined dress.
Chapter 72
A week has gone by, and I haven’t been able to get my hands on those interview questions, and the interviews are happening next week. Ronnie, Malachi, and Charles have made it as finalists. I know Cynthia has, too, which is why I am making the boys practice during lunch so they can be ready. Essence didn’t make it as a finalist, so she’s definitely going to beauty school. I talked her into taking business classes, too.
It’s lunchtime and Essence and I are in The Lounge drilling them with questions we pulled from our college applications. “I’m sure it will be something similar,” I tell them.
Mrs. Armstrong is at her desk eating her lunch and reading through a stack of essays from one of her English classes. She looks up from time to time and smiles.
Essence says, “Before we start, we need to talk about what you guys are going to wear.” She looks at Ronnie and Malachi.
Ronnie says, “Why you not asking Charles what he’s wearing?”
Charles laughs, and Essence says, “Because I don’t ever have to worry about Charles looking put together. You and Malachi are the ones who think putting on a blazer with jeans and a button-up shirt is formal.”
Malachi asks, “We have to dress formal for the interview?”
“No,” I tell them. “But you shouldn’t wear jeans. It’s an interview.”
“I’ll help you guys with what to wear,” Essence says.
“And I’ll help all of you with what to say,” I tell them.
For the next twenty minutes we role-play with each other and I ask them questions that I think the panel might ask.
A heavy knock pounds on the door, and Principal Green steps inside the classroom before Mrs. Armstrong can say, “Come in.”
He is carrying a clipboard in his hand that has papers and a pen tucked under the silver clasp. “Rachelle?” Mr. Greene calls Mrs. Armstrong by her first name. “Do you have a moment? I’d like to speak with you.”
It’s obviously not a question because Principal Green just keeps talking, not giving Mrs. Armstrong a chance to answer.
“What is this?” He holds up the worksheet on press releases that she gave us in class.
“You don’t know what that is?” she asks.
“Don’t be trite with me. Yeah, I know what it is, and I also know that some of your students have invited media here for the block party, which is something I didn’t approve.” Principal Green looks at me. “You can imagine my surprise when Channel 8 called to confirm the details.” Principal Green looks over at us and says, “Uh, you all might want to leave—”
Mrs. Armstrong stands. “It’s okay. They can stay.”
Principal Green hesitates for a moment, then he says, “Do you know who sent the press release?”
“No,” Mrs. Armstrong says.
“I find it interesting that posters were hanging around this school of people you were teaching to students, yet you didn’t know who was behind that, and now you’re telling me you don’t know who sent the media a press release, when you’re the one who taught them how to write one.” Principal Green takes the top paper off his clipboard and tosses the paper toward the desk, and it blows to the floor. Neither of
them bothers to pick it up. “Rachelle, you are a teacher. You are here to teach. Not lead political rallies or make a statement. These kids have a lot of learning to do, and the last thing they need is to be distracted by a movement. And furthermore, you don’t have the authority to invite the press to this school for anything. We have administrators who handle public relations.”
I can’t believe Principal Green is talking to her this way. I want to say something. Defend her. But I know that it’s not my place. Besides, Mrs. Armstrong is capable of handling her own. “Are you finished?” she asks.
“Actually I’m not. We wonder why kids aren’t learning at Richmond, and then it all becomes clear. Teachers are using their prep time to chat with the students.” He points toward us. “These kids are students. Not your friends. I need you to remember that.” Principal Green turns to leave.
“I think you dropped something by accident,” Mrs. Armstrong says, looking at the paper that fell to the floor. She arches an eyebrow and stares him down.
Who breaks it up when teachers fight?
Principal Green bends down and picks up the worksheet. “I apologize you all had to witness this, but it is important that you know the role of your teacher. I believe you can learn a lot from this.”
“Excuse me, but I have something to say.” Mrs. Armstrong is talking calmly, but her eyes are fire. “I was going to wait and ask if we could speak after school when our students aren’t present. But since you’d like to use this as a learning opportunity for them, then let’s do that.”
Get him, Mrs. Armstrong. Get him.
“First of all, I didn’t know students were inviting the press to the block party, but I must say I think that’s a great idea—”
“The press is here enough as it is. There’s an article on Richmond at least once a week,” Principal Green says.
“And they never get the story right. Principal Green, you have a chance to let these kids tell their own stories. To let them speak for themselves,” Mrs. Armstrong says. “To my knowledge, this block party is a celebration featuring alumni from this school who have gone on to accomplish great things. Seems like you’d be all for exploiting that.”
No one is going to believe this has happened. I am so glad I have witnesses.
“I’m all for the block party,” Principal Green says. Then he looks at me. “However, this event is not academic. When the kids put on a science fair, we’ll call the press.” Principal Green puts his clipboard down on the desk. It slaps the table, echoes.
“Since when is critical thinking, innovation, and applying what you’ve learned in the classroom to the real world not academic? What is the point of education if it can’t live outside the four walls of the classroom or break out of the multiple-choice boxes on a test? Our students have taken what they’ve learned in theory and put it into action. You should be proud of that.”
I honestly think they’ve forgotten that we’re in the classroom watching all this. This is just as awkward as when my parents argue in front of me. I try to distract myself, look somewhere else besides Mrs. Armstrong’s burdened eyes. I look at the desk, notice pencil carvings and graffiti tags. My eyes scan the table. Principal Green’s clipboard is sitting so close to the edge it might fall. I reach out to move it, but then pull back once I realize what’s been sitting in front of me this whole time.
The questions.
Chapter 73
The school year is almost over. The closer it gets to summer, the more time I want to spend with Tony. Every weekend we do something together because we know that soon I’ll be in the south and he’ll be on the West Coast. He got accepted to Stanford.
I walk across the street to Tony’s house and ring the doorbell. I hear footsteps, then the curtain at the front window moves. There is silence and then two clicks. The door opens. “Hello.” It’s Mr. Jacobs. He is in jeans and a blue T-shirt that is torn at the collar.
“Hi, uh, I’m—I’m here for Tony.”
“He went to the store with his mom. He should be back soon.” Mr. Jacobs opens the door wide. “You can come in and wait for him.”
I am tempted to turn around and go back across the street. I can wait at home. But Mr. Jacobs is smiling and already has the screen door open.
He goes into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs a Coke. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” I sit on the sofa. I wish he had been watching TV so at least we could distract ourselves by making small talk about whatever was on. But instead, the house is silent. It was never, ever this quiet when Essence lived here.
Mr. Jacobs brings me a glass of water even though I didn’t ask for anything. “Tony tells me you and Nikki are going to Spelman.”
“Yes.”
Mr. Jacobs drinks from his can of soda. “That’s a long way from Oregon.”
“Yes.”
“Tony’s going to Stanford.” Mr. Jacobs sets his Coke down on a coaster. “He’ll be soaking up all that sun.”
“Yeah, and I’ll be adjusting to Georgia’s heat.”
Why is it that talking about the weather is always a common denominator?
“Tony tells me you’re really smart. Says you could go to any school you want.”
I smile.
“That’s good. You and your sister seem to have good heads on your shoulders. I should have you come talk to my students. They need all the inspiration they can get,” he says. “They’re not like you.”
They’re not like you.
The words hang in the room like thick smog.
I take a drink of water.
Outside two car doors slam shut and soon footsteps are on the porch. Just as the knob turns, Mr. Jacobs says, “Your parents must have done something right, that’s for sure. You and your sister are the only kids I know from around here who got something good going for their lives.” He takes a long drink from his can, stands, and opens the door for Mrs. Jacobs and Tony. “Keep up the good work,” he tells me.
By the time I realize his words weren’t really compliments—even though he probably thinks they were—by the time I remember that this isn’t the first time a white person has told me I am not like the rest of them—my friends, cousins, neighbors—it is too late to say anything. And what would I say anyway?
Sometimes I am quick to stand up for myself, to let someone know that he needs to rethink what he just said. I can be that fire child Mom always says I am. But sometimes I am barely a flame. Sometimes I’m a coward.
Chapter 74
It’s the end of May and our block party is getting off to a good start. This is the kickoff to the rest of our senior activities. Prom is in two weeks, then graduation. The street is blocked off to traffic so people can walk freely and not have to worry about cars.
After our block party, Jackson Avenue will open up for Last Thursday. We have a good representation from the local businesses. Most of them are giving out coupons to use at their shops.
I look around to see if any reporters are here, and so far none have showed up. It took a while for the sun to come out, but now that it’s noon, the sky is glowing. I get the official program started by welcoming everyone and introducing the performers and speakers for the day.
The last person to speak is Mark Lewis, the doctor who has his master’s from Brown. Mark takes the stage. At the end of his speech he says, “I am the man I am today not only because of the college I attended, not only because of my parents, but because of this community right here. Yes, I have a degree from Brown, and yes, I started a clinic. I guess that could be called success. But I believe I am successful because I try to live a life of integrity and because I practice empathy for others. I learned that here, right here at Richmond.”
After Mark finishes his speech, Principal Green comes to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Richmond High!” Principal Green says. “Now, allow me to do a little bragging. Miss Maya Younger, our student body president, and her twin, Nikki, have been accepted to Spelman Colleg
e!” There are claps and whistles, and it feels so good to have all these people rooting for us.
Principal Green reads a list of Richmond seniors and which schools we will be attending. “And today, we are going to help make a dream come true for one more student,” he says. “This student will get the Richmond High School Leadership and Community Involvement Scholarship,” he says. “I would like Maya to do the honor of announcing our recipient.”
Principal Green hands me an envelope. I know I am supposed to say something like, “Everyone’s a winner,” or something else to those who won’t get the scholarship, but all I can do is rip open the envelope. From the corner of my eye I see Principal Green and one of the college advisers holding an oversize check. It’s turned so that the words are facing them and not the audience. I pull the paper out of the envelope, and I read exactly what it says. “It is my great pleasure to announce the recipient of the Richmond High School Leadership and Community Involvement Scholarship: Charles Hampton!”
Chapter 75
After the block party, Malachi and Ronnie congratulate Charles. They walk next to him and Devin, with Nikki, Essence, and me behind them. We meet up with Star, Tony, and Kate and walk Jackson Avenue going in and out of the shops using our coupons. All of us keep replaying the moment Charles took the stage, how his mom was crying and clapping and thanking God.
“And the look on Cynthia’s face,” Star says. “She just knew she won.”
We all laugh, but then Charles looks at me and says, “Thank you, Maya,” in a way that makes me know we are forever friends.
Vince and Bags are walking across the street with Cynthia and Tasha. Vince is dancing with a belly dancer and drawing a crowd. The more people laugh and point, the wilder he flops his arms and gyrates his body.
“Let’s go in here,” Essence says. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re willing to eat at Soul Food?” I laugh.