by Landis Lain
“Really,” said Mommy. ‘You think that your team is going to be that good?”
“I just feel it,” said Brielle, nodding emphatically. “This is going to be a year that none of us will ever forget.”
Damon
Damon parked his Taurus in one of the parking spaces of the Wimberley High School parking lot. It was not a big man on campus type of ride, but Damon liked that about his car. A really sweet ride would just reinforce people’s opinion that he was some kind of player. Lately, the less he caught people’s attention, the more he liked it. Even though he liked sports as much as the next young man, he’d stopped running cross country and track so that he could get a job at Michigan State in the laundry last June after he’d slunk out of Lansing Southern. Sports had groupies. Damon planned to avoid those types of girls because they were nothing but trouble. He could lift weights and run by himself. Working kept him out of trouble and gave him the money to pay for his gas and insurance. Although his dad had bought the car, he felt that Damon should be responsible for its upkeep. Damon had taken a general mechanics class this past summer so he could learn to change the oil and do minor repairs.
He dropped his keys into the pocket of his book bag and got out of the car. Damon was about an hour early, but he wanted to walk around the school and get his bearings before the other students arrived. He locked his car door with the inside lock and shut the door. He ambled across the parking lot, taking his time and breathing in the early September air. Although it was still hot and sunny, by next month the lush Michigan greenery would have started to turn yellow and red and orange and there would be a distinct bite in the air. He loved the fall weather, loved the cooling temperatures and great smells of harvest, like baking apple pies. Then came winter, when he got in the most reading. He was planning to read Charles Chesnutt’s ‘The Marrow of Tradition, Ernest Gaines ‘A Lesson before dying’, and The Isis Papers this fall. He was itching to get started on them but knew that he had to get his classes going first or he would ignore schoolwork for his books.
Damon opened the doors to the front of the school and stepped in. He could smell the scent of lemon floor cleaner. The floors gleamed form the sunlight flowing in through the windows and Damon grinned. Fresh start. Yep. He blinked to clear his sight and shifted his black backpack to his left shoulder.
“Good morning,” said an older black man wearing a business suit. He was heavy set and had close-cropped hair. He was standing in the hall outside of a large room with a sign that said principal’s office over the door.
“Hello, sir,” said Damon, walking towards the man. He held out his hand and shook the older man’s.
“I’m Mr. Tally,” said the man. “The Vice-principal. And you must be Mr. Damon Hamilton.” Damon was impressed.
At Lansing Southern, it seemed that half the teachers knew only the troublemaker’s names. A quiet fellow like Damon could get lost in the shuffle very easily without even trying, unless he happened to be targeted by a deranged drug dealer for banging his old girlfriend. Damon pushed the thought away.
“You know all the students?” he asked.
“I make it a point to get to know each and every student at this school,” said Mr. Tally. “I like to tell my students up front, if you handle your business I won’t have to. We can be cool. I find that if I get to know you ahead of time, you won’t have to spend much time in my office.”
Damon smiled.
“That’s straight,” he said. “Don’t start none, won’t be none.”
“Exactly my philosophy,” said Mr. Tally, seriously.
“I heard that you had some problems at Lansing Southern,” said Mr. Tally. Damon stiffened and searched the older man’s eyes. Damon had not found many adults to be sympathetic to a young brother’s problems.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I did. But I’m not looking for trouble, here. I just want to graduate from high school and go away to college.” He did not explain that the troubles hadn’t been his fault. He would just sound like a punk, and nobody besides his family believed him anyway.
“Let’s try to keep it that way,” said Mr. Talley, solemn eyed. “You come talk to me if you need anything, you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Damon, equally seriously. “Is it okay if I look around?”
“Be my guest,’ said Mr. Talley, gesturing with his hand. Damon turned to walk away.
“By the way, Mr. Hamilton,” said Mr. Talley. Damon tensed his shoulders but turned back with a look of mild inquiry on his face. “Take your hat off and welcome to Wimberley High School.”
Sasha
“What is this?”
Sasha looked up from the desk to see her mother, wrath of God expression in full effect, holding a purple and hot pink early pregnancy test box in her right hand.
‘Oh, God, should have put that in a dumpster far, far away.’
Sasha winced and said nothing.
“What is this?” her mother asked her again, advancing into the room. She stopped when she was about six inches from Sasha.
“It’s a box for an EPT test, mama,” Sasha mumbled to her mother’s stomach. She didn’t dare stand up. Better to be sitting when the volcano that was Reverend Evangeline Redmond erupted. That way Sasha wouldn’t have so far to fall.
“Girl, I can see that,” said her mother. “Now, what is going on?”
Sasha opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyesight blurred.
“You’re pregnant,” said her mother, making it a statement.
“Yes,” whispered Sasha, still looking at her mother’s stomach.
“I told you to keep your legs closed,” said her mother in an awful voice. “Didn’t I tell you that?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dead silence followed for a few eternal moments.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” her mother was yelling now. “Sorry about what? Getting smart? Gapping your legs open for some boy? Isn’t that what you do?” Evangeline pushed her, causing her to stumble over the corner of the bed. Sasha righted herself.
“Mama, please,” begged Sasha. “I need your help.”
She’d known how it was going to be, which was why Sasha had kept her secret until now. But knowing and being in the middle of a butt kicking were two different things. She should not have bought another test; like the test strip was going to say something different than the little pink and white stick had last week. She had hoped against hope that the stick that dropped into the toilet water caused the first test to malfunction. If she hadn’t bought the second test she would have been able to put things off a little longer.
“You need my help, huh?” said her mother in a quieter voice.
“Yeah.”
“What?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You ready to take care of this? Why do your mess ups always have to cost me some money?” Evangeline ran her hands over her face and then dropped them to her side.
“I’m going to have the baby, mama,” said Sasha, dully waiting for the next explosion.
“Not in my house, you’re not,” her mother snarled.
“Mama, you said abortion was wrong,” said Sasha. She could feel tears streaking down her face. “It’s against God’s will. It’s in the bible, right?”
“Oh, now you want to trot out the bible?” asked her mother, fists jammed on her ample hips. “Where was your bible when you were out there fornicating with some boy?”
“But -,”
“And now you want to compound it with a baby that you cannot take care of?”
“You’re supposed to be a preacher, mama,” said Sasha. “You always tell me two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Oh, now you trying to school me on right and wrong?” said her mother.
“You’re not being consistent -,” Sasha cut herself off and stared at her mother, looking her directly in the eyes.
The sour scent of frustrated rage permeated the entire room. Evangeline was pulsing with it, hands fisted by her
sides. Sasha felt her stomach heave. She swallowed her bile. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m having my baby,” she said, steady and sure.
“How are you going to take care of a baby?” asked her mother, changing tactics. “You can’t even take care of basic things like keeping you panties up.”
“I don’t know,” said Sasha, dully.
“What about school, college?” she asked, voice ragged and tear filled. “You’re supposed to be leaving in two weeks.”
Sasha shrugged.
“I’m not going to school,” said Sasha. “I’ll just get a job or something.”
“You cannot stay here,” said her mother. “I’m not taking care of you and a baby.” Sasha almost changed her mind, she was so frightened. She could feel her lower lip tremble, but she stiffened it.
“Mama,” said Sasha, resolute. “I’m grown. It’s my decision.”
“You grown!” her mother sounded stunned. She smacked Sasha on the side of her head. Sasha grabbed her purse and ducked behind it to try to ward off the blow but only partially succeeded. Her ears rang.
“How are you are going to stand in my face, in my house, where I make the rules and pay for the clothes on your back and tell me that you are grown? Little girl, please!” Her mother had her teeth clenched and she stood breathing heavily, fist clenched as if she was trying to grab and hold onto some self-control.
“How far along?”
“Does it matter?”
She didn’t see the blow coming, but she felt the corner of the EPT box slam against her face seconds before she was catapulted over backwards, chair and all. She picked herself up off the floor. Her whole side ached.
“A few months.”
“Mama -,”
“Don’t you mama me, little girl,” said Evangeline. “The clinic opens at eight tomorrow morning. Have your tail there.”
Sasha felt like she had just been in an earthquake. She looked down for a moment, expecting, no-, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her. She understood instinctively that what she was about to say would set off aftershocks that were going to reverberate through the rest of her life.
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m not a little girl,” said Sasha. “And you don’t have anything to say about it.”
“Get out of my house!” screamed her mother, launching herself on top of her daughter. “You’ve always got to do something to embarrass me! Get out!”
She grabbed Sasha by the hair and shirt and half carried half dragged her towards the front door. Sasha struggled to get loose but her mother was bigger, stronger and more enraged than Sasha had ever expected. Evangeline pinned Sasha to the wall with an elbow to the throat and yanked open the front door. She pushed Sasha, unresisting, out on the front porch and slammed the door behind her. Sasha stood on the front porch for a long time, tears coursing down her face. He mother hadn’t even given her time to grab her cell phone. She paused for a few moments to look up at the early evening sky and for some odd reason one of her old Winnie the Pooh stories floated through her turmoil. Today was a blustery day.
Finally, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and stumbled down the porch steps and started the long trek to nowhere.
Brielle
Brielle had just finished trigonometry class and was rushing to her Honor’s Literature class when she bumped into Damon. Literally. She had her head down, trying to memorize the formula to the last trigonometry question because she just knew it was going to be on the test since she didn’t understand one word that came out of Miss Felix’s mouth. And whap! She slammed into a warm, solid brick wall.
Brielle’s trigonometry book flew in the opposite direction from her Literature book. She dropped her purse and out spilled her lip-gloss, extra change and two tampons. She heard laughter explode around her from two or three other students in the hallway.
“You should watch where you’re going.”
The deep, amused voice caused a frisson of awareness to dance down her spine. Mortification burned in her stomach, but she looked up into the mighty Warlock’s eyes, staring down at her, framed by gold-rimmed glasses.
“Hey, Baby-,” he started to say. Brielle cut him off with slashing hand gesture.
“Don’t you call me that,” said Brielle, fiercely. “It’s not enough that you almost knock me down. I do not look like a man.” She crouched to pick up her things, curls swinging over one shoulder. She stuffed a tampon, her lip-gloss and money back into her purse, cheeks burning in embarrassment.
“I think you missed this one,” said Damon, holding out the second tampon to her. Brielle snatched it out of his hand.
“Gimme that!” she snapped. Brielle wanted to burst into tears. She was so embarrassed.
“It’s nothing to be all emotional about,” said Damon, stooping to pick up her literature book. He dusted it off and handed it to her. “Having a period is a natural part of life.”
“Shut up!” said Brielle, whispering fiercely. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the whole school?” She blinked rapidly to force back the hot tears. The amused look faded from Damon’s face. She grabbed the book and pressed it to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” said Damon, looking at her as if she was some curious specimen that he had never before encountered. He cocked his head to the side to study her closer. Today, his hazel eyes looked grey, because he was wearing a slate grey, blue and white polo over grey shorts and grey and white high top sneakers. “I didn’t know that you didn’t like it when I called you Baby Shaq. I was just teasing.”
“Don’t say it out loud,” hissed Brielle, glancing around. She forgot all about her deep crush for the boy in front of her. Most of the other students had moved on to their respective classes, but in her experience, they had ears like cats if somebody said something that could be used to blaze a person with later. If they all started calling her Baby Shaq she was going to have to kick Damon Hamilton in the nuts. Hard.
“Right,” said Damon, with a slight wince. “Sorry again.”
He bent and picked up the trigonometry book and handed it to Brielle. She slung the purse strap over her forearm and hugged the books to her chest.
He reached over and tugged on a curl.
“What would you like me to call you?” he asked.
“You know my name,” she said, frowning at him.
“Yeah,” he said.
“And it’s not Baby Shaq.”
He quirked a slight one-sided smile that revealed a deep dimple in one cheek.
“Now you said it out loud,” he said.
“You know what I mean,” said Brielle, frowning fiercely. She tapped her right foot in frustration.
“I could call you Black Swan, like your friend Sammie does,” said Damon, teasing. The bell rang. Brielle glowered at him. “By the way, I like your hair.”
“My name is Brielle,” she said, fiercely and whirled away from him. She stomped into the classroom in front of him and flounced into the first available seat. Damon ambled in behind her, with a puzzled expression on his face.
Damon
The rest of the first day of school passed in an uneventful blur. At least fifty girls introduced themselves to Damon along with three or four guys. Several of the girls and all of the boys knew his little sister Jada so he was absorbed into the social scene with very little effort. One thing about the Lansing area, instead of six degrees of separation between people, there was about two.
Damon discovered that Brielle was in his World History class as well as honors literature, but she hadn’t looked his way for entire rest of the school day as far as he could tell. Whenever he chanced to see Brielle in the hall, she turned her head away from him as though it hurt her to look at him. Damon watched her whenever he could, trying to get an understanding.
Damon knew that he was clueless when it came to girls and their emotional states. The only ones he ever talked to besides crazy Sasha, were his sister
’s friends and when they weren’t acting whacked out over some boy, they were pretty sensible. Most times, it was like talking to another dude, except that babes were much more excitable. Brielle was a part of his sister’s crew and they had taken time to get to know Damon and could actually carry on a conversation. For any other girl, he’d never had to actually make an effort to get to know her. Any attention, even negative attention seemed to be enough for most girls.
As a result, he’d put girls into two categories in his mind. Potential sisters and potential sexers. He’d thought about calling them potential lovers, but after his involvement with Sasha, he’d figured out that love didn’t necessarily have anything to do with sex. Before the act, he was all into Sasha, but after, he took a shower and forgot about her until the next time.
Now, he had a new category of girl to figure out. Brielle. Apparently, Brielle was different.
He didn’t view her as a little sister. If he admitted it to himself, he had never viewed her as a little sister. Wasn’t he always finding an excuse to touch her hair and tease her, even before he himself was aware of how much he liked her?
He had not expected Brielle to get all emotional over a little mishap in the hall. And the Baby Shaq thing, he’d been calling her that for years. Until recently she’d been taller that Damon. Why hadn’t she told him that she didn’t like it? How was he supposed to know? Why did he even care if she was upset? And how was he supposed to get her alone to apologize? Every time he saw her in the halls, at least two other girls surrounded her. He did not understand why the girls traveled in packs like a bunch of wolves.
Damon sighed, unable to come up with any answers to these new questions and squinted at the piece of paper in his hand.
“What’s up, dude?” said Chauncey, one of his new acquaintances. They were sprawled in the plastic cafeteria chairs, chilling for lunch period.
“Just trying to figure this thing out, man,” said Damon, peering at his school schedule.
“What?” asked Chauncey.
Chauncey played running back on the varsity football team, and had spent the last hour trying to convince Damon to go out for the team.