The Queen Bee of Bridgeton

by DuBois, Leslie

  "Let's go to Prom together," he said.

  "Prom?"

  "Yeah, it's a little thing Bridgeton has every year where people dress up and dance."

  I slapped him playfully on the stomach. "I know what Prom is. I just don't think it's my thing."

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "In case you haven't noticed, I don't really fit in here at Bridgeton."

  Will shrugged. "So what?"

  "I already feel out of place on a daily basis here at this school. I'd feel even more awkward at a thing like Prom. I don't even have the right clothes to wear. I just don't belong at something like that."

  "I'll tell you where you belong. Right here, with me." He squeezed me tighter. "Why don’t you let me buy you a dress?"

  I leaned up on my elbow and stared at him. “What makes you think I need you to buy me a dress?” For some reason I was annoyed. Did he just assume I was too broke to buy my own dress? Of course, I was too poor. But he didn’t know that. Or did he?

  “What? No…I didn’t mean anything…I just want to buy you a dress.”

  I thought about this for a second. Will was just being nice. I was seriously being paranoid.

  “I’m not trying to say you’re poor or anything,” Will continued. “But, I mean, you do clean the dance studio in exchange for lessons don’t you?”

  "Dance studio?" I sat up and grabbed Will's arm to look at his watch. "Oh my God, I'm late for rehearsal. I gotta get to the studio." I jumped up and started gathering my things.

  "Don't worry, I'll tell Ms. Alexander it was my fault," Will said, grabbing his keys.

  "She won't care. She's gonna kill me."

  I changed into my leotard and tights while Will sped down the highway that separated Bridgeton and my dance studio. Considering he had just seen me in my bra and panties, I found no need for modesty.

  When we got there, I jumped out of the car and dashed inside to the main recital room. Rehearsal for the spring show was already in full swing. She hadn't waited for me. Cassie Odachowski was dancing my part. She was doing the choreography that Ms. Alexander had created with me in mind. And she looked good. This was bad.

  As soon as Ms. Alexander noticed my presence, she stopped the music. "You late," she said, slamming her stick on the ground.

  Will stepped into the classroom. "I apologize, Ms. Alexander. It was my fault."

  "Who are you?" she snapped.

  "I'm her boyfriend." I should've felt a sense of pride that someone as cute as Will was professing his allegiance to me in front of all my fellow dancers. But instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Like two important pieces of my life were colliding and setting things asunder.

  "No boyfriends. Shoo!" she said, waving her stick at him. At first Will was too shocked to move. But then he turned on his heels and fled the studio for fear of being beaten up by a little old Japanese woman.

  ***

  I couldn't get the sight of Cassie dancing my choreography out of my head. Something like that had never happened to me before. I was the star of the dance studio. I was the one Ms. Alexander used to fill in for parts and demonstrate choreography. What was happening to me? Was I letting Will interfere too much with my career?

  The next day my daydreaming about Will and dance led me to walk straight into Headmaster Collins. And I mean straight into him. My face firmly planted into his chest. With his formidable and solid shape, I thought for a moment that I had just walked into a wall; again. But then he cracked his knuckles causing my skin to crawl. My plan to never have to speak directly to him again had failed.

  "You're going the wrong way, young lady. There's an honor trial in Dardem Hall," he said as he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me around to walk in the same direction as him.

  I remember the first time I met Headmaster Collins. It was two years ago during my interview to get into Bridgeton. He was the last stop after a day of meeting with teachers, taking entrance exams and performing my dance audition. He barely spoke the entire half an hour I sat in his office. He read my file while shaking his head disapprovingly and occasionally glancing at me from over the top of the folder. When he did speak he said, "Why do you belong at Bridgeton Academy?" I remember I had to concentrate in order to not lose control of my bodily functions. I knew he had looked at my grades and realized they paled in comparison to my sister's. I tried to think of some excuse for why I had performed so poorly in my previous classes and why I needed to be accepted to Bridgeton in order to improve. I thought about the beautiful campus I'd seen all day and dreaded heading back to Grover Cleveland High School. I thought of Sasha and how disappointed she'd be in me if I blew this interview and didn't get in. But for the life of me I couldn't think of anything to say that would convince him to let me into his school. So, I just pretended he wasn't sitting in front of me and said the first thing that came to my mind.

  "I don't belong at Bridgeton. But, I also don't belong in Venton Heights. Have you heard of Venton Heights? It's an awful place to live and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Right now, in my life, the only time I belong is when I'm on stage performing. I know I'm not the smartest person in the world. But I think intelligence isn't only reflected in academics. True intelligence also encompasses experiences of successes and failures, it involves character, and the ability to use those qualities to make decisions in life. The ability to make the types of decisions that determine your true self. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm only fourteen and I still need to find out who I am. I need to 'find myself', for lack of a better analogy. Why not let Bridgeton be the place where I start looking?"

  Something I said must have hit home because, after pausing, he looked me straight in the eye and said, "Welcome to Bridgeton."

  Now walking down the hallway with his hand on my shoulder, I wondered if I'd lived up to his expectations.

  "Ms. Garrison," he said right before we entered Dardem Hall, "if you don't mind, I'd like for you to talk with Emmaline Graham. Maybe you can convince her to come forward."

  "Me? Why me?"

  "You seem to have a positive effect on people. I've certainly noticed a change in Mr. Maddox." I blushed. Well, as much as a black girl can blush anyway. "Just think about it. I'll give you her address in case you decide to do it."

  I was just about to tell him that I didn't think I could do it when he took his hand off my shoulder and cracked his knuckles making my skin crawl. Instead, I just ended up nodding and saying, "Yes, sir."

  I entered Dardem Hall to find my regular seat. As usual, Will was already there waiting for me. Will always anticipated where I'd be and just appeared there. How did he do that? I guess it wasn't really that hard. If I wasn't at the studio, I was at school. At school, I could be found either in class, at the tree where Sasha and I ate lunch, or in Dardem Hall for a trial.

  Will monopolized a lot of my time. Even if I wasn't with him, which wasn't very often, I thought about him. He distracted me way too much. Each day I caught more and more heat from Ms. Alexander. I knew I had to do something.

  "You are magnificent dancer and beautiful girl. You can't throw away for first boy to look at you," Ms. Alexander said to me a week later after an especially bad pointe class. I actually ran into Elizabeth Weeks nearly injuring her. Ms. Alexander ended class early and pulled me into her office. She sat behind her desk and after sighing heavily she spoke slowly and clearly even adding in all of her prepositions and articles to make sure I understood everything over her accent. "When you on stage you have to be focused. You could have hurt yourself and Elizabeth just now. Then where would I be? You are best dancer here. Sit," she said, pointing to the couch. The feel of the couch immediately brought back the sensation of Will's lips all over me. It took all of my mental faculties to purge Will's face from my thoughts and focus on the little Japanese figure lecturing me. "You have big audition soon. You can't dance for them the way you have danced for me lately." It seemed strange to me that she mentioned the audition, but didn't mention the s
pring show which was well before the audition. Had she already replaced me with Cassie?

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Alexander. I know I can do better. I'm sorry. I'll concentrate. I promise." She looked at me skeptically and twisted her lips. "Please don't give my part to Cassie. I can do this. I know I can."

  She sighed and said, "Fine, but no more boy!" I couldn't bring myself to tell Will he was no longer welcome at the studio. The next time he showed up, I had Ms. Alexander tell him he couldn't come back.

  So, Will went off to play basketball nearby while I rehearsed and I actually found myself relieved. I felt like a jerk. I had this awesome, wonderful, caring boyfriend and I looked forward to time away from him.

  The basketball court he found to play on was only a few blocks away from Venton Heights.

  "Don't you feel uncomfortable playing basketball in that inner city neighborhood? It's a really bad neighborhood…so I've heard," I said to him while we ate dinner between my classes one evening.

  "Why would I feel uncomfortable?"

  I stared at him incredulously. Did he really not know? "Because you're rich and white and all the people there are poor and black."

  "This," he said, spinning the ball on his index finger, "is a great equalizer. When I'm playing ball, race doesn't matter. Just like when I'm with you. Race doesn't matter." He placed the ball in his lap then grabbed my hand and stared into my eyes as if he knew something I didn't. "You know, I've met a lot of nice guys out there on the court. I don't care what neighborhood they sleep in at night, I still consider them my friends. They're not defined by where they live. No one is."

  Hmph. That wasn't Sasha's opinion. According to her, life in Venton Heights was a death sentence. But as long as we kept the two worlds of Venton Heights and Bridgeton completely separate, we had a chance at escape.

  Maybe race didn't matter to Will, but it mattered to other people. It mattered a lot.

  Chapter 16:

  Nowhere to Go

  "Can I help you?" Will's sister asked when she opened the door. Actually, I just assumed it was his sister since we had never officially met. She looked just like Will except shorter and much, much older. Will told me she was 28 but she looked about 38. Maybe the alcohol abuse had aged her.

  "Oh, I'm here for Will, I'm his…girlfriend." The word 'girlfriend' kind of got stuck in my throat. I had never used that word in reference to myself before.

  I was so wrapped up in the word girlfriend that I almost didn't notice the change in Julia's face. She had opened the door with a pleasant smile, but as soon as I said the word 'girlfriend' her smile froze and her eyes bulged a little. I thought it was an odd reaction.

  "Girlfriend?" she repeated with the same plastered smile. I nodded. "William!" She called, turning away from the door not even bothering to invite me in. "William Riley Maddox, may I talk to you please?"

  I let myself in and took a seat on the couch. I looked at all the family portraits in the living room as I heard the muffled voices of Will and Julia from another room. As I picked up a picture of Will when he was probably about 9 years old, I thought about how different our worlds were at that time. He was living in a safe little cozy suburban home while I was being thrust into the ghetto. He probably came home every night to Stove Top stuffing and Little Debbie snack cakes while I ate saltines with catsup brought home from the hospital cafeteria.

  I picked up another picture of Will with his father. It made me miss my father. He was the only one in my family that really understood my dancing dream. Every day after dance practice he'd let me demonstrate what I'd learned. Sometimes he'd even invite friends over and I'd have my own recital. I loved being the star of my own one woman show. But as I got older, I realized something wasn't right. Why was my father always home ready to watch my one woman show, while my mother worked two or three jobs in order to make ends meet? Apparently, my mother wondered the same thing.

  "Did you buy the groceries?" she asked him one night when I was about twelve. She put her purse down and opened the refrigerator. It was empty.

  "Baby, I had to use that money to pay back Curtis. I've been owein' him for a while. But don't worry, C.J. owes me $500. When he pays me, I'll pick up the groceries."

  "My girls can't wait until C.J. decides to pay you back. What are they supposed to eat?" My mother tried to remain calm, but I could see she'd had enough.

  "They're our girls and I'm sure you can find something in there to whip up for them. You're so good at that. You're like a miracle worker, Maxine." My father stood up and wrapped his arms around my mother as he kissed her neck. Usually, this melted my mother's anger and she'd forgive him once again. My father was a real charmer. His sweet words along with gorgeous movie star looks gave him such an advantage over her. He was so good looking that women often stuffed his pockets with their phone number even with my mother standing next to him.

  "Get off me, Mario," she spat as she unwrapped herself from his arms. "I can't take this anymore. How many times are you gonna do this to us? That money was for food for the week. We have nothing." She placed her face in her hands and cried.

  That night, my mother made us what she liked to call Jonny cakes. She would mix flour with water until it made a thick dough, then she'd pat them into these flat pancake type things. But without salt, baking powder or eggs, they were pretty disgusting. We ate them for a week.

  Two weeks later, I came home from a dance class, bubbling with enthusiasm to show my father and Sasha this thing I learned called a frappe. It was the funniest little foot movement I had ever seen and I knew my father would think it was hilarious as well. But when I got home, he wasn't there. Sasha sat alone at the kitchen table.

  "Daddy's gone," she said solemnly.

  "Gone where?"

  "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "And I don't care. Mommy kicked him out. It's about damn time too if you ask me."

  "What?" I asked just as shocked by the fact that my mother actually stood up to my father as by the fact that my sister said 'damn'.

  "He ruined us! Look at this place. Look at where we live because of him."

  "It's not his fault. He just…he hasn't gotten his lucky break yet." I said optimistically as I set my dance bag on the floor and sat across from her. Sasha rested her head on her fist and looked off into space.

  "Don't you miss our house?"

  "Yeah, I do. But we'll be back there one day. Mommy promised."

  "Get real. You need to accept that Mommy will never be able to get us out of this place. It's up to us. And once I'm out, I will never let a man drag me down like Daddy did to Mommy. I will never be with a poor man."

  "Sasha, you can't decide who you fall in love with."

  "Maybe not, but you sure can choose who you marry and I'm only marrying someone rich. I will never be poor again, no matter what."

  I wasn't of the same opinion as Sasha, but I understood her. It did seem that my mother was so weak and in love that she allowed my father to ruin our lives. But I didn't think Sasha needed to go as far as marrying just for money. I began to wonder if that was the reason she dated Desmond.

  A slamming door yanked me out of my memories. It was so loud I almost fell off the couch. I turned to see a red faced Will storm into the living room.

  "Get back here, Will. I'm not finished." Julia yelled.

  "I'm finished with you!" he roared back at her. Then as calmly as possible he grabbed my hand and said, "We're leaving."

  "You're seriously gonna do this? What would our parents say?" Julia followed Will into the living room determined to keep the argument going as if I wasn't there.

  "Don't you dare bring mom and dad into this!" The fierce, powerful tone of Will's voice made me shiver. Even Julia took a step back. He was so angry. "You have no right to even refer to them. You hadn't spoken to them for five years when they died. You have no idea what they were like or what they would want."

  "I'm sure they wouldn't want you - ," Julia stopped mid-sentence and looked at me.

  "
What, Julia, what? Go ahead and say it right in front of her. Why don't you repeat those names you used earlier, huh?" Julia covered her mouth, then dashed into the kitchen. "I'm sure mom and dad wouldn't want you drinking yourself into a coma every night. Why don't you worry about your problems and let me live my own life!" Will pulled me out of the house.

  I didn't realize I was crying until Will was speeding down the interstate. My face was hot and my heart ached. Will pulled into a rest stop. After putting the car in park, he brushed the tears away from my cheeks as he said, "Don't cry, Angel. Julia's an idiot. She has no idea what she's talking about."

  "But I don't understand. She…she doesn't even know me," I whimpered.

  "Exactly. She doesn't know you. If she knew you, she'd be just as crazy about you as I am; my parents, too."