Silence. There was complete silence in the courtroom. I didn’t know whether people were more shocked that I had the audacity to talk back to a judge or whether they just couldn’t believe that a half-black, half-Hispanic kid could talk back quite so eloquently. I decided to go back to the slang they were more accustomed to.
“This is whack!”
“Your Honor, my client is deeply sorry for her rude behavior.”
“The hell I am.”
The judge shook his head and said, “Bail is $10,000,” before slamming down his gavel.
“I’d like to pay that bail, your honor,” a voice said from the audience. I turned around and almost couldn’t believe my eyes.
“And who are you?” the judge asked.
“My name is Sonya Maddox, I’m her ballet instructor.”
“Ballet?”
“Yes, ballet,” she said. “I guarantee you that Ms. Velasquez is a very gifted dancer. If you release her into my custody, I will take full responsibility for her.”
Judge Bow-Tie looked at Ms. Sonya skeptically before shuffling through some papers on his desk.
“I run a dance academy in Dover, New Jersey which she can attend,” Ms. Sonya continued. “I also plan on enrolling her in a local public school. She will either be in school, dance class, or under my watch at all times.”
“Fine,” Judge Bow-Tie said after reading a few papers. “Ms. Velasquez, you are hereby released into the custody of Mrs. Maddox upon payment of bail. But let me assure you, this is your last chance. Your record is full of minor felonies which show me that you are on your way to a life of crime. You have three months to show me your potential. If I don’t believe you’ve changed your ways, you will be tried as an adult and you will go to prison. Are we clear?”
“As a crack pipe,” I quipped.
“Get her out of my sight.”
Less than a half an hour later, I was climbing into a black and silver Escalade with Mrs. Sonya Maddox. Well, you might know her as Sonya Garrison, world famous dancer. She even had an interview on 60 Minutes a few months ago telling her inspirational story of how she went from poverty to prima ballerina. I believe I watched that interview in a laundry mat on Flemming St. where I happened to be living at the time. Now, just like she told the judge, she ran a dance academy for under privileged kids where she basically tried to turn them into little dancing clones of herself. She failed miserably with me.
“How’d you find me?” I asked, buckling my seatbelt. It took all of my energy to not break down in tears and kiss her feet for getting me out of jail. But that wasn’t how Tiki Velasquez rolled. I had to be tough at all times. When you’ve lived on the streets as long as I have, you learn not to show weakness. Weak people get taken advantage of. No one got a leg up on me.
Ms. Sonya didn’t respond as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Oh, so we be playin’ charades or somethin’?” I said. “Ah-ight, fine.”
“First of all, you will use proper English in my presence. Is that clear?”
“Damn, Sonya. You ain’t seen me in like six months and that’s all you got to say?”
Ms. Sonya slammed the brakes so hard that I swore if I hadn’t been wearing my seatbelt I would’ve flown through the windshield. She grabbed my neck and said, “Proper English and no profanity or so help me God I will take your trifling ass back to jail right now. Understood?”
Okay, so she kind of freaked me out with that move right there. Ms. Sonya was always so poised and classy. But I guess that saying was true. You can take the girl out of Venton Heights, but you couldn’t take Venton Heights out of the girl.
“Okay, Okay. Proper English. Got it.” I decided not to mention the irony of the fact that she told me not to curse while cursing in the process.
Ms. Sonya released me and started driving again. “What I don’t understand,” she said a few minutes later, “is how someone can score a perfect score on the SATs at the age of fourteen, yet be so stupid as to get caught with crack cocaine two years later.”
“It wasn’t mine. I don’t do drugs. That’s not my style.”
“Oh, so you just sell them? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
I didn’t answer. She would never understand. We might be from the same neighborhood but we were completely different. She didn’t understand that sometimes you had to do whatever it took to get through.
Shaking her head she said, “You’re playing with fire, Tiki.”
I shrugged. “I’ve already been burned.” Over and over again I thought.
“I am not going to sit back and watch you throw your life away. Not when I can help you.”
Poor optimistic Ms. Sonya. She always thought she could save people. I remember hearing stories about her sister Sasha and how for so many years Sonya tried to help her. Over and over again, Sasha betrayed Sonya yet she would still forgive her and give her another chance. That’s just how Ms. Sonya was. She thought there was hope for everyone. When would she realize I was just a hopeless case?
“Here’s the deal. You’re going to join the Victory Girls --”
“The what?”
“The Victory Girls. It’s what the dancers at my school call themselves.”
“That is so ... “ Ms. Sonya glared at me. “ ... Freaking awesome. That’s a freaking awesome name, Ms. Sonya,” I said with cheery sweetness.
After sighing she continued, “And you’re going to school.”
“Yeah, I know. Dance school.”
“No, real school. High school. You’re going to get an education. With your intellect, you’ll probably enter as a senior. And then we’re getting you a scholarship to college.”
I would never admit it, but my heartbeat accelerated and my palms started sweating. I hadn’t been in an actual school since I was eleven years old. I had been kicked out of every school I had ever attended. My grandmother finally gave up on finding a place where I could behave and I just started taking online courses and teaching myself. “High school? I thought you were kidding about that. You really want me to go to high school?”
“Yep.”
“I think I’d rather go to jail.”
###
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read The Saint of Petersburg. As an independent author, the most effective way to promote my book is through word of mouth. So if enjoyed my work, please tell a friend and consider leaving a review. Thanks!
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Writing as Sybil Nelson
About Leslie DuBois
Leslie DuBois lives in Charleston, South Carolina with her husband and two children. She currently attends the Medical University where she’s earning her PhD in Biostatistics. Leslie enjoys writing stories and novels that integrate races. Her other novels include Ain’t No Sunshine, The Queen Bee of Bridgeton, The Devil of DiRisio, The Saint of Petersburg, Guardian of Eden, Nobody Girl, Nothing Else Matters, and Shadows of St. Louis. Visit her website to learn more.
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The Saint of Petersburg (Dancing Dream #3) Page 15