“Ohhhhh! Ms. Valente jonin’ on you, cuz!”
Screams of laughter echoed into the halls.
“Well, it ain’t my fault she come to school looking like a Muppet,” Trevor heckled, pointing at Monday.
Monday’s bottom lip trembled. She turned, staring at Jacob sitting in the back of the class. A stoic face, he didn’t even blink.
Monday leaped up and ran out the room. I glared back at Jacob, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.
“Ms. Valente!” I pleaded, my voice cracking.
She nodded solemnly and I took off.
“Monday, wait,” I called in the hallway, racing after her. She sprinted faster, her long legs carrying her away from me, and I pushed my legs harder to catch up. She made a left into the bathroom, straight into the larger stall, locking herself in.
“Monday,” I wheezed and knocked softly. “Monday, come on out. It’s just me.”
“No! I can’t,” she cried. “God, I’m so stupid!”
“No you’re not,” I said, leaning my head against the door. “Open up. Please!”
Silence.
“Monday, open the door!” I jerked the handle. More silence.
“Fine!” I dropped down to the floor, lying on my stomach, and shimmied under the door.
“Claudia! You crazy! Crawling on this dirty-ass floor!”
Hunched over on all fours, I looked up at her. Monday stared down at me, wild eyed, then busted out laughing, wiping the tears off her face.
“Straight lunchin’,” she cackled between sniffs.
“Me? You the one that got me chasing you down hallways and breaking into bathrooms like the po-po,” I grumbled. “And you know my pressure is bad!”
She sighed, her smile fading, leaning against the wall, sliding down like a fallen leaf on the floor next to me. Side by side, just like in our tent, we sat in silence as she twisted a strand of hair between her fingers.
“He told me that I would look real pretty . . . if I was a blond. How sexy I would be . . . if I looked like Beyoncé. That he would want to be with me for real, if I looked like her.”
“Who? Who told you that?”
Monday buried her face in her hands and breathed his name. “Jacob.”
“You talking to him again? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I guess I . . . wanted it to be surprise. But I screwed it all up.”
“This ain’t your fault!”
Her face crumbled. “No, Claudia . . . it’s all my fault. Everything is my fault! Everything! I just thought, if . . . if we were together . . . things would be better. But . . .”
“Better? What are you talking about?”
She struggled to talk, a story stuck inside her, but nothing came out. I couldn’t believe it. They broke her. Plucked her out of our bubble and crushed the life out of her. Her body bent before she leaned over, head falling into my lap, sobbing softly. I stroked her hair, like petting a puppy. Jacob tricked her into messing up her hair. Everything that had happened to us over the last few months was because of Jacob. Why couldn’t she see that? Love really does make you stupid.
“Forget about Jacob, okay? Forget about all them bammas! After next year, we gonna go to Banneker, we’re gonna be on the dance team, and they ain’t gonna be shit! Until we out of here, it’ll just be me and you from now on. Okay?”
Monday opened her bloodshot eyes, looking up at me.
“Yeah. Just me and you,” she sniffled, wiping her wet face on my skirt.
“Ew! Did you just blow your snot on me?”
“Yup.” She chuckled, a smile breaking through her tears.
“Nasty ass,” I laughed. “I can’t believe you just . . .”
A bright flash bounced off her eyes, forcing her to squint them shut.
“Ah! What the hell!”
My head snapped up quick, but there was nothing. We hopped out of the stall, only to find us alone in the bathroom.
“What was that?” Monday asked, opening every stall to double-check.
“It was like a camera flash.”
Monday peered out the gated window by the sinks.
“Could it have come from outside? Lightning?”
I swallowed an uneasy breath and glanced up at the ceiling. “Maybe one of the lights blew out?”
We locked eyes, sharing that same prickling suspicion in the pit of our stomachs. Something didn’t feel right.
The second-period bell screamed, and I yelped. Monday shuddered, backing slowly into the stall again.
“I can’t go out there,” she whimpered, reaching up to touch her hair as if it would burn her. “I can’t see him like this.”
“But . . . we can’t hide in here forever.”
“Just a little while longer,” she begged. “Please!”
I sighed, walking back into the stall with her. “Okay. One more period.”
The teasing and cackling went on for the rest of the week. On Friday, Ma took Monday to the hairdresser, her first time in a real salon with proper sinks, blow-dryers, shampoos, and dyes, salvaging her locks without shaving them off. We spent the rest of the weekend watching YouTube videos of old go-gos, working on our dance routines, eating up Ma’s beef stew and banana bread. I painted her nails a glittery silver with blush rhinestones, and she gave me two French braids. We were back to normal, in our bubble where it was safe, with no clue what was in store for us . . . on Monday morning.
The Before
“Hold up! Hold up! Hold up! Naw, man!” Dad yelled over his conga as the other instruments faded. “Let’s take it from the top!”
Daddy went at it, slapping his rough hands against the tight leather. It’s hard to describe how go-go feels in your belly. The way the funky kaleidoscope of a keyboard, guitar, sax, drums, and cowbell makes you beat your feet like you caught the Holy Spirit.
Daddy took me to Uncle Robby’s house to watch the guys practice their new set. They had a huge gig for Valentine’s Day, opening for the Backyard Band and UCB at Howard Theatre. Ma won’t let me go to the go-go. Said it’s too dangerous but I’d give anything to be up in the chop shop, maybe hold up a sign with my name so they’d shout me out, like I hear on all of Daddy’s old mixtapes.
“Aight, fellas, let’s wrap it up.”
Everyone agreed and started packing. I slipped on my coat and gave Daddy a bottle of water as he wiped the sweat off his face.
“Whew! Thanks, Sweet Pea. Not the young man I used to be. These rehearsals are wiping me out!”
We headed down the driveway toward the car in silence, crunching over the hardening leftover snow that cracked like glass under our feet. The temperature dropped down to fifteen degrees.
“Well, that wasn’t that bad,” Daddy said, patting me on the back. “Getting out the house for a change. Hey, how you like our new tune? Think your friends will like it?”
I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “Kids . . . don’t really listen to stuff like that anymore, Daddy.”
Daddy flinched as if I hit him. “Yeah, I know. But . . . you still do, right? Long as I got my number-one fan, I’m winning! Besides, go-go ain’t no passing trend—it’s our culture! It’s your roots, so I know you’ll help keep it going! Kids tend to forget they roots but roots always the first to carry you back home.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, my breath fogging.
“You alright, Sweet Pea? You awfully quiet these days.”
“I’m okay, Daddy. Just . . . thinking.”
“Oh yeah? I’ve been thinking too. Thinking about where you got that lump from and who I have to kill.”
I touched the red orb on my forehead with my glove.
“I told you, Daddy, I ran into a wall in gym. Don’t even hurt.”
“Mm-hmm. Your mother don’t buy that story either. We trying to leave you be and let you handle things on your own. You’re a big girl, but I’m finna roll up on your school and figure out which one of those bammas messed with my baby.”
I climbed into the truck in s
ilence, hoping he would just drop it. I had no energy to pretend I didn’t feel like a belly-up fish inside my bubble. Daddy hopped in and started the car, letting the engine heat up. A cold breeze flew out of the vent and I wrapped my scarf around tighter.
“Come on, Sweet Pea,” he coached. “You know you can talk to me about anything, anything at all that’s bothering you!”
“It’s nothing, Daddy,” I said. “Disappointments are a part of life, right?”
He raised a sharp eyebrow. “Ohhh . . . so you heard that, huh? Looks like I need to install some soundproofing in the house next.”
“Looks like it.”
“Well, that didn’t mean you can’t talk to me. You used to talk to me about everything!”
I hesitated, wondering where to even start, but gave up.
“You’ll just think I’m being a baby,” I huffed, staring out the frost-covered window.
Daddy sighed, put the car in drive, and let the radio do the talking. He took the long way home, driving through Northwest DC, passing the monuments, the National Mall lined by the Smithsonian museums, the Capitol, and the White House. Lived here all his life but still mesmerized by the lights bouncing off the marble goliath buildings. Once we were over the river and off the highway, we turned on Good Hope Road. Like day turning to night in a blink of an eye, our part of the city felt so dark in comparison when we’re so full of light.
Daddy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the day you were born?”
I sighed. “You mean about how Ma was in labor for nineteen hours and almost broke your hand and your eardrum screaming until you finally talked her into them cutting me out of her?”
He chuckled. “Guess I tell that story a lot, huh? Well, what about when your mother was pregnant? I tell you about that?”
I frowned. “With me or . . . with the other babies?”
Daddy winced, gripping the steering wheel. “With you. Just you.”
I touched his arm softly. “No, Daddy. You never did.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Man, you wanted out her belly, bad. You kicked from sunup to sundown. I could see your tiny feet trying to push through her skin.” He chuckled. “You were tired of cooking. You were ready for the world. Ready for this big adventure. I said ‘Janet, you may give birth to the Redskins’ first female kicker.’”
We laughed until his smile began to fade. “But it almost killed her, trying to keep you contained. The morning sickness lasted for months. Headaches, puking, gagging . . . she was on bed rest for most of the time with them fake contractions almost every day. Twice we went to the hospital with . . . bleeding. She looked just awful. That claustrophobia stuff can start early, even in the belly. You wanted out. Bad. And when you came out all those weeks early, even though it was touch and go if you’d make it . . . it was also a relief you were out of her.”
A sharp aching ripped through me, imagining Ma in pain. The one thing I never wanted her to feel.
“Why you never told me this before?”
“She told me not to,” he admitted.
“Was I killing her? Is that why she can’t have no more babies? Because of me?”
“And see, that’s exactly why she didn’t want to tell you. She knew you’d blame yourself. You good for taking on others’ burdens and making them your own. But no, Sweet Pea, you weren’t killing her. And it ain’t your fault. Her body just couldn’t handle someone so larger than life. Your mother don’t regret you one bit.
“But, boy, when they cut you out, you were glowing. Everywhere we took you, you lit up the place. Folks couldn’t get enough of you—you sparked life into people. It’s like you came here with a purpose, a mission, to make others feel good. So even though your friend ain’t around, don’t seem right for you to stop living. You were made to light up this world, not to be cooped up in the house. I may not have said it right, but that’s all I want for you, Sweet Pea.”
I swallowed, lacing my fingers together.
“What if I fail my . . . mission? What if I’m not as special as everyone thinks I am?”
Daddy reached over and held my hand. “Well, I’m here to catch you every time you think you’re about to fall. That’s what daddies are supposed to do.”
Tears prickled. “Thanks, Daddy.”
He smiled triumphantly. “So! How about we stop by the carryout?”
“Thought Ma said she was cooking.”
Daddy grinned. “Yeah, but I’ve got a taste for fried rice. So let’s split it. Just don’t tell your mother.”
“You want me to lie?” I laughed.
“Nawwww, never that. Let’s just let this be our little secret.”
Daddy pulled into the parking lot of Mr. Chang’s. The wind kicked up, almost freezing off my eyelids. I ran for the warmth inside and slammed right into her.
“April,” I gasped.
April stepped back to balance herself from falling.
“Shit, Claudia! Watch where you—”
The door swooshed open as Daddy walked in behind me.
“April,” Daddy said, delighted.
April arched her neck up to look at him, her face frozen.
“Hey, Mr. Coleman,” April croaked. She shuffled backward, holding on to something behind her.
Or someone.
Little Tuesday poked her head out from behind her sister, her light gray sneakers twinkling hot pink lights with each step.
“Tuesday!” I beamed.
Tuesday slipped from behind April and ran into me, wrapping around my waist with the happiest grin on her little heart-shaped face. I squeezed, feeling her bones almost breaking through her thin coat—like hugging a skeleton.
“Hi, Clau-di-a!” Tuesday said.
I squatted down to her level and kissed her cheek, realizing how much I missed her. How much I missed all of them, my pretend siblings. I inhaled the moment just as a pungent smell hit my noise and I took another whiff. Tuesday smelled like a pissy diaper. I glanced up at April, fidgeting with her bag.
“Tuesday! How you doing, young lady?” Daddy said. “Give me five!”
Tuesday gushed and jumped up to smack Daddy’s hand with a giggle.
“Whew! Got some muscle on you, girl!” Daddy smiled at April. “How’s it going, April? Long time!”
April tensed, struggling to smile, and pulled her sister closer.
“Good,” she mumbled, eyes flicking back and forth between the door and us, as if at any moment she would grab Tuesday and run. And judging by the look in her eye, there would be no catching her.
“So, Tuesday, how’s Monday doing?” Daddy asked. “We haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Fine,” Tuesday said, squirming with a shy smile.
“So she’s back home?” I asked, glancing up at April, her face expressionless.
“Mmm-hmm,” Tuesday said, nodding.
“Oh yeah, what y’all been up to?”
“Just playing and stuff,” Tuesday giggled.
“So you’ve been playing with Monday?” I blurted out, leaning closer.
Tuesday nodded. “Yeah. But she’s always hiding in the closet.”
April’s jaw dropped. She looked up at Daddy, then at me before placing a trembling hand on Tuesday’s shoulder, pulling her closer.
“Ohhhh! Hide-and-seek,” Daddy laughed. “Ha! Yeah, I used to play that too when I was your age.”
“Quit playing around, Tu Tu,” April said, choking out a dry laugh. “Sorry, Mr. Coleman, Tuesday is just messing with you. She knows Monday’s over by Daddy.”
“Thought you said she was at your aunt’s?” I seethed.
April squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing.
“You must have heard me wrong.”
“Hey, how’s your daddy doing?” Daddy asked, still not noticing April’s trembling hands. “Haven’t seen him in a long time either.”
“He’s fine,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Um, sorry, but we gotta go. Mom is wai
ting on us.”
“Alright, now. Y’all take care. Tell Monday to stop on by next time she’s around.”
Tuesday stared up at me with Monday’s eyes—calm and indifferent, but needy. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“Are you gonna come over and play with us?”
My heart pumped fast and I bent to her level. “Yeah, soon. I promise.”
April avoided my glare and grabbed Tuesday’s hand, yoking her out into the cold.
February
Rumors are born with legs that can run a mile in less than a minute.
Rumors eat up dreams without condiments.
Rumors do not have expiration dates.
Rumors can be deadly.
Rumors can get you killed.
There’s this rumor that DC was built on top of a swamp and the Chocolate City is slowly sinking into mud. That’s why the humid heat sticks to your skin like cement glue. That’s why white clouds of gnats swarm like biblical locusts. That’s why alligators crawl out of sewers and eat stray animals and babies left alone in their strollers.
“None of that’s true,” Ma told me as I hid inside.
“How do you know?” I asked.
She shrugged, shucking fresh corn for our barbecue.
“I dug into it myself. You think I’d raise my baby on some swamp?” she chuckled. “You can’t always believe everything people tell you. Sometimes you got to find out stuff for yourself.”
The Before
On Mondays, pieces of hope would slide down from my brain, through my throat, into my stomach, and fill me up like Ma’s gumbo. Today is the day she’ll show up, I’d declare, standing by my locker, watching the doors, counting the seconds. When the bell rang and she was nowhere in sight, my hope disintegrated into dread. Without Monday, there seemed to be an infinite amount of space inside our bubble. I could run in circles without bumping into myself.
Find Monday. Find Monday. Find Monday.
“Ms. Valente, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked, lurking outside her classroom after the final bell.
Ms. Valente pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.
“Come on in, Claudia,” she said. “I’m just about to pack up.”
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