I jumped out of the car and ran across the street. I could hear Samona following me. Her church shoes were making a clack-clack sound every time they hit the ground. I turned my head to tell her to be quiet ’cause anybody could be in that alley, but I was too late.
“Reggieeee!” Samona started shouting when we reached the alley.
I saw Reggie turn around real fast and pull something out of his pocket. It was a gun. And he was aiming it straight at Samona and me.
I stopped running and started to put my hands up but Samona crashed right into me and both of us fell on the ground in a puddle of water.
“Hey, don’t shoot them, man!”
I looked up and saw Anthony standing behind us, with his hands in the air.
“Tone, man.” Reggie put the gun back in his pocket and waved Anthony over to him. Anthony walked around Samona and me. Then the two of them hugged.
“These two kids who you hangin’ with these days?” Reggie asked, looking down at us.
I was staring so hard at Reggie, I didn’t even bother to get up. I’d never seen him up close before. Everybody knows he’s always wearing that purple hat and that long leather jacket but no one ever says anything about what he looks like. I was surprised.
Reggie was fat.
He had a big, puffy, moon-shaped face and the rest of him was puffy too. And he was real light-skinned. He was that almost white kinda black where you wouldn’t be able to tell except for his hair and his mustache. He didn’t look scary at all.
“Naw, G, that’s my baby sister and Seth, J.C.’s little brother,” Anthony said. “We’re lookin’ for J.C. If these kids don’t get themselves killed first.”
I stood up finally and glared as hard as I could at Samona. She was trying to squeeze the water out of her black dress. Of all the stupid, crazy things that girl had gotten me into, this was the worst. She almost got us killed, running down the alley shouting Reggie’s name like that.
Samona looked like she was going to say something but I stared at her even harder. “Just be quiet, Samona.”
I turned back to face Anthony and Reggie again, half-expecting Samona to grab me by the neck for telling her to be quiet. But she just got up and came to stand beside me.
“He went looking for Jerome,” Reggie was saying. “Came by about half an hour ago to give me a reading lesson but I had some business to take care of first.”
Anthony shook his head. “Where’d he go after that?”
“I told him to sit down and chill while I was gone. But when I got back from my errand, he’d bummed a ride with Mace to the 7-Eleven to find Jerome.” Reggie scratched his forehead. “What’d Jerome do? Thought he was flying straight like you. Don’t tell me J.C. the savior’s got another case on his hands.”
Anthony shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. But Seth’s worried. Thanks, G, we gotta find him. Check you later.”
“No you won’t. J.C. done saved you,” Reggie said. He tapped Anthony on the arm and started walking back down the alley.
“Y’all don’t listen too good,” Anthony said when we got back in the car. “Or maybe I wasn’t speaking the right language. I thought I said to wait in the car. You tell me. What does this sound like to you, Seth—‘Stay in the car’?”
“Sounds like stay in the car,” I mumbled. We were on the highway already, heading for the 7-Eleven. I was feeling better but I was still confused. Jean-Claude had gone to see Reggie about a reading lesson, not to get in any trouble. But what did he want to see Jerome about? It didn’t make any sense.
“What’s it sound like to you, Samona?” Anthony asked. He was still mad that we didn’t follow his instructions.
Samona didn’t say anything.
“Sounds like a death wish to me.” Anthony smiled. “Wait till I tell Mama how you almost got yourself shot.”
Samona was still silent and I looked over to see if she was okay. Just for a second, it seemed like Samona actually felt sorry or scared or something. Then she and Anthony started going at it like they always do. Samona fights with her brothers and sister a lot but it’s not like when Jean-Claude and Chantal fight. Samona’s family fight like they’re playing most of the time. Jean-Claude and Chantal never used to fight about anything until Jerome came along.
I looked out at the highway again, glad that we were traveling so fast. I had to be back in church in half an hour.
“Look, there’s Jean-Claude!” Samona shouted, pounding on my arm. We were pulling into the 7-Eleven parking lot. I looked out the window and saw Jean-Claude sitting in front of the store. He had his head in his hands and was all hunched over, like he was crying.
I jumped out of the car as soon as Anthony stopped it.
“Jean-Claude,” I said, pushing his shoulder a little. I heard Anthony dragging Samona into the 7-Eleven.
“Jean-Claude,” I said again, sitting down beside him. He was wet from sitting out in the rain. “You didn’t do anything bad, did you?”
Jean-Claude lifted his head finally and looked at me. He wasn’t crying at all but he did look upset. “What are you doing here, Seth?”
“I came to find you,” I said, looking away. I looked up at the big green and red 7-Eleven sign, wondering what to say. I’d already made one mistake about Reggie. How could I tell Jean-Claude that I thought he was going to get into trouble over Jerome? Then I felt Jean-Claude put his arm around me.
“No blood. No police. And Jerome gave me this Slurpee for free,” Samona announced, skipping out of the 7-Eleven with a big cup in her hand.
“And my man sitting outside in the rain.” Anthony sat down with us. “What happened, J.C.?”
Jean-Claude swallowed. “I wanted to teach Jerome a lesson. Ever since he met Chantal she hardly talks to anyone anymore. She sneaks around behind Manmi and Papi’s back. Last night she didn’t come home until one in the morning and I had to cover for her. I had enough. I had to find out what was going on between them.”
“But he wasn’t here?” Anthony guessed.
“Naw—he—he was here.” Jean-Claude sighed and clenched his hands. “I started looking in his face … and I knew I couldn’t hit him. He wasn’t worth it.”
“What happened?” Anthony asked again.
“We talked.” Jean-Claude shrugged. “I listened to all the stuff he was saying about us not treating Chantal the way we should and how she feels and … I realized he does care for her. He was telling me stuff I should have already known about Chantal.”
Anthony was smiling wide and happy. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”
“I mean what’s all my talk for if I can’t live up to it?” Jean-Claude was shaking his head slowly.
“You didn’t hit him? Once?” Samona asked, sipping on her Slurpee with a big sucking noise.
“Well.” Jean-Claude stood up, pulling me with him. “Thinking about it was just as bad, Samona.”
Anthony and Samona were laughing as we walked back to the car, but Jean-Claude wasn’t. He was serious and he meant every word he was saying. I wasn’t laughing either. I was glad Jerome was okay. And I was glad Jean-Claude was okay too. Half the time I have to tune Jean-Claude out when he’s talking about how black people gotta unify and be strong and going on and on about what black person invented this and that. Sometimes it feels like I’m in school with him talking and talking. But today I understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to make sure I grew up proud. He was trying to teach me everything they didn’t teach at school and not to believe everything you see on television and movies that doesn’t show the good side of being black. I was glad, when it came down to the line, all that talk was about real life—not just talk. I’d never thought about it much before, but I had a lot of respect for Jean-Claude.
But at the same time, I was kind of mad at him. Maybe what everybody says is right and I am too serious and that’s part of the reason why I jumped to all these wrong conclusions this morning about Jean-Claude, Reggie and Jerome, but it was part Jean-Claude’s fault t
oo. Jean-Claude thinks he knows what’s best for everybody. He tries to change people and usually it’s for the better, but he was wrong about Jerome and Chantal. They didn’t need changing. It was Jean-Claude who needed to do some listening. It was the first time I’d ever thought about Jean-Claude in this way.
“Seth,” Samona said, bringing me out of my thoughts. I turned to look at her and was surprised at how serious she looked. “Are you mad cause I almost got us killed?”
“Yeah,” I said. “This is exactly what I was talking about before, Samona. You finally got us into too much trouble.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are?” I’d never heard Samona apologize about anything. I started to feel bad all of a sudden. It wasn’t all her fault that we almost got killed. I was the one who jumped out of the car first. I was the one made us go look for Reggie. Samona had just been trying to help. I’m always going on and on to Samona about how crazy she is and how much trouble she’s gotten me into but I had gotten us into the most serious trouble of all. Was I being like Jean-Claude? I didn’t know how to tell Samona all of this without it going to her head. She looked like she was thinking hard about something else anyway.
“I’ll see you at home,” Jean-Claude said as we got back to church. “I’m sorry I made you worry about me like that.”
“That’s okay.” I shrugged.
“No it’s not,” Jean-Claude said. “This thing has gone way too far. I’m gonna have a long talk with Chantal.”
I had to move fast ’cause people were starting to come out of the church doors. I smiled back at Jean-Claude, then stepped out of the car fast. “Thanks, Anthony—and you too, Samona.”
The car drove off just in time. Granmè came down the steps of the church. I grabbed her hand.
When we got home, Chantal and Jean-Claude were in the kitchen talking.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Jean-Claude and Chantal smiled at each other.
“Get ready for fireworks, Seth,” Chantal said. “I’m gonna tell Manmi and Papi about Jerome. And everything about how I feel too.”
“Good,” I said, seriously. “’cause honesty—”
Chantal grabbed me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for looking out for us, little brother.”
Manmi grounded me for two days when she finally found out about me missing my piano lesson to go fool around at Mrs. Fabiyi’s house. Mrs. Marshall, the piano teacher, always called the parents when a student didn’t show up for a class. She said it was just in case one of us got kidnapped or murdered but I knew she was just trying to make sure she got paid anyway. I wasn’t lonely though, ’cause both Jean-Claude and Chantal were on punishment for the rest of their lives so nobody could leave the apartment. Manmi and Papi kept looking at us like they didn’t know who their children were— especially Chantal. They listened to all her feelings and they didn’t say anything about American ideas but they didn’t tell her she could stop cooking either. They’re still thinking everything she said through. I think Papi understands about Chantal’s dreams because of his dreams of being a pilot. Granmè agreed with Chantal one hundred percent and made Jean-Claude and me clean the bathroom this morning. It wasn’t so bad.
While I was sitting at home those two days, I had plenty of time to think about Samona entering that beauty contest. It would never work. The more I thought about it, the funnier it became. It got to the point that at any moment, no matter where I was, I would bust out giggling.
The girls in the contest are judged on talent, personality and aptitude—most of which aren’t Samona’s strong points. Why, people run the other way when they see Samona coming. As for talent, Samona sings like a frog and still does dances like the funky chicken—on purpose.
Aptitude is about the only thing Samona does have. She’s at the head of our class in everything. That makes our teacher, Mrs. Whitmore, mad ’cause she doesn’t like Samona. The other thing is that it isn’t obvious that Samona is smart. I mean, it doesn’t show. They weren’t going to be handing out tests at that contest, they were gonna be asking questions. As far as I could see, Samona didn’t have a chance of winning that contest. No use telling my family that, though.
“Okay, Seth, what’s so funny?” Papi said after I had started laughing while I had some red beans in my mouth at dinner the first night I was grounded.
Granmè told everyone that I had been doing this all day and felt my forehead to make sure I didn’t have a fever.
“Don’t pay him any mind,” Chantal muttered. She was in a bad mood. Manmi and Papi had said she still couldn’t have a boyfriend. And when she went food shopping with Manmi or walked to church with the family, Manmi watched her like a hawk.
“Like sister, like brother,” Jean-Claude added, seriously.
Chantal stuck her tongue out at him. “I wouldn’t talk, Di-di.”
Jean-Claude gave her one of his looks to kill. Di-di used to be his nickname when he was little, and he hated it. When he first went to high school, he made everybody promise not to call him that anymore. Everybody did except for Granmè. She laughed at him and said he must think he’s something special. Everybody who’s Haitian gets a nickname when they’re a baby. Half our relatives still call me Bou-bou and Chantal Chou-chou from when we were little. Jean-Claude just gives them a look and they smile and call him by his given name. One time Samona heard Tant Renee call me Bou-bou and she just about burst a lung from laughing so hard.
“Sa sifi,” said Manmi quietly, which means “that’s enough.” “Now what is funny, Seth? God knows we need something to laugh about in this place.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Nothing, I guess. Samona says she’s gonna be in that Little Miss Dorchester contest.”
Chantal lit up like a firecracker. “She is? Well, all right. It’s about time somebody with real talent entered that contest.”
“Vraiment?” Manmi smiled. “We will have to go see it this year.”
“Lap gen siksè.” Granmè nodded.
I stopped taking bites out of my corn on the cob and looked at Granmè. “Win? Granmè, Samona’s not going to win that contest.”
Papi tapped my head lightly. “You don’t know that, Seth. Samona has a good shot, just like the rest of those girls.”
Jean-Claude snorted. “Yeah, right, Papi. She has about as much chance as a monkey. Some light-skinned, long-haired little girl that conforms to the judges’ twisted concepts of beautiful will win as usual. When people say ‘Black Is Beautiful,’ they usually mean the brighter the black the more beautiful.”
While I always think it’s interesting to hear Jean-Claude’s side of it, he was missing the point. All of them were missing the point.
“Black may be beautiful, y’all, but Samona ain’t,” I said finally.
I wished I hadn’t said anything ’cause then through the rest of dinner I had to sit and listen to Manmi, Granmè and Chantal raving over Samona’s big brown eyes and skin the color of maple syrup. None of them mentioned the way she dresses or the things she says. Samona’s got this family hoodwinked. Then I thought about what had happened yesterday. I may have gotten us into some trouble yesterday but it was worth it because now there were no more secrets and not as much fighting. Samona had helped me when I needed to find Jean-Claude. It was my turn to help her out. She needed to see that this contest was a stupid idea. Samona was just gonna embarrass herself in front of everybody.
When I got to school on Monday, I was hoping that I could find out why Samona wanted to enter the contest so I could talk her out of it. I caught sight of her standing on the other side of the classroom in a pair of red overalls, and started to go over there when Bessie Armstrong tapped me on the arm.
For a minute, I didn’t know what to say. Bessie Armstrong never spoke to anybody—especially boys. She had long, light brown hair that she always wore in two fat curls on each side of her head. She was so light-skinned she was almost white. This was on account of the fact that her father is white. She n
ever acted up or yelled like the other kids in class did either. She sat there and “yes” and “no” as quiet as could be.
“Yeah?” I asked finally.
“Did you really go inside Mrs. Fabiyi’s house like Samona said?” Bessie whispered.
“Sure did.” I shook my head hard and long. Bessie was staring at me like I was Michael Jordan or something. For once I didn’t mind Samona’s bragging mouth.
“Was there bats in the corner of the room like Samona said? Did she really have a snake wrapped around her shoulders? How’d you get her not to eat you?”
I should have known. Samona had made up a story rather than admit the boring truth. Luckily, Mrs. Whitmore came in and saved me the trouble of having to answer.
“You sure are brave, Seth,” Bessie whispered before going back to her seat.
I smiled and went to sit down at my desk in the back. Teachers always put me in the back ’cause I’m tall for my age but right then, I wished I was a little closer to Bessie, who was three seats ahead of me.
Mrs. Whitmore was doing roll call. I could see her sigh when she said Samona’s name. I kinda felt sorry for her. Mrs. Whitmore is the kind of teacher who doesn’t appreciate an imaginative person. Samona just about drives her crazy; Samona can get her so mad that you can see the skin hanging off Mrs. Whitmore’s fat brown arms shake and jiggle and her eyes blink like crazy behind her black owl glasses. Mrs. Whitmore loves Bessie Armstrong.
It wasn’t until the end of the day that I had a chance to talk to Samona. I found her in the yard showing a piece of paper to Bessie Armstrong. Bessie walked away looking confused, and I hurried over to Samona.
“Now, Samona, why do you want to go and bother Bessie Armstrong?” I asked.
Samona raised her eyebrows. “What’s it to you? You got something for that girl?”
I glared at her real hard. The last thing I wanted to do was give Samona the impression that I liked Bessie. I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, I don’t like any girls.
Seth and Samona Page 6