No One Ever Asked

by Katie Ganshert

  It was exhausting.

  “It’s okay if you’re not, you know.”

  Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes.

  They came out of nowhere, and they seemed to surprise Marcus as much as they surprised her. His eyes went big; then he hooked one of his fingers around one of hers, and pulled her into a hug. His arms were strong, his chest solid, and he smelled like aftershave. It felt like home. It was too easy. Too familiar. And she was too weak.

  She pulled away, but not far enough.

  Their faces were close. So close she could see specks of honey in his brown eyes. Freckles. Marcus’s eyes had freckles. And his lips…

  “Anaya, I really think—”

  She didn’t wait to hear what he really thought. She was so tired of watching her steps. So tired of fighting what felt most natural. She stopped Marcus’s thought with a kiss so sudden, it took him a second to respond. But when he did, the whole world came to life.

  This was good. So intoxicatingly good.

  It was their first kiss since…

  And just like that, the euphoric bubble around them burst, popped by the cruel pin of memory.

  Anaya put her hands on Marcus’s chest and pulled away.

  He took a few steps back, dragging his hands through his hair.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Marcus.”

  “I’m still in love with you, Anaya. Most days, I can’t get you out of my head.”

  “Marcus—”

  “Just listen. I know I wasn’t the man I was supposed to be. I got selfish and impatient. I let you down. But Anaya, all of that? It’s the past. We can start fresh, with a clean slate.”

  Start fresh.

  With a clean slate.

  Like none of it ever happened.

  She worried her lip, teetering on the edge of a cliff without the self-control to keep herself standing on solid ground. It would be easy—so easy—to lean over and fall.

  “Your brother’s playing this Friday, right?”

  “It’s homecoming.”

  “Let me take you to the game. I’ll even buy you one of those nasty sweet-and-sour suckers you love.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, but not hard enough.

  Marcus could tell she was cracking. He put his hands together like a man in deep prayer and dipped his chin. Then he gave her those puppy-dog eyes no girl had a chance resisting, least of all her. “C’mon, Anaya. Say yes.”

  * * *

  Dax: Cody quit.

  L<3vy: What!?

  Dax: Coach told him he wasn’t starting again, so he walked out.

  L<3vy: When?

  Dax: Just now. I think he broke his hand punching a locker.

  L<3vy: OMG. Did u hear who’s wearing D’s jersey on Friday?

  Dax: For real?

  L<3vy: Don’t tell C.

  Dax: Man. He lost his spot & his girl to the same dude.

  L<3vy: She was never his girl.

  Dax: He wanted her to be.

  L<3vy: Then maybe he shouldn’t have done what he did with Alexis.

  * * *

  Kathleen: Cody came home with swollen knuckles, and he’s saying he quit the football team. Rick is furious.

  Camille: Oh my goodness, Kathleen. Seriously?

  Kathleen: I’ve never seen him this upset.

  Camille: Ugh. I’m so sorry.

  Kathleen: We’re not going to the game.

  Camille: I don’t blame you.

  Kathleen: He seems to think Taylor’s going to the dance with Darius.

  Camille: She’s going with a group of friends.

  Kathleen: Well, I thought you should be aware that maybe she’s not.

  * * *

  Dear Jubilee,

  I’m really really sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that mean name. I know what it means now, and I promise to never ever say it again as long as I live. Will you please forgive me?

  From,

  Paige

  Thirty-Eight

  “Miss Jones! Miss Jones!” Little Gavin Royce raised his skinny arm and waved back and forth like little kids do whenever they discover their teacher exists outside the classroom.

  Anaya lifted her arm and waved back.

  She could tell he wanted to run over and give her a hug. Gavin gave her the sweetest hugs every morning. But the hulking figure of Leif Royce stepped through the gate, slapping his wallet against his beefy palm. He followed the direction of his son’s attention, and the passive look on his face turned into a thundercloud. He set his hands on Gavin’s shoulders a little too roughly and steered him toward the metal bleachers, past the rowdy student section. Away from Anaya, as Mama’s voice played in her head.

  It’s just a scratch, baby.

  “For you.” Marcus was done charming the elderly lady working the concession stand. He had a popcorn in one hand and Anaya’s sweet-and-sour sucker twirling in the other.

  She could feel her cheeks dimpling with a smile.

  She took Marcus’s gift as the stadium exploded with the raucous sound of the Crystal Ridge marching band and the cheering crowd. Darius and his teammates tore through the large Let’s Go, Wildcats! banner. Cheerleaders punched the air with purple pom-poms, and the Wildcat mascot turned impressive, enthusiastic cartwheels in the grass.

  She followed Marcus to a spot in the stands. Mama couldn’t make it because of her night class, Granny was in too much pain with the changing weather, and Uncle Jemar wasn’t ’bout to give his money to no white-bread, rich school. He was here, though. Outside the fence, watching from a distance. Uncle Jemar couldn’t resist watching his nephew play.

  And play, he did.

  After the first quarter, the score was 21–0.

  Darius threw one touchdown and ran in two.

  The crowd was going wild. Marcus was whooping and hollering. Anaya sucked on her sucker, eyeing Taylor Gray at the front of the student section. She had a purple paw print painted on one cheek, a gold paw print on the other. She was also wearing Darius’s jersey.

  “Man, that kid can run. Nobody can catch him,” Marcus said, sitting beside her. “Who you keep shaking your head at?”

  Anaya nodded at Taylor.

  “That’s Darius’s number.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “C’mon now,” Marcus said, giving her a paternal, amused sort of look. “Don’t be petty.”

  Anaya took the sucker out of her mouth. She’d whittled it down to a thin, barely-there circle. “When ReShawn told you what went down the other night, did she tell you the whole story?”

  “She said Darius got profiled by the cops.”

  “Yeah. In front of that girl’s house.” Anaya filled Marcus in, from Camille Gray’s commentary at the town meeting, to the word Paige used against Jubilee on Monday. When she finished, Marcus was frowning.

  “See,” she said. “Don’t be calling me petty.”

  “Are they going to the dance tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think so. Darius is supposed to work with Jemar all day, and he hasn’t said anything about needing a tie or boutonniere.”

  At halftime, the score was 34–10.

  Anaya had finished her sucker.

  And she and Marcus got lost in conversation.

  She told him all the things she hadn’t been able to tell him. About her classroom and her students. All the quirks. All the funny stories. How awesome second graders were, even at Crystal Ridge. She told him how hard it was telling Nia’s mama what Paige had said. How for a second she was terrified Nia’s mother was going to pull Nia out of O’Hare, and how for a second Anaya wished she hadn’t said anything. How selfish it was of her to want Nia to stay while her father’s district crumbled and she made money while it
fell. She told him about the time machine and her plans. Plans her father would be proud of. Plans to be the change where she was at.

  She told him about coaching track in the spring too, and how Taylor Gray was supposed to be her star.

  “You know who you should recruit?” Marcus said. “Shanice. She’s here this year. At Crystal Ridge.”

  “Shanice?”

  “Yeah, you know. She’s at the center every weekend. Nose ring? Always wearing basketball shorts?”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Remember that track-and-field event we did a couple years ago?”

  “Remember? I organized it.”

  Marcus smiled. “Well, Miss Organization, do you remember how fast she ran the 400?”

  Yeah. She did.

  Shanice Williams had blown everyone else out of the water. Even the boys.

  The marching band burst back to life. The football players ran back onto the field. Halftime was over.

  Milliken v. Bradley

  On August 18, 1970, the NAACP sued the state of Michigan on behalf of all minority children attending Detroit Public Schools. After hours of testimony on redlining, exclusionary zoning, and other disreputable tales of housing discrimination, a federal judge agreed with the plaintiffs. The government “at all levels” bore responsibility for residential segregation.

  It was the first time a federal judge recognized the critical role city-suburb borders played in maintaining segregated schools and ordered a major metropolitan area to do something about it.

  Thirty-Nine

  Yellow 2’s October News Flash

  October is here, which means the heat of summer is finally starting to wane, the leaves on the trees are starting to change, and we are starting a new, comprehensive literacy unit!

  Time Travel Adventures: I asked the students to choose a decade, any decade (we talked about decades in math). Yellow 2 voted, and the 1950s won in an impressive landslide. So we will be transporting to a pivotal time in our nation’s history, and we’re going to read and write all about it.

  Guided Reading: Your child’s guided reading book should be coming home every night in his or her guided reading bag. Each group is reading an appropriate-level nonfiction book about an important event, person, or place from the decade we’re studying. By the end of these books, students should be able to identify text features (table of contents, index, glossary, headings, etc.).

  Writing Corner: In second grade, students have to complete a graded informational writing piece. We’re going to be writing biographies. Attached, you will find the rubric and the list of lesser-known heroic figures students can choose from for their report. All these heroic figures either lived during the 1950s or left a legacy that impacted the 1950s. Students will complete these in class.

  October is National Bullying Prevention Month. Our guidance counselor, Mr. Keibler, will be visiting our classroom once every week to talk about bullying. Mark your calendar for Wednesday, October 31, for Yellow 2’s Fall Festival. Please contact Camille Gray for details: 321-464-2917. She’s in need of several volunteers.

  Happy October,

  Miss Jones

  * * *

  They walked inside to the sound of laughter and a Boyz II Men song that immediately hurled Jen back in time, to when she was eleven at her very first middle school dance, swaying back and forth with a boy whose head came up to her nose. His name was Aaron Sheller, and the whole time they danced, her best friend stood behind him, lip syncing all the lyrics into an imaginary microphone.

  Although we’ve come,

  To the eeeeeend of the road

  Jen had felt as conspicuous then as she felt now, standing in the doorway as four women beyond the front desk turned to look at them.

  The one holding a pair of sheers—Trill, Jen assumed—smiled a wide, welcoming smile. If she thought it strange that a white woman had walked into her salon, she hid it well. “Come on in. You’re in the right place.”

  Jen and Jubilee stepped farther inside. The salon was small and oblong and smelled faintly of coconut and eucalyptus. It was comfortably warm and divided in two by a front desk. On one side—the side where Jen and Jubilee stood—was a wall lined with hair-care products, extensions, and a variety of beads and barrettes. Beside it, a couple of flimsy chairs and a chipped magazine rack with magazines Jen had never heard of before—Ebony and Essence and Upscale. On the other side, a manicure table, a shampoo station, a hooded dryer, and a salon chair. All but the seats at the manicure table were taken.

  “Abeo! Get your hands off my soda.”

  A little brown hand disappeared behind the front desk, away from the can of Diet Mountain Dew perched there.

  “I’m thirsty!” a young voice said back.

  “Go get yourself a juice box, then. You know where they are.”

  The little boy darted out from behind the desk, into a back room. He was dressed in an all-blue Adidas track suit with three white stripes up the side.

  “She getting her hair braided?” Trill called.

  Jen nodded.

  “Anaya’s student, right?”

  Jen nodded again, her ears going slightly warm. Anaya had told her aunt about them. Exactly what, she wasn’t sure.

  “I’m finishing up with my ten o’clock. Why don’t you go on and pick out some beads for her braids. ReShawn will check you out.”

  A slender young woman who’d been sitting at the shampoo station pushed herself up out of her seat. She wore a fashionable pair of joggers and an autumn-green bomber jacket and gold earrings so large and dangly they almost reached her shoulders. Her hair was cornrowed up into an elaborate bun at the top of her head.

  “What beads you getting, girl?” she asked Jubilee, setting her elbows on top of the desk as she chewed on a piece of gum.

  Jubilee looked up at Jen. “I want purple, like Nia.”

  Jen nodded toward the wall, encouraging her to grab some.

  She did, and brought them to ReShawn, who picked them up and hugged them to her chest. “Oooo. These are my beads. These are my beads, aren’t they? Their gonna look so good in my hair.”

  One corner of Jubilee’s mouth lifted in an uncertain smile. Jen hated that Jubilee didn’t know what to do with the banter. Inexplicably, Nia leaped to her mind, with a hand on her hip, jutting her chin. Those ain’t your beads, she could hear her say.

  “I love me some purple.” ReShawn quirked one of her carefully shaped eyebrows. “Did Miss Jones tell you my favorite color?”

  “You know Miss Jones?”

  “Know her? Girl, we like this.” ReShawn crossed two of her fingers. They were long and slender. “I’ve known Miss Jones since we were babies.”

  Jubilee’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. We tell each other everything.” ReShawn winked and rang up the purchase. As she took Jen’s credit card and ran it through a little device plugged into her phone, Jen wondered if Anaya told ReShawn about the name Jubilee had been called at school.

  Nick had been livid. Angrier than after the town meeting. Angrier even than after Unpack Your Backpack night.

  As she told him what Anaya told her, she remembered thinking, This is how a real parent should react. Jen, on the other hand, sat in that too-short chair, blinking dumbly, unsure how to react at all. She was too overwhelmed by all the things she didn’t know.

  “Come with me, little queen. Let’s get that crown of yours washed.” ReShawn offered her hand to Jubilee, who hesitated for a moment before taking hold and walking with her to the shampoo station.

  Note to self, Jen thought. A kid’s braid included a hair wash.

  She had no idea, and she was too embarrassed to ask. So last night, she’d taken out Jubilee’s puffs, washed, conditioned, detangled, and meticulously moisturized before sectioning her hair into braids.

  The li
ttle boy came out from the backroom with an apple juice. He sucked the box dry and watched ReShawn set Jubilee up at the sink, fastening a pink cape around her neck and gently undoing each plait.

  “You can come on back,” Trill called to Jen, who hadn’t moved from her spot by the desk.

  Grateful, Jen smiled. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to sit—at one of the two chairs by the magazine rack or back there, with the rest of the women. She took one of the chairs at the manicure table.

  “Woo wee, her hair is thick,” said the woman sitting at the overhead dryer. She wasn’t using it. In fact, she didn’t seem to be getting her hair done at all. She wore blue jeans and a Steelers jersey and sat on the edge of the chair with her elbows on her knees, a tan purse dangling between her ankles.

  “Yeah,” Jen said. “It is.”

  “It looks healthy.”

  That might have something to do with all the moisturizer Jen put in it last night.

  The woman walked over and felt Jubilee’s hair for herself as ReShawn took out the last braid. “Oooo, that’s nice and soft. Whatever you’re doing, you keep on doing.”

  The words inflated something inside Jen. She clung to them like a woman in need of a life vest. “I haven’t quite figured out how to style it.”

  The woman waved Jen’s words away. “That’s what you got Trill for. She does the best braids in Saint Louis. So good I don’t even try. Anytime my granddaughters need their hair done, I bring ’em here.”

  Abeo dropped his empty juice box in a small garbage can by the manicure table and began twisting the bottles of nail polish in the display case. One tipped and dropped onto the floor.

  “Hey.” ReShawn had just turned on the water. “You gonna buy what you break?”

  Little Abeo reached inside his pockets and turned them inside out. “I ain’t got no money.”

  The women laughed.

  It was a laughter that melted into conversation. Their voices mixed with the music and floated around Jen, slowly unwinding her muscles. They talked easily, familiarly. About a football party at so-and-so’s house, about ReShawn’s new boyfriend (Trill didn’t like him) and her job at the airport (Trill didn’t like that either), about some encounter Anaya’s younger brother Darius had with a police officer and how long before a guy named Marcus would propose, about husbands and kids and grandkids. They talked about Lincoln Elementary and whether or not it would stay open and South Fork’s urgent need for a whole new school board. Trill had lots of opinions about that.