Pinned (9780545469845)

by Flake, Sharon

  Like contortionists, their bodies twist and turn. Arms bend under backs. Elbows hit ribs. Her chin and neck are being pulled so far up, it looks as if her neck might snap. His ankle gets pounded by her left foot.

  Deep inside I’d rather not root for Autumn. But she represents our team. Besides, it is difficult not to be amazed by her strength. The power in her legs. The way she strategizes on the mat. Playing chess with her body out there. I’ve always loved the beauty and messiness of this sport.

  With seconds to go, James goes for a fall. Autumn gets him underneath her. Gritting her teeth, she’s pressing in on him. Trembling, she holds him to the mat for three seconds. And wins.

  Skipping, I try to keep up with Adonis. We got our first big snow last night. Plus it rained. Now it’s icy, too. I got my tongue stuck out. Catching snowflakes.

  His wheels crunch the ice and wet his leather gloves. Walking behind him, I see his bumpy ride.

  “Wham!”

  A ice ball hit the back of my head. Jason and Kelly from the team ready to throw more. Adonis looking over his shoulders. The next three snowballs come for me, too. “Y’all quit it.” I get a few off, then running, I catch up to Adonis. Walking backward, I ask, “What you think snow taste like?” Blowing into my hands to keep ’em warm, I smell breakfast. My very own recipe. Cheerios mixed with almonds, dried cherries, chocolate-covered pretzels, and coconut.

  I make another snowball. A mini. “Happy first snow day.” Holding it up to him, with a broken branch sticking out of it like it’s a candle, I blow. She walks by. “Hi, Raven.” I speak first so he know I ain’t jealous. I ain’t seen them together since the movies, but you never know. He could be texting her.

  He don’t speak to her at all. She don’t speak to him. I can’t stop smiling.

  Asking questions is the only way to find things out. I ask if she still his girlfriend. Or did they break up? What was it about her that he ain’t like?

  The questions come faster than foot sweeps when I’m wrestling. He want to know why I think this is my business. When we get inside, his wheels squeak on the wet, slippery floor. A girl walking beside me look over, laughing.

  I ask him to the movies. Repeating my question to her friend, the girl say, “Wanna go to the movies with me? How lame.” She a eleventh grader with long, stringy locks past the middle of her back. Enough blue eye shadow to cover the walls.

  They looking at my wrestling bag, hung over my shoulder. We got a match today.

  “I thought she was gay,” one of ’em say. Turning the corner, they look back at him. “He in a wheelchair — please. It ain’t even electric.”

  My feet are ice, frozen solid in place.

  His wheels seem like wings, flying him away from me.

  I wanna go after him. Be with him. Tell him that he gonna ride me to the prom in that chair one day. Roll up the aisle and marry me in it, too. But I stay where I am. In the middle of the hall. Letting people push me, bump into me. Wondering why they can’t see me. Or him.

  “Something wrong, baby?”

  “No, Miss Baker. Just thinking.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders, forcing me to walk with her.

  “I was … my class is that way?” I point up the hall.

  “Tutoring. I was expecting you this morning.”

  On Monday I promised her I’d come. “I forgot. I swear.”

  “That’s what you said last week, Autumn.”

  “Aaahh, Miss Baker —”

  She stop to congratulate A’Destiny. Working hard to bring up her grades is paying off, she telling her. A’Destiny got a eighty-three average so far this new semester. “And time to bring that up even higher,” Miss Baker say, looking my way.

  My rain boots make a puddle. Miss Baker make me a promise. She will no longer come to school early just to accommodate me.

  It’s easy for everybody to talk to me about … not passing a test. Not studying. Not being prepared. But the other day in Miss Baker’s class, I took a reading test on a book, a book I read by myself. Got a B. Well, a high C. Okay, I mean a regular one. Answered every question, though. I like that author. Her book is like a movie. Every line is a camera pointing to somewhere interesting. I tell Miss Baker this.

  Hugs come from her as easy as batter from a bowl. While she rubbing my back, she warning me. “I already called your mother … a little while ago, baby.” She told her I missed tutoring. And mentioned that right now a D is the best grade she could give me, “if grades came out next week …” Sometimes she will let you do makeup work. I will earn what I earn this semester, she say, pulling me into the library. “Maybe if you fall far enough … fast enough”— stopping, her hands go to her lips, like in a prayer — “you’ll turn things around.”

  My parents said something like that this morning ’cause I didn’t want to read that book before school. Had a cramp in my leg. And my belly wanted food.

  Talking to Mrs. Carolyn, our librarian, Miss Baker complains. Lots of papers to grade. Parents still calling about report cards. Testing coming up in a few months. “It’s too much.” Then I hear his name. Adonis.

  Turning full circle, I see him, taking a book off the shelf. Still in his coat. Ice caked in his wheels. I’m wondering, Do other girls think he got pretty lips?

  Mrs. Carolyn asking if I know him. She talking about his “voracious” reading habits, his volunteer spirit, why he’s one of her favorites.

  The more she say about him, the taller he sits. Perfect posture look good on him. Just like the gray button-down shirt he got on today, and that jacket. It’s part of a suit, matching his pants.

  Miss Baker say she doing everything she can to get our class to value books and reading. Looking at me, she admits, “Sometimes … I’m not sure … if you all ever will.”

  Scratching my nose, and the back of my neck, I remember I’m allergic to libraries. I got a note once so I ain’t have to come with my class. After that, Mom said get over it. “Or bring Benadryl.”

  Three students come to the front desk, checking out books. A girl standing outside the library bang on the window with both hands, waving at Mrs. Carolyn, yelling, “I’ll be here fourth period. Save me some food.” Mrs. Carolyn having a lunch meeting. Her regulars will eat later, she telling us.

  Adonis go over to a table with books piled higher than his chair. Miss Baker and Mrs. Carolyn talking. I’m imagining me sitting in his lap, listening to him read. Kissing him after every sentence.

  “Would you like to, Autumn?”

  “Huh?”

  “Volunteer.” Miss Baker smiles. “Didn’t you hear Mrs. Carolyn, baby? She wants to see my students in here. Giving back.”

  “Firstly,” I say, hoping he hears me, “I do not like libraries.”

  They correct me, calling it a media center. Scratching my elbow, I listen to Mrs. Carolyn’s commercial on libraries. They are fun. You can make friends. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  Adonis is at the dictionary in the middle of the room. It’s big, with like a hundred million pages. Someone donated it to the media center, Mrs. Carolyn saying.

  I wonder what part of the alphabet he looking at. A, F, W? My favorite letter in the whole dictionary is Q. My favorite Q word is a name; Quigley.

  When the bell ring, Mrs. Carolyn asks me to think it over.

  Volunteering. At the library. Surrounded by books. Hmmm. But he couldn’t get away from me in here. One whole period. Me and him. Once a week. Maybe more. “Okay.” I ask to work the same hours he do. He come twice a week, she say. Tuesdays and Thursdays, during lunch.

  That’s what I’ll do. Come. To be with him. Adonis. Who I love.

  Your period on?” Tyrelle Davis is sitting on the gym floor with his legs open wide. He does not wait for Autumn to respond. He looks at the guys on his team, then hurls more words her way. “I hate that. Wrestling you when you’re menstruating —”

  He bends forward to touch his toes. “Same thing last time … I can always tell.” He pinches his n
ose closed. “You smell.”

  There are thousands of people at the tournament. Guys. Coaches. Girlfriends. Parents. With thirty-five schools represented. As usual, Autumn is one of the few girl wrestlers. She has been to the restroom three times since we deboarded the bus. It’s because of Tyrelle, Coach said. Tyrelle has never won against Autumn. “But he gets up in her head like termites in wood — chewing away her confidence.”

  Our team was given specific instructions. Keep him away from her. “Let the match determine the best,” Coach has said. “Not the fists.”

  I cannot tell if she is shaking because she’s nervous or because she’s angry. “Ignore him, Autumn. Keep walking. The tournament will start soon.”

  Tyrelle’s team is everywhere. Twice as large as ours, they lay on the bleachers: asleep, resting, talking, stretching. They stand near the walls, working knots out of one another’s arms and legs, taping torn wrestling shoes, spying on pretty girls.

  Running in their red-and-white uniforms, circling the gym with other teams, they chant, “Raiders, go. Raiders, yo.”

  Tyrelle brings up the size of Autumn’s chest. “Bacon bits.” His teammates sitting nearby laugh so hard, they tear up some.

  Autumn’s knee is a rocket aimed at Tyrelle’s shoulder blade. She pounds it over and over again.

  He falls over onto the floor, laughing hysterically. I saw him wince when she hit him. It hurt. He deserved it.

  A girl in this sport can accomplish a lot. But that does not mean every guy likes it. Most guys do not want to lose to a girl. With us it becomes a mental thing: how to win against a girl and not be embarrassed. With girls, it’s physical. We are much stronger than they are.

  For Autumn to win so often speaks volumes about her determination, strength, and training. If only she were smart.

  Leading her by the elbow, I encourage her to go be with our team. I push my wheels and try to make small talk with her.

  Tyrelle is an idiot. He throws his knee pad at her. “For extra protection.”

  Pow. Tyrelle looks at me, surprised.

  I detest violence. I dislike Autumn. But bullies — I hate them more than I hate Patricia. I had to punch him. Sometimes fists are required.

  Grabbing both my arms, he tries to pull me from my seat. Fists are flying. Autumn and other wrestlers join in, too. Coaches from other teams try to separate us and calm everyone down.

  A ref leaving the men’s room gets everyone’s attention when he issues us a warning. “Go find your teams, or forfeit.”

  Wrestlers are exceptionally disciplined, single-minded, and focused. None of them would want to come here and go home without challenging their opponent on the mat. Quietly they walk off, sit down, or put headphones on their ears and close their eyes. Tyrelle passes by Autumn and me. “On the mat,” he says to her, “I’m going to finish you.”

  Mrs. Carolyn ask to touch my cheek.

  “Go ahead.” It’s bruised. Black and blue. Purple, too. Tyrelle’s foot hit it. “It don’t hurt … too much.” I stick my book bag under the front desk. Proud when I say I sent him home in a arm sling. Bet he was double mad. I took second place at the tournament.

  Her finger slides over my cheekbone. Then it goes up to her lips. “Shush.” Jaxxon at the computer, talking, one hand is on the keyboard, one arm is around some girl’s shoulders. His lips head for her mouth. Mrs. Carolyn is asking them to separate.

  She never seen me wrestle. She won’t, either. She’d rather read about some things than watch ’em, she telling me. I look around for him. He here. Avoiding me, I think. When I came in and spoke, he kept his eyes on the book he was looking at. Sailboats racing ’cross the ocean. That’s all I could see. He wouldn’t say what he was reading. I asked, then went to look for the librarian, itching.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I pull up my pant leg. Showing off the scar under my left knee. I’m proud of that, too. Got it at my first match. I lost. It keeps me hungry, though.

  Mrs. Carolyn is expecting a class, so she can’t show me around. She told Adonis to show me the ropes. It’s my first day volunteering. He can’t get away from me now.

  A gold top. Matching sweater. Purple scarf. Black tights. That’s what I’m wearing. Plus heels. Well, boots with heels. After a match, sometimes it’s hard walking in ’em. Everything can hurt the next day. Even feet. Fingernails. Sneezing. Switching can hurt, too. I move my hips and butt side to side, slow and hard. When I get to him, I bat my eyes. Not too hard, though. It makes my ears hurt. Bending down, I press my arm next to his. “We match. Both of us got on gold tops.”

  The girl with Jaxxon opens her mouth when his lips get near hers. My mouth opens a little, too. I swallow, looking down at Adonis.

  He hands me papers. “Here’s the list.” He pulls a book from the shelf. Sits it on a table. “We’re weeding today.”

  “Huh?”

  “Getting rid of old books.” Mrs. Carolyn will sell some as part of a fund-raiser and give some away, he saying, looking over his shoulder at her. “Many will end up in the trash.”

  I sit down cross-legged on the floor. Jaxxon hollers across the room. He got a question about math homework. I ain’t know he did stuff like that.

  Adonis ask how I’ll work from down here. Holding on to both chair handles, pulling myself up, I stop, bend over, face-to-face with him — closer than I ever been. For a second I smell the soap he washed with and see two cavities at the back of his mouth. I thank him for looking out for me on Saturday.

  He’s whispering. “I know what you’re trying to do, Autumn.”

  I’m still holding on.

  “It’s ridiculous. You cannot force me to like you.” Trying to get away from me, he backs into a cart. Books fall. I almost do, too.

  Catching two books on their way down. Picking three off the floor. I sit them down, checking out the titles. “The Bean Trees,” I say out loud. The other titles I say in my head. Two Trains Running. Kindred. Even one about moving somebody’s cheese.

  Jaxxon walks by with a book stuffed in his back pocket. His eyes leave my face, taking their time all the way down to my feet, like I’m the Statue of Liberty and he got all day to look around. “Nice … shoes.” He walks away backward. Yawning.

  Adonis watches him, even when Jaxxon’s outside the library, tapping the window on his way up the hall.

  Mrs. Carolyn comes over, asking if Adonis is being a proper assistant. “Yes. He’s very good.” I ask about one of the books I picked off the floor. “May I have this?”

  My manners are impeccable, she says, reading the title. It’s something about how the universe was formed. The book is so old, she laughs, she bets there were only half as many planets discovered when it was written. “Take your time. Read it. Let’s talk.”

  “Let’s talk?”

  She hands it to me. “I’m a librarian, Autumn. A Spelman girl, by the way. A student says she wants to read a book. I wanna know what she thinks about it.”

  Adonis turns his head, laughing.

  I could kick myself. I came to volunteer. Not do no extra work.

  I forgot everything — my chess set, checkers, dominos, sudoku. I left home early with Ma to tutor Mr. Epperson’s students. The regulars — the able-bodied people — I do not like them very much. They are lazy, among other things. Mr. Epperson thinks it will be good for me. Who knows why. I’ll work with them once a week because I think he’s great.

  Every Monday I play games with students from the van during lunch. Thankfully, Ma brought my things to me. Now I’m setting up.

  “Hey, Adonis. What you doing?”

  Autumn walks over to Roberto, giving his cheek a little pinch. “Hi, Roberto.”

  Roberto shoves his chair into mine, scrapes Tyreanna’s wheels just to be closer to Autumn. “Autumn. I … I … like your hair.”

  She bends down to his height, complimenting him on his outfit. There he goes again. Drooling. Seventh graders and their braces. I point to the box on the table. “Roberto, get yourself a tissue
.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I ask if he’d like to help me set up. He reminds me that he has another paper due. “Sure, I’ll help you,” I say after he asks. He mentions the laptop I promised to give him. I always honor my word. He will receive it after I’ve worked with him a bit longer.

  Autumn walks to the other end of the table, showing us how slow she can move. How tight her pants fit at times. Without my permission, she opens the box of checkers. Roberto backs his chair up, practically taking mine along, too. The chess set in my lap topples.

  Picking up the pieces, Autumn asks if I would teach her to play someday. “I always did wanna learn.” Queens and kings get put on the table. Smiling, she asks, “What’s this?”

  “A pawn.” I’ve never liked people to do things for me. When I was young, my father would not permit it, either. How can you be independent if everyone is picking up after you? Reaching behind my back, I pull a stick from its sleeve. They’ve given me special permission to bring it in. It has a claw on the end. I made it a few weeks ago. Lots of little pieces need picking up on Mondays.

  “Sit next to me, Autumn. I’ll teach you to play.” Roberto’s wheel rolls over one of my pieces.

  Autumn eats with Patricia every day. Now that she is volunteering twice a week, she says Patricia is a little upset. “Sorry. I have to go.”

  I look back at Patricia’s table. Paper and books are spread about. Hard work isn’t all you need to succeed.

  More students head toward our table. Roberto is still trying to convince Autumn. “I guess if I eat lunch with y’all, it would be okay.” She opens her lunch bag and explains to Roberto why she is only having boiled egg whites and skim milk for lunch. Looking at me, she smiles.

  I knock over my drink with my elbow. Rushing to the front of the caf for napkins, she hardly speaks to some of the guys on the team who call her name. She comes back, wiping up my mess. I almost tell her that regulars are not wanted at this table, but Raven walks in. No, she rides in on Michael Jones Kellerman’s back. He is her horse. She leans left, and he walks in that direction. She leans right, and he gallops into line.