I shake my head. “Nah. You said you wouldn’t sign up with me, so …” I shrug.
“Bruh. You know I don’t dance like that. I told you!”
“Yeah, but I told you girls love a guy who’s got moves …”
Luke rolls his eyes. “What do you know about what girls love? Or is there something you haven’t told me?”
Yeah, right. I get almost all my info about girls from eavesdropping on his conversations with Taleisha. Or from WeeDee and Billy, whose expertise is still in doubt, in my opinion. Billy told me last week that if you’re on a food date, if you have onions and your date has garlic, they cancel each other out and you don’t have to worry about bad breath.
“So, are you going to reconsider?” I ask Luke.
I’ve been dancing since I was four. Mostly from watching videos and movies and stuff, but it feels like I was just born knowing how. I wish Dad had gotten to see more of it. There’s going to be a new dance studio in our neighborhood this summer, and the director came to our school and did a presentation of all the classes they’d have, including hip-hop, and Acro-dance, which sounded like something I wouldn’t even bother mentioning to Mom.
“Nope,” Luke tosses a fry into his mouth. “Not a chance. And don’t worry, I got my party moves all set. I just don’t see why you’re not going for it. You’ve been wishing for a class like this for ages.”
“I’m not doing it without you,” I say. I usually get Luke to come around to my way of thinking. There’s still time for him to change his mind about DuBois. We’ll be on stage together soon enough, I know it. Maybe if I start making up a routine to one of his favorite songs …
We eat and talk about basketball and comics and whether or not the risk of getting Mom mad at us for eating junk is worth bringing her back her favorite caramel shake.
Luke dips a few fries in the excess cheese and nods his head to the Bounce music playing. I slurp up the last of my shake. Then the last last. Then the dregs.
“I’m pretty sure you’re done,” says Luke.
I give it one more.
He glares. “Seriously. You’re being annoying.”
I stop. “Sorry.”
“About Mom,” he says. “There’s something else—”
“What?!” I say. “Is she sick? Have you guys been keeping something from me?”
“NO!” he says loudly. A few people look over at us. “No, Emmett, she’s fine. I’m sorry, I forget that it doesn’t take much to push your panic button.”
“Oh.” I play with my straw, trying to put the wrapper back on.
“But that’s kind of what I mean … I don’t want Mom to worry this summer, okay? She’s got enough on her plate, this is her chance for the whole med school thing …”
“Duh, I know that,” I say. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t do anything to make her worry,” he says. “Just … you know. Be chill. She’s gonna need time to herself, time to study, to rest. Don’t … be a pest, okay? Not”—he holds up a hand—“that I’m saying you’re a pest, because you’re not. Seriously, you are the best little brother I’ve ever had.”
“Very funny.” I start to throw my spoon at him, then I stop. He’s just given me an idea. (Plus, Michael was watching me pick up the spoon.)
“Okay, all joking aside, I’m gonna miss you, big time, little E. It’s gonna be weird not listening to you go on and on about … everything.”
I check to see if Michael’s looking, and then I ball up my napkin and throw it at Luke.
“Check, please!” he says, laughing.
“Can we split a banana split too?” I ask. “You know, to help me with the whole be chill thing. Get it? Chill? Chilled? Ice cream?” I wiggle my eyebrows for emphasis, and because I know it’ll make him laugh more.
“No, and your superpower is being corny, you know that?” he says, still laughing. “But thanks. Don’t say anything to Mom, but I’m a little … freaked out about leaving.”
“For Rowell? Or for Camp DuBois?”
“Everywhere, I guess.” He goes over to the counter to ask Michael for the banana split. As I watch them chat, my idea gets bigger and more solid. It warms up the part of my stomach that had been holding Luke’s leaving like an icy, hard ball, so I think I’m on the right track.
Luke comes back with two banana splits. “He gave me one on the house as a going-away present,” Luke says. “So … no root beer float, I guess. And he said I could call him Mike when I come back to visit.” Everything’s changing! As he picks up his spoon, he smiles again. “Tell me some of your corny debate jokes or something. I want to keep laughing.”
Don’t worry, Luke. I think I can do even better than that.
Chapter Seven
“So, even if you say you’re not hungry, you guys are still going to have to eat some vegetables,” says Mom as she pulls the sheets from the dryer. “You’re lucky I had planned to eat at the hospital cafeteria already. I’m really getting to like that pea soup.”
I keep my mouth shut about our detour to Mike’s and keep folding the warm sheets carefully, even though Luke is probably going to just ball them up in his trunk. He’d had gotten a break on cleanup duty to work on packing, so of course he’d gone straight to his room to FaceTime Taleisha.
“We should make a Target run,” she adds. “Pick up some supplies for your brother. See if he wants to go down to the mall. I know it’s not cool to hang out with your mom and baby brother on a Friday night, but maybe he’ll cut us some slack.”
“Add a Triple Lindy Deluxe Sundae to the picture and I’d say we’ll have him eating out of our hands,” I say. “Oh wait—I guess that would be kind of messy.”
Mom flicks me with a hand towel. “Don’t think I don’t know you already had some kind of ice cream at Mike’s. Just get your brother, Emmett.”
Wait a minute … This is my chance, I think. Everything is falling into place. “Actually, Mom, you guys go ahead. I’ll go tell Luke, but I want to stay home. I’m kind of tired.”
She looks at me. “You sure? I’m not getting you ice cream, but maybe we could share a popcorn from the cart.”
“You and Luke should have a little time to hang out,” I say quickly. “It’ll be nice.” I hug her and leave before she can get sniffly, or remind me to wear deodorant.
As I walk down the hall to Luke’s room, I do a quick imaginary hat tip to the photo of my dad on the wall. It’s fading and a little fuzzy-looking, just like my memories of him, but I try to let him know every time I pass that I’m going to make him proud up there, or out there, or … wherever dads go when they die before they teach their sons how to swim.
I can hear Luke talking in his low, fake-DJ mumble behind his closed door. Even though I make fun of him, I’ve tried it myself, but I can’t get the right amount of bass in my voice yet. I knock extra loud.
“What?” he calls. I open the door. “I didn’t say come in,” he grumbles, pointing to the bed. “Sit and zip it.” Yep, he’s talking to Taleisha, who he insists isn’t his girlfriend. Yeah, okay. I guess they just talk on the phone, text, hang out, and kiss ALL THE TIME. I wave to her head on the screen and make kissy sounds. He makes the universal one-more-move-and-I’ll stuff-you-headfirst-into-my-tiny-trashcan gesture. I stop the kissy sounds.
When he’s finally done romancing, I get into gear. “I remembered something else about Maine and Stephen King. I heard his mansion is like something out of one of his twisted books! People go in … but they don’t come out. And remember Misery? What if it’s based on his own life, but he’s actually the murderous one? He lures in unsuspecting talented teens with promises of top notch art supplies. Did you think of that?”
“No, Emmett, I am super sure that I’ve never thought of that. And listen, if you tell Mom I let you watch that one too, I’ll murder you myself,” Luke says, pulling a large suitcase from under his bed. “And Misery took place in Colorado, actually.”
I change tactics. “Speaking of Colorado, did you know t
hat Maine is literally the whitest state in the country? Just a fact, bro.”
“I do know that,” says Luke, looking serious. “And I’m preparing myself for it, remember? That’s why I’m going to DuBois for the summer.” He makes the Wakanda Forever sign. “Extra fortification.”
Or, I think, you could just stay home next year. Then you won’t need vibranium or antiracism superpowers or anything. Am I the only one who has sense in this house?
He holds up a pair of tube socks. “Do you think I should buy some dress socks? Maybe boarding school kids don’t wear tube socks.”
I shrug. “I guess. They probably wear jackets and ties to bed too, right? Oh yeah, I’m supposed to ask if you want to go to Target,” I say, not looking at him. “But maybe you want to stay home and pack some more.”
“You think I can get Mom to spring for some new Nikes? What if those kids don’t wear Adidas?” His eyes widen. “This is why I need summer money. What’s the prep school shoe? How am I going to find out?”
I pat his shoulder. “Chill, big bro. Deep breaths. You got this. You’ve got plenty of time, we’ll figure it out.” We’ll have plenty of time to scheme together. “Remember that time you did your whole mitosis research paper at your locker before the second bell rang? That was epic!”
“That was a last-minute mess,” says Luke, shaking off my hand. “I’m trying to do things differently now, Emmett. New school, new start, new me.”
What about the old us?
“There’s something I’m worried about, though,” says Luke.
I knew it! He couldn’t forget that we were a team, like peanut butter and jelly, hot dogs and buns, potato chips and chocolate (trust me).
“It’s Mom,” says Luke.
I look at him in surprise. “Mom? I thought we covered that. Keep her chill. Don’t be a pest. Trust me, I’ll be invisible,” I say. Literally, if I pull this off.
“You’re gonna have to look out for her since the man of the house is going to be away. Can you handle it, little bro?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, flexing my arms. “I can handle anything.”
“Yeah, okay. Anyway. Look, Mom’s like, moving into her next phase or whatever, she might start, like, going on dates or something. Give her space, but watch out for scrubs.”
DATES?! I feel my eye start to twitch. “Hey, yeah, hospital scrubs, right? Mom is going to medical school, so I’ll need to make sure that she’s fully stocked in the scrub department …” I didn’t want to think about DATES.
“I don’t mean those kinds of scrubs, and you know it,” says Luke. He looks at me. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah … I was just … joking.” We sit in silence. “Do you ever wonder if she’ll get married again?” It’s the first time I’ve said those words aloud, even though I’d thought about them a gazillion times. They fall into the space between us with a hard thump.
Luke doesn’t say anything for a long while. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says quietly. “Or ahead of Mom, for that matter. Ix-nay on the m-word. But … she might go out on dates, and I won’t be here, so you know, you’ve got to be cool about it.”
“Because she’s grown,” I say softly.
“And?”
“Has every right to grown folks’ business.”
“And no matter what, she loves us and that won’t ever change,” Luke finishes. “Got it? But … you know, keep me posted, though. For real.”
My eye is twitching even more. “Hey, WeeDee and Billy had another idea for a summer prank, and it will only take five hundred dollars, a car battery, and a small amount of copper wire—” I start quickly, but Luke holds up a hand.
“You know that goes for me too, right?” he asks.
“What? Being grown? I know, I know, don’t rub it in. But officially you’re not an adult, you know. You’re still seventeen.”
“I’m talking about the still loving you part. Just because I’ll be at Dubois this summer, and Rowell next year—”
“In head to toe plaid, walking like you have a stick up your butt …”
He continues. “Where I am won’t ever change who we are, okay? We’re a team, and …” He stops, and his voice cracks a little.
“I know, big bro,” I say. “We’re a team, no matter what.” I got your back.
Mom pops her head in, and the expression on her face is the same one she has every Christmas morning before we open our big present.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say. “We started talking. Luke wants to go to Target.”
“I just got off the phone with Patrick’s mom,” she says. “She can’t stop raving about that camp. DuBois really does sound amazing.” She comes in and hugs me to her. “Let’s look into it next summer, Emmett. I’d love for you to have an opportunity like this too.”
Opportunity.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you guys later,” I say.
“You’re not coming?” asks Luke.
“Are you sure?” Mom asks again. “I’m pretty sure I can be talked into the triple Lindy.”
“Nah, I want to FaceTime with the guys about the film fest,” I say quickly. “We said we’d talk after dinner about the lineup. I, um, forgot.”
“The fact that you refuse to even preview The Last Dragon is still unforgivable,” Luke says.
Mom laughs. “I’ll work on him while you’re gone, Luke. It is a travesty.” She hugs me again. “Okay, well since I’m on this new let-my-sons-make-their-own-decisions thing—within reason …” She shrugs. “Let’s go, Luke. Emmett, keep your phone on and close.”
“Got it!” I give them a big smile and a thumbs-up. As soon as I hear the door close and lock, I get on the computer.
The Camp DuBois homepage has a slide show of smiling people in all shades of brown. It does look like Black utopia. I click on Prospective Camper Information.
I’m creating opportunities.
Chapter Eight
“I’m really proud of you,” says Mom, for the seven hundredth time. I nod and keep my eyes on The Last-Last-Day of Summer. Luke has been gone for three days and it feels like three hundred. If a mom says the same thing seven hundred times in three hundred days, what percent … oh, never mind. Now that my letter has come from Camp DuBois, I know I can’t keep my secret for long. I don’t feel quite as proud of myself as I did the night when I’d done my secret Camp DuBois application. Mom might be the one punching a hole in the sky when she hears my news, but I’m hoping that Luke will help keep everything on a positive note.
“You were so mature about your brother leaving for the summer,” she goes on, coming farther into the room even though I hadn’t exactly invited her in. She looks around, wrinkling her nose. “It smells like corn chips in here,” she says. “Have you been eating snacks in your room?”
“Nope,” I say. Technically I’m telling the truth. I’d just opened the bag when I heard her coming toward the room. I hadn’t had a chance to start eating. Now, it’s stuffed under my shirt.
“You ready for debate camp?” she said. “You know, I saw Mac Traister’s mom in the grocery store last night, and she was saying that he was on the waitlist. That place is really in demand.”
“I’ve been thinking … maybe I should give someone else a chance,” I say slowly. “I’ve gone for two years in a row.”
She laughs. “And we work hard to get you signed up early! It’s not easy to find quality programs like that for free. I’m so grateful for the opportunities you boys have had.” She sits on my bed and sighs. “And I’m glad that you’ll be occupied this summer. Like I said, I know it’s not a fancy camp, but between two weeks of debate camp and maybe some work out in that garden and whatever shenanigans you have planned with WeeDee and Billy …”
“They go to camp too, remember?” I say. “For like half of the summer.” I put my book down and look at the clock on my nightstand. “Hey, it’s about time for Luke to call, right?” Perfect timing. It’s like he knows I’m gonna need a rescu
e in 5, 4, 3, 2 …
Mom’s phone dings, and she answers the video call. Luke’s face fills her screen, and I sit next to her so we can both see.
“Heyyyyy!” he says. There’s music in the background and a lot of activity behind him.
“How’s it going, honey?” Mom yells. I wave. Luke looks around and quickly moves to another, quieter room.
“All good here, just checking in like I promised,” he says. “But I can’t talk long.”
“Sounds more like a party than training,” I say. “Guess you’re having a good time.”
And I will too, soon enough.
“Yeah, okay, you got jokes, little bro,” he says. “We just finished a three-hour Black history workshop. You know about the Oklahoma City sit-ins in 1958?”
“Ha, sit-ins were in 1960,” I say. “We learned that in history, maybe you should have been paying attention.”
Luke laughs. “You might be talking about Greensboro, North Carolina. Woolworth’s, college students. I’m talking about kids, some of them littler than you, in 1958. Sorry, brain, perhaps the student has become the teacher.”
“Ohhhh … I forgot for a second.” I clear my throat. “You just caught me off guard.”
Luke shrugs. “I didn’t know about it either till I got here. Seriously, thanks, Mom. I’m learning so much, it’s fantastic. Now Emmett’s not the only scholar in the house.”
Mom smiles. “I’m glad it’s going well. And you’ve both always been scholars, you just expressed it differently.”
“Yeah, I get good grades,” I blurt out. My words fall out of my mouth and seem to sink to the floor.
Mom gives me a look. “How’s the art apprenticeship going, hon?” she says to Luke.
“We’re going to be doing all these great projects with the campers,” Luke says. “And everything is in the context of Black culture and Black history … It’s totally different from how we did stuff at school.”
“Sounds great,” I start, but he’s not finished.
“Brace yourself, little bro, I’m going to school you when I get home. And I’m making a book list for you too. I’ll text you later so you can start getting them from the library.” He looks around as people start coming out of a room behind him. “So, you guys okay? I gotta get going soon. What’s the news?”
It Doesn't Take a Genius Page 4