Chasing Romeo

by A. J. Byrd

  “Umm…I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ll think about it.” It doesn’t escape me that she had asked me earlier before Romeo promised to give me private lessons.

  “Maybe you should try out, too, Kierra,” I say, switching tactics.

  “Me? Basketball? You done fell and bumped yo head.” She laughs. “Running up and down the court and sweatin’ out my perm. Chile, please.” We walk a ways before she adds, “You know I did see a flyer for two spots on the freshman cheerleading squad. Maybe Tyler and I can try out for that instead? We can be on the side court cheering you on.”

  Tyler is laughing before she finishes her sentence. “Me in a short skirt with pom-poms? Now who has fallen and bumped their head?”

  Kierra and I think about it for a moment and then burst out laughing.

  “Okay. It’s not that funny,” Tyler says sourly.

  “Oh, yes it is.”

  “All right,” Kierra amends. “You two join the basketball team, and I’ll be on the sidelines. BFFs still together.”

  I glance at Tyler. “I like the idea.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Tyler seems determined to remain noncommittal.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Tyler what she thinks about Romeo Blackwell, but I’m afraid of her answer. I also notice that Kierra doesn’t bring it up either, and something tells me she is also debating whether to ask.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, since we arrive at my building first. We all wave, and I watch them march off to the next building over.

  I enter the building and walk up to the apartment door. I lay my hands on the knob, take a deep breath and open it. Immediately, my four brothers stop running around the sofa to stare up at me. Robert and Gregory, ten-year-old twins, are the first to yell, “Oooh. You’re in trouble.”

  “Anjenai Legend,” Granny’s voice cracks out from the hallway a second before I see her hobbling from her bedroom on her cane. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  So much for hoping that the principal had forgotten to call.

  chapter 10

  Kierra—My Private Hell

  The minute I walk through the door, I see my nine-year-old sister, McKenya, huddled on the couch and OD’ing on SpongeBob SquarePants.

  “Whatsup?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

  She doesn’t even look up. “Nothing.”

  It’s a quarter to four in the afternoon, but I know my sister Deborah is fast asleep. She works third shift at the Champagne Lounge so she sleeps during the day.

  “Did you do your chores?”

  When McKenya doesn’t respond, I have my answer. “Turn off the TV, and go do your chores,” I tell her.

  “After SpongeBob,” she says.

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes. What can it hurt? I slap my backpack on the dining room table and head toward the kitchen for an afternoon snack. However, the moment I enter the kitchen, I see the sink piled high with dishes, and the garbage is overflowing. “I swear. I’m the only one who does anything around here.”

  Next thing I know I’m taking out the garbage and scrubbing dishes. Forty-five minutes later, I finish and march back into the living room.

  McKenya hasn’t moved an inch.

  “Have you done your chores yet?”

  “I’m watching SpongeBob.”

  “No more SpongeBob.” I stomp over and turn off the TV. “Time to clean your room. You’ve been promising to do it for a week.”

  “You’re not my mom! You can’t tell me what to do!”

  I shouldn’t be surprised by McKenya’s outburst because she pulls the same stunt every time she doesn’t want to do something. Still, tears sting the back of my eyes.

  “Mom is not here. You have to do what I say.”

  “Nah-uh!” She jumps up with her hands on her hips. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “McKenya, go clean your room. I mean it.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “Do you want me to wake Deborah? You know you’ll get a spanking,” I threaten.

  Fake or real tears leap from McKenya’s eyes as she finally shoots off toward her bedroom. “I HATE you!” She slams the door.

  “Y’all be quiet!” Deborah screams from her bedroom.

  I want to collapse in tears or at least try to put on the bubbly face I usually reserve for the public, but I’m too tired. Life is really kickin’ me down.

  I stomp back to the kitchen, grab the ground beef and a box of Hamburger Helper and start cooking dinner. It’ll be late before I can get to my homework. When the food is almost ready, I hear someone shuffling up behind me.

  I turn and Deborah is standing in the kitchen doorway. Her hair is standing all over her head, and her pretty face is smudged with yesterday’s makeup.

  “You’re just now gettin’ up?” I ask.

  She nods and scratches her leg. “Make me a quick plate.”

  “Sure. Why not,” I mumble when she turns and walks off. I swear I feel like Cinderella up here sometimes.

  I quickly set the table and fix everyone’s plates. “McKenya, come eat!”

  “I’m not hungry,” she yells back.

  I drop my hand on my hip and count to ten.

  Deborah is busy shoving food into her mouth.

  “Will you please tell her to come eat?” I ask.

  Deborah shouts with a mouthful of food. “McKenya, come out here and eat, girl!”

  My sister’s great parenting skills at work.

  “Girl, I’m not playing with you.”

  Finally, McKenya’s door cracks open, and she stomps out to the table. Why did she have to make things so hard? Didn’t she see that we were all trying the best we can?

  “By the way,” Deborah says, glancing up at me. “Your school called me today. What’s this about you fighting?”

  I sigh and plop into my own chair. “Some girls were talking smack at the bus stop, and it just got out of hand,” I say.

  “And now you have Saturday detention?”

  I nod.

  “And how do you suppose you’re going to get to school on a Saturday? You know I work a double shift on Fridays, and I’m gonna be too tired to get up and drive you to school.”

  I draw a deep breath and stare down at my plate.

  “I swear you two just like to make things hard for me,” Deborah snaps, dropping her fork against her plate. “I gotta jump into the shower. I’m going to be late messing around with you two. I would have been better off if I’d just let you go to foster care.” She storms away from the table.

  Hatred burns within me, and I try desperately to get a grip. When I finally look up, my gaze locks with McKenya’s, while tears streak down both our faces.

  chapter 11

  Tyler—Lonely Girl

  As usual, Dad isn’t home, and I’m glad to have the apartment all to myself. I love my dad, but lately he’s become too…clingy. Mom’s leaving really did a number on him, and honestly, it’s like he’s overcompensating for the eight months when she first left, and he drowned himself in alcohol, occasionally showered and never ever remembered to go to the grocery store.

  Sad really, since I think his drinking played a part in Mom leaving in the first place.

  Bottom line: he forgot about me.

  Everyone always forgets about me.

  When my parents were together all they did was scream and fight. Never once did they stop to think about me during all of that. Mom would throw things and call Dad everything but a child of God.

  Dad would yell and try to restrain her, but once Mom got going, there was no calming her down. At least now the apartment was quiet.

  The phone rings. I check the ID before answering. It’s Dad. Rolling my eyes, I already know how the conversation will go. For a minute I debate on whether to answer. Maybe see if he’ll worry about me if I don’t pick up. But on the third ring, I answer. “Hello, Dad.”

  “Hey, pumpkin. You made it home.”

  Yeah. Someone get me a cookie. “Yeah. I’
m home.”

  “How was your first day?”

  I shrug. “It was okay.”

  “You don’t sound like you enjoyed it.”

  “It’s school. Am I supposed to enjoy it?”

  He laughs. “I know I didn’t. Look, pumpkin, I’m going to be working a little late tonight. Are you going to be all right?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  There’s a long pause on the line. Apparently my sarcasm didn’t squeak by this time.

  “Look, Tyler. I’m doing the best I can. We really need this job right now. You know how the housing market is right now. Construction jobs are a little hard to come by lately.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I feel guilty for having made the comment now.

  “Uh, I left a twenty in the cookie jar in the kitchen. Use that to order yourself a pizza. I didn’t make it to the grocery store before I headed out today.”

  Surprise. Surprise. A long and awkward silence hangs over the line before my father catches a clue that I don’t have anything else to say.

  “All right then. I guess I better get going. You sure you’re all right?”

  “Peachy keen,” I lie.

  “Don’t do that, baby,” he scowls softly. “I really am doing the best I can right now.”

  I fold my arms and drop into a nearby chair. “I know.”

  “All right,” he says. “I’ll see you later tonight. I love you.”

  “Bye,” I say, hoping like always that he doesn’t notice I don’t say “I love you” back. “See you later.” I quickly hang up the phone.

  I wipe my face, surprised to feel tears. I pick up the phone again, dial the number for the local Fox’s Pizza and order my favorite pepperoni and cheese pizza. After I receive the promise of a delivery within thirty minutes, I notice the flashing light on the answer machine.

  I walk over and press Play.

  “Hello, this call is for Mr. Jamison. This is Principal Thelma Vincent calling from Maynard Jackson High School. I was calling in reference to your daughter, Tyler…”

  I smile at the machine as I reach over and hit Delete. “Nobody cares, lady.”

  chapter 12

  Anjenai—Hoping, Wishing, Waiting

  I can’t believe it, but the rest of the week went by without incident. I’m actually still looking forward to basketball tryouts next Friday. Also I’m still waiting for Romeo to tell me when we’ll be able to practice together. In Spanish class I keep trying to catch his eye, hoping he’ll bring it up—but he never does.

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” Tyler suggests as we walk out of class together.

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “You’re still a shoo-in for the team. No way Coach Whittaker is going to ignore someone who can shoot as good as you.”

  I flash Tyler a smile. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.” And I did. My confidence needs an ego boost.

  “Not a problem.” She wraps her arms around my neck. “This is what best friends are for.”

  It’s Friday afternoon, and as we ride the bus home, Kierra is the first to voice the question that’s on all our minds.

  “So how are we going to get to school tomorrow? My sister made it clear that she can’t take us.”

  I shake my head. “Granny’s diabetes has been acting up. She’s out the question.” We look to Tyler.

  “Don’t look at me. My dad has been working long hours on his new construction job. He doesn’t even know I have detention.”

  My mouth drops open. “What? You’re the one who got into the fight in the first place and your father doesn’t even know about it? Didn’t the school call?”

  Tyler hunches her shoulders. “Yep. Principal Vincent even left a nice li’l message on the answering machine that I promptly erased when I went home Monday.”

  “Why, you bitch,” Kierra barks.

  “What? I can’t help it if I have an absentee father,” Tyler says, smiling.

  I just shake my head. “Looks like we’re going to take MARTA. We can call and get the bus routes. I’m sure one has to go in front of the school—or near it.”

  Kierra nods. “I think I should have enough on my bus pass from this summer for a round-trip. Tyler?”

  “Sounds like the only option we have.”

  Riding MARTA isn’t as easy as it sounds. To get anywhere in this city on time you have to leave extra early. Especially the weekends. Buses tend to run every hour as opposed to the week’s every half hour. So in order to get to school by 8:00 a.m., it turns out that we need to be at the bus stop by 5:30 a.m.

  Be there—not get up.

  At four-thirty Saturday morning, I climb out of bed and try my best to creep around as quietly as I can, but my granny still hears me and wakes up.

  Granny, the sweetest woman on earth, is like the fourth member of the BFFs. She’s like the only mother figure my three-girl gang has to look up to, and she treats my friends as if they’re family.

  For the most part, I love hearing her tell stories about the old days. My favorites are the ones about her and Grandpa. How she’d had a crush on him for two years before he ever knew she was alive. Then one day, like magic, he noticed her at a friend’s house during a party, and he asked her to dance.

  According to her they were inseparable up until the day he died from cancer. Granny sold their small house they used to have not far from Oak Hill so she could pay the hospital bills. Later that same year, she moved here thinking she could make it off Grandpa’s Social Security checks. Who knew that a year later she would have to take in her five grandchildren when her son and his wife were killed in a car accident?

  When my parents were alive, we too, didn’t live far from Oak Hill. At night, sometimes I still dream about our old backyard and, more importantly, my own private room. Now, I sleep on a small daybed on one side of a room while my eight-year-old brother, Hosea, and my six-year-old brother, Edafe, sleep on the opposite corner of the room in bunk beds. The twins sleep on a sofa pullout in the living room. My point is we’re all packed in Granny’s apartment like sardines in a can.

  When my parents died, they were driving back to Georgia from a casino in Tunica, Mississippi, after celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary. The police said a driver of an eighteen-wheeler truck had fallen asleep behind the wheel. His truck had crossed over into their lane and hit my father’s Ford Explorer head-on.

  Me and my brothers have been living with Granny ever since.

  “Hey, baby,” Granny says shuffling into the kitchen behind me. “You have time for breakfast?” She opens the refrigerator and peers inside. “I can whip you up some eggs and bacon.”

  I glance at the clock on the stove. “That’s all right, Granny. I’m just going to grab a cereal bar.”

  “I don’t mind. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

  “No, Granny. I really don’t have that much time.” I smile at her. Granny is always looking for a reason to cook.

  “Did you already pack your lunch?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I rush over to her and kiss her on the cheek and then hurry out of the apartment. Once I step out of the building, I see Tyler and Kierra dragging their way toward me.

  “I’m so tired,” Kierra complains.

  “You look it. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

  She just grunts and gives me a look telling me to back off. I smile and look to Tyler; it’s clear that she’s not exactly up for conversation either.

  “Guess what,” Kierra says, trying to perk up after we climb onto the MARTA bus.

  “What?”

  “My sister says I can try out for cheerleading long as it doesn’t mess with my grades and I still get my chores done.”

  “How did you pull off that miracle?” I ask.

  “I know. Right?”

  “Well, I think you’re going to be great.”

  “You think?” she asks, hanging on to my words. “I don’t know how I’m going to squeeze in practice and getting to the games, but I figure if there�
�s a will there’s a way. So when you girls make the team, I’ll be right there cheering you on.”

  “Please,” Tyler mumbles. “You just want to be a cheerleader so you can cheer and root for Romeo at the football games.”

  Both Kierra and I are stunned by the bitterness in Tyler’s voice.

  “That’s not true,” Kierra sputters.

  “What’s up with you?” I ask Tyler.

  “What?” she asks, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

  “Oh, really? It sounds more like you’re being a bitch to me,” Kierra challenges.

  “All right. Calm down,” I say, noticing we were drawing a few unwanted stares our way.

  Kierra and Tyler sulk and glare at each other.

  “You girls know the rules,” I remind them. “No guys get in between us.”

  “Ha!” They bark and shift their glares toward me.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Tyler accuses. “Oh, Romeo, can you teach me how to play basketball?”

  I shift in my seat, hurt. “I never said that. He offered!”

  “Whatever.” Tyler rolls her eyes.

  “You know what? You’re just jealous because he’s going to be spending time with me and not you.”

  “Ha!”

  “Don’t ha me. You know it’s true. I know you’re only pretending not to like him. You’re not fooling anyone.”

  “Look, if I wanted Romeo, I could get him.”

  “In your dreams.” Kierra laughs, leaping into the conversation.

  Okay. Now at this point I can’t remember how this argument even got started, but it’s one that I suddenly feel I can’t lose.

  “All right. How about we make a bet,” Tyler suggests, sitting up in her seat.

  “What sort of bet?” I ask.

  “On which one of us can get Romeo.”

  “That’s easy,” Kierra says. “None of us. He’s with video-vamp-wannabe Phoenix, remember?”

  “Does that mean you’re chickening out?” Tyler asks.

  “I’m not chickening out.”

  “Good that makes two of us.” Tyler turns to me. “Anjenai, are you in?”