“Well, you said it about me and I heard it.”
Zahara flips her hand up at him. “Mister D . . .
boom!
I'm not serving no detention for that mess. What I said is true. You
do
have an ole raggedy mouth. But I didn't say it to your face.”
“Well, young lady. Now you just didâtwo days' detention.”
“I'm entitled to my opinion. And I have freedom of speech.”
“And now you have detention along with that opinion and your freedom of speech. Would you like to make it three?”
“Whatever.”
He tells her to go to the principal's office, and she really goes off. I stay out of it, though. Shoot. I have my own problems to deal with. I keep walking. “Zee, I'll see you later, girl.”
When I finally get to gymâwhich, by the way, should be banned or optional, if you ask me. I mean, really? Anywaaayz. . . everyone is already changed into their gym gear, on mats, stretching. I walk over and hand Mr. Bailey my hall pass. He glances at the time on the pass, then looks up at the clock. “Must have been a lot of traffic in the halls,” he says, all smart-alecky and whatnot. “Hurry up and get dressed.”
I walk off, rolling my eyes. He's all mad 'n' miserable 'cause his wife left him last weekâwell, that's what the gossip is around here. None of the students are supposed to know this. But nosy-behind Zahara overheard the secretary whispering it into the phone to someone while she was up in the principal's office last week. And now his lonely butt wants to take it out on me.
Loser!
At the start of seventh period I find myself walking into the guidance counselors' office to see my counselor, Mrs. Saunders. She's one of the coolest counselors in the whole department. And she can dress her butt off, which is probably one of the reasons why I like her. I walk down the hallway past the bulletin board covered with information on colleges, scholarships, and work opportunities. I never stop to read what's up there because I already know where I wanna beâat Juilliard.
But what is your backup plan?
Mrs. Saunders always asks me each time she sees me.
What if by some chance you don't get into Juilliard? Then what?
I always give her a crazy look, because for me, not getting in isn't an option. At least I hope it doesn't become one.
You need to have a backup plan, Kamiyah
, I hear her saying.
Uh, no. I need to get into Juilliard!
I lightly tap on her door. “Hi, Missus Saunders.”
She looks up from her computer screen. “Oh, hello, Kamiyah,” she says, smiling as she waves me in. “I was wondering when I was going to see you. C'mon in and have a seat. So how are your classes going so far?”
She clicks a few keys on the computer.
“They're going good,” I say, taking a seat in front of her. “Calc might be a challenge, but other than that, everything else is a breeze.”
She smiles. “Well, I'm sure you're up for the challenge, Kamiyah. You're one of our brightest and most talented students. I am confident you'll master your calculus class with no problems, as you've done with everything else you set your mind to. So, how's dance?”
“It's going great. I was working at a dance studio over the summer, teaching a beginner's ballet class. And they've asked me to continue on, so I'll be teaching a class twice a week.”
She nods approvingly. “Sounds very exciting.”
“It really is. I really enjoy working with the little kids. They are so adorable. And it reminds me of when I was their age.” Mrs. Saunders rests her elbows up on her desk, clasping her hands, taking in everything I say. No matter what it is, she always shows an interest in everything her students have to share.
“What age will you be teaching?”
“They're between the ages of three and five,” I say, smiling.
“It'll be a great experience for you.”
I nod, agreeing. “Yes, it will be.”
“Have you started your application process to Juilliard yet?”
“No, not yet,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I still have a few months before the deadline.” I share with her the essay choices that are a part of the application process. There are three to choose from. The first choice is to describe the most challenging obstacle I've had to overcome, discuss its impact, and tell them what I've learned from it.
My biggest challenge? Hmmm, let's see . . . oh yeah. Living with a mother who wears a haterade pack on her back!
The second choice is about being a missionary for the arts. I have to explain how as an artist I intend to advocate for relevancy of the arts in the twenty-first century.
Boooor-rrring!
I'm definitely not going to write my essay on that one. Then the last choice is using one of the three wordsâ
commitmen
t,
education
, or
dedication
âas the title of my essay, then writing about what that particular word means to me.
I'm committed to my man, and to dance!
“Do you have any idea which one you'll choose?”
“Either the first, or the last one. I'm still undecided.”
She smiles. “Meditate and pray on it. The answer will come.”
I stand up before she goes into one of her long-winded sermons on faith and patience and believing our divine purposes. Blah, blah, blah. . .I love Mrs. Saunders to death, but I am not interested in hearing this right now. “I definitely will,” I say, shifting my handbag from one arm to the other. “I'll stop back by one day next week to talk more.”
She stands as well, walking around her desk. “Great. C'mon, I'll walk out with you.” She shuts her door and walks me out into the hallway. Now I'm standing here tryna figure out which way she's headed so that I can go in the opposite direction. “Listen, Kamiyah,” she says, touching my arm. “I've known you since your freshman year. I've watched you evolve into this beautiful young woman, talented and graceful. There are a lot of people who look up to you, who admire you, and who are expecting great things from you. Whatever you do, don't allow anything or
anyone
to distract you from your greater purpose. You understand?”
I nod. “Yes, I think I do.”
“Don't think. Know.” And with that said, she makes a quick right, making it easy for me to not have to ditch her. I watch as she walks down the hall, her heels clicking with each step until she disappears.
8
A
t exactly 2:45
P.M
., I get a text from Daddy as I'm leaving my locker stating he's out front waiting for me. I could effen scream! Being picked up by your parent during your senior year is soooo not cute. Besides, I'd already texted Sincere and asked him to pick me up. And he's on his way. I quickly text Daddy back and tell him okay, then call Sincere.
“Wassup, baby? I'm on my way. I'm like ten minutes away,” he says quickly.
“Well, that's why I'm calling. My dad's already out front, waiting. So you don't have to bother about tryna get here.”
“Damn,” he says, sounding disappointed. “I wanted to see you.”
“Me too.”
“You need to try to be nicer to your mom so you can hurry up and get off punishment.”
I let out a disgusted sigh. “Don't hold your breath. You'd pass out first before that ever happened. That womanâ”
“Hey, boo, where you off to?”
I look back over my shoulder. It's Ameerah.
“Home,” I tell her, waiting for her to catch up to me. I tell Sincere to hold on. “My dad's outside waiting for me.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I know you on the phone with your boo-thang, so tell ya man I said hey.”
“Yo, Meerah, when you gonna stop fronting and let me take you out?” Jacob Langley asks, walking up on us. He's a senior, too. And track sensation. He was also one of Ameerah's Boos-of-the-Monthâwell, two monthsâlast year. “It's a new school year, and I'm tryna make some new memories, ma.”
“Whatever. I'm not beat. You had your chance.”
“Wassup, Miyah?”
I give him a head nod and a wave, then tell Ameerah to call me later.
“I got you,” she says as I walk off. The last thing I hear her say before I walk out the door is, “Jacob, sorry to bust your bubble. But you are last year's news, boo.”
The door shuts before I can hear what he says. “Sorry about that,” I say to Sincere, walking toward my dad's car.
“Nah, you good. I'ma hit you up later, a'ight?”
“Oh, what, you wanna go run off and do something else?”
“Nah, I'm saying. I know you getting ready to get in the whip with your dad; that's all.”
I suck my teeth. “Whatever, Sincere. Go do you.”
“Oh, so now you gotta attitude?”
I open the passenger-side door, getting in. “Nope,” I lie. But the truth is, I do have an attitude and feel myself getting annoyed. Because once again, it sounds as if he's texting someone on his phone as he's talking to me, something he's done a few times in the past. And he knows how I hate that. It's rude! Just like I don't like it when he's all up on Facebook reading wall posts when he's supposed to be on the phone talking to me. Like really, who does that? “Look, call me later if you're not too wrapped up in
something
or
someone
else.” I disconnect before he can respond. “Hi, Daddy,” I say, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.
“Hey,” he says, waiting for me to put my seat belt on, then pulling off. “How's my girl doing?”
“Good.”
“I spoke to your mother this morning,” he says, glancing over at me.
Ohhkay, here we go!
I'm not surprised, though. She's always running off tryna rat someone out.
“She told me she's put you on punishment.”
“And it's so not fair, Daddy. I mean, really. I didn't do anything to her.”
He makes a right onto South Orange Avenue, sighing. “Kamiyah, all I'm going to tell you is you need to learn how to pick and choose your battles wisely.”
“But, I
was
picking my battles. You said yourself that's what I should be doing. I was ignoring her so I wouldn't say anything disrespectful to her. So in actuality I
was
being respectful.”
“Kamiyah, c'mon. Stop this already. You know like I do, every time you and your mother get into a disagreement and things don't go your way, you give her the cold-shoulder treatment.”
“Well, she does it to
me
.”
“It still doesn't make it right.”
I force myself not to roll my eyes at him. “She even does it to
you
.”
“And that still doesn't make it right,” he repeats, making a left onto JFK Parkway. Although I have an idea where we're headed, I decide to ask anyway.
“We're not going home?”
“No. We're stopping at the mall. Maybe an incentive will help motivate you.”
I giggle. “Shopping always motivates me, Daddy.”
“Yeah, well let's hope it also inspires you enough to go home and apologize to your mother.”
“Fine,” I say, turning my head and looking out the window. Okay, why I always gotta be the one to apologize to her is ridiculous. So what if she's the parent. It still doesn't make it rightâor her rightâall the time. Sometimes she's dead wrong, like now. Putting me on punishment for two weeks when I didn't really do anything. I reluctantly nod my head, looking back at him. “I'll apologize to her.”
“Good. But you're not taking these things with you to your mother's house. You keep 'em in your room at mine until things smooth over between you and her. Deal?”
“Okay, deal.”
“Good. Now, tell me. How was your day?”
I gladly give him the rundown, relieved to be changing the subject. “Oh, and the French club is having their annual trip to Paris during the spring break, but the permission slips have to be in soon. Do you think I'll be able to go? It's mostly for the French club, but they also extend it to honor students as well.”
He takes his eyes off the road, glancing over at me. “I don't see why not. Let me talk it over with your mother first.”
“Ohmygod, Daddy, do you really have to ask her?”
“Yes, I do. She's your mother. And a trip to France is a major thing. She needs to be okay with you going, too.”
I sigh. “Oh well. There goes that dream,” I say sarcastically. “She's gonna say no. And you know it.”
He sighs, eyeing me. “Why can't you try being a little nicer and a whole lot more respectful to your mother, instead of always trying to go against her? The two of you always fighting isn't good. I can't understand it.”
I poke my lips out. “Daddy, it's her,” I whine. “But you don't want to believe it. Even you couldn't stand living with her.”
He shoots me a look, then looks back at the road. He knows what I've said is true, even if he won't admit it. He forgets I used to hear how they would argue. Well, I don't know if you can really call it arguing, since most of the time she was the one doing all the talking.
“Listen,” he says, slicing into my thoughts. “Regardless of my reasoning why I decided to move out, your mother and I still love each other very much. And we both love you. Don't ever forget that.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Well, I know
you
love me.”
But there is no love lost between me and the Witch. She hates me just as much as I hate her.
Of course I keep this to myself. Daddy will only side with her anyway, so what's the point. He cuts his eyes over at me, shaking his head. “Okay, well . . . maybe she does love me . . .”
But I still think she hates me more.
Daddy merges onto Route 24 going east. We drive a few minutes with just the radio playing. The silence is probably doing us both some good. Daddy's probably over there wondering what he's going to do with me and his wife. Okay, okay, my mom . . . geesh!
Anywaaayz, the silence allows me to think about Sincere. I wonder if he's thinking about me. And wonder what he's doing at this very moment. And I'm wondering how many birds been clucking up in his face today. And how many feathers I'ma be plucking from the cluckers if I catch 'em.
I hear Erika and her girls in my head saying,
Boys are real stupid when it comes to girls and cheating. All you have to do is sit back, watch, and wait. If he's doing something he's not supposed to be doing, you'll catch him. And when you do, you beat down that ho he's doing it with real good, then you make him pay.
My head starts pounding and my heart races just thinking about it. I pull out my cell and quickly text, WHAT U DOIN?
This punishment, this not being able to be with Sincere, is killing me. I hate not being able to keep track of what he's doing. This not knowing is torture. I replay in my head something else I overheard one of Erika's friends saying.
Hon, love is a double-edged sword. You gotta know how to stick 'n' move, and know which end to swing first! Or end up slicing off more than you can handle.
When I first heard that, I was like twelve years old and didn't understand what the heck she was talking about. But now I think I do. Still, I ask Daddy, to see what he's gonna say about it. These are the times I love mostâwhen it's only the two of us.
He looks at me as if he's tryna figure out where the question is coming from. He turns into the mall entrance, then up into the parking garage. “Basically, the expression means love can either bring you joy or pain. And the ones we hold the closest to our hearts are the ones who can cause us the most pain. Now all that other stuff about sticking and moving and knowing which end of the sword to swing first is all new to me; never quite heard it put like that.”
“Do you think it's possible to love
and
hate someone at the same time?” I ask, looking directly at him as he pulls into a parking space.
He puts the car in park, then stares at me. His brows furrow. “Why you ask?”
I dare not tell him that sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about Sincere and all the things I want to do with him. And all the things I'd do to him if I ever found out he was creeping on me with another chick, or if he tried to leave me. I've never felt like this before. And I don't understand where it's all coming from. But what I do know is, Kamiyah Nichols is in L-O-V-E. And I'm not about to let anyone take that away from me. So the idea of someone tryna come between us, or him even
thinking
about being with someone else, makes me want to hate him, too. I knowâcrazy, right? Especially since he hasn't done one thing for me to feel this way; still. . .I have this gut-wrenching feeling that something is gonna pop off and I'm gonna have to turn it up. I swear I don't wanna take it to anyone's head. But I promise you I will, if anyone tries to get in between me and my man.
I shrug. “I was just wondering. That's all.”
“I don't like the word
hate
. It takes a lot of energy to hate someone. And that kind of energy can destroy you. But there's definitely a thin line between the two. You can love someone yet hate some of their ways. But I don't believe you can equally hate and love someone. You either love the core of who someone is, or you hate them. These are both very intense emotions that can cloud judgment and have us doing and saying things we never would have if we were thinking clearly.”
“Have you ever
hated
Mom?” I ask, watching his body language.
He doesn't flinch, blink, or shift. He looks me straight in the eye. “Never.”
“Hmm,” I say thoughtfully, remembering an argument I overheard them having once, but I don't wanna get into it. “But you don't like her, do you?”
He opens his car door, ignoring the question. “C'mon, let's go in.”
I laugh, getting out of the car. “Fine. You don't have to answer that.. . .” '
Cause I don't like her, either
. “But it's still not fair.”
He sets the alarm, then walks over and wraps his arm around me. “What's not fair?”
“First you moved out, then Erika moved out. And now I'm stuck there with her, alone. I wish I could move in with you. My life would be so much better.”
He kisses me on the side of the head. “You're right where you're supposed to be.”
“Well, right now I sure amâwith
you
at the mall.”
He laughs. “Yeah, good answer. Let's go spend my money. And remember. When I drop you off home tonight, you're to apologize to your mother, understand?”
I roll my eyes up in my head on the sly, smiling sweetly. “Yes, Daddy.”