“And, congrats, Nellie,” Chance says, stealing another hug from her before following Jeremy out of the hall.
“Thank you,” Nellie says.
“OK, you two, listen up,” I say, like we only have five minutes to live. “I know Nigel from way back,” I say, leading them out of the hall and into the courtyard toward my government class. We only have a minute or two before the bell rings and I need to give them the 411.
“Damn, Jayd. How do you know so many folks?” Mickey asks. “And, they always happen to be dudes.”
“Can you hook a sistah up?” Nellie asks, completely self-absorbed.
“Would you two shut up and listen?” I say, becoming impatient. “Nigel's my ex boyfriend Raheem's best friend and my homie from back in the day. Apparently Raheem wrote me a letter and gave it to Nigel to give to me,” I say, stopping in front of my class.
“So, what's the big deal? I'm sure it's just a friendly note to say hi and he's happy y'all can reconnect,” Nellie says.
“Yeah, maybe a little too happy. I need y'all to pump info from him and see what he knows about the contents of the letter. I know he won't give it to y'all because he doesn't know y'all like that. But, maybe you can see if Raheem is still feeling me.”
“Why can't you just ask him yourself?” Mickey asks. She wants to know the entire story and I ain't about to give it up that easily.
“Look, I don't have time to get into all of that right now. And besides, I promised Jeremy we'd have lunch together. So I won't see Nigel today, I'm sure.”
“Even though I don't know the whole story, I think you're smart for staying clear of any potential drama right now, especially after all that went down between you and KJ last week,” Nellie says, reminding me of Jeremy and KJ's fight at the mall. All I need is another dude in my life to make Jeremy jealous. “But, I don't have time to play twenty questions,” Nellie says, looking in her compact mirror, admiring her chocolate complexion. This girl is too much. “I have a crown to win.”
“Fine, Miss Compton USA. Mickey, can you please pump Nigel for info?”
“Sure thing. Come on, Nellie. Let's get to class,” Mickey says as the bell for third rings. Jeremy runs by them on his way to our class. Why does there have to be so much drama so early on in our relationship? I can't wait to get home and tell Mama about my day.
Â
After Jeremy drops me off at the bus stop by Mama's house, I decide to take the long way home to think about my day. Between Nellie's nomination and Nigel's transfer, I can't concentrate on anything.
When I finally get home, Mama's in the kitchen cooking spaghetti, cabbage, and corn bread. The smell coming from the kitchen makes my stomach growl.
“Hey, baby. I thought I felt you walking up the street,” Mama says. She's in her usual housedress, stirring the spaghetti sauce inside a big stainless-steel pot on the stove. The cabbage and corn bread are done and sitting on the kitchen table, waiting to be devoured. And, I'm up for the task.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek before washing my hands in the sink and taking a seat at the kitchen table. Mama hasn't cooked in a week or so due to her busy schedule and the fact that she's supposed to be on strike from cooking for the men. But, there's enough food here to feed an army. And, when my uncles and grandfather come home, it'll be time for the war.
“How was your day?” she says, taking the large wooden spoon out of the pot and putting it into the full sink.
“It was very exciting,” I say, recalling the day's events in my head.
“Really? Exciting good or exciting bad?” she says, studying my face. I can never get anything past Mama.
“Well, I don't know yet,” I say. “Nellie won the nomination for homecoming princess.”
“Well, that's good news, isn't it?” she asks. I'm not really sure how to answer that question without getting into the details of Monday's dream. Knowing Mama, she'll make me analyze it, write it down, and then assign homework based on it. And, I'm not in the mood for more work right now. But, I could use some advice about Nigel.
“Yes, it's great for her. And, Nigel is the newest member of South Bay's elite Black population,” I add, taking a nibble from the corn bread. It's still in the cast-iron skillet and steaming, just the way I like it.
“Nigel from Family Christian Nigel?” she asks, turning off the pot of spaghetti before sitting down across from me. Lexi, Mama's canine shadow, is under the table, fast asleep.
“Yes, the very same one. But, he and Raheem transferred to Westingle last I heard and Raheem sent a letter for me through him.”
“Well, if Nigel's on the prowl, you know Raheem ain't far behind. When's the last time you talked to that boy?” Mama says with a little disgust in her voice. All Mama remembers about Raheem is the bad stuff. Like us getting caught kissing behind the bleachers in the seventh grade, making out in the girl's restroom in the eighth and him getting my best friend at the time pregnant in the ninth. Hard to believe I was actually in love with him.
“Not since I chewed him out for kissing Nia,” I say, referring to his illicit affair with my cousin on my dad's side our last year at Family Christian. The boy gets around.
“Damn, Jayd. I hoped you would escape the constant man problems of the William's women legacy. Or at least that part of it,” Mama says nibbling on the still hot corn bread with me. Nobody makes buttermilk corn bread like Mama can.
“What legacy?” I ask, anxious for a good story. There's always a lesson involved. Before she answers, I get up and make a plate and pour myself a large glass of Tropical Punch Kool Aid with lemons. After I've gotten my food, I settle in my seat. It's only the two of us here now. So, it's a good time to have a little girl chat.
“The lesson of heartbreak from choosing the wrong men,” she says, cutting a slice of corn bread and placing it on my overstuffed plate. This is one of my favorite meals. Mama doesn't eat until everything's cooled off. For some reason, she doesn't like her food hot, unlike me. I prefer it fresh off the stove, damn near burning my tongue, when possible.
“How's Jeremy?” she asks, making me smile. In spite of all the day's drama, the highlight was a quiet lunch with Jeremy at the beach and a slow ride home. I just love the way he makes me feel. And, I love that he loves being with me too.
“He's good. We're good. That's why I'm afraid of Nigel coming in and interrupting our flow,” I say, stuffing a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth. This is the best comfort food ever.
“He can't interrupt anything unless you let him, Jayd. Don't you get that by now?” she asks. “You, as the female, have all the power in relationships.” Huh? Mama must be talking about some other kind of relationship because all the relationships I've seen, usually the men are the ones in power.
“Mama, are you serious?” I ask.
“Very,” she says, getting up and walking over to the refrigerator. She reaches up to the top and takes down her secret recipe book, which is where she keeps it when it's not in her spirit room.
“Here's the story of my mother, Marie, and my father, Jon Paul Williams,” she says, turning to a chapter I've never seen before. This book is so huge it would take me years to read through cover to cover. There are fifteen sections, all meticulously divided and color-coded for easy reference. So far I've only ventured to the recipes section for my personal use.
The last time I was at the beauty shop with Mama, Netta mentioned Mama's parents, but we didn't get into it. All I know is Mama's mother was a white woman from Paris and her father a dark Haitian man. Mama doesn't talk much about her parents because she didn't grow up with them. But, the little I do know is that Mama believes her father drowned her mother in the bathtub because of jealousy. Now, that's some shit to live with.
“Jayd, men are powerful beings, physically. But, spiritually, women are where it's at,” she says, flipping through the yellowed pages before stopping at a page with a picture of a woman on it.
“Is this your mother?” I ask, taking a large gulp of my Kool Aid.
“Yes. This is your great-grandmother, Maman Marie Devereaux.” Mama stares at the sketch hard, like she's communicating with her mother's spirit. “Contrary to popular belief, my mother wasn't a White woman, although she could easily pass for one. Her mother was white and her father was a light-skinned Black man, like your daddy.” Maybe that's why she hates my father so much.
“So, why didn't you correct Netta when she was telling your story?” I ask, referring to Netta's infatuation with Mama's lineage.
“Because it ain't her story to tell in the first place,” Mama says, snappily. “People love to talk, Jayd, especially if the story being told is so juicy it sounds more like a legend than real life. And most of the time, the people talking only know part of the story.” As Mama continues, I clear the table of my empty dishes. But I'm anxious to settle back into my seat and see where Mama's going with this.
“Maman was born in California. She moved to Paris in the late 1940s when she was a teenager to study art, I guess. I don't know the full story. But, I've written down everything I heard about her as the years passed,” she says, staring at her mother's picture. The woman in the photograph is very light with straight, black hair. Even though it's a black-and-white photograph, I can still see her fierce green eyes, just like Mama's and my mother's.
“Part of your legacy is power. And peopleâmen especiallyâare attracted to power. Maman was the most powerful of us all,” Mama says, a little teary-eyed. “I didn't get a chance to know my mother, being that she died before my first birthday, and then I was sent to live with my daddy's relatives in New Orleans after he disappeared. Dirty bastard. But, I still know her spirit,” she says, taking a paper towel from the roll on the table and wiping her eyes.
“What was her power?” I ask, knowing each of the Williams women have special gifts. Mama's ability is to heal and see things as they happen, before they happen, and after they happen. My ability is to dream and sometimes I get premonitions. I'm not sure about my mother and auntie because they never developed their powers, according to Mama.
“Is, Jayd. Is. All of the ancestors on my shrine are still alive because I call on them and remember them,” she says. “That is also the power of your legacy. You can call on your ancestors anytime you need to and they will be right there. But, be careful who you call on. Not all ancestors are good,” she says, sending a chill up my spine.
“OK, what is Maman's power?” I ask, a little shaken by Mama's tone.
“She has the power to help those in need, to heal, and to change the future, which is why my father killed her,” she says point blank. “He was jealous because she possessed the power he so craved,” she says, turning the pages. “Jon Paul's familyâthe Williamsâare from Haiti, and yes, he was a Vodoun priest. But, not the good kind. He was greedy and wanted to use his power for selfish motivations. Not to help people, like Maman.” Lexi shuffles under the table.
“I'm telling you all this to say be careful, Jayd. Men do some strange things to get what they want. And, you obviously have something these boys desire. Even without the full gift of sight, your pull is strong. It's no coincidence Nigel's at South Bay. You better find out what Raheem wants with you before you make a huge mistake and sacrifice your relationship with Jeremy,” she says, taking out her writing tablet from the back of the book and writing down my assignment, I assume. Mama's on point with that one. I want to know what Raheem wants too.
“Read Maman's story and write down as many points as you can make out of it. We'll talk about it when you're done. Right now I have to get this food down to Mrs. Webb,” she says, referring to our neighbor at the end of the block. She just lost one of her sons in a car accident.
“So, this food isn't for the house?” I ask, sorry to see all the good food leave.
“Hell no. I'm through cooking for these fools,” she says, rising from the table. “But, you can make your cousin Jay a plate. He should be home any minute now,” she says, looking up at the wall clock. It's almost eight and I need to get started on my homework. I also need to talk to Nigel about Raheem's letter. But, knowing him, he's still at football practice.
As I get up from my comfortable seat to make Jay's plate, Mama's words are heavy on my heart. What do these dudes want with me? Well, I guess I'll have to wait and see. But, she's right. I need to stop this storm before it starts.
3
Damage Control
“Outcasts and girls with ambition/ That's what I wanna see.”
âPINK
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I
t's Friday and the homecoming buzz is all around. It's only been two days since the finalists were announced and there are already posters of the candidates all over campus. I feel for Nellie being one of the Drama Club's candidates. Not because we're not organized, but because we aren't all that visible on campus unless we're on stage. We're good at performing and talking shit. But, when it comes to making signs, posters, and all the campaign tools necessary to win, that just ain't our thang.
And, as if there wasn't enough tension in my life, Jeremy springs on me this morning that he doesn't do dances. Some bullshit about him and his brothers making a pact years back. It's been on my mind since we pulled up to campus and I can't wait to catch up with him again today so we can finish our discussion. What the hell?
“Hey, Jayd,” Nigel calls down the hall after me. “Wait up.” It's break and I want to catch up with my girls and Jeremy. But, I'm glad to see Nigel too. I want my letter.
“You must be the busiest Black man at South Bay High,” I say, giving him a hug. The other students in the Main Hall notice us and I feel self-conscious. I don't want Jeremy or Misty to get wind of me being too friendly with the new guy. “Where's my letter?” I ask.
“A little anxious, are we?” Nigel teases. It feels just like old times. “I met your girls, secret agent double-o-seven,” he says, taking what I assume to be my letter out of his backpack. “What kinda friend you think I am? You knew I wasn't going to tell them girls nothing,” he says, waving the letter in my face.
“Well, if you would have simply come back to Mr. Donald's class the same day and given me the letter, I wouldn't have to send my girls on a mission,” I say as I reach for the letter. “Would you please give it to me?”
“I knew you wanted me, Jayd, but damn. You don't have to beg,” he says, laughing at his own joke.
“You're so stupid, Nigel. Give me the damned letter,” I yell, tired of his behavior. Why do boys have to play so much?
“All you have to do is say please,” he says, handing me the letter I've waited all week to read. It had better be good.
“I got to meet up with coach before class,” Nigel says. He's always been a dedicated athlete and student, as well as a serious rapper. Gotta love a well-rounded brother. And, many sisters do. “I sent a little message for you through your girls. Holla,” he says before sprinting down the hall. Now I can read my letter in peace.
I walk outside class since it doesn't look like I'm going to catch up with anyone before the bell rings in the next minute. Leaning up against a tree outside Government class, I open the sealed envelop with the letter
J
on it and unfold the paper inside.
Jayd, I miss you. Call me.
Same number, same Rah.
Peace.
That's it? That's so typical of Rah to leave me hanging. He's always been a man of a few words, unlike KJ and very much like Jeremy. I want to talk to Nigel more, but I'm trying to keep my association with him on the low for as long as possible. I'll have to see what Mickey came up with at lunch.
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As we make ourselves comfortable on a bench outside the library, Nellie, Mickey, and I begin to dish on Nigel. No one is likely to hear us here.
“So, Miss America, how's the campaign going?” Mickey says, making me wait for my news.
“It's a little slow. What I really need is a campaign manager who's known by everybody and respected by most. The Drama Club gets no love among the majority of the other cliques and I don't really like talking to people, which makes it damn near impossible for me to reach my constituents,” Nellie says, flipping her hair over her shoulders and then studying her French manicure. She's such a princess, and most of the time, I love her for it.
“Your constituents,” Mickey asks incredulously.
“Yes. My constituents. The people need a real campaign. Like that girl Laura. Her face is plastered all over the place. I can't even squat in the girl's restroom without seeing her campaign posters. What makes her so hot?” she asks, dipping her celery sticks into a plastic container full of ranch dressing before taking a bite. We all decided to be good today and have salads from the cafeteria.
“Nellie, Laura's boyfriend is the Associated Student Body president. Of course her campaign's going to be more visible,” I offer, not sure I'm really helping. But, it's the truth. It'll take a miracle for Nellie to win this race. “Besides, the Drama Club has it's own campaign strategy, to pull the votes in during our killer performance homecoming week. I'm sure your campaign will be just fine.”
“Maybe you should be her campaign manager,” Mickey says, only half serious, I hope.
“Oh, hell no,” I say, cutting off Nellie's response.
“But, why not? You're the natural choice, Jayd. You're in the Drama Club, you're my friend, and you used to be in ASB, so you know what we're up against,” Nellie reasons. But I'm not budging.
“I have enough drama of my own, thank you very much, which moves us to the next item on our agenda. What did you get out of Nigel?” I ask, almost whispering in between bites of my oversize salad. It's like the salad bar at Sizzler's in our cafeteria.
“Yeah. Is he taken? Because if not, you can slip him my number. It would be so cute if we ended up at the dance together. He, the first Black quarterback and me, the first Black homecoming princess. Our names even sound good together: Nellie and Nigel, or Nigel and Nellie,” she says, almost dreamlike.
“Well, he must be with someone because a brotha didn't even try and holla at all this,” Mickey says, eyeing her reflection in the library door window.
“Hello? Back to me,” I declare, reaching for my bottled water on the ground next to my backpack. It's October and still hot as hell out here by lunchtime.
“Oh yeah. He says you're missed,” Mickey says, almost annoyed. “And to come to the studio tonight, if you're free, that is.”
“The studio? Oh, no, not another wannabe rapper. Now I'm completely turned off,” Nellie says, looking totally disgusted. “Why can't brothers just be football players or whatever their real talent is? Why everybody got to try to be a rapper?” she asks, finishing the last of her salad before opening her Snapple.
“Actually, rapping is his talent. Football's his hustle,” I say, checking Nellie's snobbish attitude. I remember the first time Raheem took me to his homemade studio in his mother's garage. When I heard his beats and Nigel's rhymes I knew they would make it big one day soon.
“Oh, yeah? And, what's Raheem's talent?” she retorts, making me a little flustered.
“His talent is producing and mixing sounds. They're actually a really good team,” I say as I get up to throw the remainder of my salad in the trash can.
“And, does Raheem also have a hustle?” Mickey asks with a devilish smile.
“Yes, he does. But, that's none of your business,” I say, not wanting to give up too much information on my boy. “Raheem's actually a very intelligent brotha. He's planning on studying law and becoming an entertainment lawyer, as well as a producer.”
“And you sound like his first groupie,” Nellie says.
“Actually, that's a story for another day,” I say, remembering my first kiss with Raheem. It tasted like chocolate milk and Doritos. It was my first kiss and his too. We were each other's first everything. Well, almost everything.
“Ooh, sounds like this is going to be good,” Mickey says, ready for the scoop. But, I'm holding out on full disclosure for as long as possible.
“I ain't telling y'all nosy heffas nothing,” I say.
“Come on, Jayd. We won't tell your dirty little secrets. What did y'all do?” Mickey asks.
“None of your business,” I say, a little flushed. She's bringing up memories of me and Rah making out when I had full sensation in my breasts before my reduction.
“So, are you going to the studio? He says the session's tomorrow night and you know the spot and time,” Mickey says, not letting it go.
“I don't know. I don't think Jeremy would be too happy with me going to my ex's for a late-night rhyme session,” I say, missing my man.
“That's right, Jayd. You and Jeremy just started life as a couple a few days ago. Don't go ruining it over some wannabe Tupac,” Nellie agrees, picking up her and Mickey's trash and taking it to the trash can.
“Don't listen to her, Jayd. Nigel seemed to genuinely miss you and says Raheem does too. I think you should at least reach out,” Mickey says, handing me a piece of paper with both Nigel and Raheem's cell numbers on it. “Did you get the letter?” she asks.
“Yeah, but it didn't say much,” I say, taking the envelope out of my backpack and handing it to Mickey.
“Jayd, you don't need no more drama, especially if you're going to be my campaign manager,” Nellie says as she sits down next to me, reaching for the paper with their numbers on it and ignoring my first rejection.
“Nellie, I'm not heading your campaign for the slaughter house,” I say, instantly feeling bad for doubting my friend's chances at winning. But, the dream I had the other night is still haunting me. Should I tell her about it? Will she see it as a warning or me being a typical jealous female? Either way, I'm keeping my mouth shut on all fronts.
“It won't be a slaughter if you manage my public persona,” Nellie says, sounding sincere. Shit. Why is she dragging me into this?
“Come on, Jayd. You're good at this kind of stuff, and you know damn near everybody of influence up here,” Mickey says, getting up from her spot at the other end of the bench to stretch her long, thin legs. She could easily be America's Next Top Model.
“Please? I'll be extra nice to your boyfriend, whoever he turns out to be,” Nellie says, giving me a hug with her silly ass to seal the deal. Even though I really don't want to manage her homecoming campaign, I'd feel bad if I didn't. I've got to help my girl out or she'll be butchered by the competition.
“You know you owe me for this,” I say.
“Aah, thank you, Jayd. I'll never forget this,” Nellie says, hugging me so hard we almost fall of the bench.
“OK, now that we've got that out the way, what are you going to do about Nigel?” Mickey asks.
“Well, I'm going to my mom's house tonight anyway. Maybe I'll go just for a little while.”
“Don't worry, girl. We got your back,” Mickey says. “If Jeremy asks what you're doing tonight, just tell him you're hanging out with us,” she says, immediately looking at Nellie for her anticipated disapproval of lying.
“What? Why y'all looking at me?” she asks.
“You don't have a problem with providing Jayd with a false alibi?” Mickey challenges Nellie.
“Not at all. I told you, Jayd: I owe you for this. Now, let's talk about our platform,” Nellie says, reaching into my backpack to retrieve a pen and writing paper.
“You better use these couple of weeks to your advantage, Jayd. You may not ever get her to be this flexible again,” Mickey says just as the bell signaling the end of lunch rings. I missed spending it with Jeremy. But, since he's taking me to my mom's tonight, I wanted to spend this time with my girls instead.
“If I win,” Nellie says, putting the pen and paper back into my backpack and leading the way toward the Main Hall, “you'll never have to hear a word of disapproval about any of the poor decisions you make in the men you date ever again.”
“Was that supposed to be a kind remark?” I ask, not quite sure if I should be insulted or not.
“Yes, of course it was. And, what's so special about Nigel and Raheem anyway?” she asks, obviously not knowing about the brothas at Westingle High.
“Well, you tell me, Mrs. N & N, or did you forget the monograms you already have engraved in your pretty little head?” I say, reminding her a few minutes ago she was sprung on Nigel her damned self.
“Yes, but I was just joking and judging him from his public persona here. But, to lie to your man? Now, I don't know if he's that special.”
“He's not, but Raheem is, huh, Jayd?” Mickey asks, barely missing running into the people rushing past us as we slowly make our way to class.
“Mickey, it's not like that. I'm going to tell Jeremy exactly where I'm going if he asks.”
“OK, but back to my original question. What's so special about them?” Nellie says.
“Where do I begin,” I say, reminiscing about my days as Raheem's woman. “Being with cats from Westingle is a whole other experience,” I say as we continue our walk toward the Main Hall. Granted, I wasn't with Raheem when he started his new school. But, he and Nigel fit right in with those brothers, I'm sure. I know plenty of them from working at Simply Wholesome. They are all fine and intelligent, just like Rah and Nigel. “The brothas at Westingle are all cocky, but not like KJ: They actually have all the right shit to be cocky about.”