I get back to Bronxwood a little after seven. The book I was trying to read on the bus was boring me even though the main characters were just about to do it. I been waiting so long, more than two hundred pages, for the couple to finally get together, but still, my mind was all over the place and I couldn’t even get into it.
While I’m walking past the shopping center, I slip the book into the inside pocket of my book bag so Nana don’t see it. She thinks these books are nasty, like that’s the only reason I read them. The woman would have a fit if she saw this one, because on the cover they got a girl in booty shorts leaning on the hood of some thug’s car, and I don’t wanna hear Nana’s mouth tonight. Like just because I’m reading these books, any second now I’m gonna start doing what the characters are doing. When she should know by now that I’m not even like that.
I walk down the block toward my building, and now that it’s getting close to summer, it’s like everybody in the whole projects is outside, hanging out in front of their buildings or leaning
up against cars, talking and having fun. I mean, there’s still, like, three more weeks of school, but you wouldn’t know it from all the kids running around right now thinking they’re already free or something.
I pass by Kenny’s Kandy truck and lean into the window. Kenny is sitting inside on a stool, scratching off those stupid lottery tickets he’s always wasting his money on. And what Adonna told me this morning is true—he did spend last night cleaning the truck and reorganizing the shelves. Now all the candy and cookies are arranged in neat rows, and the potato chips and Doritos and everything are clipped on hanging wires, which frees up more room for everything else. It looks good in there.
“Busy?” I ask him through the window.
He looks up at me and smiles, “Not too busy for my kid.” And he gets up, comes to the window, and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You be coming home later and later every day.”
“The showcase is this weekend. We’re trying to finish up the set decorations and practice changing everything between scenes.”
“Staying out this late, you must be trying to give your grandmother a stroke or something.”
“She’s gonna have one no matter what I do.”
Kenny raises one eyebrow. “Well, what you doing?”
I try to look sophisticated and mysterious. “A lady has to have her secrets.”
“Not no daughter of mine!” he says, and we both laugh.
“You’re no fun,” I tell him. “I’m trying to be a woman of intrigue.”
“You be reading too many books, that’s what I think.”
I smile because he knows me too good.
“You wanna come inside and keep me company for a while?” he asks.
I kinda do, but then I’ll get upstairs even later and Nana will have more of a fit. I do feel bad for Kenny, though, sitting out here in the truck all day long by himself. But at least he’s his own man now.
It’s been about six months since he bought the truck and started his own business. Before that, he had all kinda jobs, but none of them lasted too long. He worked at Taco Bell for about a year, then Stop and Shop for a couple of months. The last job he had was working right here at Bronxwood, at the community center, helping out with the after-school program and the summer day camp. He always been real good with kids, so the job kinda made sense. But the only thing was, he was the oldest guy doing that job. Everybody else was, like, nineteen or twenty. And when there were openings for better jobs there, like assistant director, they kept passing him over. I mean, they never even thought about him.
So when Bruce, this guy that used to own the candy truck, decided to retire, Kenny jumped at the chance to be an
entrepreneur
, which is what he calls himself. But now he gotta pay off a big loan on the truck and try to make a living. I’m just hoping this works out for him because he really needs a break. Not only that, but I want him to find out what he’s good at soon because he’s gonna be thirty next year and still broke, living with his mom and sister. And he can do better than that.
“I can’t stay tonight,” I tell him. “I better get upstairs.”
“Alright,” he says. “And, hey, what’s up with Renée? I been looking out for her all day.”
Something happens to Kenny whenever he talks about Renée. For a split second his eyes get this dark, kinda faraway look, but then, right away, it’s gone. Like he don’t wanna let himself go there.
I hate having to break the bad news to him, but he has to know. “She didn’t come home with us,” I say. “She had to drive up to Boston for an interview tomorrow.”
“An interview.” He nods his head too many times. “That’s good. That’s real good. I just thought—”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Me and him are both quiet for a few seconds. Then I tell him, “She has another interview at City College on Wednesday, and she said she might spend the night. Maybe.”
For a few seconds he still looks kinda sad. Then he smiles and says, “You hear that?”
I stop and listen, but I don’t hear anything except the cars on the street and some rap music playing outta somebody’s apartment window. “What?”
“Them dogs. Your grandmother done sent the K-9 unit out to track you down!”
I smack him on the arm. “C’mon, she’s not that bad!”
“Me and Valerie go way back,” he says. “Way back. And let me tell you, I know that woman, and she don’t play!” He starts laughing, and seeing him like that makes me feel nothing but happy myself.
When he’s done snapping on Nana, he hands me two Chick-O-Sticks, my favorite. I give him another kiss, then walk down the path to our building. I don’t get to laugh about Nana all that much. Most of the time I don’t find her all that funny. But maybe Kenny has the right attitude. I mean, maybe I do take her too
serious. But still, it’s easy for him to laugh. I’m the one that has to live with her.
When I get upstairs inside my apartment, the only sound I hear is coming from the TV. Nana is in the living room watching one of those Lifetime movies she always gets into. She’s sitting there on the couch, leaning forward, with her mouth all open. Like the movie she’s watching is all that great. On the other end of the couch, the blankets and sheets she’d took outta the linen closet for Renée are still there folded up. I wasn’t the only one expecting Renée to come home.
I stand in the doorway for a minute, quiet. Whenever I stay after school, this is what I come home to. It’s almost like all Nana does is go to work, come home, cook, and watch TV. Her life is more depressing than mine. And she’s not even fifty yet.
“I’m home,” I say.
“Shhh, girl. You see I’m watching the Abuse Channel.” On the TV, a man and woman are doing it on the beach with a blanket covering them. And Nana thinks
I’m
into nasty stuff.
“This woman is a fool,” she says, not even looking away from the screen. “She don’t know she just married the same man that raped her five years ago.”
I can tell it’s gonna be one of those nights.
I go into the kitchen and drop my book bag on my chair. Dinner is barbecue chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn. The Monday dinner.
I’m about to go into my room when Nana shouts, “Eat something!”
I suck my teeth real loud and fix myself a plate so I don’t have to hear her mouth. I take my plate and sit down at the table, then take out my English notebook because I need to work on this
critical lens essay I haven’t even started yet. I’m supposed to have it done and typed up before second period tomorrow, which means I’m gonna have to get to school early and use the computer lab.
Of course, Adonna has a perfectly good computer I could use, but I know what Nana’s gonna say if I ask to go upstairs to her apartment. She’s gonna say I don’t need to spend any more time with that
girl
. Even though
that girl
is technically my aunt.
Nana comes into the kitchen at the commercial. At first, she don’t say anything. She just looks over my shoulder to see what I’m working on. Always minding my business.
“Why you coming home so late?” she asks, and of course she got that tone in her voice. Like she thinks I’m up to something.
“Practice ran long,” I say with my voice flat.
“This late? You sure that’s all you were doing?”
“Yes, Nana. I’m sure.” She don’t know that guys never even look at me.
“Why you need to go every day? Thought you were done designing the set.”
“I am. But remember I’m on the stage crew? We’re doing a lot of the painting and stuff. And I’m gonna help out backstage during the showcase, too.” I tell her all this like it’s the first time, not the hundredth. “In between scenes, we’re gonna move the set around, and change all the decorations and props and stuff. It’s fun.”
“A lot of boys on this stage crew?”
“Boys and girls, Nana,” I say. She don’t need to know there are three boys and only two girls, because she’s only gonna start imagining all kinda things. “And no, I’m not doing anything with anybody. Trust me.”
She don’t say anything, but she makes a
humph
sound under her breath just so I know she really don’t believe me. For a couple of seconds, I wait for her to ask me more questions, but they don’t come, so I try to go back to concentrating on my essay. But it’s hard to think because I can feel her still staring at me.
I look up and ask, “What?” The attitude is there in my voice and I don’t even try to hide it.
Nana’s face goes from suspicious to surprised. “Girl, don’t make me have to—”
I always know when Nana’s mad, because she don’t finish her sentences. Most of the time, when she starts with that, I just tell her I’m sorry and act all good again. Because most of the time, even when she’s getting on my nerves, I still feel bad for her, that she’s stuck with me.
But today I’m not telling her I’m sorry for the mood I’m in because I got a right to feel this way, in my opinion. Nana was there yesterday. And even though she wasn’t around to hear all that “big sister” stuff, she was there when we went back to Renée’s apartment and found out Renée had no intention of moving back home any time soon.
And Nana had to notice all those pictures Renée had stuck into the frame of the big mirror over her futon. Pictures of everyone, all her friends from home and school, pictures of her and Nana, and even a picture of herself when she was a baby. But not one picture of me anywhere.
I mean, I tried not to let it bother me, but it did, anyway. And if Nana can’t understand that, that’s her problem. She’s just gonna have to put up with me and my attitude for a while because I’m still upset. I can’t hide it.
“Renée call?” I ask.
“No, not today,” she says. “But you know she spent the whole day driving up to Boston, right? She’s probably tired.”
“Still. She could call.” I fold my arms in front of me. “Don’t take that much energy to say hi to somebody.”
“Well, why don’t you call
her
?”
“Never mind,” I say. “If she wants to talk to me, she can pick up the phone.”
For some reason, Nana don’t break on me. She just says, “How long you going to act like this?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure.”
All Nana says to that is, “Eat your dinner. Before it gets cold.” Then she goes back to the living room, back to her movie just as the commercials are ending. Perfect timing.
I eat because I don’t wanna hear her mouth anymore and that’s the only reason. It’s real hard being back here in this apartment without Renée when I just knew she was coming home right after graduation. I mean, everything around here is exactly the way it’s always been, but still, it feels like something’s missing now. Even if it’s only in my mind.
The computer lab is kinda full when I get there, even so early in the morning. I sit down and rest my book bag on the floor before I even notice that I’m sitting in the same row as Nashawn, with only one empty seat between us. He looks over at me, smiles, and says hi.
“Hi,” I say back. Quick. Then I turn back to my screen, log in, and hope he’s not still looking at me.
Me and Nashawn never say more than hi and bye to each other when we’re both at our lockers at the same time. And I don’t really know all that much about him, except that he’s a junior and he’s only been at our school for a few months, since March. That, and he’s on the baseball team. I mean, it’s not like we really have a whole lot to talk about or anything.
I look at my watch. Thirty-five minutes ’til homeroom, which should be long enough even though I don’t type all that fast. I just don’t wanna show up to English without the essay because that teacher, Mr. Simon, likes to go off on kids when they hand in their work late. Just to embarrass them.
I get started typing, but it’s not easy trying to focus when I’m
sitting so close to Nashawn. It’s like, I wish I could change seats or something, just so I can relax, but the place is too packed, and how would that look if I just got up and moved? Like I was trying to get away from him. And anyway, he’s probably not even paying me any mind.
After I get only a couple of sentences typed, Nashawn leans across the empty chair and whispers, “You know how to make two columns?”
I look over at him and it’s hard to concentrate on what he just said, he looks so good.
“Huh?” I say.
He sits back up straight and points to his screen. “Every time I click here, nothing happens.”
I just look at him, his profile, and it’s hard to talk. His skin is smooth and perfect, the kinda skin a girl would kill for. Yeah, he’s a pretty-boy, but he’s not all that pretty. I mean, he still looks strong, too.
I take a deep breath. “Um, I think you have to, uh—” For some reason, I can’t talk and think at the same time. “Um, first select all, then click on the column button.”
He does what I tell him and smiles when it works. “I already knew how to do that,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure
you
knew how.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. And I can’t believe I’m actually talking to him like this, like we’re friends or something. Then that thought goes through my head again, that maybe I was right yesterday. Maybe he was looking at me in the cafeteria.
A second later he asks, “Where’s your friend?” And right away any thought I had that he likes me is gone. All I am is a link to Adonna.
“She’s outside, um, talking to Tanya.”
“That loud girl?” He shakes his head.
“She’s nice,” I say.
“Nice and ghetto.”
I laugh, and it must be way too loud, because Ms. Ballinger, who runs the computer lab, says, “
Shhh
.” And her
shhh
is louder than my laugh. A couple of kids turn around to look at me, like I’m interrupting them or something.
“Sorry,” I say and try to get back to typing, because I’m wasting time. But now Nashawn is sitting there laughing at me. “Be quiet,” I whisper.
“Shut your mouth, girl,” he says. “Don’t try to get me in trouble with you.” When I look over at him, he has this little smirk on his face like he’s so innocent or something. Add to that the fact that he’s typing with two fingers, and now I’m giggling at him.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, turning to look at me.
“Nothing,” I say, still smiling but trying to hide it.
“You laughing at how I type?”
“You call using two fingers
typing
?”
“See, that’s what I don’t get about you girls,” he says. “Y’all always got something to say. Meanwhile, you’re not even paying attention.”
I duck down behind my computer and whisper, “What am I not paying attention to?”
He leans close to me again. “I’m using my thumbs, too, on the space bar.”
“Thumbs don’t count,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “That’s another thing—y’all be making up your own rules and changing them whenever you want. Thumbs count. Thumbs always count.”
I laugh again, and this time Ms. Ballinger screams, “You must either be quiet or leave this computer lab. There are other children here and they would like to get their work done.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and try to get serious. I don’t want to disturb the other
children
. I look straight ahead at my computer, but none of the words on the screen make any kinda sense anymore. And now I have this weird feeling in my stomach.
Two minutes later, this guy Darnell comes into the lab, and the second he sees me he smiles and grabs the empty seat between me and Nashawn. “Hey, Kendra,” he whispers, acting like he hasn’t seen me in a while even though we’re both on stage crew and we’re together practically every day. “You having a hard time keeping up with your homework, too?”
“Yeah,” I whisper back. “The showcase is kinda taking up a lot of time, isn’t it?”
“I can’t believe they got us doing all this, what? Three weeks before finals?”
“Well, it’s gonna be over this weekend.”
The words are barely outta my mouth when Ms. Ballinger walks over and stops right by my computer. “Kendra Williamson,” she says, slow and angry. “This is the third time I’ve had to talk to you in the last three minutes.”
I wanna ask her,
Why are you only yelling at me
? but instead I lower my head and mumble, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
With my head down I can’t see him, but I can hear Nashawn laughing at me again. And I really just wanna throw something at him to get him to stop already.
“This is your last warning,” she tells me. “Next time, you’ll be asked to leave and you’ll be restricted from the computer lab for the rest of the week.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand. Sorry.”
Nashawn is still laughing and Ms. Ballinger still says nothing to him. It’s not even a little bit fair. Guys get away with everything. It’s like teachers don’t expect any better from them.
When Ms. Ballinger turns to walk back to her desk, Darnell whispers, “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
I nod and whisper back, “That’s okay.”
On the other side of him, Nashawn is typing but still smiling like there’s something only he thinks is funny. It’s so annoying. Personally, I don’t get what Adonna sees in him. Yeah, he’s cute. But in my opinion, a guy needs to have more than just a handsome face. A lot more.