Miami Jackson Gets It Straight (2 page)

Just five more days of Destinee Tate and
the rest of the girls in 3T. Then I don’t have to see them all summer.

But I will miss Ms. Rollins.

Come Friday, Class T is heading for fourth grade. Ms. Rollins is leaving Turner Elementary.

She’s heading for Ghana, West Africa. Going there to teach for two whole years.

Man, are those kids lucky. Ms. Rollins is a great teacher. And looking good, too!

We all hop in our seats just as the bell rings at eight-thirty.

“I hate Destinee Tate,” I mumble under my breath.

String hears me. “You’re still mad ’cause she won the spelling bee. You can’t win everything, Miami!”

Destinee Tate is about the only thing we really disagree about. String likes her. I
don’t get it. He’s friends with both of us.

I used to get mad at him for even talking to her. Made no difference. String will turn double-Dutch rope for the girls. Then he’ll run over and hit a homer with the boys. He even sits with Rashetta Lewis—with her nose running all the time. Nasty. Gag!

String’s okay like that. I understand. But I can’t hang with Destinee Tate.

“You should get to know her,” String is always saying.

“I know enough,” is always my answer.

Ms. Rollins comes into the room.
The Star-Spangled Banner
crackles over the intercom. We stand. We sing. We say
The Pledge of Allegiance.

That reminds me of Michael Keller. He made a big mistake last year. He started off the Pledge with the preamble to the
Constitution. “We the people …”

The girls aine never forgot it. They still call him We-the-People and fall out laughing. Poor Michael. I don’t usually laugh at one of the boys in front of the girls, but that was funny.

Somebody hits my arm. It’s Destinee. “We’re having a meeting of the class officers at lunch,” she whispers from two seats back. “Be there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let’s listen!” Ms. Rollins claps her hands.

“It was Miami,” says Destinee.

Ferret-nose teacher’s pet! Always got to be first. The best. The winner! Even if she has to cheat!

That’s how Destinee Tate got to be class president. She cheated.

Here’s what happened. There are fifteen girls and twelve boys in 3T. Destinee tells the girls to vote for her. She promises to make sure the girls get what they want!

There’s another way to divide 3T. We’ve got sixteen kids of color. And eleven white kids. I could have asked all the black kids to vote for me simply because I’m black.

But I chose to run straight up. I told everybody to go with the best. That went over like two dead flies. I lost big time!

Well, not really. I’m the vice-president. Being vice-president is like beige wallpaper. Who notices? Who cares?

I wasn’t the only boy to lose to a girl either. Destinee helped Amika take out Horace as class secretary. Lisa nudged David out of the treasurer’s seat.

The only boy who got everybody’s vote
was String. He’s the sergeant at arms. Destinee, Amika, and Lisa are the majority. So they get everything their way.

If you say anything, they get all up in yo’ face—bad breath, yellow teeth, and all. And whatever you do, don’t make a mistake in front of the girls. They’ll never, ever let you forget it. Just like poor We-the-People Michael Keller.

Some fifth grader is reading the menu over the intercom. “For lunch, you will have a choice between a slice of vegetarian pizza. Or a sausage pizza. Buttered corn. Cinnamon applesauce. And chocolate pudding for dessert.”

Everybody groans and starts to gag. Slop is slop—no matter what you call it.

I’m quiet. But I don’t listen. I look at the bulletin board. There’s a picture of Destinee right after she won the spelling bee. I missed the word
unanimous.
Too many n’s.

It’s not about losing the spelling bee. It’s about all that studying, for what? To stand there trying to look cool while Destinee walked off with four tickets to a Cardinals baseball game. Destinee wouldn’t know a baseball if it fell in her Cheerios.

The announcements end with the student reader giving the word for the day—
“compromise.”
The intercom crackles. It sputters and shuts off. And as always, every girl’s hand shoots into the air. “Me, me, me, me,” they whine.

We boys just sit with our arms folded. Waving our hands in the teacher’s face is not cool.

Ms. Rollins looks around. “Destinee. You are our spelling bee champion this year. Spell the word for the day.”

Man! I slide down in my seat. I don’t want to hear all-a that.

Destinee bounces to her feet. I don’t look at her. “That’s an easy one,” she says. She calls out the letters. “C-O-M-P-R-O-M-I-S-E. Compromise. Do you want me to tell you what it means?”

Show off!

“No,” says Ms. Rollins. Her eyes move like radar around the room. “Miami. What do you think
compromise
means?”

Me? Ah-right! I stand up real slow, ’cause I’m thinking. “It’s … it’s a Jerome.”

Destinee giggles. All the others girls do, too. I try not to pay any attention to them.

“It’s like this. The Red Hawks wanted to
sign Jerome Streeter for $17 mil. Jerome asked for $20 mil. The Red Hawks came back with an offer of $18.5 mil. Jerome signed. That’s a compromise. Right?”

Ms. Rollins nods. “Good,” she says, smiling.

That shut Destinee’s mouth! The girls got nothing on me.

“Compromise is a word that helps us resolve problems,” says Ms. Rollins.

Why is she looking at me?

“One side gives a little and the other side gives a little. They go on like this until they reach an agreement that makes each side feel like a winner. Compromise. Make it your own word. Use it.”

The morning zooms by and before I know it, it’s lunch time. I’m chewing on a piece of veggie pizza with cardboard crust. Even String can’t eat but one piece.

Here comes Destinee. Lisa and Amika are following. Their braids and beads are flipping and flopping from side to side. They remind me of Moe, Larry, and Curly.

As always, Destinee does the talking. The other two sock puppets do what she says.

“We think it would be a good idea to give Ms. Rollins a going-away gift. If everybody
in class puts in a dollar,” Destinee says, adding in her head, “that comes to … to …”

“Twenty-seven dollars,” I answer.

“I knew that,” Destinee says, waving me off with her hand. “We’ve decided—”

“Wait a minute,” I put in. “Who is
we?
”

“The class officers,” Destinee answers, pointing to herself, Amika, and Lisa.

“What’s your trouble?” says Lisa. “You should be happy we’re telling you anything …”

“ ’Cause there are more of
us
than
you!
” Amika finishes. They slap hands. They know how to get to me. But I’m cool.

Destinee goes on with her plan. “It’s Monday. We’ll tell everybody today. We’ll collect the money on Tuesday and Wednesday. Amika and I will buy the gift at the mall on Wednesday afternoon. Then Lisa
will wrap it and get everybody to sign the card on Thursday. We’ll give it to Ms. Rollins on Friday, the last day of school.”

I hate Destinee Tate. Especially when she acts like she’s president of the world.

“Why not have a party? Buy Ms. Rollins a big cake … have some punch and stuff?” says String.

Destinee gives him her chocolate pudding cup. “I don’t think so,” she says.

Course not. It wasn’t her idea.

The girls act like they’re all of that and a bag of potato chips, too. Ha! I’m tired of them bossing me—us—around.

“How come you and Amika get to pick out the gift?” I say.

“We have good taste,” Amika answers.

I’m not backing down this time. “I have good taste!”

“Sure! Good taste in ugly.” They all burst out laughing.

I do have good taste. Mama loved the glow-in-the-dark ballpoint pen I gave her for Mother’s Day.

Even Leesie liked the fork and spoon earrings she got for her birthday. “Clip-ons!” she shouted. “They’re so 1960.”

I take a stand. “I can do a good job of picking a gift for Ms. Rollins.”

Destinee folds her arms and narrows her beady blue eyes. She’s not giving at all. “Not,” she says. “What kind of wussy gift would you buy?”

“Order! Order!” String says. He finishes the last bit of chocolate pudding. “As the sergeant at arms, I say we need a Jerome.” Then he turns to Amika. “Hey, may I have your orange?”

Amika shakes her head. “No way!” String shrugs.

Destinee lets a gush of air rush from her mouth. “Okay. Okay. Here it is.”

Larry, Curly, and Moe go into a huddle. Moe—Destinee—turns to me and says, “What if we
all
go to the Crestwood Mall on Wednesday after school? We can pick out the gift together.”

“All five of us?” I say. “Two is enough. What about String and me?”

“In your dreams.” Then she folds her arms and stomps her foot. “It’s you and me. And that’s as good as it gets. What do you say?”

String gives me a thumbs up. The sock puppets each give Destinee a nod.

“Done.”

Wow! A Jerome can work.

Three days down. Two days to go. We’re burning hot to summer!

Mama says our age difference won’t matter when I’m thirty-two and Leesie is thirty-nine. There would be no problem now if we didn’t have to share a bathroom.

Leesie finally passed her driver’s test on Monday. She has been bouncing off the walls ever since.

She’s in the bathroom now. On the phone. Talking to Marquisha. They’re making plans for this afternoon. Mama is letting Leesie have the car. Leesie is going to be
hard to live with after this.

But right now, I’ve got someplace to go. Destinee’s mother is picking me up in about an hour to go to the mall.

Everything has worked out great so far. Everybody in class gave a dollar. We got Ms. Harper, the librarian, to hold the money for us. We raised $27. Enough to buy a nice gift. Then we all wrote down suggestions. Destinee and I will use the list to shop.

“Yo, Leesie! What’s up with you so long in the bathroom?” I say. “You got a problem?”

“Gross! Go on with all that anyway,” Leesie says, coming out at last. “My horoscope says I’m to be discovered today.” She swishes down the hall. “So I have to be prepared.”

The whole bathroom is steamy and smells like a flower shop. I’m not going in there.

“Discovered?” I shout. “Solar systems get discovered.” I follow her down the hall. “Cures for diseases get discovered. Alyssa Jean Jackson is not a discovery.”

She slams the door in my face. “What do you know, goofy?”

“Goofy! Who is it that dances with a poster of Denzel Washington? Then tell me again who’s goofy.”

The phone rings. She’s got the cordless in her hand. But she lets it ring three times anyway.

“Hel-lo,” she answers. Her voice changes from Leesie-the-Queen-of-Mean to Leesie-the-Princess-of-Sweetness. Just like that! I told you, she’s a perfect homonym.

Suddenly, her door swings open. “For you!”

I look at the phone like it’s a severed head.

“Take it!” She tosses it at me.

I catch it like a hot potato. It has to be a trick. Nobody ever calls me. String would come on over. We talked to Daddy this morning. Grandma calls on Sundays. So who is it?

“What’s up?” I say. I’m not sure what to expect.

“Hey, Miami. It’s me, Destinee Tate.”

Gag me! Her voice sounds different. I’ve never heard her talk on the phone.

She’s talking fast. “Something has happened. I can’t go to the mall. You’ll have to pick the gift by yourself. Come by my house to get the money.”

“Me, come by your house?” I’m not ready for this. “Now? Today?” I’m thinking, what if somebody sees me?

“I can call Amika. She’ll go pick the gift.”

Hey, wait. I’m the vice-president. I’m supposed to take over in case the president can’t do her duties. No matter what. “I’ll be there,” I say.

“Okay, then,” she says, and hangs up without even saying good-bye.