The Fight (13 page)

I love my grandmother, but she can confuse a sistah at times. That's why I got my girls. They kept it real, especially Nellie. I'll have to speak with them again tomorrow about what to do. They don't always give the best advice, but at least I understand exactly what they're saying, when they say it. Now, it's time to think about my homework. I have three chapters to read for Government, and I ain't even thought about my other classes yet. Oh well, tomorrow will come whether I'm ready for it or not.

13

Fire Child

—
SIZZLA

M
y mouth has always been my biggest problem. If it isn't getting me into trouble at home, it's always getting me into some mess at school. I don't really talk about anyone behind their back, but rather I tell people what I feel to their face. They usually don't appreciate the directness of my ways, so I'm confused. Am I supposed to keep my opinions to myself, even if it just needs to be said? I don't think so.

“Are you going to talk to Trecee, or are we going with Mickey's plan?” Nellie asks.

“Jayd, you ain't gone get nowhere with that girl,” Mickey says as we walk toward her locker. We're in the Main Hall and it's packed, as usual. It's five minutes before fourth period and I need to get to class. We're walking against the majority of the oncoming student traffic and people keep knocking into me.

“I don't know about fighting Trecee tomorrow, but if one more person bumps into me without saying ‘excuse me,' I'm gone whip somebody's ass,” I say. That's one thing about these White folks—they don't say excuse me when they bump into you. They can almost knock your butt down and never even look back.

“Then why don't you say something to one of them?” Mickey suggests, teasing me. She knows I ain't gone say nothing. I'd say something, but I don't want any more negative vibes, know what I mean? “Whatever, Mickey,” I say, rolling my eyes at her. She can be rude when she wants to be. Her little attitude is what gets her hated on by other broads. Like I said before, it's my mouth that gets me into a whole heap of mess.

Take for example this whole situation with Trecee. On Tuesday, she tried to jump me in front of my locker. On Wednesday, she sent a little note to Misty saying she's going to jump me on Friday. Well, it's Thursday now and I don't want to waste any more time. So I've decided to be the bigger person and step to her to squash this mess.

“I think you should just walk right up to her and knock her ass out. That's what I'd do,” Mickey says while inspecting her extra-long, airbrushed, acrylic nails. She's obsessed with her looks. She gets her nails done every Friday, so I know she's bugging out by now because her polish has moved up from the cuticle just a tiny bit, indicating that her nails ain't fresh.

“Mickey, how the hell I'm just gone walk up to someone and sock them in the face? This ain't no beat-down,” I say, knowing Mickey don't feel me. She's straight gangsta when she has to be. No warning. No talking. Just straight blows. As bougie as Nellie is, I don't know how she and Mickey ever became friends.

“Thanks for the sound advice, home girl, but I think I'll do this my way,” I say. We get to Nellie's locker and wait for her while she gets her books out.

“And what way is that?” Nellie asks. “Avoiding her or just telling her off so tough that she can't say nothing back?”

Nellie, who hates arguing, always admires the way I can tell people off, especially girls. She's not good with confrontation.

“Nah. I'm just gone try reasoning with her,” I say. I've given this a lot of thought, especially since my hot-flash episode yesterday and I don't want to hurt anyone if I don't have to. I don't want to be responsible for what happens to Trecee as a result of her stupidity and my impatience. I also don't want to get hurt myself. I just need to reason with her, if that's at all possible.

“Reasoning with her?” they ask in unison.

“Yes, reasoning, vibing, getting her to listen to me.”

Nellie and Mickey both look dumbfounded.

“Why are y'all so shocked? Have people completely forgotten how to talk to one another?”

“Jayd, this ain't no damn meeting. This is a fight. A hair-pulling, lip-busting, shirt-ripping fight. You the only one who don't see that and that makes you stupid,” Mickey says.

The bell rings for class and everyone is rushing through the halls. So far, no one else has bumped into me, but my guard is up and ready.

“I'll see y'all later. Thanks for the advice,” I say sarcastically.

“Whatever, Jayd. You better get with the program or she gone catch you off guard,” Mickey says while checking her text messages from her man.

“We're out. See you at lunch,” Nellie says. Nellie and Mickey are off to fourth period and I'm left to plan my meeting with Trecee. In order to talk to Trecee, I'll have to wait until lunch and go over to South Central. I'll think of how to say what I want to say while in Government.

I walk away from Nellie's locker and turn back down the Main Hall toward class.

“Hey, Jayd. How's it going?” Jeremy asks, sneaking up behind me. “Did you do last night's reading?”

This boy's got me so nervous I can hardly speak. “Yeah, I managed to get through it. How about you?” I ask, amazed that I'm walking to class with one of the most sought-after boys on campus.

“It was boring. But I'm kinda used to Mrs. Peterson,” he says with the biggest smile on his face. He's so cute. “She can be a real witch sometimes. If you get on her bad side, kinda like you did yesterday, she'll never forget it.”

“I didn't mean to,” I say, remembering yesterday's battle over the Constitution. “It's just that it gets under my skin how some teachers can ignore history.”

“Hey, I feel you. Last year she actually doubted the Holocaust ever happened, and my great-grandmother's whole family was wiped out. Like I said, a witch.” Jeremy opens the classroom door and follows me to our seats. As soon as we sit down, the late bell rings and Mrs. Peterson starts right in on me as if I'm the only person in this classroom full of students. I try to stay calm and not trip, but Mrs. Peterson is sweating me hard.

“Miss Jackson, what do you think of the U.S. Constitution? Is it a waste of paper, like you said yesterday?” I look at her with such intensity I think she'll burst into flames. Then I check myself, remembering yesterday's ice-cream incident.

“Or,” she continues with a twisted grin, “would you like to retract your statement after doing last night's reading assignment on the amendments?”

My initial response is a resounding “hell no” but I don't want to go there and she isn't finished yet.

“Is it a waste of paper, and therefore trees, and therefore a waste of the very air we breathe, as you so eloquently stated yesterday, or not, Jayd?” Her dramatics are finished and now it's my turn.

Man, she's got a great memory, or else she writes down everything we say for later use. Either way, she's got me on this one, and because she's being so snide about it, I have to give her a run for her money.

“I didn't say it was a waste of paper,” I say with all of the attitude meant for Trecee. “I said that paper and ink were both wasted on writing the Constitution because it states that slaves—Black people, in case you forgot—were said to be only three-fifths of a person for tax purposes, and they're otherwise referred to as property. This document demeans and offends the same citizens who are supposed to abide by these laws, the same document that's now supposed to protect them. The entire document is tainted. Because of these facts, I think the Constitution—in order to be effective and fair—needs to be rewritten so that none of the citizens mentioned in the Constitution feel degraded and instead feel valued and protected.”

Everyone in the classroom starts clapping and whistling, including Jeremy, who looks very impressed. Mrs. Peterson, on the other hand, doesn't look impressed in the least. In fact, she looks upset.

“Are you down off your soapbox now, Miss Jackson?” She doesn't really give me a chance to respond; she doesn't even look my way. “Good. Well, Miss Jackson, I do understand how
you
might be upset. However, I don't think that one little portion of the entire document should be a cause to rewrite the entire Constitution. Moving on. . . .”

I can't help myself. She always has the last word, and this time, it's not happening. I raise my hand and respectfully, but with attitude, say, “Excuse me, but first of all, I don't think I'm the only person who should be upset.

“And by your exaggerated
you
I assume you meant because I'm Black, and I resent that. Everybody should be upset that we were even slaves, including you. And we all need to understand that it's not one little portion—it's a soiled document, plain and simple, and it has committed far more than one offense.”

I thought she'd have a heart attack right then and there—just die on me. Flat out, on the floor, glasses and all. You see, Mrs. Peterson don't like me too much already and it's only the third day of school. She's already accused me of “insubordination”—one big word for saying I don't respect her, and she's right. Most of the teachers up here are just like her. They're White, upper-middle class, either overweight or underweight (in her case, over), and they don't tolerate different people. That's South Bay High.

Mrs. Peterson also has a thing about her “rules.” She likes to run her class like Congress, where she's the House Speaker, and we're her little representatives. Well, I'm a “rebel with a mouth” as Mama would say, so she can't speak for me—I speak for myself. And I don't appreciate her making light of this issue. I'm already upset that Trecee is tripping off some stupid mess, now this.

“Miss Jackson,” Mrs. Peterson says with her teeth clenched, her jaw tight and her gray-dyed-red hair standing straight on end. She's tapping her foot and her hip is moving up and down. She's so short and wide though, you can hardly see it. So far, I've learned Mrs. Peterson only taps her foot when she's talking about the Kennedys in Congress (she's a Republican) or when she's had enough of a student and is about to bring her wrath down upon them.

“Miss Jackson, you speak of things you know nothing about, and you also speak out of turn, rudely interrupting me.” Just then, Mrs. Peterson does something Jeremy says she rarely does: She smiled at me. Because this was unexpected, I didn't know what to think. I just knew it couldn't be a good thing.

“You seem to have a profound interest in the Constitution, Jayd, so therefore, I'll allow you to handwrite the entire Constitution, highlighting all portions dealing with slavery, or so you think. You may go to the library and stay there until you're done.”

No, she didn't. I can't believe her. She's so unpredictable. Now, what do I do? I guess to the library I go.

14

What to Do

—I
NDIA ARIE

 

 

 

S
ince I spent the rest of fourth period in the library, I was able to come up with a plan to talk to Trecee. If I can get her before she gets over to South Central, I may be able to talk to her without an audience. I need to find my girls first though and tell them about this crap with Mrs. Peterson and that Jeremy walked me to class.

When the bell rings, I walk out of the library, across the courtyard where the skaters hang, and over to the main lunch quad where South Central hang. There's Nellie and Mickey sitting on the benches that outline the quad; Trecee's nowhere in sight. Momentarily forgetting my search for Trecee, I sit down next to Nellie and join their animated conversation.

“I can't believe it's already Thursday. I have no idea what I'm going to wear to the back-to-school party at Byron's house on Saturday night. Isn't there also a fight party in the hood that same night?” Nellie says, slyly reminding me I'm supposed to be in training or something for my big fight tomorrow. I begin to protest, but Mickey cuts me off.

“You're going to the party, Jayd, and we won't take no for an answer.” Mickey always likes us to go to parties together. She says we're protected from haters that way. But personally, I'm not much of a party girl, especially not the parties out here.

These White folks get crazy, drinking kegs and doing all kinds of drugs and stuff. If I didn't know Chance so well and know Matt from Drama Club, I would have agreed with Nellie's way of thinking yesterday. At the house parties in Compton, fools do drink forties and smoke weed, but that's it. Usually it ends with somebody shooting, but at least they ain't snorting coke and running trains on drunk girls.

All the dudes up here ain't like that though. Byron is this fine, White football player who has a thing for Nellie. She's “cute, dark, and lovely,” as she likes to tell it, and very fashion conscious. Byron seems to like all there is about Nellie. So, as friends of Nellie's, we're all invited to the party that will determine who will be part of the most popular cliques for the rest of the year: the “All-Sports, Back-to-School House Party”—no parents allowed.

“Byron is so sweet to host this party. Girl, it's going to be off the chain! All the cute guys and girls are going to be there. We have got to look hella good for this party,” Nellie says.

“Girl, you're right. We have to go to the Swap Meet after school, and get our nails done. . . .” Mickey says, getting excited.

“The Swap Meet? Girl, no. Ain't nobody shopping at the Swap Meet for this party. We all have to go to the mall and get some fly gear from a real store, not a booth,” Nellie says, insulted that Mickey would even suggest Swap Meet gear for such an important event.

“Nellie, you act like we got money or something. We may go to school with rich people, but we ain't rich. I'm with Mickey on this one,” I say, looking in my backpack for some change to buy Doritos from the vending machine. Mickey's boyfriend gives her an allowance, so she can go around flashing the fly Swap Meet gear, but not Mall gear. Nellie sometimes forgets our parents aren't as well off as hers.

“I'm going to get something from the machines. Y'all want something?” I ask, getting up from the bench.

“We already got our snacks,” Nellie says, showing me her Gummi Bears. As I walk across the quad in my own world, thinking about what I already have that can be worn to this party and what I'm gone say to Trecee when she shows up, I spot KJ coming out of the cafeteria with his crew. He looks flawless, wearing a white and silver Enyce suit, with a flock of chicks right behind him, though Trecee isn't among them.

I get my chips out of the machine and head back to the benches where my girls are sitting. Still no sign of Trecee. By the time I reach the bench, I feel someone following me. KJ walks up behind me and touches me on the shoulder.

“What's up, Jayd? Can I sit down and catch up with you and your girls? What's up, Mickey, Nellie?”

“Hey, KJ,” Nellie and Mickey coo at once. My girls are so weak when it comes to fine guys.

“What do we need to catch up on? Our sudden breakup or this madness with Trecee?”

“I was hoping we could talk about something other than that. Dang, Jayd, why you always gotta trip? I was just trying to make conversation . . .”

“I don't need any conversation, KJ. What I need is solutions. Do you have any? No . . . oh, then I guess this conversation is over. We can catch up after you get your broad off my back.”

“Uh, I don't mean to interrupt,” Nellie says, sounding nervous, “but here comes your broad, KJ, and she doesn't look like she wants to conver-sate with anybody.”

And there Trecee is, looking like she's about to charge both me and KJ.

“So, what's up, Jayd? Are you trying to talk to my man behind my back? Why you playin' with me, huh, Jayd?”

“Ain't nobody playin' with you, Trecee, and you need to step back. It's not that serious,” I say, 'cause now she's really starting to piss me off. She's a real bold girl. She don't know me or my girls—we can get Compton crazy on her in a minute, but I decide to hold my composure, especially since she's not worth it.

“Trecee,” KJ says, trying to calm her down. “Would you please just chill? Dang, it ain't even like that.”

“Yes, it's that serious and it's just like that. And KJ, why are you protecting her? See, I knew you were trying to get back with him. You ain't fooling nobody, Jayd. This mess has to be settled now 'cause ain't nobody taking my man away from me, especially not no weird-ass girl like you.”

Trecee starts to take off her fake gold earrings, rings, and nails. Here we go again. I don't move. I don't bat an eye. I just watch Trecee frantically take herself apart in front of everybody as she shouts all kinds of “unmentionables” at me, about me, and about what she's going to do to me for KJ, her man. It's safe to say talking ain't gone work with this chick. Mickey and Nellie were right.

“What's the matter with you, Trecee?” KJ asks, now standing between me and Trecee. “All I did was say hi to the girl, and now you swear we're about to walk down the aisle or something.”

Trecee stopped to look at KJ. “Misty told me all about Jayd and her weird grandmother. She also told me that Jayd wants you back, even though she's been going around saying she ain't talking to you. You probably don't even know that girl bewitched you or something.”

Bewitched him? Oh no, she didn't go there. If anybody is a witch, it's her. What the hell did Misty tell her? I know the broad's already crazy, but Misty made her go straight mental up in here. Where is Misty anyway?

“Come on, girl, there's the bell,” Nellie says to me as KJ holds Trecee back.

“We'll walk you to class and make sure that witch don't come nowhere near you and I'll take you and Nellie home today so y'all don't have to worry about catching the bus,” Mickey says.

Mickey has the straight gangsta girl mobile: a tweaked-out pink Regal with M
ICKEYS
on her personalized license plates. She can be real cool in crisis situations. She should know how I feel. Girls in the neighborhood try to jump Mickey almost every time she comes out the door. That's why she stays in the house most of the time, if she's not with her man. I know she thinks I should fight, but she stands by my decision not to go there just yet.

“All right then, I'll meet y'all in the Main Hall after sixth period. I need to have a word with Misty before she leaves.”

“For what, Jayd? What you need to do is beat her down and be done with it.” Mickey's crazy and straight outta Compton. She'll fight anybody in a minute and, as pretty as Mickey is, she don't take no mess from nobody, no time. Usually, pretty girls don't like to get into fights for fear of messing up their hair or breaking their nails. But last year Misty got on Mickey's nerves talking behind her back. Mickey was whipping Misty so bad, Misty opted to run away instead of finish the fight. We weren't that close back then, but I'm glad Mickey is my friend now. I would hate to be her enemy.

“I want to see if she can go back and untell whatever lies she told Trecee in the first place. This is getting out of hand and I don't know what else to do. Dang, there goes the bell. I'll catch up with y'all after school, Main Hall.”

I sure hope we can squash this mess. It's just getting bigger and bigger and I don't want to fight Trecee. It just doesn't seem valid enough to get suspended over. I still don't know exactly what Misty told Trecee, which is why I need to find her. I'll have to get out of class right before school lets out and snatch up Misty in the Main Hall.

 

 

Fifteen minutes before the end of the last period, I find, as predicted, Misty, the worst office aide ever, hangin' out in the hall not working, even though she should be working. When she sees me, she turns and walks in the other direction, but I catch up to her 'cause we're going to talk whether she likes it or not.

“Misty, we need to talk,” I say when I'm close enough so she can't pretend not to hear me.

“Jayd, what you doin' out of class? And there is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Then why you running from me, huh, Misty? Look, I don't know what kind of games you're playing, but the drama needs to end before somebody gets hurt. I know you told Trecee something to make her think I'm such a threat to her. Now I want to know what you said and I want you to tell her the truth.”

Misty faces me with something like confidence. “I did tell her the truth. I told her that you're weird and you didn't hang out like the rest of us. I told her your grandmother be putting curses on people and stuff, and that's what my nana said and I know she ain't lyin' to me.”

How could Misty be so vindictive and snide about this? Her nana ain't never even met Mama. She just heard about her like everybody else in the neighborhood. She went and told this girl a bunch of rumors and now the girl thinks I really did curse KJ into liking me. Oh damn, this is some real drama.

“Misty, if I could curse anybody, don't you think you'd be a cockroach by now?”

“Not funny, Jayd. Besides, my nana says you can't curse me because I've been in your house.”

Misty's grandmother is as loony as they come. Straight up alcoholic, don't leave the garage, ain't seen daylight in years type of situation. Not a reliable source of information at all.

“What the hell does being in my house have to do with anything, Misty? This is a bunch of superstitious bull and you need to fix it or I will, and you won't be happy with the results, know what I'm sayin'?” She knows when she's gone too far and she knows I will take it there, if she pushes me.

“Fix this mess by Friday, Misty, or I
will
fix you.”

“Jayd, don't threaten me. I have Trecee to back me up, remember? I ain't afraid of you.”

“Yeah, not with her around, Misty, but I know where you live, where you hang out, where you don't hang out. Fix this by tomorrow. Don't play with me, Misty. I do have my ways of getting back at you.”

And with that last threat, I was done talking to Misty. I was vexed and feeling hot, and I can't think straight when I get too hot. Thank God this day's almost over.