The Fight (19 page)

“You know what, you don't have to be funny. I just assumed that since the place closed down we were going home.”

“Why would you assume that? The night is young. I want you to meet some of my friends outside of school, if you're up for it.”

Oh, hell, where's he taking me? You know how all them movies end with the little Black girl being sacrificed or some craziness like that. But, I'm gone risk it 'cause I really don't want the night to end just yet.

We get back in his car and cruise down P.C.H. toward P.V. It's a perfect night to be by the beach. The moon is full, the sky is clear, and the air is chilly, but not too cold. As if he read my mind, Jeremy reaches back into the backseat and grabs his poncho pullover, a surfer must-have, and hands it to me.

“Here. I know it can get a bit cool, especially for people who aren't used to cold beach nights.”

He's damn right about that. This cute little jacket I brought ain't doing a damn thing to keep me warm. This poncho looks like it's just what I need. And, so does he.

“Thank you, 'cause a sistah is getting hella cold,” I say, pulling the poncho over my head, careful not to mess up my already poofy hair.

“Why'd you do that?”

“Do what?” I say, hella self-conscious.

“Try not to touch your hair. The poncho won't hurt it, you know.”

“Oh no, but it will. You see what the ocean air has already done to it? I don't want your friends to see me looking like a madwoman.”

“Your hair is really important to you, isn't it?”

“You just don't get it, do you? My hair is very sensitive to the elements. The slightest change in air temperature, moisture, or something as simple as putting on a poncho can permanently affect the style of hair for the night.”

“Well, I think your hair looks sexy like it is. Besides, you look way better than any of the people you're going to meet tonight.” This dude is really diggin' me, ain't he?

“Here we are.” We pull up to what to me looks like nowhere. Or rather, a deserted beach where they sacrifice people. He parks the car on the sand, grabs my hand, and leads me down a steep sand hill. At the bottom of the hill, right off the beach, you can see a bonfire and smell marijuana burning in the wind.

As we get closer, I can hear drumming and someone strumming a guitar. People are just lying around, kickin' it. Most of them look high off something, the rest look like they're mesmerized by the motion of the waves.

“Jayd, meet my surfing crew. Crew, this is Jayd.”

They look at me, nod a cool “What's up?” and go back to their individual trances.

“So, what do you think?” Jeremy asks as he leads me to sit down on the sand next to him.

“Honestly, this is the most peaceful I've been in a long time. All night I haven't thought about the drama of this past week at all. Thank you for taking me out. I'm having a good time.”

“Well, I hope it won't be the last.” Jeremy pulls me in close to him and wraps me in his arms. He smells like vanilla incense and Polo cologne. It's at this moment I realize I could easily fall in love with him. I've got to call Nellie in the morning and tell her all about our night.

I purposely turned off my phone when we left the house because KJ has been on my jock all weekend. I didn't want anything to ruin our night, especially not any annoying phone calls or text messages. And, it's perfect. I can't wait to go home tomorrow night and tell Mama all about our date.

Prologue

T
his weekend was the first one in a long time I spent hanging with my crew. After our hellish holidays it was nice being back to normal with my friends. Well, all except for Rah. He's completely lost his mind if he thinks allowing Sandy to be under house arrest at his house is the way to go. If it weren't for his daughter, I know he would've had no problem letting her trifling ass be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for stealing his grandfather's car.

I just got my conditioner set in my hair for the next thirty minutes. I feel like cooking a big breakfast this morning, but it'll be nothing like the spread Mama made for me yesterday. My memory's still coming back from our collective vision quest. I walk into the kitchen and check the fridge for some food. As usual, there's nothing in here to cook. Damn. I hope there's some grits in the cabinet. My mom loves hot cereal and so do I.

I check the cabinet and find what I'm looking for, but not before I'm interrupted by someone at the front door. Who's this knocking so early on a Sunday morning? Maybe it's Shawntrese, wanting to get her hair done before church. I look through the peephole and see Jeremy looking back at me. What's he doing here?

“We're making this pop-up thing a habit, aren't we?” I say through the door, unlocking the multiple bolts and letting him in. Jeremy has seen me look all kinds of ways. Now he gets to see me with my plastic shower cap on and I could care less. That's what he gets for coming by unannounced.

“Good morning to you too, Lady J. I had to come check on you since you're not returning calls,” he says, walking inside and kissing me on the forehead. I haven't even checked my phone this morning. I passed out when I came home from Nigel's last night, and put my phone on silence to make sure I stayed that way.

“You want some grits?” I ask, sashaying back into the kitchen to finish cooking my breakfast. I open the freezer and find some protein to accompany my meal. Thank God for frozen food. Who knows how long these turkey sausages have been in here. In my opinion they look good enough to eat.

“What's a grit?” Jeremy asks, as serious as a heart attack. I turn around and look at him, shocked he's unfamiliar with one of our staple foods. I guess he's not familiar with chitlins and pig's feet either, although I haven't had either one of those since I was a child.

“How can you not know what grits are? Your mother's from the South.” I gesture for Jeremy to sit at the dining room table while I get out the necessary tools needed to cook. I put water in both the pot and the skillet, ready to heat this small kitchen up.

“Yeah, but she doesn't cook everything southern. My dad's Jewish, remember? Some things we never got accustomed to, a grit being one of them.”

“It's not ‘a grit.' You don't eat just one,” I say, smiling at my silly friend. “And it's like porridge made out of ground corn. Interested?” I begin pouring the white grains into the measuring cup, waiting for his response. From the look on his face I'd say the answer is no.

“I'll pass.” His loss. I pour the cereal slowly into the boiling water and check on my sausages cooking in the skillet. This is going to be a slamming meal. “So, how was the dance?”

“It was okay. I didn't stay for long,” I say, mixing the cereal until it's thick and smooth. I reach back into the refrigerator and pull out the butter. I take a knife out of the dish drain and put about a tablespoon of butter into the grits and then sprinkle in some salt. All I need now is brown sugar to make this meal perfect. I have about twenty minutes before I need to rinse the conditioner out of my hair. I hope Jeremy wasn't expecting my undivided attention this morning, because I'm all about me right now.

“And how was your Valentine's Day?” Jeremy asks while I pour the grits onto a plate and then place the sausages next to the cereal. I sit across from Jeremy at the table and dig in.

“It was cool. I chilled with the crew, nothing special. And on Friday night I was busy with my family, so I was glad too for the session last night.” I offer Jeremy a sausage and he takes it. Something about Jeremy's eyes tells me that I'm missing something here.

“You were so busy you couldn't respond to my text about plans we had for the holiday?” His text? I forgot all about him asking me to be his valentine and about the stupid movie he wanted us to go see. But I can't tell him why I didn't remember until just now.

“You seem to pick and choose your holidays, Jeremy. I'm sorry I was caught up and I told you I didn't want to see a horror movie anyway, especially not one as demeaning as the one you chose.” I continue eating without apology. If I told him that me, my mother, and my grandmother were busy fighting off Esmeralda and Misty in the spirit world because they were trying to steal my dreams, I don't think he'd believe me.

“How is a movie about voodoo dolls and shit demeaning to you, unless you're a voodoo witch?” I stop in mid-bite and look into Jeremy's blue eyes, now full of anger. He's about to piss me and the women in my lineage off, if we don't end this conversation right now.

“It's priestess, not witch.” Did I just say that out loud? From the look in Jeremy's pretty blues I guess I did.

“What's the difference?” he asks, taking another sausage from my near-empty plate. I can feel the conditioner in my hair losing it's minty tingle, indicating it's about time for my rinse.

“What's the difference? I know you know better than that, Jeremy,” I say, finishing the last few bites of my breakfast. “A witch stems from European Wicca beliefs. Voodoo is African and we are priests and priestesses, not sorcerers, witches, or any other name you might want to call us by.” I know Jeremy loves a good debate, but he can save it for our fourth period class tomorrow afternoon. This is not a conversation I want to have with him right now.

“We? Us? Is there something you're not telling, Jayd?” Some things he'll never understand and I'm not in the mood to teach him.

“Yes, there is, and I'm going to continue not telling you as long as you have an attitude about it.” I look at the wall clock and realize I've gone over by one minute on my conditioner. “I have to rinse my hair. I'll be right back,” I say, wiping my face with a napkin before rising to head back into the bathroom where I've set up hair shop.

“Whatever, Jayd. Call me when you're ready to be straight with me, without the attitude.” Jeremy gets up from the table and walks out of the apartment. What the hell just happened here? And why is he accusing me of having an attitude when he's the one acting like a three-year-old? Whatever the reason, it can wait until tomorrow, unlike my hair. I should've never answered the door. Maybe I can rinse away some of his negativity with my conditioner and start fresh tomorrow—no attitude included.

1

Black Girls

—J
ANET
J
ACKSON

 

 

 

F
or once, it's good to be back at school. Stepping out of my car I notice the air feels new this morning. I guess it's because all of the bad things Misty did, including trying to steal my dreams. All that was undone when I took back my sight and snatched her weaved head up while trying to undo her evil spell. It's nice to have received the benefits of the mandatory week of anger management counseling I had to endure without suffering the consequences. It's also nice that Nellie, Mickey, and I are speaking again. I need my girls to make it through these long days.

“What's up, bitch?” Nellie asks as I approach my girls in the Main Hall. Now that I'm driving myself instead of taking the bus, I've managed mornings better, so I don't arrive on campus so early. And Nellie's back to getting a ride with Mickey, as it should be.

“Who you calling a bitch?” I ask, looking around for someone else. I know she's not talking to me or Mickey, because those are definitely fighting words where we come from.

“You, bitch.” If it weren't for the smile on Nellie's face, I would think she was serious.

“We don't do that,” Mickey says, correcting our girl. She rolls her eyes at me and smiles, knowing how bougie Nellie can be.

“But Tania and her girls say that to each other all the time.” I wish we could have changed Nellie associating with the ASB clique permanently, but being crowned Homecoming princess changed Nellie. Then Misty lost her damned mind after Mickey busted her out for having the clap. So much had changed with my crew. “It's a term of endearment.”

“Not for us it's not,” I say, walking with my girls from Mickey's locker to mine. The warning bell for first period rings in the hall, putting the fear of detention in everyone present, especially me. With Mr. Adewale as my new first-period teacher, my days of excused tardies from my former Spanish teacher football coach are over. Mr. A is serious about his shit and I'm serious about staying on his good side.

“What's so bad about calling your home girl a bitch if it's said with the utmost love and respect?” Mickey and I look at our girl and shake our heads in disbelief. Nellie's clueless on certain subjects, and the Black girl code of etiquette is one of them.

“Look at Tania and her girls and then look at us,” I say, gesturing to the bitch crew entering the hall from the main office. “Now you tell me what's the difference,” I say, opening my backpack and switching out my books. I need to clean my locker, but I'm afraid of throwing anything away, especially after what happened last time: Misty went through my trash and found a note, then used it to try to incriminate me when Mickey and Nigel ditched class, which is what got us into trouble in the first place. I'm glad that's all behind us, but I'm not putting anything past Misty after what we just went through.

“They're rich and we're not. Well, y'all aren't, but you feel me,” Nellie says, flipping her straight hair over her right shoulder.

“You ain't balling either, Miss Thang,” Mickey says, checking Nellie. I'm so glad we're back to us, I don't know what to do. Dealing with them one-on-one was too much for a sistah to handle.

“We're Black, Nellie, and they are not. We don't go around calling each other bitches, hoes, or any other derogatory term, because of the history attached to the words for us and our ancestors.” I slam my locker door shut and begin speed walking toward my first-period class, with my girls in tow. They can afford to stroll to their class late, unlike me.

“Jayd, you really should let go of all that negativity. History's in the past. Leave it there.” I stop in my tracks and stare at my girl. Mickey laughs at my reaction, but I know she feels part of what I'm saying. My ancestors are probably crying right now they're so mad, and so are Nellie's.

“Nellie, have you ever heard us refer to each other as bitches and then hug afterward?” I'm liable to smack a female instead of embrace her if she calls me out of my name.

“Hell to the no,” Mickey says, taking a pack of Skittles out of her purse and eating them. Mickey looks at Nellie with a dare in her eyes and Nellie returns the stare. My girls are crazy. I'm just glad we're all on the same side again. As small as the Black population is on this campus, we can't afford to be at odds with each other. It's bad enough the three of us don't get along with the South Central clique, where the other twenty-plus Black students chill. Without each other, Nellie, Mickey, and I would truly be lost. I remember that feeling, even if my girls don't, and it was a lonely existence.

“Y'all are too sensitive. It's not that big of a deal,” Nellie says as we exit the Main Hall. The morning air feels different with spring approaching. I love this time of the year and not just because my birthday's next month. Something about warm seasons makes school—and life in general—more pleasant.

“Good morning, ladies,” Nigel says, greeting us all as we walk across the courtyard. He puts his arm across Mickey's shoulders and falls in step with us.

“Good morning,” we say in unison. Even with the semester change, the three of them still share most of the same classes. At first I wasn't sure about having a general ed class, but it hasn't been that bad, with the exception of having to deal with Misty and KJ. Now that our crew is solid, I know it'll be live in third period for the remainder of the semester.

“What up, dog,” Chance says, greeting Nigel before saying hi to us. He kisses Nellie on the lips and then big ups Mickey and me. “Good session this weekend, man.”

“Yes, it was,” Nigel says, reminding me of the last conversation that I had with Rah on Saturday. I haven't talked to him since I found out his baby mama is his new roommate. He's called and texted me a million times since then, and he can keep on blowing my cell up. Mama says if I don't have anything nice to say I shouldn't say anything at all. And whatever comes out of my mouth won't be good for Rah, so I'm going to avoid cussing him out for as long as I possibly can.

“Bye, bitches.” Nellie says, running toward their first period ahead of Mickey and Nigel, with Chance right behind her. She thinks she's funny, but she's not. Calling each other a bitch is something Nellie needs to reserve for her White friends. We Black girls are not feeling that shit in the least.

“That's your friend,” Mickey says. Nigel laughs at his girl and I can't help but do the same.

“But you've known her longer,” I add. We make it to my Spanish class where the door is wide open. Mr. Adewale doesn't count you as present unless you're sitting at your desk when the bell stops ringing. We have about a minute to go before the final bell rings, officially starting the school day.

Mr. A looks up from the stack of papers on his desk and at me. His smile is reserved, but I feel more caution in his eyes than usual. Maybe Ms. Toni had the same conversation she had with me about him and me associating with each other on a friendly basis. I think she's overreacting, but what can I say? I know how these folk up here are, and with them being the only two teachers of color on the lily-white faculty, I can't say that I blame her. I just wish she had a little more faith in me.

“Don't remind me,” Mickey says. As she takes her backpack off of her shoulders and passes it to Nigel to carry, I notice a new picture keychain hanging with our old shot from Homecoming.

“What's this?” I ask, taking a look at the photo. It's a picture of Mickey, Nigel, Chance, Nellie, Rah, and me from the Valentine's Day dance last Friday.

“What do you mean? You have the same one, remember?” she says, fingering the same set of photos hanging from my backpack. I'm glad there's a picture to prove we were all in attendance at the dance, because I don't remember any of it. And from the smiles on our faces it looks like we had a good time.

“My bad, girl. You know I'm sleep deprived.” Luckily I'm not anymore, but I have to blame my memory loss on something, and that's part of the truth.

“We'll see you in third period, Jayd. We have a meeting with the principal at break,” Nigel says as the final bell rings. I glance at Mr. A, who has his pencil and attendance sheet ready to mark the latecomers.

“Holla,” Mickey says as she and her man casually stroll toward their first period. I missed Mickey being on the main campus. She talked with Nigel about the administration bullying her, and they've decided to stand up to the powers that be together. I'm glad she decided to stay and fight. We have to stick together in this wilderness we call South Bay High. Otherwise, they will pluck us out one by one, with us girls being the first on their exit list. I'm not leaving this campus until I have a diploma in my hand, and I hope Mickey feels the same way.