This Side of Home (12 page)

But it matters when it's a group of black teens.

I've seen the reaction from strangers. The fearful eyes, the irritated sighs, the way women clutch their purses, hold on tight. And sometimes I'm with the group. Sometimes I'm not. But all the time, if I catch it, if I catch the moment that one of them laughs too loud, or is being obnoxious and reciting explicit lyrics to a song they are listening to, I get embarrassed.

Do white people get that feeling?

Once Christmas Eve came, Mom insisted on family time, so Nikki and I have been in the house mostly, or visiting our aunt's house. But now that Christmas is over, Mom is back at work and Nikki and I are back to doing what we want, which is mostly sleeping in.

It's noon and I am just waking up.

Nikki beat me to the shower, which is fine with me because I am in the perfect position in my bed and I don't feel like moving. The afternoon light is blocked out by my pulled-down shade. I get out of bed and step over the thick, lavender blanket that I must have kicked off while I was sleeping.

My blankets are always on the floor when I wake up. My pillow, too, sometimes. Mom says I'm the wild one, her fire child. “Must've been you kicking me
so hard, twisting and turning in my womb,” Mom's told me.

Nikki is Mom's rain. Refreshing and nourishing and everything good about rain. Not the thunderstorms or gloomy sky.

When we were younger, Nikki and I would get into our parent's bed in the middle of the night, scared from the boogie man or some noise we thought we heard. Dad would fuss, but Mom would let us stay in their king-size bed. We'd snuggle between them and fall right to sleep. By morning, all our bodies were intertwined. Feet in mouths, arms across bellies, heads at the foot of the bed.

I stumble my way to the bathroom, my eyes still caked with sleep. “Nikki, how much longer will you be?”

“Five minutes!”

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor.

The doorbell rings and I hear Dad say, “I think she's still asleep.”

I stand and walk to the edge of the stairs.

“Maya?” Dad is at the foot of the steps. “Uh, Tony is here for you?” Dad says this as a question.

“He is? Oh, okay. I'm, I'm—”

“I'll tell him to wait down here for you,” Dad says. “I'm gone to the center. Mom's at work.”

“Okay.”

Nikki comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a yellow towel. “Did I hear Dad say Tony is here?”

“Yeah.”

“Another student council meeting?”

I have no idea why he's here. “Uh, yeah,” I say. I go into the bathroom, close the door. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and go back to my room and try to find something decent to throw on so I can go downstairs to see what Tony wants.

Nikki knocks on my door and opens it at the same time. “Bye. I'm going over to Kate's.”

I can't help but think of how ironic it is that Tony is here and Nikki is going over there. “Okay. Tell Tony I'll be down in a minute.”

It definitely takes me longer than a minute. I change three times.

Once I am dressed, I do my hair. I put a small dab of coconut oil in my hand and rub it through my twists. I look into the mirror and see Tony standing in the doorway. “Can I come in?”

“Um, yes. What—what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why didn't you call?”

“I don't know. I wanted to just stop by, I guess.”

“Come in,” I tell him. I walk over to the chair that's full of clean clothes—outfits I just put on and tossed. I move them to my bed. “Sit here.”

Tony sits down.

I go back to my dresser, stand in front of the mirror. “I'm just doing my hair. I'm almost ready.” I take the small bottle of oil in my hand and squirt a little onto my scalp.

Tony comes over to me. He picks up the bottle. “Smells good. What does this do?”

“It's hair oil. It keeps my scalp from getting too dry.”

Tony takes the bottle, turns it upside down and puts a little oil in his hand. He puts his hand in my hair and massages my scalp. I close my eyes. His fingers slow dance with my twists; the palm of his hands press into my scalp, gentle, steady.

My hair must feel so unfamiliar in his hands. It is nothing like his mom's, or sister's, or any other girl's he dated before me. I look into the mirror and watch Tony, who is not looking at me. His eyes are studying my hair, each curl, each frizzy strand. He looks up, sees me in the mirror, and smiles. He kisses the back of my neck, kisses the spaces below each ear, and I am lost in him.

I haven't seen Nikki much this week. She is always with Kate or Ronnie. I am always with Tony or Essence. But tonight, Mom makes sure our family is together to welcome in the New Year. This is one family commitment Dad never misses.

11:30 p.m.

Dad starts us off with our family tradition. We each share one thing we're thankful for and one resolution. Then we'll toast at midnight and drink sparkling apple cider. I don't really hear what anyone else has to say because while I'm waiting my turn, I am trying to think up an answer—well, I have answers, but none I can say out loud. Because if I told the truth, I'd say that I'm thankful for my relationship with Tony.

My resolution?

To tell the truth about us.

School is back in session. It's lunchtime and I head to The Lounge to meet with Star, Charles, and Tony. Mrs. Armstrong leaves to go warm up her lunch. “Be right back,” she says.

As soon as she leaves, I open my notebook. “I think we should invite the media to our school for our Black History Month assembly.”

Charles leans forward in his chair. Tony is reading the press release that I scribbled. Mrs. Armstrong taught us the elements of a press release and the purpose they serve. I used her handout to help me draft my own.

I explain Richmond's annual Black History celebration to Tony. “Every February, we have a ceremony in the auditorium that is led by students.”

Charles adds, “Sometimes students read poems by black poets. Last year I recited King's ‘I Have a Dream' speech.”

Star says, “And Maya always sings. Last year, she was amazing.” She smiles at me. “So amazing.”

Tony looks at me. “Yeah, I hear Maya can sing. Can't say
I've heard
her sing, though.”

I keep us on track. “The assembly is the only time we get to run the show. No adult does anything. It's all us.” I continue, “So I think people should know about it. The news always wants to come to our school to report something bad, well, they should come see us at our best.”

Charles leans back in his seat. “I don't know, Maya. I mean, I like the idea, but we need some kind of hook to get them here. What's really going to make the news come to Richmond?”

Tony is nodding, and his eyes roam in his head as he thinks up an answer.

And then I get an idea. “What if we find alumni who are doing something big and invite them to come speak or something?”

Charles leans forward. “That would be perfect.”

Tony tells us, “St. Francis always had some former graduate visit our school to give us motivational talks.”

Charles leans forward even more and says, “We could invite T. J. Downing.”

I start taking notes in my journal.

Star smiles. “God, the press would love that. Former Richmond point guard gives back to his community,” she says sarcastically. “Isn't he playing overseas now?”

“Yeah. He was one of my dad's mentees. They still keep in touch, and he comes home a lot,” I tell them.

A rainbow smiles across Charles's face. “This is going to be good.”

Principal Green says no.

“I've decided to have a diversity assembly take the place of our Black History Month celebration.” His excuse for making this change is filled with words like “tolerance” and “unity.” He tells us he has invited a guest speaker to come. “I appreciate your idea. I do, I really appreciate your idea,” Principal Green says. “But inviting the media? No, no. Don't get me wrong, T. J. is a wonderful person. But he just reinforces what the community already knows about Richmond. They know our boys can play ball. I'd like us to focus on something else,” he says. “And besides, we need to have an assembly that is for everyone, not just the black students.”

“But black history
is
for everyone,” I say.

Charles says, “And the assembly is a Richmond tradition.”

Tony asks, “Why can't we celebrate both—diversity and black history?”

Star doesn't say anything. She is standing there chipping away at her nail polish.

Principal Green says his decision is final. “But I would like students to be involved. Maya, word around the school is that you can sing. Would you like to sing something at the assembly?”

“I, uh—”

Charles cuts me off. “With all due respect, sir, I think the rest of student council should have a say in this.”

“Oh, your peers are all for it,” Principal Green tells us. He hands me a sheet of paper. “Cynthia already made a flyer. She and a few others are hanging these up right now. You've got a great cabinet, Miss President.”

I can't even get words to form on my tongue.

Star is the first to walk away, then Charles.

As soon as Tony and I step outside Principal Green's office, I hear yelling and cursing and Star's voice is the loudest. I turn the corner, and she is standing with crumpled flyers in her hands.

Cynthia is yelling, “You can't just rip our posters off the wall! Who do you think you are?”

“I think I've been at this school longer than you have and—”

“Are you telling me to go back to where I come from?” Cynthia yells. “You're such a racist—”

“Racist? I'm the one wanting to have a Black History Month celebration!” Star won't back down, and now there's a crowd forming. Nikki and Kate are with Essence, Malachi, and Ronnie. They walk over to me and stand with Charles and Tony.

Tasha stands next to Cynthia. Rachel, Joey, Vince, and Bags join them. And the more screaming and yelling Star and Cynthia do, the more people surround them.

Tasha blurts out, “Cynthia, don't let that white girl talk to you like that!”

And Cynthia acts all bad and bold and steps closer to Star like she's going to hit her.

Just then Principal Green appears. “That's enough! Enough.”

The crowd disintegrates.

“Go to class, all of you, all of you!” Principal Green waits until everyone starts moving. He keeps an eye on Star and Cynthia, who go different directions. I am surprised he lets them go without calling them into his office.

I follow Star up the stairs. She pulls another flyer
off the wall. This time, a patch of paint comes with it. She turns to me and asks, “Are you going to help?”

I know that taking these flyers down won't do anything, but I join her. She takes down the ones on the left side of the hallway. I rip off the flyers on the right.

The tardy bell rings, but neither of us stops. I say, “How can he just change our tradition? And why is Cynthia such a kiss-up? When did she get to make all the decisions?”

After we've taken down most of the flyers, Star says, “I think celebrating diversity is fine, but not in the place of honoring black history. February is only twenty-eight days; they can at least give us that.”

For the first time today I laugh.

The hallway is completely empty now except for the two of us. Star takes the last flyer off the wall and turns it over to its blank side. She takes a blue marker out of her bag and writes WE DESERVE 28 DAYS. She refolds the ball of tape and sticks it on the back of the flyer. “They can't just change things like that.” She looks around and discreetly hangs the flyer on the wall. It's crooked and the tape is so weak that it's barely hanging.

I am regretting that I am just now getting to know Star.

I slip into Mr. Anderson's calculus class, and he doesn't even notice that I'm late. I try to focus on the assignment, but I can't fully get my mind off Principal Green and Cynthia, and the fact that I'm a president with no power.

The bell rings just as I finally zone in to get some work done. I have almost forgotten about the flyer Star wrote on, but when I get back in the hallway I see papers of all different sizes and colors taped to the wall. The handwriting is different on each sheet of paper:

PUT BLACK BACK IN HISTORY.

CELEBRATE EVERYONE!

GO BACK TO THE HILLS.

THIS IS OUR SCHOOL, TOO!

WHO CARES?

And the one that's making Principal Green curse:

The words
Black History
with a drawing of a fried chicken leg and a slice of watermelon under it.

“What in the world is going on here?” Principal Green is yelling in the hallway and pulling the self-made posters off the walls. “If anyone knows who did this, you must let a staff member know. Anything hung on school property without prior permission is considered vandalism.”

No one is saying anything. He takes down the poster Star hung. “Who started this?” he asks. No
one answers. “Well, I'm finishing it. Be aware that anyone who hangs anything up without permission will have detention and possible suspension.”

The two-minute bell rings. We unfreeze and make our way to our next class. As I walk down the hall, I see that Principal Green missed one. It says “Celebrate Tradition.”

I don't take it down.

We've spent most of class working on our final drafts for the next issue of the
Richmond Reporter
. There's about ten minutes left until lunch. Mrs. Armstrong walks to the front of the room and says, “All right, everyone, before you get out of here I need to give you your homework assignment.”