This Side of Home (6 page)

The woman behind me sighs and says to someone next to her, “I wish there was a way to keep crazy people from coming to these things.”

I have a feeling she's talking about Z. Not about the rest of them.

It's the last weekend of summer vacation.

Devin is coming over, and Mom is making a big deal about this. I am in the kitchen getting some snacks to take into our family room. Mom watches me go back and forth and then says, “So I want you to keep the door open, and I don't want any—”

“Mom!”

“I'm just saying. I know how it is to be young and—”

“Mom!”

“Okay, okay.” She laughs and takes chocolate chip cookies out of the box and spreads them out on a small plate. I dump half a bag of chips into a bowl.

The doorbell rings, and Dad opens the door. I hear him ask Devin how Summer Scholars was, and
I know they will be talking for a while. Mom helps me carry the rest of the snacks to the room. Before she goes back to the kitchen, she whispers, “I'll tell your dad to keep it short. They can talk college stuff later.” Then she turns and says, “Now remember, I don't want any—”

“Oh, my goodness, Mom. For real.”

“All right, I'll leave it alone.” She smiles and laughs all the way down the hall.

Twenty minutes pass before Devin comes to the family room. He sits next to me and says, “I want to show you something.” He reaches in his backpack and pulls out a Polaroid. “Look what I found,” he says.

I take the picture. “I can't believe you still have this.” It's a photo of us when we were in the fifth grade. Our teacher took this picture for our class bulletin board. Devin and I are standing under a sign that says APRIL STUDENTS OF THE MONTH. I remember feeling so proud. I had perfect attendance, good behavior, and stars on my chart for turning in homework on time. Nikki had been student of the month in January, and I was determined to get it, too. I remember begging my mom to let me wear my hair out—not in braided ponytails—because I wanted my hair to look nice for the picture. I wish she hadn't given in. “Look at my hair.” I laugh. I have two big Afro-puff ponytails. “I look a mess.” I give the photo back to him.

“You looked good,” Devin says. “I was bragging to every boy in that school that I got to take a picture with the prettiest girl in the class.”

“You thought I was pretty back then?”

“You still are,” he says. And then he kisses me and I kiss him back, and I taste our friendship in the softness of his lips, taste playing on the merry-go-round at Alberta Park, taste snow fights in the backyard and carnival rides at the waterfront, taste the first time I saw him cry—when his cousin died—taste our remember-whens and never-forgets.

I lean my head on his shoulder, turn the TV on, and hand the remote to Devin. He flips through channels. We pass a cooking show, the news, and a talk show. Then Devin turns it to the station that plays classic black-and-white movies. He turns the channel.

I tap his leg. “Go back, go back. That was the movie
Psycho
.”

“
Psycho
?” Devin turns back to the channel.

It's just starting; we haven't missed much. “Let's watch this,” I say.

“I hate these kind of movies,” Devin says.

“This is one of Alfred Hitchcock's best films. What do you mean you hate it?”

“It's corny. It's not scary at all. Plus, it's black and white.”

“What's wrong with black-and-white movies?” I ask.

“I just don't like them.”

Even though that's not a reason, I drop it. I'm not going to argue about Hitchcock.

I reach out my hand for the remote. When he gives it to me, I turn the volume down. “So you don't like Hitchcock. Well, what kinds of movies do you like?” I wonder how it is that we've known each other our whole lives but don't know what types of movies the other likes.

“Action,” he answers.

“What else?”

“I don't know. Why?”

“I'm just asking. Just trying to get to know you,” I say.

“You already know me,” Devin says.

“I don't know everything,” I say. Which is true. I know things about him, but most of the time when we're together, we're in a group. I think maybe I can find out something new about him. I learned a lot about Tony playing that game of questions. There's always something new to learn about someone, right? I clear my throat. “Okay. Answer the questions I ask you. First thing that comes to mind. No thinking,” I tell him. “Milkshake or ice cream sundae?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Devin, you're not playing. Come on. Just answer the question.”

He sighs. “Milkshake, I guess.” He takes the control and turns the television to a sports channel. I think he's going to switch stations again, but instead, he leans back on the sofa cushions and turns the volume up.

“Devin,” I whine. “Let's talk. We haven't seen each other all summer. We can't just sit here and watch TV.”

I'm not even sure he hears me. His eyes are hypnotized by the screen.

Mom can stop worrying. There will be nothing going on in here at all. The magic of our kiss left just as fast as it came.

I fake a yawn.

I hear the front door open. Nikki is home. She comes into the family room, sees me and Devin sitting together. “Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had company,” she says. She has the biggest grin stretched across her face. She turns around to leave.

“It's okay,” I tell her. “It's just Devin.”

September.

Clouds drift in the sky like ghosts. Make you think you are seeing things and people: that one looks like Grandma's rocking chair, and that one over there a smiling face. Then a shifting and disappearing and the sky becomes a forest of cotton, a wonderland for birds, a shawl for trees.

I've been trying to catch the moment when a leaf sheds its green and turns orange or red or yellow. Most times, it happens so fast that I don't notice until the ground is covered with remnants of summer.

But this time, I am watching. Every morning, I check the tree outside my house. I want to see the process of change, not just the outcome. I want to
know what it looks like when tree branches wave good-bye to summer.

It is the first day of school.

There are news reporters at Richmond and a photographer is taking pictures of us as we enter the building. “Can I get some back-to-school smiles?” he says. A group of girls sit on the steps and pose for him.

Nikki, Essence, and I walk down senior hall on our way to our lockers. There's a man standing in the hallway. “Good morning, good morning,” he shouts. “Welcome back, welcome back. We're having an assembly before classes start. Everyone to the
auditorium, please. Everyone to the auditorium, please.”

Nikki whispers to me, “Is that our new principal?”

I nod. “I think so.”

The man keeps grinning and waving us to the auditorium. “Welcome back,” he repeats. “Hello, hello.”

“He's trying too hard,” Essence says.

I take a look at the man. He is short and a few pounds past skinny. He waddles when he walks and his cologne saturates the entire hallway. He is the first black principal Richmond has had since I've been a student here. “Well, I give him points for wanting to meet us. Remember Ms. Stone? She acted like we had some infectious virus. How many times did we see her in the hallways?”

Essence laughs. “Uh, never. Unless she was coming or leaving.”

Principal Stone quit last year right in the middle of the day. Just cursed her staff and walked out. She was the third principal Richmond had had in the four years I've been at this school. For the rest of the school year we had a temporary principal. Most adults come to this school like it's some kind of experiment. Every year some know-it-all comes here and says he knows what will get us really caring about our education.

Every year the rules change, but nothing else.

Before we enter the auditorium, our new principal comes over to us. He looks at me and Nikki and says, “I'm seeing double.” He laughs as if this is an original joke, but we have heard it our entire lives.

I reach out my hand. “Hi, I'm Maya.”

“And I'm Nikki.”

Essence introduces herself, too.

“I'm Principal Green,” he tells us. “I'm looking forward to getting to know you.” Then he looks at Nikki and back at me. “I hear there are twin sisters here, and one of them is the student body president.”

Nikki points at me. “That would be her.”

“Well, nice to meet you. I've heard a lot of good things about you from the teachers and staff here.” Principal Green looks at me and changes his tone to a serious one, like what he has to say is really important. “I'm really looking forward to seeing how you'll lead the school. You ready?”

I've been ready since freshman year. “Yes,” I tell him. “I really want student council to do something that matters this year, not just plan dances.”

“Good, very good.”

We say our good-byes, and Principal Green tries to tell Nikki and me apart. He gets it wrong.

Nikki laughs. “That's Maya. The one with the twists.”

Principal Green looks at our hair. “Got it. You're Nikki, you wear your hair straight. You're Maya, you wear twists.”

“Right,” we tell him.

“I'll get it, I promise.”

Nikki says, “You will. Once you get to know us, you'll see how different we are.”

We follow the crowd to the auditorium. Essence spots Malachi, who is sitting in the middle of the fifth row. “Let's sit there.”

I search the crowd, trying to find Devin and Ronnie so they can come sit with us. But instead of finding them, my eyes land on Tony. He's sitting two rows behind me, next to a girl who is stomping and chanting, “Sen-ior Pow-er! Sen-ior Pow-er!” The rest of the senior class joins in, and soon the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen are all chanting for their class.

Principal Green comes onstage and takes the microphone off the stand. He shouts, “Are the Richmond Warriors in the house?”

We all cheer and applaud.

“All right, all right. Let's settle down.” He waits until the auditorium is silent. “First off, I'd like to welcome you back to school. I am honored to be your new principal. I truly believe this is going to be a great year. We are going to prove to ourselves and to this community that the Richmond Warriors value learning and are committed to excellence.”

We all clap.

He continues, “That means showing up not just for games and dances but for classes and tutoring sessions.”

There are not as many cheers when he says this.

“In order to do this, we have to take care of each other. If one of us fails, we all fail. We are only as strong as our weakest link,” Principal Green says. “And we can do it! We are in this together, Richmond. Each one of you needs the person beside you in order for this school to be everything it can be. Now I want you to try something with me.” He clears his throat and says, “We're going to do a call-and-response chant. When I say, ‘Am I my brother's keeper?' you're going to shout back, ‘Yes, I am!' Okay?” Principal Green is definitely more excited about this than we are. He puts the microphone close to his mouth and yells, “Am I my brother's keeper?” He points the mic to the audience.

A few of us respond. “Yes, I am.”

“Am I my brother's keeper?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Come on, Richmond,” he says. “You can do better than that.”

“Am I my brother's keeper?”

“Yes, I am!”

“That's right, that's right! Now remember, when you see one of your peers making a bad decision, encourage them to do the right thing. We all need each other.”

Principal Green gets serious when he says, “Now,
seniors, I especially want you to think about this. This is your last year. What will your legacy be?”

I look around the auditorium. Some of us are asleep, some are whispering, others have headphones in their ears. Essence has her cell phone out. She quickly types a message and slips her phone back in her pocket.

Principal Green makes a few general announcements about the new lunch schedule and introduces new staff. Then he says, “Now, I want my juniors and seniors to listen closely,” and he reminds us about registering for the SAT. “Before I let you go, I want you to look at the person to your left and look at the person to your right.”

There's laughing and talking.

“Seriously, seriously. Take a good look. A real good look,” Principal Green says. “The person sitting to your left might not walk across the stage on graduation day. The person to your right might end up in jail, or on drugs, or dead before the age of twenty-five. That's the statistic.”

The auditorium is silent except for two boys sitting behind me who keep saying to each other, “He talkin' 'bout you. He talkin' 'bout you.”

“It's up to you to decide that you will not be the statistic,” Principal Green says. “You all have a responsibility to continue a great legacy. People want
to give Richmond a bad name, and it's up to you to change that. Young people, make us proud. Make yourself proud,” he says. “Let's have a good, safe, productive year. You're dismissed.”

We stand and slowly move out of the auditorium. I see Tony walking out, and I wonder if St. Francis ever had an assembly like this. Wonder if he ever had to look to his left or right and think, “This person may not make it.”

And I wonder why Principal Green told us what we might not be instead of telling us the possibility of what good we could become. He just lost all the points I gave him this morning.

As we walk out, Essence asks, “Do you need an SAT score to get into community college?”