a novel by Alexus Rhone
Chapter One
I opened my locker. The only thing that lay crisp on the dusty locker floor was a flier. It read, “B-Jobs available…3 for 5… totally able to satisfy…nothing ventured…nothing gained…by the case…you know the place.”
I blinked repeatedly not believing what I was reading. I’m still mad at mama for moving us from South Park clear across town to Missouri City with these bourgie Negroes. Here in this brand new school that looks almost like a downtown business office, some mother’s precious baby girl or some father’s special little angel was offering a first day of school sale on…on…’puff work’.
Now I’m convinced that all of us - rich and poor - are raggedy like roaches. But the rich play in newer buildings.
As I stood at the locker wondering how many others had received this coupon, a girl walked up on me and snatched it.
“Aye hah!” she laughed. “Where’d you get this from?”
“It was in my locker.” I tried to not look phased by it. She obviously wasn’t.
“You the new chick who lives down the street from me. Spring Briar Street, 4th house on the left, right?”
Amused and a little afraid of this stranger who knew so much about me, I answered, “Yeah…yeah, that’s me. I’m Trek.”
“What’s up, Trek. They call me Rhodee.” She shook my hand like a dude – dapping, slapping, pounding and snapping – yet she was all woman. A lycra-clad, Chinese-shop outfit wearing, confident hoodrat. She used the inch-long nail glued to her index finger to scratch underneath the hair tracks piled on top her head. “You know how to get around the school? Where’s your first class?” I handed her my schedule. “Damn, you kinda smart, huh?”
Before leaving my locker, I stuck the only locker decoration magnet I had inside the locker door and slammed it closed real fast.
I followed her down the hall and up the stairs, stumbling through the crowd of designer labels, watching Rhodee show crazy love to the fellas while ignoring the whispering girls lining the hall. There was one dude in particular she gave a whole lot of hallway love to. Judging from the way his girlfriend rolled her eyes at both of us, Rhodee must’ve given him love in other locations, too.
I tried to not look at anyone for too long. This one girl, however, was way out of order in a backless shirt with slits under both breasts. She walked alone, head held high, silently daring anybody to say anything to her. Rhodee gave her a hug. “What’s up, girl? I love that top. Don’t take your eyes off it!”
Rhodee and I were temporarily separated when I stopped in front of the TV monitors to watch Communications students give pre-recorded video announcements. They dressed in suits and ties and everything. They looked like professionals. I couldn’t hear what they were saying because of all the screaming and hugging and jumping up and down going on around and in front of me.
I got closer to the TV, but still couldn’t hear. I reached up to adjust the volume.
“Keep your filthy paws off the technical equipment!”
I looked around to see who had a microphone to their mouth and who they were talking to. I spotted a woman with tight curly hair holding a bullhorn to her lips.
“I’m talking to you, young lady, in the blue jean skirt. Read your school manual. You might learn something.”
The kids closest to me snickered. I let my backpack fall to the floor as I raised both hands in front of my face. I frowned and repeatedly flipped them back and forth from palm to backhand, studying them carefully. “I know this mophead hooker didn’t just call my hands ‘paws’ like I’m some animal,” I said louder than I intended to.
Suddenly the crowd was silent. Bullhorn lady redirected her attention in my area. “Is there a problem I can fix?” By now, everyone stood still and focused in on me, ‘the new girl’.
Out of nowhere someone grabbed my hand. “Yes, Ms. Ritchie, you can fix our problem by clearing these hallways. We can’t hardly get to class for them standing around like dummies.” Rhodee lifted my backpack from the floor and placed it on my shoulder. “You gon’ do jus’ fine in this camp,” she whispered. I glanced over my shoulder at Ms. Ritchie staring at me. “People, move your asses out the way!” Rhodee yelled. Like Moses and the Red Sea the ocean of students parted and we walked on dry ground.
My first class was Algebra with an old white teacher named Mr. Dinks. He stood outside his class each period before the bell rang. “Hurry along to class and stop standing around acting like idiots!” The moment he closed the door to share time and space with “the best and the brightest” (as he called us), he turned on the charm. When the bell rang, the madman returned. “Get to your next class and quit standing around the hall like idiots!”
Second period was Homeroom, a 50-minute study hall I shared with the other students in my grade whose last names began with a “B”. I took a seat close to the front behind Amber and across from Hilary and Tracy. Tra, Hil and Am, as they called themselves, had been best friends and neighbors in Chasewood since kindergarten. They were very easily the prettiest girls in the school. They chatted amongst themselves like little black valley girls.
“Tra, I see your mom bit the bait, or did Saks Fifth Avenue have a sale?” Hil asked.
Tra crossed her legs and flexed her left foot. “Sale? As if. No, daddy told her $250.00 was a great price for Italian leather shoes. He said to get shoes like this any cheaper we’d have to travel to Italy.”
I tucked my Payless shoe covered feet under my chair.
“What did your mom say?”
“Nothing to him. She just called our travel agent to book her winter vacation in Italy.”
“Well, your shoes are fabulous. I mean truly fabulous,” Hil said.
“As opposed to ‘ghetto fabulous’?” Amber asked. They giggled. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the sounds of their giggles reminded me of something. To focus, I closed my eyes for a few moments. Then it hit me. I remembered where I’d heard those sounds – The Flintstones cartoon. The little princesses giggled like the one outfit dressing, no-shoes wearing, pupil-only eyed Wilma Flintstone and her homegirl Betty Rubble.
“Trek, I like your skirt. It fits really cute around your hips,” Tra said.
“I tried on one just like that, except the slits were on the side, not the front.” Amber used her index fingers to draw the imaginary slit lines.
“Who made your skirt?” Hil asked.
“My auntie bought it at the store,” I said.
They cartoon giggled. “No,” Amber said. “She means who’s the designer?”
I cleared my throat. “Guess?”
“Cool. Guess has a great line,” Tra said.
I meant for them to ‘guess’ the designer. Actually, my Aunt Sis’ bought it for me off the clearance rack at LaTrice Fashions For Under $7. “Tre, if you work your jelly with the right attitude, then you won’t need to spend all your money on overpriced designer clothes.”
Spoken like someone with no money who needs to drum up an excuse for shopping on the 75% off rack of the $7 store.
“You know what, Trek? You’re really pretty for a dark-skinned girl,” Tra said.
I smiled and frowned at the same time. “She’s not that dark, Tra,” Hil said as she placed her black notebook binder next to my face. They cartoon giggled, but I shook it off.
“So, Trek, where’d you go to school last year?”
“I attended a magnet arts school. I played in the orchestra.”
“Ooh, the orchestra!” Tra nodded her head in approval.
“Why didn’t you go back this year?”
“We moved to Missouri City. When I lived in South Park, I caught the bus and…”
“SOUTH PARK?!” Amber asked. Hil and Tra snickered.
“Yeah, South Park. Do you know where that is?”
“Uh, I know about South Park. But it ain’t nothing to write home about. Trust.” Amber rolled her eyes and turned her back to me. Tra and Hil faced forward, too.
On the other side of me sat Candace, a shy, quiet girl who rides my bus and lives in my neighborhood. Her twin brother Cayman (aka, “Candyman”) was the class clown. Him and his boys cut up the entire class time in the back of the room. Behind Candace sat Staska and Sharon, who passed notes back and forth to each other usually written in Spanish or shorthand so that no one could read their message.
I looked around the room desperately searching for one friend. Just one. Right as I wished for a new Homeroom assignment, in walks a 5’6’’ chocolate slice of heaven. Not only was he fine, this brotha’ also had the kind of smile meant for selling toothpaste.
His name was Jay, but it should’ve been “Kodak” ‘cause he was made to be in pictures. He looked my way and smiled.
When the bell rang dismissing class, I took my time gathering my stuff. “Please, God, let him come talk to me,” I prayed. Jay seemed to be trying to pace himself with me, too. The climate was perfect for a chance meeting at the back of the class.
That is, until a Force 5-level hurricane blew through. Her name was Lena. She was Jay’s part Asian, part African-American girlfriend. “What the hell is taking you so long?” She stood with both hands on her hips. Her two homegirls snickered behind her. “You shoulda been outside the classroom waiting on me. Why do I always have to come in your class to get you? I told you this summer I wasn’t puttin’ up with your shit this year.”
“Here I come, Lena, damn.” Jay moved at turbo-speed.
Behind Lena were her two girlfriends, standing there like oversized ogres laughing at Jay, looking like circus clowns with all that makeup. “Oops. Jay got clowned in front of the new chick.”
Next, I went to gym class. Lena and I have the same gym class, except she arrived 20 minutes after the tardy bell rang, dragging her feet like going to class unnecessarily interrupted her school day. The coaches were in the middle of telling us what to expect for the year when she waltzed her happy behind right in front of them. As she walked up the steel bleachers, the clunky heels on her shoes made noises like a galloping horse. No one said anything to her, just waited for her to get settled before continuing.
We went downstairs to check the combinations on our gym locker, the extent of our hard labor the whole class period. However, when the class dismissal bell rang, we all passed Lena standing in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, blow-drying her long, silky, black hair, and baby-powdering her body. Maybe she’s having a day when she doesn’t feel, um…fresh.
At lunch I spotted Tra, Hil, and Am sitting at a circle top table alone. I headed in their direction. Standing 20 feet from them, they didn’t look up. Fifteen feet, ten feet, nothing. They never flinched. I decided to get bold and ask the question I’d seen played out a thousand times in the movies, usually when a man tried to ‘mack’ a woman sitting alone at a table in a bar, “May I join you?”
Standing less than five feet away from making a fool of myself, Rhodee intercepted me. She grabbed my arm, pulling me in the opposite direction. As we walked away from Tra, Hil and Am, the girl Rhodee I spoke to earlier that morning was now wearing a wrinkled, white sweatshirt. Rhodee shook her head and led me to the patio where a dread-locked, au-natural, “fight the power” group gathered around a radio sampling beats, rhymes and dance steps. “Hey y’all. Meet Trek.”
“What’s up, Trek?” they greeted.
“Hi.” I tried to not stare at them. They had a totally different fashion thing going on. I kept my eyes to the ground.
They formed a lopsided circle where everyone had a turn in talent-sharing. Rhodee lead off with lyrics. One of the guys blew beats in his hand making music with his mouth. Another one crooned like Luther. A girl picked up two spoons and drummed against the table edge. One after the other joined in. Before I knew it, I dropped that “shy girl” bit and cheered from the sideline like a hype man.
One of the girls had a camera dangling from her neck. She stood on benches and knelt on the ground taking pictures.
The talent-share made its way throughout the circle, eventually winding around to me. Without hesitation I bounced, twirked and dropped it, all according to however the beat drove me. During my time in the circle the energy was like gravity – no one could resist its pull. As a result, the circle grew tighter and tighter.
“What’s going on?”
“Yeah, what ya’ll lookin’ at?” they asked as they fought their way into the group.
Rhodee laughed. “Damn. Ya’ll gon’ make me start chargin’ a cover. At least you’ll get your money’s worth.”
Someone yelled from the crowd, “Show ‘em how to do it, Trek!” I looked in the direction of the male voice just in time to see Jay get hit in the stomach by Lena. She bawled his shirt in her fist and yanked him out the circle. Yet, no one seemed phased. They were too busy grooving with me, the show-stopper.
However, Ms. Ritchie, the vice-principal, was the show-terminator. When she arrived with her bullhorn, the crowd scattered. Like roaches in the dark, they all ran back to their corners when she came through masquerading as light. Everyone ran except for ‘the talent’. She circled around us looking each of us in the eye. She then stood in the center of the circle. She motioned with her pinky finger for us to come closer. The group gathered around her. “Listen to me and listen good,” she whispered. “Leave that ‘ghetto shit’ for street corner entertainment at your big mama’s house in the Third Ward, Fourth Ward or Fifth Ward. I don’t want you causing another commotion like the one we just experienced. Do I make myself clear?”
No one said anything. When she walked off she bumped into Rhodee, causing Rhodee to stumble backwards. Ms. Ritchie never looked around.
“I hate her,” one of the guys said as he helped Rhodee.
“She always wreck our flow,” said another one.
“We’re not even halfway through the first day of school and she’s already starting shit,” Rhodee said.
“I can’t believe she called us ‘ghetto’. I’ve never heard a principal cuss before,” I said.
Everyone eyeballed me like I’d just said water ain’t wet. Rhodee chuckled. “Get use to it.”
The bell dismissing us from lunch was about five minutes longer than the others. Since my next class was in the first room on the hall next to the cafeteria, I stood off to the side and people watched. I laughed to myself at the girls with ‘toothpick figures’ walking around with their chest and butts stuck out trying to show-off their frontal and rear “bumps”.
The plain, naked baby faces that got off the bus this morning were now ornate, fully-dressed little women, thanks to the one Maybelline velvet black liner they passed around the restroom for everyone to share before first period. “Pretenders and fakers,” I thought as they passed by me, all of them wearing the same style clothes, same hairstyles and speaking the same loud language.
“Kiss my ass!”
“Go to hell!”
Amongst the pack were a couple of world-shakers, as I called them, because they had a totally different swerve happening. Take Tina. Standing only about 5’4” or 5’5” like me, she still towered over everybody. I don’t know how she managed to get her two shoes to match because I swear she never looked down, only up. Even if she did ever look down, she’d have a hard time looking passed the mountains growing out of her chest. “Tig ol’ bitty Tina,” the boys mumbled as she got on our bus this morning and strolled down the aisle in search of the last available seat.
In the restroom before school started, everyone was rushing to take their turn with the Maybelline pencil. Tina walked in, her face completely made up. A space was immediately cleared for her at the mirror. She reached in her backpack and pulled out a Fashion Fair makeup pouch. She unzipped it, shuffled through her foundation and collection of blushes and eyeshadows, and removed her compressed powder and mascara. We all watched as she meticulously dipped the mascara stick in the slender, metallic gold container and carefully lengthened each lash.
To Tina’s left were three girls whispering to each other. One of them nodded her head to the group. She turned to Tina and asked, “Can we borrow your mascara?”
All eyes were on Tina, anxious to see if she’d help them diversify to two forms of makeup instead of the one dual-purpose Maybelline pencil they used for lining their eyes and lips. This could be their big break. If she agreed to share her mascara, maybe she’d also share her eye shadows, lip-liners and colored lip-glosses, too. Before they got too excited about the prospect, she dashed their little hopes with one slow head turn to the left, followed by a second one to the right.
Tina shared a locker with her boyfriend, Todd, the boy Rhodee was all over earlier. Whenever you saw them together, they were always holding hands or walking with their arms around each other. After he walks her to class, he always kisses her goodbye.
The school hallways were the perfect place to practice being grown.
My next class was English with Mrs. Smithers. “Good afternoon. Welcome to my world. I’m honored to share it with you. You’re privileged to be invited,” she greeted each student. As we walked past her, she gave us a soft pat and circular rub on the back. At barely 5’3”, her sandy-brown cropped cut fit her porcelain doll features to a tee. On the wall to my left, a banner read, “Today is a gift; that’s why it’s called the present.” The right wall read, “Destiny calls. Go to it!”
Right before the tardy bell rang, Jay walked in with two other boys. There were three open seats. He hurriedly grabbed the desk behind me. My stomach fluttered.
Mrs. Smithers opened the class by reading an excerpt from Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. After the reading, she laid down the laws. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is important we remain respectful of one another’s ideas and views if we collectively want to foster a productive learning environment. I also think it is important to have at least one other person to whom you are accountable for completing all assignments and just basically sharing with inside and outside my classroom. I pray the dialogue continues beyond these walls. I pray the reading material I’ve carefully selected for you this year sparks a revolution towards the love of books. Your first assignment is to dissect the title “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”. Tell me what do you believe to be the significance of that title. Talk to me about what you expect the story to be about, how you can or cannot relate to it and so on. I won’t require a certain format for this report, because I’m more interested in evaluating your critical thinking skills and your ability to express concise thoughts and present your arguments in writing. This assignment is due tomorrow.
“Now, I can either pair you off myself, or trust you’re mature enough to select an accountability partner on your own.”
Several bold voices yelled out, “We can do it on our own!”
One of those voices came from directly behind me. Afterwards, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, the voice whispered, “I pick you.”
Jay picked me, and my world couldn’t have been brighter.
Chapter Two
After school, I boarded the bus. Parked behind it was a sky blue Cutlass bassing loud music. As two girls walked by, the driver stuck his head out the window. His moustache was full and his chin was covered with bumps. He looked old in the face, yet he wore his baseball cap cocked to the side like the bruhs from my old neighborhood.
I sat up front next to Candace who was quiet on the bus, just like she was in homeroom. Right before the doors closed and the bus pulled off, Jay hopped on.
“Jay!” the voices from the back of the bus yelled. As he headed towards the back, he did a double-take in my direction. I pretended to scribble in my notebook, not looking up at him.
“There’s my boo,” he said as he passed Candace and me, walking to the back of the bus and joining Candyman and crew in the “Roll Call Boogie” chant.
“I say roll call boogie, check-check
I say roll call boogie, check-check
I say roll call boogie, check-check, say check…me out
My name is Candyman…what…
I’m superfine…what…
Just ask yo’ mama…’cause…
I blew her mind…check-check-check…
Roll call boogie, check-check…”
Forty-five minutes later, there were only four of us remaining to be dropped off – me, Candace, Candyman and Jay. I got off the bus, second to the last stop. As it pulled away from the curb, I looked back. Jay stuck his head out the window, smiling as the bus drove off.
When I turned back around to head down my street, I spotted the sky blue Cutlass in the cul-de-sac. By the time I changed clothes, finished my homework and went back outside to sit in my yard, the Cutlass crept back down my street blasting music. “Turn that shit down when you’re coming down our street, son!” shouted one of the men across the street hanging out with his buddies.
Eventually mama drove up from work. When she stepped out the car, she was dressed to the nine as usual. The men at the truck got quiet. She walked to the mailbox at the end of our driveway and waved to them. “Good evening.”
“Hey there, Ms. Ann. Did you earn your keep today?”
“Huh, I earned that plus some. Still, somehow it all shakes out the same on the 1st and 15th.” They all laughed hearty, too hearty, I thought. I walked close behind her to keep them from looking at her butt, just in case they were watching it.
I followed her into the house telling her about my first day.
“I told you the schools in Fort Bend are much better than the other districts. Tre, you are now in an environment with other people who place a priority on education.” I thought back to all the kids I saw grinding on each other behind the gym and the confrontation with the vice-principal calling us ‘ghetto’.
I didn’t say anything. I just listened quietly.
Afterwards, I went to my room to organize my calendar, pens, pencils and classroom binder. Someone knocked on the front door. A minute later, mama knocked on my bedroom door. “Tre, you have company.”
In walked Rhodee wearing a pink, too-short miniskirt with the matching top. Mama eyed Rhodee like she didn’t like what she saw. “Mama, I’d like you to meet my new friend Rhodee. She helped me find all my classes today,” I exaggerated.
Still looking suspicious, she said, “It’s nice to meet you, Rhodee. Thanks for helping Tre today.”
Once mama closed the door, Rhodee plopped down on my bed.
“Why are you organizing your stuff like you really plan on going to class or something? I’m telling you, Trek, you’ll be the only one sitting in the class – you and the teacher.”
“Fine with me. I like special attention,” I said.
Rhodee walked to my closet and opened the doors. She fumbled through my clothes. “Damn, Trek, are you planning to outgrow Osh Kosh B’Gosh any time soon? You’re too cute to be dressing like a little girl.” She found an outfit she liked. Holding it up to herself in front of the mirror, she said, “Let me borrow this one.”
Right then, mama walked in. “Where do you think you’re going with Tre’s clothes?”
“Mama, she was just comparing my size with hers.” I snatched the dress from Rhodee and put it back in the closet.
Mama left the room and Rhodee plopped back down on my bed. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. I used to.”
“Well, I’ma see if my man Big Mike has a friend he can hook you up with.”
“Big Mike?”
“Yeah, girl. And believe me, his name is well deserved. He is so sweet, Trek.” She closed her eyes and clutched my teddy bear to her chest. “He takes me to school everyday and picks me up every afternoon. We’ll stop and pick you up tomorrow morning, okay?”
“How old is this boy that he has a car already?” I asked.
“First of all, he’s not a boy. He’s a man.”
“Okay. Then what are you doing to or for a man old enough to own and drive a car?”
She grinned, but didn’t answer me. “We’ll be here at 7:15 AM.”
“I think I’d better ride the bus. My mama wouldn’t like me riding to school with some strange man.”
“We can wait ‘til yo’ mama goes to work. We’ll pick you up after she leaves. Then, I’ll be able to get the outfit, too.
Continue on to Chapters 3 & 4
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