Читать книгу Drama High: Pushin' - L. Divine - Страница 11

“If I was a rich girl.”

—GWEN STEFANI

After working at Netta’s shop all afternoon and well into the evening, I was too tired to move when I got back to Inglewood. Of course Mama tried to convince me to spend the night in Compton because it was so late when we left the shop, but all I wanted to do was soak in a long, hot bath and call it a night. My mom’s quiet apartment is always the path of least resistance, even with all of the spirit work and homework I have on my plate, because my mom’s always at her boyfriend Karl’s place.

I spent an hour last night getting myself organized for the week ahead and finally took a bath and called it a night. I’m praying that I make it through to the end of the school year as drama-free as possible. I know I just have to keep pushing and it’ll be all right. Unlike these rich folks up here at South Bay High, I have to work hard for mine and I don’t mind one bit. I’m used to it. If one of these privileged rich girls had to live a day in my shoes, she’d probably break down and cry.

I don’t know why Mr. Adelizi wants to see me this morning. I’ve been on my game academically all year long—as always—and I’m sure he’s well aware of my Advanced Placement exams being complete. It’s too early to choose classes for my senior year, so what the hell does he want? Maybe the scores for the AP exams are in early. I’m anxious to see what I got on all three of my exams, but they’re not due for another week or two.

I walk through the nearly empty main hall toward the main office, thankful to have escaped government class for the remainder of third period. My first two classes were pretty uneventful, and Jeremy and I spent the nutrition break together avoiding the looming conversation about Rah’s impromptu school visit yesterday and belated birthday gift still hanging around my neck. Usually Jeremy’s pretty laid-back about everything, but seeing me with another dude always gets his feathers ruffled. I could tell he needed to cool off before bringing the subject up again and I’m happy to wait as long as possible to have that conversation.

I step into the main office and head straight for the counselors’ offices. There are five counselors on campus: one for each grade level and an extra one for “special circumstances.” Luckily I haven’t been in that office at all this semester and I’m trying hard to keep it that way. But broads like Misty, my former best friend turned worst enemy, and Laura, the rich white bitch from hell, make it difficult to maintain my cool. Hopefully I won’t run into Misty or her mama this morning. She works in the attendance office. I’ve never had a problem with Miss Caldwell, but now that she’s under the influence of my crazy next-door neighbor and Mama’s enemy, Esmeralda, I don’t want to take any chances.

“Miss Jackson, it’s good to see you. Have a seat,” Mr. Adelizi, the junior class counselor, says, gesturing for me to sit down in the only available seat in the cramped space. I guess the end-of-the-year paperwork has overwhelmed him a bit because the other student seat is stacked with folders and so is every other available space in his office, including his desk. Even his chair has a bag hanging from the arm with overflowing pages hitting his left elbow. Don’t they have housekeeping every evening in the main office?

“What’s up, Mr. Adelizi?” I ask, trying to avoid as much small talk as possible. Coming to the counselor’s office is always uncomfortable to me. It usually symbolizes some sort of change, and if it’s not voluntary or positive, I’m really not in the mood to deal with it.

“Well, Jayd, I’ve been reviewing your transcripts and you should think about adding more diverse activities to your academic resume if you’re still planning on applying to colleges in the fall,” he says, pointing at the computer screen in front of him. If I add any more activities to my already full schedule I might go crazy.

“Mr. Adelizi, if you see what I see, I already have a full plate,” I say, squinting at the screen. Lately my vision hasn’t been very clear. Maybe I just need more rest. I have been up reading late and my mom’s apartment doesn’t have the best lighting for studying, since most of her light consists of low lamps and candles. It’s a great atmosphere for relaxing but horrible for getting any work done.

That’s because it’s a grown woman’s apartment, not a high school student’s, my mom says, all up in my business this morning. And stop complaining. If you need more light, buy yourself a desk lamp or brighter bulbs. There’s a Target up the street.

I wasn’t complaining, Mom, and please get out of my head. I’m in a meeting with my counselor, I say, staring at Mr. Adelizi, who’s concentrating on my transcripts. Thank God, because I still haven’t mastered hiding the distant look on my face when my mom’s in my head; yet another thing I need to work on.

“Well, how about cheer?” he asks, handing me one of the fluorescent pink fliers posted all over the campus and ending the psychic conversation in my head. I look at the bright pink and green paper, grateful I don’t have to hand these out. I’m getting a headache just reading the damn thing.

“Come again?” He must not know me at all, no matter how much he pretends to be in tune with his students. Obviously he’s been gravely misinformed about Jayd Jackson.

“Weren’t you on the spirit squad last year?” Mr. Adelizi asks, reminding me of my brief attempt at joining the lesser of the school spirit teams. That was at the beginning of my sophomore year, before I had my breast reduction surgery, which changed more than my appearance: It also gave me more confidence and a new outlook on my social life.

“I was, but only for a few weeks. It wasn’t my thing.” I can still smell the sweat of a thousand other students who wore the school mascot costume before me, which the members rotated wearing every week. It’s one thing to do it every now and then for fun, but to have to wear the large, two-piece sea-hawk costume for three hours straight is pure torture.

“But you were in dance class for the last two semesters and that seemed to work well for you, or does Ms. Carter simply hand out A’s to all of the students?” Mr. Adelizi can be a real smart-ass when he wants to.

“No, I earned that grade.” And I did. Ms. Carter’s a tough teacher and I miss the creative and physical workouts her classes gave me. I’ve noticed my pants getting a little tighter around the waist since her class was discontinued last semester, and Jeremy constantly feeding me isn’t helping the situation much, either. Now she’s the full-time cheer squad coordinator. But I’m still not going to be a pom-pom girl.

“Okay then. Sign-ups start today after school,” Mr. Adelizi continues, still not feeling me.

“Mr. Adelizi, I’m already in the drama club, speech and debate, and the African Student Union, not to mention I work two jobs. I don’t have time for anything else, but thanks for your concern,” I say, rising from my seat. But apparently he’s not through with me yet.

“Miss Jackson, I remember the first time we spoke about your attending college and I was less than supportive, and for that, I’m sorry,” Mr. Adelizi says, signaling me to reclaim my seat. I’m in no rush to get back to government class, so I’ll gladly stay until the bell rings. After that, I’m out whether he’s in midsentence or not.

“It’s cool,” I say. I was over that shit the day it happened. When I first came to South Bay High, with its rich, white population, I knew where I was and didn’t expect anything more or less from the administration up here. And unfortunately, Mr. Adelizi was partially correct to jump to the conclusion that I might not want to attend college. Out of my hood crew, I’m the only one who wants to attend college. Nigel’s automatically going, but sports are his motivation, not academics or upward social mobility, because his parents are already doing well financially. Rah will probably go, but if he doesn’t get in it won’t be a big deal to him. And as for my girls, they never even considered going to school any longer than they have to.

“No, it’s not. I made an assumption about you based on your economic background and that wasn’t fair.” Mr. Adelizi looks truly repentant for his racist ways, but why now? There has to be a catch.

“To be honest, I’m used to it. It shocks me more when people don’t size me up when they find out I’m from Compton.” We stare at each other for a moment, unsure of who should speak next. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting such a blunt response, but again, he doesn’t know me at all.

“Excuse me, Mr. Adelizi. There’s a call for you on line two,” one of the school secretaries says, stepping into the open door and breaking the awkward silence.

“Can you please tell them I’ll be just a moment?” Mr. Adelizi looks at my transcripts on the computer screen in front of him and back at me. “Jayd, I’m impressed with your tenacity. You’ve kept up with your Advanced Placement courses and you continue to stay active in drama, but that’s not going to be enough to make you stand out as a well-rounded candidate for the top colleges, which I hope you’re still considering applying to come fall.” Mr. Adelizi looks down at the blinking phone on his crowded desk and back up at me, hoping his words have sunk in.

“Trust me, it’s all I think about.” The sooner I get out of high school, the better. And from what I heard KJ’s older friends say about college life when KJ and I were together, and from what Mr. Adewale’s shared about his experiences, University of West Los Angeles is the place to be, and that’s where I plan on going. I’ve never been to the campus, but I’m sure it’s all that and then some.

“That’s good to hear. There are many colleges that are looking to broaden the diversity of their student population. That said, they are looking for top candidates from the local distinguished high schools first. Now, I have placed your name on that list for South Bay and hope you’re open to the program.”

“It sounds like a good opportunity, Mr. Adelizi. Thank you,” I say, surprised that I was called into his office for good news rather than the usual bull.

“But there’s a catch,” Mr. Adelizi says, cocking his pale chin forward with a stern look of caution. I knew there was more to it. He almost got me off my game, but not completely. “Your records have a few minor negatives that need to be balanced out. I suggest you either join a sport or cheer. Either will show you can be a team player and that’s an important character trait. That little temper of yours can be played down if your activities are more varied.”

“I’ll think about joining another club or something, but truthfully, cheerleading isn’t my cup of tea.” The bell signaling the end of third period rings and that’s my cue to roll out. I don’t want to be late for Mr. Adewale’s class, even though we have a quiz in speech and debate this afternoon. It’s always a pleasure to see him.

“But how will you know until you try?” Was this dude listening to the conversation I had with myself yesterday about trying out for Susy, the lead role in the spring play? Could Mr. Adelizi actually be on to something with cheer? “Think outside the box, Jayd. That’s what colleges look for in serious candidates.” Mr. Adelizi takes the call and leaves me to mull over my options.

Is my future here already? College always felt so far away from high school, but my senior year is around the corner. I’ll be out on my own soon and I want to have the best options available to me. Wait until my crew finds out that I, Jayd Jackson, Miss “I hate all things ASB, athletes and cheerleaders” is thinking of joining the enemy. I’ll really be coined a traitor then.

The quiz in fourth period took up the majority of class time, leaving my crew and me no time to chat. It’s a hot, sunny day and everyone’s outside eating. So far, Nellie has dominated the lunch conversation, sharing all the vivid details of her first Lamaze class with Mickey and Nigel. They’re required to have a backup labor partner for Mickey just in case the father’s not there, and Nellie jumped at the chance to take control of another aspect of Mickey’s pregnancy. If I can get a word in edgewise, I can lay out the news about pom-poms in my future for everyone to laugh at. Maybe they’ll even talk me out of it. It’s a silly idea, me a cheerleader in the short skirts and tight sweaters, screaming Go, team, go! in front of a crowd. No, not me. It may be fun sometimes, but I can’t imagine becoming one of them.

Nellie takes a break from her chattering about the latest breathing techniques to ease labor pains to take a sip of her Diet Coke, finally allowing me the chance to share my news.

“I’m thinking about trying out for cheer,” I say in between Doritos. Chance, Jeremy, and Nigel all look as shell-shocked as I feel for even considering it.

“Shut up,” Nellie says, overexcited. “Me too! Finally, one of you is getting involved in the right kind of extracurricular activities. The drama club is so strange,” Nellie says, primping in her MAC compact mirror. I guess she needs to be perfect for her Associated Student Body meeting in a few minutes. It’s the last six weeks of school and ASB is in over-drive trying to raise money for prom and the rest of the end-of-the-year activities, including the cheer tryouts next week.

“I didn’t know ASB members had to try out for their own activities,” I say, confused about the process. I’ve never wanted to be a cheerleader, but since dance class is over it might be fun to show off my dance skills in another way. I do miss making up routines. Weight lifting is cool but boring. If I make cheer, that will be my PE for next year and that sounds good to me.

“Of course we do. And besides, I know I’ll make it whether I’m an Associated Student Body member or not,” Nellie says like she’s an officer of the group. Nellie won Homecoming princess for the junior class—not an actual election—making her an honorary member for the rest of the year. If Nellie doesn’t find another way into ASB’s tight-knit social and political circle, she’ll be out. Speaking of which, we’re voting for ASU officers soon and I need to make sure my speech as a candidate for president is on point. Even my haters will find it difficult to ignore the truth. I just hope they vote for it, too.

“Hey, y’all want to come by after school and kick it for a while? We haven’t had a good session in a while,” Nigel asks, looking at all of us. He’s in an unusually good mood and I didn’t even have to cool him off. What gives?

“Okay, what did I miss?” I ask, completely shocked by the mellow mood everyone’s in. The last time I checked, Nigel was still in shock over Mickey finally admitting the baby she’s carrying is Tre’s, and Nellie and Mickey couldn’t stand my ass because their boyfriends’ mamas happen to like me, but I was able to calm them down. I didn’t have anything to do with Nigel’s newfound cool. Maybe because Tre, a gangster from our hood, saved Nigel from getting shot by Mickey’s ex-man, he can live with his girl having Tre’s baby.

“Nothing,” Mickey says, kissing her man’s cheek like they’re back in love. Whatever the case, I’m just glad they’re back on point. I know my goddaughter is happy in Mickey’s belly, too. She looks like she’s going to make her appearance sooner than later. Her parents need to get with the program, and it seems like they finally have.

“Yeah, it’s all good, Jayd. Chance, you down?” Nigel asks, getting the tally from everyone for the spontaneous after-school session. I wonder if Jeremy’s invited even if Rah shows up, which is quite probable.

“Yeah, man. Why not?” Chance says, kissing Nellie before she walks off toward the main hall. I know he’s thinking the same thing most of us are: Where’s the real Nellie, and who is this imposter who took over her head? Nellie had the most beautiful jet-black hair, and now the blonde has completely taken over.

“I can’t. Got surf practice. That reminds me, our competition is next Saturday. Hope you guys can make it,” Jeremy says, smiling down at me. I still can’t believe there’s such a thing as a surf competition, but I’m there to support my man.

“Cool, man. I got you,” Chance says with a strange pitch in his voice, like he’s trying to change the way he speaks. Something’s up with my friend and I can feel he wants to talk about it. I’ll have to check on Chance when we get a minute alone, which is rare. But I can still call him and chat if I have to. There goes the bell. Lunch always seems to go by fast, but it’s especially quick this afternoon because of the short Tuesdays for the weekly faculty meetings.

“All right, y’all. My house after school it is. Jayd, after work, girl. Promise you’ll come kick it with your peeps,” Nigel says, making me feel loved. How can I say no to an invitation like that, even if a sistah’s going to be wiped out after getting off work at Netta’s this evening? But a girl needs to chill, too.

“Bet. I’ll see y’all later,” I say, shaking the grass off my jeans before grabbing my backpack and heading down the hill to drama class. I’d much rather eat pizza and watch movies with my friends than sign up for cheer this afternoon. Luckily, it’s Mama’s solo hair day at the shop when Netta does only Mama’s hair, and there won’t be any other clients to take care of, making my job easier this afternoon. A kick-it session with the crew is just what I need to ease up on planning my future and enjoy my present.

I missed talking to Jeremy this afternoon because I was so busy at Netta’s. As soon as I arrived, Mama and Netta had a grip of laundry for me to do, as well as other tedious tasks resulting from the aftermath of their initiations this past weekend. I’ve never seen so many white clothes and other fabrics. I was so glad to get out of there for the night. It’s almost eight and Nigel has assured me there’s still plenty of Domino’s pizza and breadsticks left over. I’m grateful because I’m starving.

I pull into Nigel’s gated community off Crenshaw Boulevard, instantly aware I’m turning into the money side of South Central, the local hood. It’s funny how just on the other side of this fancy brick and iron gate there are homeless people, and three families living in one house they’re so strapped for cash. Driving into Lafayette Square is like going back in time to where families were supposedly picture-perfect, like the two- and three-story refurbished homes they live in. I park in front of Nigel’s picturesque home, ready to get my grub on and watch Gladiator in high definition for the fiftieth time.

Walking up the driveway I can see Mickey, Nigel, and Mrs. Esop, Nigel’s mom, in the foyer through the screen door, and it doesn’t look pretty. I hope whatever’s going on doesn’t come between dinner and me.

I knock twice before entering, knowing it’s already unlocked for me. I just want to warn everyone I’m coming through the door in case they want to censor their conversation and let a sistah pass by in peace.

“Yes, I am well aware of the true paternity of the child in question,” Mrs. Esop says, looking at Mickey like she took a shit on the shiny hardwood floors. So much for me getting straight to the food. I wave to everyone, noticing Nellie and Chance in the living room witnessing the exchange I just walked in the middle of.

“Okay then, so stop tripping, Mom. Please.” Nigel looks from Mickey’s stomach to his mother’s eyes and she softens her glare. “Tre took a bullet for me. If it weren’t for him, I might not be here right now. The least I can do is raise his seed like it’s my own, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Nigel grabs Mickey around the waist, unable to fully fasten his fingers around her, but he’s made his point. Nigel’s not letting go now or ever, and that’s good news to us all, except for Mrs. Esop.

“Nigel, I am grateful for the boy saving your life, but we don’t owe her or that thug’s child a damn thing.” Mrs. Esop is no joke. “Now, this discussion is over. There will be no babies or baby-mamas in this house or their mother’s.” Mickey looks at Nigel, horrified by his mother’s stance. Mickey was counting on Nigel being her ticket out of the hood and her parents’ full house. I hate to lay it on my girl, but her plan was never a sure thing. I hope she’s got a back-up arrangement because if not, she and her baby will be sleeping in her parents’ living room.

“Mom, I’m not letting this go,” Nigel says to his mother, who’s halfway up the first flight of stairs. Her and her husband’s suite is on the third floor of the massive home. There’s plenty of room, none of which Mrs. Esop’s willing to share with Mickey, no matter what her son says.

Looking back at us and smiling at her son’s vehemence, Mrs. Esop looks at me as if her son didn’t say a word.

“Jayd, I’ll see you at the tea on Sunday. And please dress appropriately. It’s customary for our debutantes to dress as the young ladies they are becoming,” she says, looking from me to Mickey and then walking up the remaining stairs. Mrs. Esop’s so serious about her shit. I’m actually starting to admire her no-nonsense swagger. If nothing else, Mrs. Esop’s consistent about what she’s about and what she’s not. I could learn a lot from that kind of thinking. But Mickey’s not feeling Nigel’s mama at all, or the fact that Mrs. Esop obviously favors me over her.

“You’re such an ass kissing little heffa, you know that?” Mickey says to me as if I went after Mrs. Esop on my own accord, forgetting whose idea it was for me to suck up to Nigel’s mom in the first place.

“Mickey, I’m not having this argument with you again,” I say, walking into the living room and putting my purse on the couch. Mickey and Nigel follow me into the large space, standing near the couch across from the television screen. “The whole reason I agreed to be in the cotillion was to get Mrs. Esop to come to your baby shower, which she did. Don’t shoot the messenger, Mickey. I did my job.” I walk toward the kitchen through the formal dining area to wash my hands before eating. Mickey follows me, ready to unleash all her anger for Mrs. Esop on me because I’m an easy target. I don’t care what she says, as long as I get my food.

“Jayd, you’re supposed to help me, not get in bed with my enemy,” Mickey says. If I had the time I’d tell her how silly her point of view is on so many different levels, but I can’t deal with her reasoning tonight.

“I’m not getting in bed with anyone, Mickey. But I am getting tired of always being the bad one. Can I eat and watch the movie now, or do you want to keep blaming me for your beef with Nigel’s mom?” Mickey looks at me walking out of the kitchen without waiting for her answer. She knows she’s out of line. Scratching her growing belly, Mickey walks back into the living room and claims her space next to her man on the couch. I sit in one of the two oversized chairs across from the loveseat Chance and Nellie are sharing, ready to relax, when I notice Rah’s missing. I’m not even going to ask where he is if no one’s offering to tell me. Like Mickey, Rah needs to grow up and deal with the real. Until they do, I have to keep my friends at arm’s length because I’m ready to spread my wings and fly, right after I eat a couple of slices and chill out for the rest of the evening.