Culture Clash (12 page)

“Jay, the sun is good for us. And you could use a little sun yourself, with your pale, ashy elbows sticking out for all to see,” I say to his back as he closes the security screen, which is the only thing separating us.

“Better to be ashy than dark,” Jay says, repeating thousands of years of self-hatred. Jay takes a seat at the dining room table on the other side of the screen and sifts through the mail like we all do. There’s very little privacy in this house.

“So you’re saying my mom and your grandfather would be better off ashy?” I don’t know why I’m even entertaining this fool this afternoon. But Mr. Adewale says we have to take the opportunity to educate whenever possible and my big cousin definitely needs it. I can’t believe he’s a senior in high school. He acts more immature than a sophomore. Speaking of which, my phone vibrates on my leg and Emilio’s name pops up on the screen. After today’s surprise kiss, I haven’t answered a single one of his ten calls.

“They were born that way,” he says matter-of-factly. “They can’t help being on the darker side. But you’re just tempting fate. What, are you trying to get darker so you can feel more black, Harriet Tubman?” I can’t believe how stupid my cousin can be at times.

“I’m surprised you know who she is.” Sometimes attending a black high school does have its perks, even if Compton High School’s mascot is a Tarbabe. I don’t know what to make of it, but Mama said that for years she and Daddy led a protest to change that when they first moved here. They eventually gave up, since they were the only ones who really cared about the racist implication of the word.

“There’s a lot I know. You should take notes,” Jay says, leaving the dining room to go shit, shower, and shave—his usual evening routine. Even with eight people living here, we all try to honor each other’s bathroom time. Why my grandparents never built a second bathroom onto the house is beyond me. But when things get really bad, me and Mama use the half-bath in the backhouse. There’s no shower, but it takes care of everything else. When the sun sets, I’ll head to the spirit room and finish my work back there. The faster I get done the quicker I can go to sleep.

Even with all of the work I had to do this week I reread portions of the novel I borrowed from Ms. Toni since she was missing in action. It’s Friday and I don’t want to go another weekend holding on to her book or I’m liable to never give it back. I don’t like keeping other people’s things for too long, but every time I went to her office she was out. I’m sure she’s extra busy, with the festival right around the corner. And now that she’s one of the advisers for the African Student Union, I’m sure she’s busy trying to get the club legitimized so that we can participate in the festivities, too.

Once I started reading
Voodoo Dreams
I couldn’t put it down. I’ve never read a book like that before. It’s strange reading a fictitious account of my lineage, especially the sections where the characters were dreaming and one ancestor took over the other’s body. But it’s always interesting to see how other people see the religion and the priestesses within it. Unlike this author’s account, Mama sticks to the African side of our heritage, completely eliminating the use of European saints in place of our orishas. And I’m glad for it because I—like Mama—don’t see the need for masking our true selves.

“Hey, Ms. Toni,” I say, knocking on her office door before entering the cozy space. The soothing sound of Miles Davis floats through the computer speakers on her desk, welcoming me into her space. I’m glad I finally caught her.

“Miss Jackson. It’s nice to see you this morning,” she says, standing up behind her desk and reaching over to hug me. As I embrace her thin, tall frame, I swear Ms. Toni’s lost weight since I last saw her, which was only a week ago. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she got a hold of that pipe. But I know she’s too smart for that kind of bull.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Toni? Are these people up here working you too hard?” I look into her sad brown eyes and can tell she’s losing sleep at night, just like Mama does when she’s overworked. Between caring for her two young daughters and mourning her slain husband who was killed in an accident years ago, I know Ms. Toni doesn’t get much rest. I wish there was something I could do to help her. For now I will keep her in my prayers.

“Oh, girl, I’m just fine. How are you?” She sits back down at her desk and wraps the cashmere shawl around her body. The cream colored fabric looks radiant against her chocolate skin.

“I’m good,” I say, taking the thick novel out of my backpack and passing it to her. “Thank you for the great read. It was definitely captivating.” Ms. Toni takes the book from me and smiles.

“I thought you might like it.” What else did Mr. A tell her about me? “Anytime you want to borrow a book you know you’re more than welcome.”

“I’ll have to take you up on that more often. I’ve been slipping on my pleasure reading this year.” I miss checking books out from her personal library. But she never shared these types of texts with me before. I’m curious to know what Mr. Adewale has shared with her about my lineage. The next time I have a minute alone with Mr. A, he’s getting grilled.

“Well, I have a feeling this was more than a pleasure read for you, Miss Jayd.” I look at her smiling back at me, and know she knows more than I’ve ever shared with her.

“Yes, it was.” Unsure of what to say next, I quietly eye the books on the tall shelf next to her desk. I see many titles of interest, but will wait until another time for my next borrowed item.

“You know, I don’t know everything about what you and Mr. Adewale share, but I know enough to believe you when you say there’s nothing inappropriate going on,” Ms. Toni says, breaking the silence.

“And I hope you know me well enough to know I would never betray your trust,” I say.

“Trust is mutual, Jayd. Next time give me a little more faith, okay?” The bell rings for third period and our conversation is unfortunately cut short. Lord knows I’d rather stay in here with Ms. Toni than go to government class with Mrs. Peterson, any day.

“Okay, Ms. Toni. And that goes for you, too. If you have any questions from now on I’ll answer them to the best of my ability.” I can’t tell her everything, but I’ll do my best to disclose any pertinent information without lying. I give her a hug and head out of the ASB room and into the main hall. Nellie and Mickey are waiting at my locker. I hope they weren’t waiting there for long.

“What’s up with y’all?” I ask, approaching my girls. I only have a minute or two to catch up. Chance and I are rehearsing at lunch and can’t afford any interruptions, which also means nosy significant others can’t watch us. I hope Nellie’s not pissed about it and here to tell me off in her own bougie way.

“What’s up is my baby shower,” Mickey says. Is she serious? We all have to be in class now, and she’s worried about a party? This girl really needs to get her priorities straight.

“Yes, and it’s going to be fabulous,” Nellie says with stars in her eyes. Party planning is her thing. I guess that’s why she’s so attracted to ASB. That and the fact she gets to hang out with the rich kids.

“I’m not talking about this now. I have to get to class,” I say, speeding up ahead of them.

“Can you meet up this weekend and talk about the shower? We really need to get started on the guest list,” Nellie yells after me. Mickey’s too busy wolfing down her box of Lemonheads to speak up.

“I don’t know. I have to work all weekend, both at the shop and at home. But I’ll see if I can,” I yell back.

“What about tonight? Chance and Nigel are playing ball at the courts by Nigel’s house. We can chat while the boys play.” I can see Nellie’s not letting me out of this one. My girls are persistent when it comes to what they want. And if Mickey wants a shower and Nellie wants to throw it, it will be done. And I, as a loyal friend, will no doubt be dragged into it somehow. All I’m worried about right now is making it through the rest of the day. If I have to agree to give up my free night, so be it.

“Fine, I’ll see y’all later.” Damn, now can I get to class? On my way down the history hall I feel someone on my tail. Maybe it’s Jeremy, also on his way to class. He’d better not come too close to me after the way he treated me yesterday. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he needs to check himself, acting like my daddy and judge all wrapped up in one.

“Hi, Jayd,” Emilio says, catching up to me. What the hell does he want now?

“What’s happening?” I say without slowing down. The bell should ring any minute and I can’t be late. Emilio reaches his hand out to grab mine, but I shy away from his touch.

“I called you. Did you get my messages?” he says, forcing me to stop and deal with him face-to-face. I don’t want to be mean, but it seems like that’s the only language he’ll understand.

“Emilio, I didn’t call you back because I was busy,” I say. I don’t have time to go off on him, nor do I want that kind of attention.

“I know, my sweet. But I still love you,” he says, only half joking. Why is this dude feeling me so strongly? I look over Emilio’s shoulder to see Jeremy heading this way. I hope he doesn’t make another scene like he did on Wednesday.

“Emilio, my love life is complicated and I can’t deal with anything new right now. You understand, don’t you?” His gorgeous smile quickly morphs into a scowl. Jeremy’s almost here and the bell’s ringing above our heads, indicating it’s time to end this conversation. I glance inside the classroom and notice Mrs. Peterson’s not at her desk. The other students wander in and out of the room, taking advantage of the teacher’s tardiness. Luckily I won’t be marked tardy, but I’d rather be sitting at my desk than outside dealing with this crap.

“I should’ve known better than to fall for another Oshune girl,” Emilio says in a low voice. Who the hell is he getting mad at? After he kissed me without my permission and talked shit about my culture, I should be the one pissed off, not him.

“Hey, I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me, and I didn’t want it to happen.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Emilio says, his voice getting louder the more red he turns. “That Jeremy was right. You are a tease, just like all Oshune women are.
Mi abuelita
was right, as usual.” Emilio and his damned grandmother. Does she walk on water or something?

“First of all, Jeremy and I are friends, and if he wants to go off on me I can accept it. You, on the other hand, don’t know shit about me or the women in my lineage, so you need to shut the hell up about it,” I say, getting loud right along with him. I know Jeremy heard us both, and by the way he’s charging toward our classroom, one of us is about to catch his wrath.

“Is there a problem here?” Jeremy asks, looking from me to Emilio, unsure of whose side to take this time. I’m glad he’s taking a minute to get his facts straight before pointing his finger.

“No, there’s no problem. It’s all my fault,” Emilio says, finally backing off and going to his own class. Jeremy looks at Emilio walk away and then back down at me. I see both remorse and anger in his eyes.

“Unnecessary drama, Jayd. That’s what you attract,” he says before heading into the classroom. Mrs. Peterson also approaches the room from the opposite end of the hall where Emilio’s walking. However unfair his words are, Jeremy may have a point. I do seem to attract drama like bees to honey. But this was definitely not my fault. Maybe my girls will be able to help me see my way through this mess when we meet up later tonight.

It’s been too long since I’ve hung out with my crew on a Friday night and it’s a nice evening to walk through Nigel’s hood, even if the boys did drive to the basketball court only a few blocks away. Netta gave me tonight off and I graciously accepted the time, even though I am going to miss the money. Hopefully I’ll make it up tomorrow. I’m working a ten-hour shift at the shop and I have a few clients lined up in the evening, not to mention the customers I have scheduled for Sunday. It’s nice to have an hourly gig, but there’s nothing like having a tight side hustle, too.

Chance, Nigel, and Rah are waiting for the court to clear before they can start their game when Mickey, Nelly and I arrive. Nigel thinks he’s slick, asking Rah to ball after he found out I was tagging along with my girls. I don’t have anything to say to Rah and I hope they both know how serious I am. I need to get rid of some of this heat in my head. Chance and Jeremy both say driving helps them to cool off. Maybe I should try it out for myself. My mom’s car is not soothing at all. But one of my friend’s cars will do the trick, and Chance’s happens to be the closest to where we’re posted up. Nellie and Mickey make themselves comfortable on one of the courtside benches while I talk to my boy.

“Can I drive your car?” I ask Chance. He continues revving the engine and with each press on the gas my blood accelerates, too. Something about the sound of him gunning the engine gets me excited.

“Sure, why not?” Chance scoots over to the passenger side and lets me get behind the wheel. Nellie and Mickey are heavily engrossed in baby books, ignoring us completely. I reach down to my left and pull the seat lever to bring myself closer to the foot pedals. At first, I’m shy about pressing on the gas like the owner did. But when I touch my sandals ever-so-slightly to the gas pedal, the rush in my veins forces me to press harder. Nigel and Rah look from the court sidelines at me behind the wheel and shake their heads, smiling at the sight. Where’s an outside mirror when a sistah needs one?

“Easy, girl,” Chance says, patting my hand and smiling at my obvious excitement. Mickey and Nellie look up from their book, also shaking their heads. This is so much better than picking out hundreds of baby items for Mickey’s registry. “Let’s take it slow at first and work our way up to the big time, okay?” I put my foot on the brake and ease the automatic transmission out of park. We move slowly at first, admiring the smoothness of the Chevy Nova. The people on the streets look at us as we ride by, eyeing the girl behind the wheel. It feels good, driving in style for a change.

“Okay, let me see what you can do.” I catch a glimpse of our reflection in one of the store windows as we cruise down Crenshaw Boulevard. I like what I see and so do the people on the streets. Chance flips a switch and I feel the car’s force change. It’s like the switch gave it an extra boost or something.