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Authors: Kia DuPree

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BOOK: Damaged
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“Yeah, but…”

“But what? But nothing! He’s a cutie!” she said, rolling over on her bed and kicking her feet up to tap the bottom of the
mattress on top of her.

“How long you been here?” I asked.

“Since the beginning of last school year,” she said. Her mood changed and she sat up. “I came after our house caught on fire.
We all got split up—my mother, my sister, and my little brother.”

“Oh.”

“I see my mother sometimes, but she live in a shelter, and she don’t want me living with her.”

I turned back to my magazine. I hoped she wasn’t gonna ask about me, cuz I ain’t wanna talk about it.

“What about you?”

I thought about telling her a lie, that my mother was in the army and that she got killed overseas or that we had a house
fire, too, but the words ain’t come out. So I told her half of the story. “I used to live with my grandmother, but she died
last year.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said touching my knee. “I know you miss her.”

I nodded, surprised by the tears in my eyes. I blinked and one dropped. My grandmother was the only person who knew everything
about me. The way I felt inside and how I felt about Mama. She was the only person I told when I saw Mama sucking smoke from
out of a pipe in the bathroom and when her ex-boyfriend Tony smacked her three times in the living room. She was the one I
told about Lil’ Damien teasing me about my boney legs, and how he called them crooked and retarded looking. I never told her
that I caught him by the big trash can beside the building and beat him up, even though he was bigger than me.

I loved Nana so much. She used to say, “God is in the rain, don’t be afraid,” every time a thunderstorm scared me into her
lap. The words always made me feel better, cuz Nana never lied. When she could only get around the house in her wheelchair,
I was the only person who she asked to get her medicine. Mama always fussed about doing stuff for Nana. “Mama, why you always
calling my name?” she used to yell. “I get so sick of hearing you yelling ‘Shelly’ all over the damn house like I’ma slave
or something.”

But Nana wasn’t the only person I missed. I missed my old neighborhood on Stanton Road, I missed the hills and the buses and
going to Wilkerson with my friends. Sometimes, I missed Mama, too. Even though she sometimes acted like I got on her nerves
and that she wished she never had me. Sometimes she let me lay my head in her lap and she would brush my hair, or sometimes
she would even braid it up with zig-zags like everybody else wore them at school. Sometimes Mama pushed me away from her.
She said I wanted to be a baby, even though I was a big girl. “You always up under me,” she used to say. But I wanted to be
up under her. Her skin used to smell like vanilla and cocoa butter until after I started seeing her staying in the bathroom
all the time. Then I noticed her skin ain’t smell like that no more and I ain’t care no more that she ain’t want me up under
her, either. Nana let me cuddle up to her whenever I felt like it, and she always smelled like cakes and pies. So that was
good, too.

“Well, don’t feel so sad,” Danica said, looking me in my eyes. “You got me now. I’ll be your best friend.”

I wiped my face and smiled.

M
y first week with the Brinkleys turned out to be okay. They told me I had to help with some of the chores. The bathroom was
my responsibility, and I always had to clean the stovetop after dinner. I ain’t care. I helped with chores at Nana’s and even
at my last foster house. I always used to help Nana in the kitchen. She even let me help her make pancakes once. It was so
easy.

The brothers spent most of the day teasing Danica and me. I walked in the room once just when Ja’qui was about to kiss her,
but when he saw me, he walked out the room. He was fifteen, and I just couldn’t believe that she and him was messing around.

“Girl, you gonna get in trouble,” I whispered after he left.

“Not if you don’t tell,” she said, smiling.

“But what if I was Mrs. Brinkley? She would’ve seen y’all!”

“That lady walks around here sleepwalking. I’m not worried about her. All she wants is for me to call her Mama and help her
do the damn dishes. I ain’t thinking about her.”

I ain’t know what Danica meant by that, but I started paying more attention to Mrs. Brinkley whenever we was in the same room.
She spent most of her time cleaning this and wiping down that, spraying bleach or Windex, or reading her Bible. Besides seeming
nervous all the time, I can’t say that Mrs. Brinkley was sleepwalking. I thought she noticed every single thing that happened
under her roof, even like whenever somebody moved the seasonings around in the cabinets.

One day I was in the living room watching TV when Mr. Brinkley walked in from work. He had hands so big that looked like they
could pull trees up from the roots. Danica told me he used to play football for a minor league before he messed up his back,
and that’s why he wanted Jamal, Ja’qui, and Jayson to play so bad. But now Mr. Brinkley worked at an insurance company out
in Maryland and spent most of his time trying to coach from the bleachers with the rest of the fathers who wished they could
still play.

Mrs. Brinkley seemed nervous as usual when he walked in and she headed straight to the kitchen. I can’t figure her out yet,
but she never said nothing unless she was saying something about the Bible or church or chores. I can hear her opening and
slamming cabinets shut and metal pots clanging together.

“How you doing, young lady?” he asked me as he stood in the hallway with his hand lying on his stomach, holding his work bag
with the other.

“Good,” I said before turning back to the TV.

“You don’t have any homework?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t have no homework.”

“Sir?”

“Sir?” I asked, confused.

“Yes, in this house, you call me sir, and Mrs. Brinkley ma’am.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Is there something wrong with your eyes?” he asked as he leaned forward, his forehead crinkling up into lines.

I shook my head.

“Is that supposed to be an answer, young lady?” Mr. Brinkley asked.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, sir?”

“That’s it.”

I sat staring at the TV, but I wanted to get up and leave. His presence made me feel funny, like I was doing something wrong
by just breathing. I ain’t like Mr. Brinkley, and it was clear that Mrs. Brinkley had issues with him, too. I tried to breathe
soft whenever he was in the room.

A few weeks later, I woke up in the middle of the night because I heard strange sounds coming from Danica’s bed. I rolled
over and looked down, straining my eyes to see, since it was so dark. But even in the pitch-black room, I can see a large
figure sitting on her bed. I covered my mouth with my hand, to keep me from making any noise, and then I listened close. I
can tell Danica wasn’t screaming, either. She was moaning, and I can hear another voice whispering something I can’t understand.

I rolled over on my back and stared at the ceiling. I ain’t know what to do. I closed my eyes real tight when I heard the
person standing up and the shrill sound of his zipper closing. I ain’t wanna hear. I ain’t wanna know. I ain’t wanna see,
but my eyes opened just as Mr. Brinkley closed the door.

I stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours listening to cars driving down the street. I must’ve finally fell asleep,
cuz Danica pushed me awake the next morning yelling, “Get up, girl! You overslept! We goin’ be late!”

“Huh?” I said, wiping my eyes.

“It’s Friday, and I can’t wait to get home from school. We’re gonna see Ja’qui’s football game,” she said, smiling and running
to her closet. “What am I gonna wear?”

I hurried to the shower and washed up. It wasn’t gonna take us long to get to school since it wasn’t that far of a walk. On
the way, I looked over at Danica to see if she’d act different or if she’d say something about what happened last night, but
she didn’t. She was the same as always, talking a mile a minute, this time about the tennis shoes Ja’qui was gonna buy her.
That’s when I knew whatever happened last night had been happening for a long time.

2

TWO WEEKS LATER

T
hat stupid wench skinned me with the rope on purpose. She ain’t like me since the first day I stepped foot in class. I knew
it cuz I heard her and her friends talking about my clothes and my skinny legs when I walked to my seat. The dark-skin one
with long hair was the ringleader. She was the one who tapped me on my shoulder asking me who did my hair. When I told her
I did, she said, “It looks like it.” Then she cracked up laughing and so did her hyena-sounding girlfriends behind her. Then
she said, “Why her ponytail look like a baby fist, y’all?” The girls laughed some more. I ran my hand across my ponytail and
turned back toward the teacher and rolled my eyes. So what, my hair was short. I can’t help it.

The same dark-skin girl, who everybody called Nissa, asked me a few days later if I knew how to jump double Dutch. I told
her I did.

“Okay, you can play with us at recess,” she said.

I ain’t know if I should at first, but since I ain’t have no friends and Danica had lunch at another period, I said okay.
Shoot, nobody else was talking to me anyway.

For a long while, I turned the raggedy telephone cord they was using as rope for everybody else. When it was finally my go,
Nissa took the rope from me, and she and Lauren started turning. The rope went up a few times, and I tried to jump in, but
it seemed like they was turning faster and faster. I finally caught the rhythm and jumped in. I was jumping for a few seconds
before I did my favorite double-jump pop-up, where I skipped a beat and turned around on one foot. As soon as I went to touch
my toe, I felt the rope speed up a notch, but I was still good. I been jumping double Dutch since I was in the second grade.
My friends around Stanton Road always had contests, and the winner always got something from the ice cream truck for a dollar
from Ms. Penny. I got real good, cuz Mama never had money to give me for the truck. So when I turned around and did the double-jump
pop-up again, I went down and touched the ground, before jumping the double again. I wanted to show these Northeast girls
how we did it in Southeast.

A small crowd started coming around and some kids was saying how good I was, just when the rope was speeding up even faster.
The swishing sound of air being sliced up reminded me of helicopter blades. Nissa and Lauren was definitely trying to make
me mess up. Just when I was gonna stop the rope on my own with my foot, they stopped it for me and the telephone cord whipped
the skin on my legs.

“Ow!” I screamed.

“My bad. Did that hurt?” Nissa asked, snickering to her Hot Girl clan standing behind her. She put her hand on her hip and
turned to walk away.

Without thinking, I rubbed my leg and then charged right for her. My hands swung like a windmill, my fingers clawed at hair,
scraped at flesh. I heard the voices around me getting louder. People yelled, “Fight! Fight!” Nissa squeezed my arms and kneed
my stomach. But my legs was strong enough to thrust me forward and knock Nissa flat on her back. I sat on top of her and punched
Nissa over and over in her face until someone pulled me off.

“Camille Logan. Now, this we cannot have!” Mr. Polk yelled, grabbing my shirt. I cracked my knuckles and rolled my eyes at
the Hot Girl clan before Mr. Polk took me in the building.

I sat in the principal’s office until Mrs. Brinkley came to get me, and now I was being suspended for three whole days. Nissa
ain’t hurt me at all, but I had scratches on my arms. The school nurse gave me alcohol packs to wipe them down. On the walk
home, Mrs. Brinkley kept holding on to the tiny cross on her necklace and mumbling prayers. I thought she was at least gonna
tell me off about what I did, but her mind seemed to be on something else.

As soon as we walked in the door, she told me to go to my room and wait until
my father
came home.
My father?
Now I never met my father, but I guess she talking about Mr. Big—I mean Mr. Brinkley. I had been trying my best to stay away
from him since the night I saw him on Danica’s bed. He came by the room twice since that first time.

I lied on my bed and closed my eyes listening to all the sounds of the house: Mrs. Brinkley vacuuming,
As the World Turns
on full blast from the big-screen TV, followed by
The Montel Williams Show
. Later, the smells of meatloaf and macaroni and cheese eased under my door. My stomach grumbled. I tried to take a nap while
I waited for her to call me down for dinner. Was I gonna be allowed to eat?

Danica’s harsh footsteps walking up the stairs woke me up later.

“Girl, I heard about you whipping Nissa’s ass at lunch! You know how many times that girl been stepped back?”

“Am I gonna get in trouble when he get home?” I asked, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.

“Girl… don’t worry about him,” Danica said, looking away.

“Is he… is he gonna try something with me, too?” I sat up and swung my legs out of bed, letting them hang in midair.

Danica looked at me like she’d seen a ghost, and then she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. She hit you first, right?”

“Yeah, she hit me with the rope,” I said, jumping down. I wanted Danica to tell me what was going on, to warn me about how
Mr. Big would act. But she wasn’t even trying to look me in my eyes.

She hooked her book bag on the back of the chair by the desk and hung her jacket up in the closet. Then after a minute, Danica
said, “Everybody been talking about it at school. Especially since you so little. They said she was bleeding and everything!
Man, I wish I was there. I heard you beat the shit out of her boney black ass!”

I sighed. “Should I be scared when Mr. Brinkley comes home? Have you been in trouble since you been here?”

“No, not really. He never spanked me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

BOOK: Damaged
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ads

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