Hustlin' (8 page)

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Authors: L. Divine

BOOK: Hustlin'
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“Please take a number and leave your bag in the corresponding cubby. You can take your books out and take them with you while you work, if need be.”
Ain't this some shit? I'm already down to the last ten minutes and I don't want to waste anymore time.
I take a seat at the computer closest to the cubby where my bag is. If there are kleptos on the loose, I don't want them getting my stuff either, especially not my charm bags and other spiritual items. Not that anyone would know what to do with them. But just the thought of someone touching my personal items bugs the hell out of me.
I take Mr. Adewale's card out of my purse and type in the web address listed for his graduate school. He must be hella smart to get a master's degree from the University of West LA. I hear they have a rigorous academic program. When his page pops up, a list of every publication he's written appears on the side of the page.
Fine and talented—just how I like my men,
I think to myself as I search his page. The Califia paper is second to last in the long list of titles. I'll just print this out and read it later. Before I open the twenty-five page document, I notice the title “Voodoo Vixens” among the forty-plus documents and click on it.
“What the hell?” I scroll the document quickly, recognizing some of the names from our spirit book at home, Maman Marie's name included. “What does he know about my lineage and why is he calling my great-grandmother a vixen?” Now I'm going to have to break out five dollars to print both documents, but I have a feeling it'll be worth it.
“There's the warning bell,” the librarian says, her shrill voice slicing the quiet air. “Please don't forget to claim your bags before exiting the building.” The printer releases the pages on her side of the counter. Noticing the content of my papers, her eyebrows rise and she looks a few shades whiter than she did when I walked in. I wonder if campus gossip reaches the ears of the librarian too?
“How much do I owe you?” I ask, taking my wallet out of my Lucky purse and giving her my number for my bag's freedom. She looks at me like she's afraid to speak and turns around to gather my backpack and print outs.
“It'll be five dollars, young lady.” Instead of handing me my items, she places them on the counter in front of me. Now, any other time she would have given it directly to me, but I guess she's afraid to touch me now. And that's just fine with me. Mama doesn't like too many folks touching us anyway. She says everyone's ashe isn't so easy to wash off.
“Thank you.” I pass her the cash and retrieve my bag and papers from the counter. I can't wait to read all of this info and grill Mr. A about it the first chance I get.
Before I reach the main hall to cut through the senior quad toward government class, I notice Mr. A walking in the same direction from the main office. It's nice seeing him around campus so regularly, especially since Ms. Toni's so busy lately. I also think she's still disappointed in me for dating Jeremy, but what can I say? There's definitely something about Jeremy's swagger that moves me. Bryan could learn a thing or two from Jeremy about how to treat a girl.
“Good morning, Miss Jackson,” Mr. Adewale says, falling into step with me, both of us quickening our pace to beat the bell.
“Good morning, Mr. Adewale. Or should I say, Mr. Voodoo Vixen Investigator extraordinaire.”
Noticing my sarcasm, Mr. A stops in his tracks and looks down at me, his hazel eyes shimmering in the hazy sunlight. It was cloudy a little while ago, but the late-morning sun is melting away the gloom, giving Mr. Adewale a healthy glow.
“I see you've finally gotten around to doing your research. So, tell me what you found out.” Mr. Adewale opens the classroom door, letting me in. Jeremy's already seated in his usual chair right next to mine. He looks up from his text book, catching my eye. But I really need to talk to Mr. Adewale. I nod “what's up” and refocus my attention on our substitute teacher.
“Well, I found out that you know more than you're saying about a lot of things, my lineage included.” I sit down in the chair next to the teacher's desk and open my backpack to reveal his writings. “I haven't read them all, but what's this voodoo vixen paper all about?”
“Good morning, class,” Mr. Adewale says, momentarily ignoring me while quieting the buzzing class. “Today you are to work on your research papers, which are due the week after next. Also, you need to reread chapter fourteen for your quiz tomorrow morning. You can talk quietly if need be, and I'm here if you have any questions.”
“I have a question on the floor that's still unanswered,” I quietly remind him, as Mr. A makes himself comfortable in Mrs. Peterson's chair. I can't wait until she's retired and he's here full time. It'll be nice to have another teacher I can look up to for a change.
“Yes, you do,” he says, taking off his thin-rimmed silver glasses and placing them on the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. “Weren't you supposed to be looking up Califia?” He looks me in the eye and I can tell he's trying to read my expression, but I'm not that easy.
“I did. I printed that out, too. But this caught my eye. I couldn't resist.” I toss the heavy report down on top of the paper pile and await his response. His golden brown cheeks flush with embarrassment, but from what, I wonder. “You can't be that surprised that I found this interesting, can you?”
“No, not at all. I just hoped you wouldn't find it just yet. I wanted to take more time before talking with you about it.”
“Well, what's there to talk about?”
Mr. A looks at me, then out toward the rest of the class. He looks like he wants to tell me a big secret and I think it's bigger than I can imagine. What the hell is really going on with this brother?
“Jayd, there's more than meets the eye, don't you agree?” He looks at me, his hazel eyes sparkling with no help from the sun this time.
What's Mr. A not telling me about his knowledge of my lineage?
“Yes, I do. Which is why I'm asking you what you have against voodoo queens. Why do they have to be vixens?”
Mr. A picks up the familiar text, flipping through the pages and quickly skimming the words. He chuckles as he reads more, making me wait patiently for his response.
I glance across the room at Jeremy, who's waiting for me to come and sit down. I want to catch up with him too, but I never know for sure when I'll get to see Mr. Adewale again, so Jeremy will have to wait until lunch. He sent me a text this morning when he didn't see me at the bus stop and I told him he could come with me to the dress rehearsal since it'll be more laid-back than a normal rehearsal.
“Do you know the meaning of the word vixen, Jayd?” Mr. A looks at me.
“Is this a trick question? I know it's a negative word for a female, or else that book about the video chick wouldn't have sold so well.”
Mr. A laughs at my reasoning. “Yes, Jayd, that is true. And that's why I titled the term paper what I did. But a vixen is actually a female fox. They're survivors, Jayd, true hustlers, if you will. This paper was a praise for the queens. But, like everything you sell, the packaging is what gets it a first glance, and an A in this case.”
“Okay, you worked your way around that one. But what was all that about me being a different bird last time we talked? What do you know about my lineage?”
Mr. Adewale looks past me towards Jeremy and then back at me. His chiseled jawbone tightens. Now I know I've hit a nerve.
“Jayd, I know a lot more than you think. What I don't know is why you aren't more open about who you really are. I'm originally from Compton, also by way of New Orleans. I know who your grandmother is and, more importantly, who your great-grandmother was, and her history with white men. Haven't you learned anything from your history?”
Damn, not another hater. “I know you think you know me, but you don't.”
“Jayd, you asked me, I didn't come at you. I didn't want you to feel self-conscious around me. But you have to admit it's a mighty small world.”
Yeah, too small if you ask me.
“Please don't be defensive,” he adds.
“I've got to get to my work. Thanks for the info.” Mr. Adewale lets me rise without protest, even if his eyes are screaming for me to stay.
“What was that all about?” Jeremy asks, looking up from his book and pulling my chair out for me to sit down.
How do I begin to tell Jeremy about my lineage and the fact that there are research papers online that include my ancestors and grandmother's name?
“History, what else?”
Jeremy wouldn't understand if I told him. Besides, we have our own fish to fry, as Mama would say. I haven't talked to Jeremy since he made the comment about always being here for me. I know he wants to explore more of an open relationship with me again, but I'm not ready for all that. Besides, Mr. A is right about me not being all that comfortable dating a white boy, even if it is Jeremy. Why do things always have to be so complicated with him?
“Well, it's nice to see you this morning. I missed you at the bus stop again, but it's cool. I can't wait to see you in your costume at lunch. I know you're going to look hot in it no matter what it looks like.”
Jeremy looks a bit hurt by my independence, but that's on him too. He should've never let me get used to walking to the bus by myself again.
“Yeah, I was too late to see it earlier. I hope Laura doesn't get her claws on my dress before I do.” I've been keeping my distance from the broad since Monday's loaded exchange. Jeremy chuckles at my hate for his enemy's girl. At least we have our haters in common.
“By the way, what's up with your girl Mickey? I heard something about her having Nigel's baby.”
Where's he been? News travels slowly when you're catching waves all day, I guess.
“Yeah, it's a bit uncomfortable in my camp these days, to say the least.”
I know he can feel me on the tension between my girls. When Tania was here and I found out she was carrying his lust child, our time together was very uncomfortable. Retrieving my textbook from my backpack, I glance out of the open door to see Misty walking by. Her ass always finds a way to get out of class. Instead of ignoring me like she should, she smiles wickedly at me. She only looks me in the eye when she's got something up her sleeve that she knows will get under my skin. What's she up to now? Whatever. I don't have time to waste thinking about her and her madness.
“Is Mickey keeping it?”
I look up from my textbook, shocked at his question. We really do think differently.
“Of course she is. Why would you ask that?” I try to whisper, but my voice carries my discontent across the room. Mr. Adewale looks at me and places his index finger over his lips, signaling me to tone it down.
“I mean, she was messing around with Nigel as well as her boyfriend, right? I just figured she didn't know who the father was for sure.”
“She doesn't, but that's not the baby's fault. She still deserves to be born.”
Jeremy looks up from his work and smiles at me, but not in a charming way. It's that paternalistic grin he gets when he thinks I'm being too simple about something.
“Yes, that's true. But does the baby deserve to be born into a situation that's unhealthy for both the child and parents?”
I hate to admit it, but he does have a good point. Yet and still, that's no reason to jump to conclusions.
“Did you feel the same way when Tania told you she was pregnant?”
Without missing a beat, Jeremy answers assuredly, much to my disappointment.
“Yes, of course I did. I just assumed everyone considers abortion as an option.”
My eyes begin tearing as I further realize how polar opposite our values are. “Well, you know what they say about assuming things: it makes an ass out of you and me. Well, actually this time it's just you, but you get what I'm saying.”
Looking slightly hurt by my sass, Jeremy carefully considers his next move. “Jayd, you can't be serious. If more people would exercise that option, there wouldn't be so many poor children in the world.”
“That's the same reasoning elitists use for welfare. If that's the case, me and the vast majority of people in my hood wouldn't be born.”
Jeremy seems completely unconvinced by my argument. Frustrated, I glance over at Mr. A, who can hear every word of our discussion, looking for a little support. He looks up from his papers and gives me a look as if to say, “I told you so” and then returns to his work.
What the hell?
“Jayd, I'm not saying that children shouldn't be born. Of course they should be. The people that have them just need to consider all of their options and the baby's well-being before adding to an already full load that life brings with it. That's all I'm saying.”

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