Into White (21 page)

Alex needed me. Mom needed me. Dad needed me. Deanté wanted me. Or at least it seemed so. It was time to do something for them. It was time to be there for the most important people in my life. It was time to do the right thing for the first time in a while.

I needed to ask God for one last thing.

 

LOOSE ENDS?

On Monday morning, the unfortunate world of Edgewood High seeped back into my consciousness. It was getting harder to ignore the whispers and STD jokes. I wanted to leave. I wanted to disappear into the bathroom stall at lunchtime, but I needed to face the twins as Katarina. More important, I had to confront Josh through the same blue eyes he'd tried to violate. I couldn't take the coward's way out and run like I usually did.

“Alex hates you, you know that, right?” I asked Deanté as he leaned against his locker, one ankle crossed over the other. He was wearing the Jordans.

“I don't know what to do about that.”

“You don't know what to do about that, or you don't care enough to try?”

He reached for my arm and I snatched it away.

“Everything okay?” asked a male teacher walking by.

I turned my back to the teacher before rolling my eyes. “Of course everything's fine.”

He walked away, looking skeptical. “Toya,” Deanté whispered. “You can't do stuff like that. Not when you're still … you know. I could get in real trouble in this town. Damn.”

“I know.” I turned to him. “I shouldn't've.”

“What's wrong with you anyway? You're acting, I don't know, different.”

I looked down at his shoes.

“Oh,” he said, before kicking them off.

“What are you doing? You can't walk around school barefoot. Put them back on.”

He ignored my request, walked to the trash can, and threw them in. When he realized everyone had stopped to watch, he marched toward a tiny, terrified freshman boy holding a McDonald's coffee cup. “Hey, kid, can I have the rest of that coffee?”

“Hot chocolate,” the boy said, nervously handing it over.

Deanté mussed his hair. “Thanks,” he said before lifting the lid from the trash can and pouring the hot drink all over his Jordans. “I'd rather be barefoot than hurt you again.”

I felt the heat rising in my face. “I appreciate that more than you'll ever know.”

Deanté looked ashamed and proud at the same time. “I have to run to the pool. I think Miss Baker has those plastic shower shoes. See you later?”

I nodded. “Definitely.” I saddled my backpack and went to Mrs. Roseland's history fifteen minutes early.

I heard Alex's distinct cry as I approached Mrs. Roseland's cracked classroom door. His cries sounded like computer glitches—every word separated by a labored gulp of air. I grabbed my chest and eased toward the opening to listen.

“I'm … just … not … sure … Mrs.… Rose … land.”

“There, there, there, Alexander.” Mrs. Roseland's deep Southern drawl was famous for calming kids. “I know you're scared, but you'll look back over this decision and thank your lucky stars you chose to leave. This isn't the place for you. And all the work you've done. I knew that reaching out to Harvard would pay off. I promise, up there you won't have to pretend to fit in, you just will. Imagine a world where everybody's as brilliant as you are. Where you don't have to explain things to people. You'll love it, love it, love it.”

“I … know … but … what … about … Toya?”

“Toya's off on her own adventure.” I could hear Mrs. Roseland's smile. “It's your turn.”

“I know you're right.” Alex blew his nose.

“Have I ever told you about my summer in New Orleans?” she shouted over his honking nose. “Well, I realize this might be hard to believe, but Alabama history is not my passion.” She paused for a reaction, but Alex stayed quiet. “Anyway, high school was a challenge for me. I was different, too. Not book bright, like you, but creative.”

“What kind of creative?”

“I'm a painter,” she said with sadness in her voice. “Never sold anything. Not for money anyway. Once I traded a life-size portrait for a discount on my summer air-conditioning. I doubt that counts for selling.”

I wanted Alex to ask what she'd done in New Orleans.

“What did you do during your summer in New Orleans?” he asked as I finished my thought, and my chin began to vibrate. We were so much alike.

“I painted, my boy.” Mrs. Roseland sighed. “My mother's mother lived right there on the bayou, her deck overlooking the tail of Lake Pontchartrain. She set up an easel and let me alone all summer. Just me, the canvas, and the water. Best summer of my life so far.”

“So why aren't you a painter, then?”

“Well, well, well,” she said. “That's the summer I had my little girl.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Roseland,” he sputtered. “I shouldn't pry.…”

“Don't you be sorry,” she said sweetly. “I'm not. I gave up my dreams for the sake of my daughter, and I'd do it again. You, Alexander Williams, are a shining star like none I've ever seen. But the door won't stay open too much longer, not even for you. Walk through it, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, accepting her charge.

That's when I realized that Alex had his own guide. Not Jesus, but the next best thing. Sweet, quirky Mrs. Roseland.

“Now get to ISS before that stupid ocean catches you,” she teased.

I heard his footsteps nearing the door, and I hid behind an open locker. I wanted to call after him, but by the time I'd gathered enough courage, the moment had passed.

*   *   *

Miss Baker had the flu, so swim class relocated to the practice field bleachers. I snuck in and sat behind the twins so they couldn't see me arrive. I wanted to be brave but I wasn't dumb enough to put myself on exhibit. When I was within earshot, I realized they were talking about Josh and his ex-girlfriend, Ashley Hemphill.

“OMG, did you hear?”

“What?”

“OMG!”

“What?”

“So, okay … OMG!”

“OMG!
What?
”

“I heard Ashley had a baby last year—”

“OMG!”

“
Yeah!
That's why she didn't start school until after Christmas break, because she had Josh's baby, and his dad made her give it up for adoption. That's why they gave her the Prius. To shut her up about the baby.” My composition notebook slipped from my hands, skipped two sets of bleachers, and fell on one of their heads.

“Ouch!” Amera said.

“I hope there's no sexually transmitted stuff on the notebook,” said Amelia before kicking it away.

“I know, right?”

“Even if there were, it would be
sexually
transmitted,” I said under my breath.

They turned away, eager to carry on their juicy gossip. “So, how did you find out?” asked Amera, focusing Amelia's attention back to her.

“Turns out that Ashley wanted to keep the baby so badly she went back to the adoptive parents' house and demanded that they let her see it.…”

“OMG!”

“They live on Rainbow, a few streets over from her!”

“OMG!”

“She banged on the door screaming, and when they called the police, Stephen's dad was the cop on duty. How lucky is that? Stephen texted me last period to tell me.…”

“You should let him see both boobs for that spicy news!” They laughed.

But I couldn't hold it any longer.

“I don't see anything funny,” I interjected.

They slowly turned to face me. “What did you just say to us?”

“I said…” I stood over them. “I don't think it's funny to run your big mouths about people who are in real trouble.”

“How dare…” Amera tried to stand, but I pressed her shoulders until she was seated again. “Hey. That hurts.”

“That's the point,” I said, millimeters from her nose.

Amelia sat silently with terror in her eyes.

“You know what else isn't funny?” I screeched, making sure everyone in the bleachers could hear me. “Calling Jim the
R
word, and spreading disgusting rumors, and using racial slurs! You should both be ashamed of yourselves. You vapid, pathetic, sad excuses for human beings.”

*   *   *

Walking Edgewood High School's hallways that afternoon was the hardest thing I'd done in a while. Everyone watched with fear and adoration, as if I'd brought down the undefeatable two-headed beast. But really, they were tiny and sad. I'd expected a fight from them. I was, after all, outnumbered; but they just sat there and listened to my lecture like two toddlers in time-out. It was like they were waiting for someone to put them in their place.

“I'm proud of you.” It was Deanté.

“Is it all around school?” I asked, knowing full well the answer was yes.

“You mean Ashley's pregnancy or your badassness?” he asked.

“Both?”

“Both.” He slipped his arm around my waist. “That's sad what happened to Ashley, though. Real talk.”

“He'll probably get away with it, too,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” I nearly leaped from my skin at the sound of my brother's voice. His face was beet-red and fuming.

“Listen, dude,” Deanté said before removing his hand from my waist and taking a small step back. “Josh ain't worth getting expelled over. You already kicked his ass raw.”

I couldn't speak. It was as if an alien had landed in the semicircle between Deanté and myself. My big brother had spoken to me. Spoken to
Deanté
!

“We have to get him,” Alex said through his teeth.

“We?” I whispered.

“First, I have to ask,” he said to a visibly shaken Deanté. “What are your intentions with my little sister?”

Deanté fell into an indecipherable sputter. There were positively no salvageable words.

“I've been watching you.” Alex held his hand out to shake, and Deanté took it. “Nice move with the Jordans.”

“How did you…?” I started.

“ISS is a hack,” he said openly. “The teacher changes every day. One day they let the narcoleptic media center lady watch us. Mostly I've walked the halls. It's basically the Monday through Friday version of
The Breakfast Club
.”

“You don't hate me, then?”

“I could never hate you, Toya.” He swiped a tear from my cheek. “I forgave you at GC.”

I clinched him into the biggest, longest bear hug. I didn't care who saw. My brother was mine again. He wore an off-white T-shirt that used to be white, and too-big beige corduroys in the heat of late spring. He smelled like a three-way tie between McDonald's, Hampton, and woodsy outside.

“All right, stop this,” he said, gently pulling away from the hug. “We have more pressing matters to tend to.”

“Josh?” Deanté asked.

“Josh,” Alex answered, more self-assuredly than I'd ever heard him. “And I know just what to do.”

He flashed a double-big bottle of MiraLAX in his book bag.

“I've been saving my quarters.”

I snatched it from his hands. “This is the biggest bottle of laxative I've ever seen in my life.” I shook it. “What are you—?”

“Slip it in his protein shake,” he said matter-of-factly. “He drinks one every morning.”

“Am I missing something?” inquired Deanté. “How are we supposed to get it into his drink without him noticing?”

“That's the brilliant part.” Alex shook the bottle. “It's powder.” He ogled us as if expecting excitement. He got confusion instead.

“I don't get it,” I said, completely oblivious.

“The protein mix is powder, too,” he added. “We dump half and replace it. He won't know what hit him. I mean, he will but it will be too late.”

Deanté and I smirked at each other, just beginning to understand.

“But wait.” I realized there was a giant hole in his plan. “How do we get access to the protein mix?”

Alex tucked the bottle back into his bag. “Josh left his locker combination sticker on the back of his lock.”

“So damn dumb.” Deanté shook his head.

“Beyond dumb,” Alex agreed.

I chimed in. “He deserves to crap his pants just for being that dumb.”

The three of us laughed together for the first time ever. Hopefully not the last.

*   *   *

The stage was set for the most epic takedown anyone had ever seen at Edgewood High School. Most Edgewood kids drove their own cars, and others waited in the drop-off for their parents to pick them up, so the lower floors were quiet. We hid near the locker rooms as the school emptied out. Deanté kept watch near the stairwell, and Alex and I waited by the doors for his all clear.

“Thanks for forgiving me, Alex.”

“Will you stop saying that?” He was getting annoyed with me. “And keep your voice down.”

“I really am sorry for everything, though.”

“Latoya Williams,” he started. “Wait, I think that's the all-clear signal.”

“No, I think he was legitimately scratching his head.”

“The signal was a pat, not a scratch,” Alex countered. “He patted.”

“No, Alex. Look.”

Deanté thrashed his arms around at us, exasperated that we hadn't read his signal.

“Told you it was a pat.” Alex gently pressed the boys' locker room door. “Let's do this.”

The boys' locker room was the mirror image of the girls'. The only major difference was it smelled like sweaty crotch that hadn't been washed in weeks.

I shielded my face with my arm. “What
is
that?”

“Jockstrap.” Deanté crept behind us.

“You're supposed to be watching the stairs,” Alex snapped.