Leaving Atlanta (8 page)

The boys were old, Tasha thought. Old as Cookie, at least. And where was Cookie, anyway? Tasha had noticed her when they first
got here, holding hands with her boyfriend, but now she had disappeared.

“Where’s Cookie?” Tasha asked Ayana.

Ayana shrugged.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Tasha felt a little panicky, recalling the dark parking lot.

“Oh, she’s alright,” Ayana said, raising her eyebrows twice. She had been using more and more nonverbal communication since
she started middle school. Tasha didn’t know what that eyebrow motion was meant to convey but she raised hers back.

The six or so rowdy boys didn’t skate. Instead, they played pinball. Two of them tilted the machine backward if the silver
metal ball threatened to roll into the little hole at the base, ending the game. This way, all of them were able to play with
only a single quarter. The halo man kept a careful eye on them as he filled orders at the snack bar.

Tasha snuck peeks at them as she skated around the oval rink. She had to slow down in order to see more than boy-shaped blurs.
There was a little guy with them. Clearly, his mother hadn’t asked what adult when he had asked to go. He stood on his tiptoes
in order to see the pinball game over the massive teenage shoulders. They moved as if he weren’t even there; he had to jerk
his head this way and that to avoid being carelessly elbowed in the nose. He should have brought a friend with him that was
his own age. How old was he anyway? The flashing disco lights obscured details but Tasha figured that he was eleven, or maybe
a little younger. On the next lap around, she was glad to see that he was given a turn at the machine.

Then, she fell. The lace of her left skate got caught up in the wheels and she fell flat on her behind. All of the big boys
turned at once from the pinball machine, hooting and laughing. The little one turned to see what all the commotion was about.
Evidently he lost the ball, because his friends started cursing him. Well, not exactly cursing; there was a large sign posted
near the door declaring
NO PROFANITY
. They beat him about the head and shoulders with their baseball caps as Ayana helped Tasha to her feet and over to a bench.

It wasn’t really that bad of a fall. Tasha was pretty sure that she wasn’t bleeding but she checked for skinned knees anyway.
People were less likely to tease a person if she seemed actually injured.

Ayana looked at the knee. “It’s okay. But let’s sit down for a while. This way we can see those cute guys over there.”

Tasha was horrified. “They’re teenagers!”

“All of them aren’t. One looks thirteen or fourteen.”

“Which one?”

She nodded toward the little one.

“Him? He’s not more than twelve. I think maybe eleven.”

“You must need glasses,” Ayana said.

Tasha turned her head for a better look but Ayana pinched her arm. “Don’t look. Here he comes.”

Now what to do? Well, maybe nothing. He was probably coming to talk to Ayana. Or he could be just on his way to the bathroom
or the concession stand.

When he said, “Hey,” Tasha jumped because Ayana dug her pink frosted nails into the soft skin of her upper arm, and also because
the voice was familiar.

“You alright, Fancy Girl?” Jashante glanced over his shoulder to the pinball teenagers.

“I’m okay,” Tasha said, easing her arm from between Ayana’s thumb and forefinger. She wished she and Ayana could communicate
telepathically like twins.
This is the one I was telling you about
would echo in Ayana’s head as clear as if she had spoken. But maybe Ayana already knew. And if she did, she didn’t seem to
be holding it against him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at his ragged tennis shoes. He glanced up at Ayana. “That’s your sister?”

“No. This is Ayana, my play-cousin.”

He didn’t say anything. Ayana elbowed her.

“You wanna sit down?” Tasha scooted down on the bench. Would Ayana approve?

“No. That’s alright,” he said, looking back.

“What school do you go to?” He was talking to Ayana.

“Saint Anthony.”

“Where that is?”

“Over by West End.”

“That’s the one where the girls wear blue skirts?”

“Yeah.”

“I was wondering about that one time,” he said.

He was paying a little too much attention to Ayana. Tasha regretted not tying her own shirt or loosening her hair.

“What grade?” he asked.

“Sixth,” Ayana said. Tasha was sure she heard a note of pride.

“My friend, he in the eighth. He say you look good.”

Tasha noticed a boy standing about ten feet away watching the proceedings closely. Jashante probably wasn’t lying about his
friend’s grade, but Tasha thought somebody needed to ask how old he was. Tasha could detect the soft fuzzy beginning of a
mustache.

“You wanna talk to him?” Jashante asked.

Ayana shrugged her shoulders in a way that Tasha thought was very sophisticated. It didn’t say
I don’t know
. It was more like
I don’t care
. Impressive.

Jashante said to Tasha, “You want something from the concession stand?”

Tasha would have liked to duplicate Ayana’s magnificently nonchalant shrug, but this was no time to experiment. She looked
to her friend. Ayana did that indecipherable eye-brow thing again. As Tasha started to the snack bar with Jashante, the world’s
oldest eighth-grader slid onto the bench beside Ayana.

The short distance to the concession stand made for an awkward stroll since Tasha had her skates on. But Jashante didn’t laugh
at her as she walked on her toes, balancing on the skates’ brakes.

“Want some candy?”

Tasha looked at the different candies in the glass display case. Was he saying that he was going to pay for her? He didn’t
seem to be making a move for his wallet and she didn’t have any money at all. And if he did decide to pay, would that mean
that this was a
date?
What if she chose something too expensive? He solved the problem by making a suggestion.

“M and Ms?”

Tasha nodded her head.

“Plain or peanut?”

“Plain?”

He asked the halo man for one of each and counted out six bright dimes from a huge handful of change he pulled from the front
pocket of his jeans.

“How come you have so much change?” Tasha asked.

“Selling stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Oh,” he said seriously. “Stuff. Like this.” He went into his back pocket and retrieved a car air freshener shaped like a
Christmas tree. “Sold these for fifty cents each.” He held it out to Tasha. “You can have this one.”

She was pleased. “What do you do with all the money you make?”

“Most of it, I give to my mama, but I keep some for my lady.” He smiled at Tasha, showing that cute chipped tooth.

Tasha grinned back as he handed her the dark brown package of M&Ms. She didn’t want to eat them. This was her first gift from
a boy and should be put in a scrapbook or a memory box. A boy had given Ayana an ink pen shaped like a candy cane and she
had preserved it in a pretty case on her dresser. But what about edible mementos? Tasha was unsure of the rules here. Besides,
Mama was strict about no food in the bedrooms. That’s how people get bugs. Was he asking her to be his lady? But what would
that involve? Sitting together at lunch? And anyway, she had the air freshener, which might technically be the first thing.
But he didn’t
buy
that. He just had it in his pocket.

“Thank you for the M and Ms,” Tasha said.

Jashante had opened his candy and held a large misshapen yellow M&M between his thumb and forefinger. He was waiting on her
to open hers. Tasha shook one flat chocolate pill onto her palm. She looked up at her date. He moved his hand toward his mouth
and she did the same, carefully synchronizing their motions. They chomped into the sweet chocolate at precisely the same exact
magical instant.

Tasha would have liked to have repeated their communion as many times as there were M&Ms in their little packages for as many
packages as Jashante had dimes to buy. But he ate the rest of his candy without ceremony. The deejay announced Couples’ Skate,
as the opening notes of her favorite song, “I Call Your Name,” filled the arena.

“You like this song?” he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Um-hum.” Jashante smiled at her, then turned away. He looked at his foot for a minute and then he stared intently at her
face. His gaze did not travel all over like that time outside of the classroom. Tasha recalled that encounter the way a person
remembers her babyhood—as something indistinct but a memory not to be doubted.

Then Daddy was there. “Okay, Tasha, it’s time to go.” He held her pink coat for her to slip her arms in. Mama had sent it
to the cleaners but the red clay mark was still visible, even in this light. Tasha hoped the coat wouldn’t remind Jashante
of their run-in.

“But, Daddy, I still have my skates on,” Tasha complained.

“Well, go turn them in,” he said, turning to break up Ayana’s cozy conversation with her new friend.

Jashante mumbled, “Bye,” and moved toward the gang at the pinball machine.

“See you Monday,” Tasha called. If he heard her, she couldn’t tell.

Daddy drove Ayana home in spite of her insistence that Cookie would be back any minute to pick her up. After Mrs. McWhorter
shut the door behind Ayana, Daddy turned his attention to Tasha.

“Who was that boy you were talking to?”

“He’s in my class at school.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven,” Tasha said.

“Eleven times what?” Daddy asked over the clink of the turn signal.

“I don’t know how old he is,” Tasha admitted. She didn’t know how old he
was
, but she was pretty sure how old he
wasn’t
. Was that enough to make it a lie?

“Look Ladybug,” Daddy said, looking at her. They were at a red light. “Stay away from that boy. He ain’t nothing but trouble.
I know you think I’m an old man, but I used to be a boy myself, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Tasha said, hoping that her cooperation would end the discussion.

Daddy said under his breath, “That boy’ll be lucky to see the other side of eighteen.”

Tasha had heard him but pretended not to. She climbed into her yellow and blue bed with the air freshener in her hand.

“What’s that?” DeShaun asked.

“I thought you were sleep.” Tasha wished she had her own room.

“I was. But what’s that you got?”

“None of your business.”

Tasha put the little tree inside her pillowcase and, inhaling pine, dreamed of Christmas.

She got to school Monday morning with only seconds to spare. There was no time to run to the bathroom, unravel her braids,
and smear Vaseline in all the right places. She paused a moment before entering the trailer. Would everyone take one look
at her and know that she was somebody’s lady? Would they be able to tell whose?

The jangle of the tardy bell ushered her into the room. She scanned the faces quickly. Jashante wasn’t there. That was disappointing
but then, the day wasn’t over. He was known to come to school as late as ten o’clock.

Eight girls were huddled around Monica, speaking in hushed tones like people do at a funeral. Tasha heard their voices but
she couldn’t make out the words.

“What happened?” she asked Angelite, who had a way of knowing everything about everybody.

“Monica’s slumber party got canceled,” she reported with a giggle. “Her mama went out and got a cake and hot dogs and stuff
but nobody came.”

Tasha laughed a little bit too. “What happened?”

Angelite lowered her voice. “Tayari’s mother called all of the other mothers and told them that the party wasn’t supervised.”

“For real?” Tasha couldn’t believe it.

“See,” Angelite explained, “Monica’s mama works at night, so they would have been there alone.”

“Oh,” Tasha said. She was glad that she hadn’t been invited; her mother probably would have done the very same thing and Tasha
would have ended up like Tayari, looking at her math book, trying not to cry.

The group around Monica had swollen into twelve. Even people who had not been invited were offering condolences. Sherrie Evans,
who had not even made Tasha’s list of alternates, said, “I don’t know why you invited her in the first place.”

“I was trying to be nice,” Monica whined.

“You just can’t
be
nice to some people,” Forsythia reminded her.

Tasha suddenly realized that she hated fifth grade. The feeling of revulsion came over her in exactly the same way that she
had abruptly realized that a song playing on the radio was absolutely horrible. She had been riding along, thinking private
thoughts when this truly unbearable song had forced its way into her consciousness. She had no idea how long it had been on,
but she could not stand another note. She had stretched her arm to reach the controls of the radio and pressed a button, switching
to another station.

“Hey!” Daddy had said. “I was listening to that!”

But there was no button to press to take her out of fifth grade. She would have to remain in this class, with these same people,
until June, when they would all graduate and go on to middle school. Tasha wished that she was smart like Ayana so she could
skip fifth grade altogether. But what about Jashante? He had done fifth grade once already. How could he stand it twice? No
wonder he never came to school.