The Meltdown (12 page)

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Mama’s gone indefinitely having big fun in New Orleans and Puerto Rico, and now my boyfriend’s leaving for half the summer, too. This isn’t fair.

“Hey, Jayd and Jeremy,” Cameron says, smiling too big at my man. She doesn’t know the rest of our crew, and they choose not to greet her, either. I guess it’s too late in the year to make new friends. “Want to sign my yearbook?” she asks, placing her book on top of mine as if it’s not even there. If Cameron wasn’t one of the cool white girls on my AP track, I’d probably be more jealous than I already am. She’d better not push her luck, because I don’t like her that much.

“Sure, C,” Jeremy says, rubbing my exposed thigh while simultaneously signing his name and adding the infamous “K.I.T.” before getting back to mine: I get way more than three letters.

I love wearing shorts, especially since I joined the cheer squad. My legs have never been this fit, and they’ll only get better with our summer practice schedule. It’s not so bad because we have practice only three times a week. I can handle that, and I could use the distraction since my boo will be traveling.

“Is your family going to make it to Europe this summer?” she asks. Cameron passes her book to me, which I quickly sign.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Jeremy says, looking into my sad eyes.

I can’t believe we’re finally in a good space and being forced to spend time apart. Life isn’t fair in the least bit.

“It should be fun, unlike last year,” Cameron says, piquing my interest and that of my friends. Last year? What the hell am I missing here?

Sensing my irritation, Jeremy rubs my thigh harder to reassure me it’s not what he knows I’m thinking. Cameron
eyes Jeremy’s book in my lap like she wants to snatch it up, and I wish she would. Then I’ll be justified in slapping that bright smile off her face.

“I just want to go and get it over with. Last year I didn’t want to be in Redondo for the summer. This year I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” Jeremy says, kissing my nose.

“Oh my God, you’re one whipped nigga,” Mickey says, ruining the sweet moment and serving it to Cameron, who looks more than ready to roll: It’s too much color over here for her.

“Well, okay, then. Bye,” Cameron says, replastering her fake smile and bidding us farewell without signing a damn thing. I should’ve signed her book “So long, trick, and stay away from my man while you’re at it” instead of “Have a good summer.” She might get too literal with that shit.

“Who the hell was that, and why is she vacationing with your man?” Mickey asks, digging into her food and my raw emotions.

It’s hard to believe she gave birth a little over a month ago. I wish I could eat whatever I wanted and still fit into a size four, even if she does have new handles to hold on to.

“She’s not going anywhere with me,” Jeremy says, shutting down Mickey’s hating. “Our families vacation at the same resort, just like Chance and his folks, right, man?”

“It’s Chase, man. Chase,” Chance says passionately while at the same time ignoring Jeremy’s question. “Session at my house after school—I insist,” Chance says, leaning on Nellie. Their on again / off again relationship is working my nerves, not to mention I’m still hurt that he flaked on the lead role even if Nigel rocked it. I wonder if Nigel will take Mrs. Sinclair up on her recommendation for him to join the drama class next year. It’ll be nice to have another brother in class.

“I’m down,” Nigel says, devouring the last of his chili Fritos. He hasn’t said much, and I can see why. All of his food is gone.

“I’ll have to see if my mom can watch the baby,” Mickey says.

The sad look in her eyes isn’t from missing Nickey but rather from missing her life before motherhood, envying our seemingly carefree schedules. I’m the only one who can feel her sense of responsibility, because I’m usually the one with all of the work to do. But now that Netta’s sisters have taken over the shop while she and Mama are out of town, my time at the shop has dramatically decreased per Mama’s insistence, allowing me more time to get my side hustle on.

“Let’s make it a good one with everyone in attendance,” Chance says, eyeing Jeremy and me.

He knows we’ll want to spend the night alone, being that my man’s leaving in the morning. But I guess we have to make time for our friends, too.

“Is that Tania?” Nellie asks, pointing toward the front parking lot, way too excited to see the head bitch in charge on campus. I guess she wanted to spend the last day with her graduating class even if she already took the GED. Maybe the administration’s letting her walk in tonight’s graduation.

“Yeah, it is,” Jeremy says, looking at his ex-girlfriend hard like he can see his son through her even if the baby’s not here. If he didn’t want to get away before, I’m sure he’s looking for an escape route now.

“I have to say hi to her and get the latest dish. Her baby’s probably too cute,” Nellie says, leaving us at the table to run off and join the other groupies. What’s so damned special about that chick? She’s an evil broad at her nicest and a mean, rich bitch every other day of the year. What gives?

“You can go say hi if you want,” I say to Jeremy, who hasn’t taken his eyes off her—not even to blink. I know his disdain
for his baby’s mama runs deep, but I don’t mind if he wants to check on the status of his newborn son.

“Why would I want to do that?” Jeremy asks, looking down at me and exhaling deeply. “Forget her and her parents.” What he’s not saying is forget his dad, too. Because Tania’s Persian and therefore has brown skin, Mr. Weiner wouldn’t allow Jeremy to claim the baby. If he tried, Jeremy would be disowned and cut out of the family inheritance and probably kicked out of the house even if he’s only seventeen.

“There’s the bell,” Chance says, and I’m thankful for the diversion. “My house, after school. No exceptions.”

“We’ll be there,” Nigel says, giving his boys dap.

“Us too,” I say, hugging my man, who’s still in shock. Tania looks a little sore from here but good. I can’t believe she and Mickey bounced back in a week after giving birth. Mama says as long as women are healthy, they should give birth naturally for the very same reason. There’s no quick recovery time with a C-section, which is what Mickey initially wanted.

We claim our trash and head off to complete our final day as juniors, although I’m positive we’ll all take it easy for the rest of the day. Maybe if Jeremy and Tania had been in love when they made their baby, they would’ve fought harder to stay together. Whatever the case, her loss is my gain and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon without my man in my pocket. And if Cameron knows what’s good for her, she’ll back up off mine, too. Jeremy knows I’m all the girl he needs, and the feeling’s definitely mutual.

B
efore I left campus for the day, I had to say good-bye to Ms. Toni, who was overwhelmed with graduation duties. As the activities director, her job never ends and she informed me that she’d be on campus over the summer. Some of us just can’t get enough of Drama High. Ms. Toni also gave me free access to her personal library, and I took advantage of it, this time picking out a novel,
The Hand I Fan With,
about this sistah Lena who has an affair with a ghost she wished up. I can’t wait to dig into it. The soft texture of the cover’s already got me wishing for more.

We’ve been at Chance’s house for over three hours, and the rest of my friends are already lit—minus Nellie’s prude ass, of course. She’s been unusually quiet lately, constantly texting in private. I came into the kitchen thinking Nellie would be here, but she’s nowhere to be found. I’m sure Nellie would rather be with her rich-girl crew, but they’re slowly eliminating her from their group now that the year’s over. The whole homecoming-princess thing can only last so long. I feel sorry for my girl, but not that bad. Once Nellie’s ass is completely humbled, maybe we’ll finally get the Nellie back we all know and love.

I might as well get something to drink while I’m here. I
open the stainless-steel mega refrigerator, eyeing the collection of cold beverages lining the door. At Mama’s house, they only have family-sized containers of milk and Sunny Delight. I can buy whatever groceries I can afford at my mom’s house, and so far other than water, Kool-Aid is my best friend. But at Chance’s crib, there are single servings of the good stuff: cranberry juice, ginger ale, and raspberry lemonade—my favorite.

“Jayd. It’s always a pleasure to see you, love,” Mrs. Carmichael says, entering the massive Spanish-style kitchen and scaring the hell out of me. I thought Chance’s parents weren’t home. His mom must’ve snuck in on the sly.

“Hello, Mrs. Carmichael,” I say, returning the hug she’s got me engulfed in. I claim my drink and close the door. Mrs. Carmichael’s been trying to get me back in her home ever since we had dinner a couple of months ago, when she let it be known that she knew all about my gift of sight.

“Oh, please, stop with all that ‘Mrs. Carmichael’ stuff. Just, call me Lindsay.”

“I can’t do that without feeling like I’m disrespecting my elders,” I say, swallowing the cool lemonade. I needed that.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Jayd. It’s rare to meet a girl with Southern manners. I like that,” Mrs. Carmichael says, obviously still hopeful that her son and I will take our friendship to the next level, but that’ll never happen. Like Nigel, Chance and I are the best of friends for life—nothing more. Why can’t she and Nellie both get that through their thick skulls? The kitchen phone rings, interrupting our chat and allowing me to make my escape. All I wanted was something to drink, not a full-blown conversation.

“Yes, this is the home of Lindsay and David Carmichael,” Mrs. Carmichael says, looking concerned at the voice on the other end of the receiver. She reaches her hand out, holding
on to my wrist, momentarily preventing my disappearing act. Damn, she’s quick. Mrs. Carmichael finishes her conversation and returns the phone to its wall charger, looking shocked.

“That was Chance’s grandfather,” she says, releasing her hold on me. “He wants Chance to spend the summer with him in Atlanta, and apparently Chance already accepted his invitation without ever mentioning it to me.” Mrs. Car-michael looks like she’s going to pass out she’s so disturbed by the news. “He just wanted to clear it with me first and to have Chance call him back to make the final arrangements.”

I know part of her wants to forget to give her son the message, but she can’t risk violating Chance’s trust again. “That’s not so bad, is it?” I ask, unable to walk away from a suffering person no matter how bad I want to go back to the den and hang with my friends. Why do I always get caught up in other folks’ drama?

“You don’t understand, Jayd,” Mrs. Carmichael yells, now showing her true drunken colors. I can smell the expensive liquor all over her. “I’m losing my son. He’s already calling himself Chase instead of the befitting name I gave him, and now he’s going to spend the summer in Atlanta instead of traveling with me like he usually does. What am I going to do without my baby?” She breaks down in ugly sobs, holding her chest like her heart’s going to fall out if she lets go. I can’t take this for too much longer without spiritually intervening on one of my best friend’s behalf. Helping Chance’s mother is also helping him, and she’s begging for my assistance.

“Mrs. Carmichael, Chance isn’t a baby anymore,” I say, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, trying my best to comfort her. “He’s almost a grown man.”

“I know that, Jayd,” she says, taking a paper towel from the stand on the marble counter and blowing her nose. “That’s why this time is so important. We don’t have many summers left. And his father’s barely been home since
Chance found out about his birth family,” she says angrily. “I’m sure his secretary is more than pleased with our family meltdown.”

And that’s what I call too much information. I think Mrs. Carmichael would be better off without her arrogant husband, but we’re not homegirls, and I have no right to give anyone relationship advice.

“I need your help.”

“What do you think I can do to help your situation? Chance won’t listen to anyone right now because he’s so confused.”

Mrs. Carmichael’s tears return full force, causing her bloodshot blue eyes to become even more red. She can’t force her son to do anything he doesn’t want to, especially not when it comes to Chance exploring his true identity.

I look into Mrs. Carmichael’s eyes, wishing I could ease her pain. I can at least cool her mind, hopefully calming her down and allowing her to think clearly about the situation. I jump into Mrs. Carmichael’s mind, feeling the hurt she’s not so quietly bearing. I truly feel sorry for her. I can see her regret for not being able to have her own children, and I wish I could heal her womb, but that’s not why I’m in her head this evening. I can also see her memories of going to Mama back in New Orleans for help getting pregnant, which Mama did assist with successfully. But Mrs. Carmichael lost three babies in one year, and Mr. Carmichael kept her from trying again, forcing her to cease contact with Mama. Eventually, she had to have a full hysterectomy, and that was the end of her trying. She’s always resented her husband for that.

“Your grandmother was my only hope of salvation, and my husband was the one who destroyed everything,” Mrs. Carmichael murmurs, further explaining the memory we’re sharing. I focus on her eyes, drying her tears and calming her down. With all of this heat, she’s liable to try and kill Mr.
Carmichael if he walked through the door within the next two minutes, and I can’t have that on my conscience. Instead of her head becoming cool, mine does. My brain freeze is crippling me like Esmeralda’s eyes do.

“Oh shit,” I say, rubbing my temples and trying to hold on to the vision for as long as I can. Mrs. Carmichael’s carrying a lot of pain, and I want to help, but not at my own expense. I look down, ending the sorrowful vision quest, but the discomfort in my head doesn’t leave so easily.