Hood Lemonade Jamika's Vendetta (5 page)

“Trust me; I’ll kill that motherfucker if he ever touches you again! Why won’t you say anything, Mika? Did that bitch Millie know about this?”

Jamika finally spoke up. “Ma, what are you talking about?”

“That damned Hubert, tell me what happened baby, please!” Felise begged, close to tears.

It was then Jamika realized that somehow the can of worms had been freed. She never wanted her mother to hurt, or to have to face the horrors of what Hubert had done to her. Jamika slowly started to speak. Jamika started from the very first time he had touched her when she was six years old, until the very last time he had penetrated her at age eleven.

It turned out that Hubert had gotten drunk, and raped his girlfriend’s nine-year-old daughter. He had told the girl that he had two nieces that he used to have sex with all the time. When the girl told her mother what had happened and what had been said; she called the authorities. They knew about Jamika, and that he’d been molesting her cousin, Shaquita, over the years as well. She had recapped to her mother about the nights that they used to hold each other, crying, scared to lose their lives by telling on Hubert. So, when he moved away, they buried the secret, and began to move on with their lives.

Now, everything was out in the open. All of Jamika’s cousins had been taken from Millie, pending an investigation. The whole summer was filled with detectives, depositions, vaginal examinations and courtrooms. The girls were eventually given back to Millie. She wasn’t keeping many of the appointments and had been coaching Shaquita to say that it all never happened.

Jamika sat in the witness chair with sweaty palms. She looked at the big, white man to her left, who was the judge. He looked at her as if she was the criminal. She turned to look at the jury, and all twelve sets of eyes were on her. She swallowed hard, but her throat was too dry to bring any relief.

She looked straight ahead to see her mother, her Grandmothers Millie and Marjorie, Uncle Hubert, her cousins Monie, Shaquita and Peaches, Big Momma, Hubert’s ex-girlfriend and her daughter, the detectives and a host of people she’d never seen before. Jamika felt sick. Her stomach was doing somersaults and her mouth tasted salty.

The prosecutor began, “State your name for the record please?”

“Jamika Tyler.”

“How old are you, Jamika?”

“Thirteen.”

“Do you know the man sitting at that table over there?” the prosecutor asked, pointing to the table where Hubert sat.

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“Could you tell the court who that is?”

“H-he’s my uncle, Hubert.”

“How is he your uncle?”

“He is my daddy’s brother.”

“Was there ever a time when he touched you in a manner that made you feel uncomfortable?”

“Yes sir.”

“Could you tell us about one of those times?”

Jamika had been coached to tell them about how it all started, but she couldn’t seem to get it out. She felt hot and dizzy, and even hotter tears began to sting her eyes. All of these people would think that she did something to make him do these things to her. She started to cry hysterically, forgetting that she was in court. She started to yell at Hubert, “Why did you do that to us? Do you know what you’ve done to us? After you left us, we’d hold each other and cry, with white stuff on our coochies and in our panties!”

“Objection, Your Honor!” shouted the defense attorney. “This witness is—”

Before the judge could rule on the objection, Jamika was up on her feet. “I’m telling it all! I’m telling it now! You can’t kill me and throw me in the river now!”

Jamika then vomited violently all over herself and the front of the witness stand. The judge called a recess, visibly upset by both the vomit and the case in front of him. The prosecutor decided not to bring any of the other young girls to testify. It was just too upsetting to all in attendance.

The jury was back in only forty-five minutes with a verdict. Uncle Hubert was sentenced to fifteen years, with eligibility to parole in ten years. Jamika felt relieved that he could no longer hurt her, yet embarrassed that the case had been on the news and such a big fiasco. Their identities had been protected, but people close to them knew who they were. She looked forward to living in a new neighborhood and going to a new school, where few people knew of her and her family’s secrets.

Chapter Seven

Jamika woke up at 4:30 a.m., regardless of the fact that her school bus did not come until 6:10. She wanted everything to be perfect for the very first day at Dillard High School. The school had quite a reputation. Dillard was the largest high school in Broward County, both in size and population. It was the size of a small college. Jamika felt honored that she’d been accepted into their Performing Arts program.

The magnet programs were implemented at the school to integrate it. Dillard was a majority black school, which meant that whites were easily accepted into this program for the purpose of integration. Blacks, however, had to be extremely talented to get accepted. Dillard was also known as Fashion High School. Everyone dressed to impress. Jamika had made sure to accumulate an impressive wardrobe.

After taking care of her morning hygiene, she turned to the outfit that she’d selected for the first day of school. A pair of black well-fitting jeans, a red, short-sleeved body suit, and a black vest outlined in gold, with gold sandals, sat on her bedroom chair. She decided that she’d rather wear something that would show off her legs. Some of her chubbiness was fading, yet she still had a big bone structure. She finally decided on a denim skirt set and a pair of designer denim sandals, that was an exact match. She pulled the sponge rollers from her hair. Her hair had grown well beyond her shoulders. She combed her hair lightly to maintain the style, and applied her lipstick and eyeliner. She snapped in her gold hoop earrings, slid on her five gold bangle bracelets, and clasped on her diamond-cut nameplate and chain. She dabbed a little of Felise’s White Diamonds perfume on, grabbed her new Dooney and Burke purse, and was on her way to her new school. Felise had been especially generous to Jamika, trying to somehow buy the pain away of the summer’s fiascos.

When the school bus arrived at Dillard, Jamika was intoxicated by the atmosphere. She’d heard stories, but stories hadn’t prepared her for the drastic change. People were everywhere, talking and laughing. Most of them seemed so much older than she was. She looked at the schedule that had been mailed to her.

1. Vocal Tech IPA4

2. ActingPAup2

3. Algebra I507

4. Earth Science903

5. StagecraftPA6

6. English I102

She had three performing arts classes and three academic classes. She walked down the outside corridors looking for her first class. The numbers were all 100-300. She decided to go inside the inside corridors, to see if she could find it there. When she stepped inside, it was like a traffic jam of people. There was literally no space as she inched forward to try to find her class. She was touching the person in front of her, and the person behind her, was touching her. It must have been normal there, because everyone continued conversing like it wasn’t crowded at all.

She’d passed 400-600 and still no sign of anything that said PA. Where were the PA classes? She heard someone call out from behind her, “Ay Black, you look like you lost?” She turned around to see a tall, caramel-colored young man, with dark brown eyes, looking her way.

“You talking to me?” replied Jamika.

“Yeah, you are lost, aren’t you?” he said. “You fresh meat, huh? I mean, are you a freshman?”

“Don’t try to change it now. I’m fresh meat, huh?” Jamika replied, annoyed.

“Hold up, baby girl. I didn’t mean any harm. I like to joke around. How about I walk you to that class you trying to find?” he said, walking over to her.

He stood in front of Jamika, too close purposely. His expensive cologne was taking over her senses. “After you,” he said, pointing to the now emptying hallway. “My name is Quinton, what’s yours, Black?”

“It’s not Black, for sure. It’s Jamika.”

“Okay, Jamika, you don’t play do you, black girl? Let’s go this way,” he said, gesturing to an adjoining hallway.

“It’s not that I don’t play, I just don’t like being called Black as a nickname, that’s all.”

“Why not? Black is beautiful. Always be proud of what you are. I love dark, beautiful girls, and you have the whole package.”

“Thank you. What grade are you in, Quinton?” Jamika asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’m a senior this year. I’ve been here all three years. You’re going to like it here. Just stay on your toes and don’t get caught up with the wrong crowd. This is the performing arts building right here. All of your classes that say PA will be in this building. So, what do you do in PA?”

“I sing and act,” said Jamika modestly.

“You do it all, huh?” he said, impressed. “Well, I know these guys around here going to be at you. Can I get a head start for walking you to class?”

“Dag, I owe you for walking me to class? I have to watch you,” Jamika said, with a seductive smile.

“It’s not like that; I’d just like to get to know you, that’s all. Before you say anything, here’s my number.” He quickly jotted down his number and handed it to Jamika. “I’m late for class, but call me sometimes. I’ll be seeing you around,” he said, as he walked away.

Jamika couldn’t believe she’d taken Quinton’s number. She hadn’t been at the school an hour yet, and had already taken a guy’s number. It would be all right if she wasn’t still dating Marquis. It didn’t matter though; soon everyone would see them together and know they were a couple.

She entered her first class and it was quite noisy. She didn’t see an instructor anywhere and eighty percent of the class was white. This was a big contrast to what she’d seen in the halls outside of the PA building. She spotted two black girls sitting together and decided to sit near them. She had always schooled with blacks, and it felt somewhat awkward being in a class with so many whites.

The girls were singing a song by Shirley Murdock, and they sounded great. Jamika loved Shirley Murdock; people always said that she sounded like her, powerful and strong. As she looked around the room and listened to the various people singing, she started to feel like maybe she wasn’t as good as she’d thought. All of these people sounded like professionals.

At Lauderhill Middle School, she was one of six girls that could really tear up a song.  She was confident of her voice when she sang there. But here, she heard high notes like Mariah Carey would hit. Voices that were so heavenly, she doubted she could match them.

Finally, the teacher appeared from a little room within the classroom. She walked past the grand piano and stood in front of the class. The class fell silent. She looked around slowly, as if taking her time to visually examine each student.

“My name is Ms. Johnson, and I’ll be your instructor for Vocal Techniques this year. You’ll learn breathing techniques, voice control, and choral music as a group.” Ms. Johnson was a short, black, stern woman with a voice that carried. She dressed very conservatively, held a clipboard, and her hair was in a bun tightly wound at the nape of her neck.

“The first thing I want to do is get to know each one of you, the type of voice you have and seat you accordingly. When I point to you, I would like for you to come up, introduce yourself and sing any song of your choice.” She pointed at a redheaded, white girl with freckles and teeth that looked too big to belong to her mouth. She introduced herself as Jennifer Lenox, and began to sing, “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. Her voice was beautiful and light, like a songbird. She reached every note seemingly without effort. When she finished, everyone applauded loudly.

Ms. Johnson simply nodded, and pointed to the next student, which was one of the black girls that Jamika had gone to sit near. She introduced herself as Nalisha Foster and began to sing “Miracles”. Jamika could have sworn that Whitney Houston herself was there singing that song. Nalisha’s voice was clear and steady. Her arms flew up and down as she sang, and it was like an early morning concert in PA4. She concluded her song with a smile and a bow, and everyone applauded wildly.

Jamika walked to the front of the class and introduced herself, and took a few quick breaths. She hadn’t seen Mark since her move to Parkway. She closed her eyes and Mark’s handsome face appeared behind her closed lids. She began, “Bee-fo-ore you left me… I had it a-all… You were with me… and that was enough…” Then, she was lost in her song and all that mattered was the good butterflies that jilted her whenever she sang. Her voice rolled over the class strong, powerful and on pitch. She’d forgotten about Nalisha’s performance and everything else.

When she ended, the class rang with applause. The realization that she was standing in vocal class at a new school, in front of strangers came back. She felt good, the applause sounded genuine. She looked towards Ms. Johnson, who was again writing something on her notepad. She looked up and pointed at the next student.

On the way out, Jamika was handed a sheet of paper titled, “Vocal Critique Sheet”. The top line beside her name was a grade, a C. Under it was written, “You need practice in the areas of breath control and pronunciation. You have an alto voice and will be sitting in the alto section, starting tomorrow.” A “C”, Jamika couldn’t believe it. She had sang her best, had poured her heart into it. Maybe, she really wasn’t as good as she thought.

She took the elevator up to her acting class. She walked in and saw that Nalisha was in this class also. She sat in the desk next to her. Nalisha looked like something was heavy on her mind. “Is everything okay?” Jamika asked.

“No,” replied Nalisha, annoyed. Jamika picked up on the tone of her voice and sat facing front in the desk.

Nalisha realized she’d offended Jamika and decided to apologize. “Hey, I’m sorry I snapped at you, it’s just that Ms. Johnson gave me a C for the song I sang in class, and I gave that song my all.” Jamika burst out laughing. She wasn’t laughing at Nalisha; she couldn’t believe she’d also gotten a C. Her vocals were on point. She must have sounded damn good to get the same grade as Nalisha.

“Excuse me,” Jamika said. “I am not laughing at you. You sounded great. I got a C too; I thought I was the only one.”

“Really?” Nalisha perked up. “She gave you a C, girl, you tore that song up!” Jamika needed that. She felt a renewed confidence.

The day rolled on and lunch was after fourth hour Earth Science class. The cafeteria was gigantic. The school was closed campus, meaning that the students couldn’t leave for lunch, due to the large student population. There were KFC, McDonald’s, and Subway stands, and four lines for regular school lunch. Jamika bought a two-piece original KFC meal and was headed to find a table when she spotted Quinton.

He was smiling and walking towards her. She noticed a group of guys looking at her and chatting to themselves as she walked by. She wished she knew someone here, anyone. She was starting to feel very alone and out of place. She hadn’t seen Marquis yet, and definitely didn’t want to be spotted flirting with Quinton.

Quinton approached her and flashed his handsome smile. “Where are you sitting? Let me get this,” he said, grabbing her lunch tray to carry it. Jamika spotted three girls sitting at a four-seated table, and motioned to that table so that Quinton could not sit with her. They passed a group of guys that all looked to be seniors.

One of the guys called out, “Yo, Q. Is that you?” He pointed at Jamika with a wicked smile.

“Damn, can’t I just walk a pretty lady to her table?” Quinton asked the guy, blushing. “Man, I just wanted to know, ‘cause black girl got it goin’ on. Fresh meat all day!” he said, with a wink at Jamika. Jamika could see that dark and light skin was not an issue at Dillard High and that made her feel good.

Quinton sat her tray on the table that she’d pointed to and turned to leave with a quick, “See ya later, cutie.” Jamika smiled, and began on her lunch.

“Quinton always flirting, I guess he has a new victim. These freshmen are dumb as hell,” one of the senior girls stated as if Jamika wasn’t sitting right there. Jamika just ignored the girl and continued to eat her lunch.

Jamika looked around at all the different students. She took mental notes of the way they were dressed, the pretty hairstyles, and the students that were coupled up. She was then jolted back to the conversation at the table. She thought she’d heard Marquis’s name mentioned. One of the girls was saying, “Yes, girl. Reva said she knows that he’s going to propose to her, because his sister told her. He already told her to skip sixth hour, and meet him in the back of the school by the gym. It’s the first day of school anyway; they aren’t missing anything in class. He’s got her a ring and everything! Reva lucked up and got her a good man, girl.”

Jamika had to say something this time. “Excuse me, did you say Marquis?”

“Uh-uh, she all up in your mouth and shit,” one of the other girls said, annoyed.

“Listen here, little girl,” the first girl began to speak again. “You need to learn how to stay o—”

Before she could finish, Jamika was up on her feet with her palms flat on the table, flaming mad because she knew what she just heard. She only wanted it repeated as confirmation. No wonder she seemed not to be able to find or even run into Marquis. It all made sense. Then these seniors want to disrespect her on top of it all. She realized that they didn’t know her, but they were about to not forget her.

“Listen bitch!” Jamika started in a steady, “ready to beat ass, just make the wrong move” voice while looking the girl directly in the eye. “You shouldn’t talk about people around other people, not knowing who the fuck they know. Now, you don’t know me like that. I ain’t no damn little girl. You keep talking shit and this freshman gonna mop the floor with your ass!”