No Laughter Here (5 page)

By the next morning things were back to normal
between Victoria and me. We walked to school together, then sat by the hopscotches until the bell rang. Whether I liked it or not, this was now normal. Not running down the street kicking a stone, our “in the meantime” soccer ball. Not laughing at each other's hairstyles, or treating each other to the word of the day. No. New normal meant we filled in space around each other. I did all the talking, not too much of it, and said nothing funny. She nodded, shrugged, or stared. I just sat with Victoria to make it seem like she wasn't alone.

Even though I didn't ask her about her mother's meeting with Ms. Saunders, I knew it helped. Victoria wrote in paragraphs instead of in Japanese poetry lines. Her letters weren't fat and loopy, but I could read them on her paper from my desk. She raised her hand at least once in language arts, science, and math to give short answers.

I wanted to believe these were all good signs, that Victoria was getting over her illness, as Nelson put it. But I knew that the girl sitting next to me wasn't the real
Victoria. She had just perfected her staring trick to include one-word answers. The real Victoria was famous for interjecting “Actually” to add more detail to our fourth-grade teacher's explanations. I liked that girl. She was a geek and not afraid to show it.

Ms. Saunders passed out the math dittos for homework. Three pages of them. It was all review, the same stuff I zipped through in workbooks over the summer, so I didn't care—unlike Juwan, who was having puppies. He pounded his fist on his desk and said, “Aw, man. Three sheets.” I stuck my tongue out at him and Ms. Saunders caught me, so I had to write thirty times, “I will not taunt my fellow classmates.” How fair was that? I'd have to write small and carefully to make it fit on one line.

I raised my hand. “Ms. Saunders, can't I just write ‘I will not stick my tongue out'? I can make that fit easier.
Taunt
,
fellow
, and
classmates
will take too much room.”

Ms. Saunders repeated the phrase “I will not taunt my fellow classmates” clearly, like I was hard of hearing. When the entire class, except for Victoria, laughed, Ms. Saunders got serious. First she hushed the class. Then she said, “Akilah, I want you to think about what taunting does and discuss it with your parents. Then summarize your findings and have your parents sign your sheet.”

I felt Juwan's eyes dancing in his big clown head. I knew he wanted me to look his way, but I wouldn't give him any satisfaction.

Ms. Saunders held up another sheet of paper and said, “In two weeks we will begin a new and exciting discovery.”

Discovery? A science word! Instantly I was healed from having been humiliated. I always knew science would get better in the fifth grade.

As sharp as my eyes were, I couldn't make out a single word on the yellow sheet, but I could see dotted lines, straight lines, and check boxes. These were all the things needed for a field trip. Already I could see an excavation site or a rock quarry, at the very least.

Ms. Saunders started a pile of yellow sheets at each row. We could barely contain our enthusiasm until she said, “We are going to learn about ourselves.”

I, and the rest of my classmates, came crashing down with a thud.

“This is a permission form to attend sex education classes. Have your parents or guardian read this form, sign it, and return it to me. Some of your parents will want to teach this subject at home. That's okay,” she said. “But if your parents check No, or if you do not return the signed permission slip, you will have library science during that period. Does anyone need it in a language other than English?”

Ms. Saunders had translations in Chinese, Spanish, and French, but she didn't have them in Hindi and Arabic. We had kids from all over.

Victoria and I walked home slowly, as we usually did. Her feet still shlushed along. I asked her, “Is your mother going to sign it?”

She shrugged. In the middle of missing her voice, I felt the thwack of a wet dart against the back of my neck.
Juwan stuck his head out of the bus window. “Gotcha, Akilah. I gotcha! Ha-ha!”

“Wait till tomorrow, Juwan!” I yelled, shaking my fist at him.

He yelled back, “I will not taunt my fellow classmates!” Then the bus pulled off.

I turned to Victoria. “That Juwan gets me so mad. He's going to get it.”

She stared ahead and nodded.

Mom gave me a lecture about stooping to
Juwan's level. After I wrote my punishment thirty times, she made me write a full-page essay about taunting instead of the summary Ms. Saunders asked for. She said, “None of this talking out of your head, Akilah. I want actual examples about the effects of taunting.” Then I had to rewrite it for neatness before she signed it.

Dad said, “Gladys, lighten up. If Juwan Spenser was involved, I'm sure Akilah was provoked and couldn't help herself.”

I smiled at my daddy. Yeah. I know I'm the princess and I was loving it—even though it didn't save me from having to write a full page.

As far as Mom was concerned, my self-esteem could have used a little grounding. She said, “How Juwan's mother raised him is her business. It doesn't have to rub off on my child.”

I had almost forgotten about the permission slip, but there it was, in my backpack. “Oh, yeah. Sex education class,” I said, pushing the form toward Mom.

“Sex education?” Dad asked. “You're in elementary school.”

Mom gave Dad a look like she wanted to stick out her tongue and sing, “Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah.” She signed her name with large, sharp strokes, grinning at Dad all the while. “She's not a baby, Roy.”

Poor Daddy. He looked so betrayed. I'll bet he didn't know about our backyard tea talks.

When we were alone, Mom said, “Akilah, I was going to wait until you needed them, but there's no use holding onto these. Besides, you should be prepared.”

You know how my mind takes off, just soars into flight? Instantly I pictured every wonderful surprise that she could have had waiting for me. But the ruby stud earrings in Mom's jewelry box, the ones I used to hold up to my naked earlobes, turned out to be a pack of sanitary napkins. A stupid starter kit.

I didn't put the sack of napkins in my drawer like Mom suggested. Instead I tossed them up in my closet, way back where I couldn't see them.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't against getting my period. I just wanted to get mine when Victoria got hers so we could talk about it and compare notes. I needed Victoria to be with me, as in
present
, and not doing her staring-into-space trick.

There had to be a way to delay my period and buy us more time. At least six to eight months. If Mom was right and I started early, then I was a sitting duck. As it was, I had less than four months before my eleventh birthday.
Not that I thought I'd magically get it on my birthday. I wasn't that naive. But if I could get it closer to twelve, which was when most of the sixth graders got it, then Victoria and I had a better chance of both getting it the same year. The last thing I wanted was to get it at ten. We wouldn't be going through it together. It would be like she was in Nigeria and I was in Queens.

 

I went on-line to do a search and typed in
minstruation
, but not one article popped up from the web. On a second try I spelled it correctly and got over 600,000 hits. Can you believe that? The Internet was chock-full of articles on what people talked about in private. There were tons of medical articles with diagrams and statistics, and all the different names for periods. Then there were postings from girls writing about first periods and embarrassing period moments. None of this stuff was what I was looking for, so I kept on searching. The deeper I searched, the kookier it got. There were myths about periods and even celebration rituals. Hah! I'd never let my mother know about that. Mom loves rituals. I should know. I had an African naming ceremony and my umbilical cord was buried in the backyard. You name the ritual, Mom insists we do it. I understand, though. After her sisters went through everything, no one made a fuss when it was Mom's turn—except when she wanted to marry Dad.

I just kept clicking on links, looking for clues. Anything I could use to delay my period. So far my best shot was to become a super-duper athlete and exercise
nonstop like a maniac. But there were no guarantees that that would work. If I was lucky, I might just get an irregular period, which I wasn't too sure I wanted.

I was about sixteen screens away from my first search. Somehow, from
menstruation
to
menses
to
lunar calendar
, I had landed on the moon.

I understood about the lunar calendar: how it takes a little over twenty-eight days for the arrival of a full moon, and that a period is supposed to come every twenty-eight days. Then there are blue moons, two full moons in one month. Did that mean you could get your period twice in a month? Yikes.

Instead of clicking back, I went forward and plunged deeper into stuff about how full moons can affect the number of babies being born. And that the moon causes tidal waves. And the
Apollo
astronauts walked on the moon. And people were auctioning off pieces of the moon. And there are more songs written about the moon than the sun. It was all driving me crazy. From sanitary napkins to the dark side of the moon. I was confused. My eyes were tired from jumping from stupid article to stupid article. None of this information was helping me.

I logged off and got into bed. I lay on my back, looking up at the moon through the venetian blind slats. A full moon hung outside my window. I yawned, closed my eyes, and fell into that heavy sleep, then
POW
! The clue I'd been searching for hit me, and I sprang right up.

The moonbeams. The moonbeams through my blinds. They were aimed right at me. Not just at me, but at my belly, where everything was.

I rolled away from the moonbeams.

It was no accident that I had landed on the moon. The clues were all there. The moon creates a tidal wave. A deep gravitational pull. If the moon could rock a tidal wave and cause more births, couldn't it pull down a period? Weren't periods based on the comings and goings of the moon? Didn't an Internet article say girls can get their period twice a month when there are two moons?

All this time I was bringing down my own period, sleeping directly under the moon, helping it pull, pull, pull on me.

I jumped out of bed and ran into a corner and balled up. I banged my elbow against the wall, but that was the least of my problems. I was away from the moonbeams. Now what?

Dad came into the room. He put his arms around me. “Bad dream, puddin'?”

“No, Daddy. I just can't stand all this moonlight.”

“Moonlight?”

I nodded like the big baby I was.

“Hey, where's my Girl Warrior?”

Girl Warrior. I was nobody's super-shero. I buried my face in my father's chest.

“Daddy, can you move the dresser, then move my bed?”

“Why not just close the blinds?” he asked.

Mom had come into the room.

“Nightmare,” he told her. “I got this.”

Mom shook her head and went back to their room.

“I had a close call,” I whispered to Victoria,
then glanced around. I didn't want to be overheard. “If I didn't move my bed from the gravitational pull of the moon, I'd be menstruating right now.”

Victoria gave me her famous Queen Victoria look. The one that went with “Akilah, that is utterly ridiculous.” She said nothing.

I took out my taunting essay. “Can you believe this? I couldn't even write free style. Mom said I had to stick to the facts.” I would have said “empirical facts,” but we hadn't done the word of the day since our last letter. It didn't make sense saying
empirical
if Victoria didn't spin it around with
spherical
.

“Oh! And then my mom handed me a gift. One she's been saving for the right moment. You'll never guess what.”

Victoria
whatted
me with her eyes. Good enough.

“Kotex.
Kotex
. Can you believe that?”

Victoria hmmed.

“You couldn't have had a worse day in your life than
I had yesterday. The only way things could have gotten worse was if…if…,” but I stopped myself because I was launching into a joke and I wasn't supposed to do that. Make Victoria laugh.

I whipped out my permission slip and pointed to my mother's extra-large and extra-sharp signature. “Can't miss that. Geez.” I put it back inside the folder. “Where's yours?”

She opened her notebook and showed me the yellow sheet. Nothing had been checked off or signed.

“Victoria! They're going to make you go to library science.”

“Oh,” she said, which was more than the hmm and the shrug.

I took out my pen and in my grownest
Mrs. Ojike
, I gave Victoria permission to participate in Paths to Discovery.

 

The following Monday Ida, Zuhair, Nahda, Sadia, and two other classmates whose parents checked the No box went to the library. If I hadn't signed Victoria's slip, she would have marched off with them. Ms. Saunders had Darryl roll the big TV out to the front of the room. She said, “I expect you to behave like the young ladies and gentlemen I know you are.” Then she turned the lights off and pressed the Play button on the VCR.

Debra Wells had already told Victoria and me about it. First they show girls getting their period, then they show how boys' voices change and how their “thing”
grows. They spend a lot of time on diseases, and they save the woman having a baby for last. They actually show it. The baby's head coming out and everything. Not that it's a big mystery. All you have to do is watch cable TV to see that. The only difference is, all through the video the narrator constantly says “you.” Like those are your breasts budding and your hair growing in unmentionable places, only they mention it, and show it up on the screen. And you feel like they're pointing at you.

The music started before a picture appeared. It was nature music, all friendly and peaceful. The kind that plays while rivers flow and flowers bloom. Then the words
Paths to Discovery
popped up on the screen, and everyone was all eyes, leaning forward, waiting for something to happen. Something so shocking that six of our classmates couldn't watch it. Sure enough, the music got all high tech. Red and yellow molecules turned into a tad-pole that turned into a fetus growing inside a woman's belly. Then, without warning, they showed a naked baby boy with his little dingdong, and all the girls laughed. I did too. I looked over at Victoria, but she didn't react. Next they showed a fat, pink baby girl with her legs open and you could see everything. The boys started to laugh.

Victoria got up while the naked baby girl was still on the TV screen. Just like that she was out the door. I stood, but Ms. Saunders told me to stay seated and went after her.

While Victoria and Ms. Saunders were gone, the baby girl and boy had stood up and transformed like teenage Autobots, sprouting hair under their arms and around
their privates. The boy's “thing” and his “other stuff” grew big and just sort of hung there, and the girl needed a bra.

The class was going wild. Everyone was laughing like they had never seen anything like it. All you needed was for one object to be thrown and before you knew it, there was a full-scale paper war in Ms. Saunders's class. Crumpled snowballs flew left and right.

Ms. Saunders entered the room without Victoria and turned off the video. She flicked on the lights,
snap,
and told the class to put their heads down on their desks.

Victoria spent the rest of the afternoon in the library. At the end of the day, I wrote the homework assignment in Victoria's notebook and collected her books. I was trying to rush out, but Ms. Saunders stopped me.

She said, “When I learned that I would have both you and Victoria in my class, I was delighted. But now I am concerned.”

I had to speak up for Victoria. I said, “I know Victoria's not working up to her full potential, but she really does belong in this class.”

Ms. Saunders held up the yellow permission slip that I had signed. “Right now, Akilah, I am concerned about
your
potential.”

I was in deep trouble. Tell-my-parents, call-the-principal type of trouble. My heart pounded like mad. You know, your life really does flash before your eyes at a moment like this. I saw myself cutting out paper dollies in the first grade and having a wee-wee accident in Pre-K.

“Frankly, Akilah, after speaking to Mrs. Ojike, I was
surprised to receive a signed permission slip.”

My brain was stuck. I didn't know where to begin. All I could come up with was “I didn't want Victoria to go to library science.”

“That is not an excuse, Akilah. What you did was quite serious.”

When I took that sheet and signed it, I felt 100 percent right. Girl Warrior right. Why didn't anyone get it? I couldn't be separated from Victoria. Not again.

“Akilah. You're one of my brightest students. You and your classmates are growing up. That's why we're embarking on this new discovery,” she said. “Your bodies are maturing, but your minds must always be ahead, and thinking positively. Now, young lady, I don't want you to continue in this way, so we will start anew, as if it's the first day of school and we are meeting for the first time. From this point on, you will be the person I know you are.”