The Meltdown (6 page)

“Don’t worry about anything, Mama,” I say. “I’ll be fine. Go on your trip and have some fun. You deserve it,” I say. I pick up a broom to start the cleaning process. This is something I’ll have to do before it’s all said and done anyway. I might as well get it over with so there won’t be as much for me to do later.

“You sure you can handle all of this on your own?” Mama asks, gesturing around us. The small room is packed from floor to ceiling with powders, potions, and other tools of our trade. She then places both hands on the huge, aged, leather-bound book holding the keys to our success and answers to any questions we might have. That is more important than any material item in this quaint house—shrines included.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “You can trust me.”

The look in Mama’s eyes tells me she’s not just talking about me taking charge of my own healing when it comes to bad dreams and wicked neighbors, but our clients’ issues as well.

“Jayd, our clients depend on us. And you have a lot of social commitments to manage already,” Mama says, alluding to the debutante ball, the play, and the cheer squad. She has always been against me overextending myself.

“I’ve got this, Mama.” Mama and I exchange a look of trust, love, and fear. She’s got to let me try.

“Okay, then; it’s settled. Little Jayd will hold down the spiritual needs of our clients while we’re gone, and you’ll let her try, Big Jayd,” Netta says, clapping her hands like she’s really running things. We both know Mama has the final say in every major spiritual decision. There’s only one queen in this house, and that’s Mama. Even Esmeralda knows that, no matter how bad she might think she is.

Finally surrendering to our wills, Mama smiles and looks at me firmly.

“This is your chance to show us what you’ve got, girl. Most importantly, remember to ask for help when you need it,” Mama says, checking my forehead with the back of her hand one more time before getting back to work. She said “us” but I know she meant her. There’s a lot riding on my shoulders as the next queen in line to take charge of our lineage’s responsibilities. I haven’t been fully engrossed in the strenuous tasks involved in learning what I need to know for the next phase of my journey, but that’s all about to change. I plan on being on my game this summer in more ways than one, starting with mastering my skills.

“Oh, Lynn Mae. Don’t be so hard on the poor girl,” Netta says, wrapping her right arm around my shoulders. She’s such a good godmother. I can only hope I’m the same with Rahima and Nickey, Mickey’s daughter. “Jayd, I can’t wait to read about your learnings in the spirit book when we get back.”

“Me neither,” Mama says, half laughing.

I haven’t done such a good job keeping up with my contributions to our family’s history, but I plan on rectifying that situation, too. The next two weeks are going to be hectic both at home and at school. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about my crazy life, it’s that as long as the ancestors are in my corner, I’m up for any challenge that comes my way.

“Mama!” I yell, waking out of my sleep drenched in sweat. Some of the salty liquid escapes through my fingers as I wipe my forehead. The perspiration trickles down to my lips, tasting like seawater. If I taste ocean water, then I must’ve landed in the sea and not into Netta’s arms. What does that mean? Damn, that was a strange dream and I would know.

“Did the alarm go off?” Jeremy asks, rubbing his eyes open. I know he’ll be glad when we don’t have to wake up
early for school anymore. However, if he continues spending the night at my mom’s place, my crazy dreams will sometimes wake him up without warning.

“Not yet,” I say, kicking the thin sheet off my body.

Jeremy looks at his cell on the floor next to his pillow and checks the time. I can tell by the darkness in the room that it’s too early for most sane people to be up.

“Another bad dream?” Jeremy asks. I love that we’re in sync. He touches my thigh, noticing the moist coating on my skin. “Damn, baby. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Jeremy. I’m fine,” I say, rising from our self-made cot on the floor of my mother’s apartment to dry off. “It’s all a part of it.”

Jeremy rises from his side and follows me toward the bathroom. “Isn’t there something you can do to make them more pleasant?”

That’s actually not a bad idea, but I don’t think my gift of sight works like that. I take my towel off the rack on the wall and pat myself dry.

“I wish there were,” I say, putting the towel back in its place and returning to the pile of blankets we use as a bed. The small couch can sleep only one. Jeremy joins me in the still room, readjusting himself to hold me in his arms.

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming like this all my life. I’m used to it,” I say, only telling half the truth. Sometimes they scare the hell out of me, too.

“I don’t see how you can ever get used to waking up from a dream screaming on a regular basis.”

I grab Jeremy’s forearms and tighten his grip around my waist, reassuring him that everything’s okay. Jeremy’s more shaken up than I am, and he didn’t even have to risk his life.

“I promise it’s not as bad as it seems.” I stroke Jeremy’s hands, feeling his breathing relax as we calm down. Before I
can fully fall back to sleep, Jeremy turns me around and kisses my forehead. Face-to-face, he kisses me softly on the lips, bringing me back to life.

“I feel helpless when I see you uncomfortable,” Jeremy says in between kisses.

How do I convey to him that his fear’s unwarranted. “You shouldn’t, baby,” I say, taking over the early morning make-out session with a few kisses of my own. “Your presence alone makes me feel safe.”

Jeremy kisses me passionately—damn sleeping. As far as we’re concerned, this day has officially begun, and I for one am glad it’s starting on the right foot. I can’t predict how the rest of the school day will go, but if I can remember this feeling, nothing should be able to get under my skin.

No matter how different our cliques, hairstyles, and cultures may be, it’s safe to say every student at South Bay High is glad the last two weeks of school are finally here. This year has been a whirlwind, and I’m ready to slow down for the next three months. I joined the summer reading circle for AP English, which includes studying for the SATs. That’s all the schoolwork I have to do until the fall. It may take me a while to catch up to my privileged counterparts who’ve been groomed for all standardized tests from the womb, but I’m holding my own.

My mom and Mama agreeing that I need to get back on my spiritual game is enough for me to devote more time to my studies. They rarely agree on anything. And with my dreams and sight more off the chain than usual, I’m fully aware that I need to get on my spiritual p’s & q’s—not now, but right now. However, I have to make it through the rest of this short Tuesday before I can focus on anything else. I’m enjoying my part as the lead in the spring play and all the perks thereof, but it’s a lot of work.

“Line,” I say to my freshman understudy, Brenda, who is offstage. Laura, the Associated Student Body’s queen bitch, was initially offered the spot but refused to work underneath me—her words, not mine. Brenda looks up from her script, irritated with my constant intrusion of her seeing how long she can stretch her Juicy Fruit gum before it snaps.

“Jayd, haven’t you memorized the script yet?” Mrs. Sinclair asks, aggravated at my constant requests for help. I look to Brenda for my line, but she’s lost her place. Some understudy she’s turned out to be.

“Yes. I just got a little confused for a moment.” My body may be in fifth-period drama class, but my mind is elsewhere. I’ve been thinking about Jeremy all day long. I’d rather be at the beach with him hugged up on a blanket than in this stuffy, dark room with Mrs. Sinclair on my ass any day.

“The star’s confused. Fabulous. Just fabulous,” Mrs. Sinclair says, taking a pencil out of her bushy red ponytail and tapping the clipboard on her lap. “Opening night is creeping upon us, and the star’s confused.” Mrs. Sinclair dramatically waves her hands around in the air. Maybe I am off my game a little bit, but it’s not that serious. Mrs. Sinclair has never been so hard on me before.

The afternoon school announcements blare through the speakers, interrupting Mrs. Sinclair’s rant. Usually I’m as annoyed by the rude interruption as our teacher visibly is, but I’m actually grateful for the save this afternoon. Reid’s so annoying. Hopefully next year he’ll be voted out of office as ASB president.

“It’s okay, Jayd. She’s always hardest on the star,” Alia says, patting my shoulder. She’s on point with her lines and stage cues and has the good fortune of having a competent alternate. How did I get all mixed up? Alia’s attention is diverted to the door opening across the room. Nigel and Chance walk
in from the main theater and smile our way. Alia’s eyes brighten every time she sees Chance.

Every day there’s something different about the new Chance. First it was his name, then his teeth and wardrobe. Today Chance has three wooden strings of rosary beads hanging around his neck. Unless something else has changed, I know he’s not Catholic, so what’s that all about?

“My ladies,” Chance says, joining Alia and me in the center of the classroom. He hugs Alia, making her day even sweeter, and then me.

“What up, my peoples?” Nigel says, quickly hugging me and nodding to Alia. Reid can go on for ten minutes if the front office lets him. We might as well join Nigel and sit down.

“What’s up with the beads?” I ask Chance, gently touching the largest crucifix out of respect. Mama wears a rosary sometimes with her elekes—beads for the orishas—in honor of our ancestors who hid voodoo behind Catholicism so that it could survive. She also says that even though Jesus may not be our ancestor, he’s somebody’s and should be honored as such.

“Everyone’s wearing them in Hotlanta, shawty. Want me to get you one?” Chance asks, fingering the trio like it’s platinum.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got all the bling I need right here,” I say, stretching my arms out in front of me and shaking my wrists, allowing my bracelets to clink. My friends smile, but our teacher doesn’t find me amusing at all.

“Jayd, what the hell is that noise?” Mrs. Sinclair asks over the speaker, eyeing my jade bracelets from her seat in front of the stage.

“My bracelets?” I ask, touching the ancient jewelry. “I’ve always had these on.” I don’t know which is more annoying: Reid’s pompous ass or Mrs. Sinclair’s other personality creeping out.

“You need to remove those cowbells at once. They’re very distracting. Everyone, take five and be back on the set ready to impress me—no clinking allowed,” she says, rolling her eyes. I guess she’s had it with me.

“Mrs. Sinclair can be brutal when she wants to be,” Chance says, feeling my pain.

“Damn, she didn’t have to call you out like that,” Nigel says, leading the way outside. It’s a clear, hot day in Redondo Beach. Even the birds are chilling on the bus bench across the street, enjoying the warm sea breeze. The sun’s shining brightly in the blue sky, again making me wish I were at the beach with Jeremy and his crew instead of stuck inside rehearsing. I asked for the lead role and got it, so I guess I shouldn’t complain no matter how miserable I am.

“Ah, don’t take it personally, Jayd. She always gets like that before opening night. You know that,” Chance says, stepping off the sidewalk and out to the corner to light a cigarette. I noticed he changed from Marlboros to Newports. My uncles smoke Newports, and most of the white kids I know who smoke puff on Marlboros. I guess even Chance’s choice of poison has to reflect his newfound blackness.