This Side of Home (21 page)

“I think you dropped something by accident,” Mrs. Armstrong says, looking at the paper that fell to the floor. She arches an eyebrow and stares him down.

Who breaks it up when teachers fight?

Principal Green bends down and picks up the worksheet. “I apologize you all had to witness this, but it is important that you know the role of your teacher. I believe you can learn a lot from this.”

“Excuse me, but I have something to say.” Mrs. Armstrong is talking calmly, but her eyes are fire. “I was going to wait and ask if we could speak after school when our students aren't present. But since you'd like to use this as a learning opportunity for them, then let's do that.”

Get him, Mrs. Armstrong. Get him.

“First of all, I didn't know students were inviting the press to the block party, but I must say I think that's a great idea—”

“The press is here enough as it is. There's an article on Richmond at least once a week,” Principal Green says.

“And they never get the story right. Principal Green, you have a chance to let these kids tell their own stories. To let them speak for themselves,” Mrs. Armstrong says. “To my knowledge, this block party is a celebration featuring alumni from this school who have gone on to accomplish great things. Seems like you'd be all for exploiting that.”

No one is going to believe this has happened. I am so glad I have witnesses.

“I'm all for the block party,” Principal Green
says. Then he looks at me. “However, this event is not academic. When the kids put on a science fair, we'll call the press.” Principal Green puts his clipboard down on the desk. It slaps the table, echoes.

“Since when is critical thinking, innovation, and applying what you've learned in the classroom to the real world not academic? What is the point of education if it can't live outside the four walls of the classroom or break out of the multiple-choice boxes on a test? Our students have taken what they've learned in theory and put it into action. You should be proud of that.”

I honestly think they've forgotten that we're in the classroom watching all this. This is just as awkward as when my parents argue in front of me. I try to distract myself, look somewhere else besides Mrs. Armstrong's burdened eyes. I look at the desk, notice pencil carvings and graffiti tags. My eyes scan the table. Principal Green's clipboard is sitting so close to the edge it might fall. I reach out to move it, but then pull back once I realize what's been sitting in front of me this whole time.

The questions.

The school year is almost over. The closer it gets to summer, the more time I want to spend with Tony. Every weekend we do something together because we know that soon I'll be in the south and he'll be on the West Coast. He got accepted to Stanford.

I walk across the street to Tony's house and ring the doorbell. I hear footsteps, then the curtain at the front window moves. There is silence and then two clicks. The door opens. “Hello.” It's Mr. Jacobs. He is in jeans and a blue T-shirt that is torn at the collar.

“Hi, uh, I'm—I'm here for Tony.”

“He went to the store with his mom. He should be back soon.” Mr. Jacobs opens the door wide. “You can come in and wait for him.”

I am tempted to turn around and go back across
the street. I can wait at home. But Mr. Jacobs is smiling and already has the screen door open.

He goes into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs a Coke. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” I sit on the sofa. I wish he had been watching TV so at least we could distract ourselves by making small talk about whatever was on. But instead, the house is silent. It was never, ever this quiet when Essence lived here.

Mr. Jacobs brings me a glass of water even though I didn't ask for anything. “Tony tells me you and Nikki are going to Spelman.”

“Yes.”

Mr. Jacobs drinks from his can of soda. “That's a long way from Oregon.”

“Yes.”

“Tony's going to Stanford.” Mr. Jacobs sets his Coke down on a coaster. “He'll be soaking up all that sun.”

“Yeah, and I'll be adjusting to Georgia's heat.”

Why is it that talking about the weather is always a common denominator?

“Tony tells me you're really smart. Says you could go to any school you want.”

I smile.

“That's good. You and your sister seem to have good heads on your shoulders. I should have you
come talk to my students. They need all the inspiration they can get,” he says. “They're not like you.”

They're not like you
.

The words hang in the room like thick smog.

I take a drink of water.

Outside two car doors slam shut and soon footsteps are on the porch. Just as the knob turns, Mr. Jacobs says, “Your parents must have done something right, that's for sure. You and your sister are the only kids I know from around here who got something good going for their lives.” He takes a long drink from his can, stands, and opens the door for Mrs. Jacobs and Tony. “Keep up the good work,” he tells me.

By the time I realize his words weren't really compliments—even though he probably thinks they were—by the time I remember that this isn't the first time a white person has told me I am not like the rest of them—my friends, cousins, neighbors—it is too late to say anything. And what would I say anyway?

Sometimes I am quick to stand up for myself, to let someone know that he needs to rethink what he just said. I can be that fire child Mom always says I am. But sometimes I am barely a flame. Sometimes I'm a coward.

It's the end of May and our block party is getting off to a good start. This is the kickoff to the rest of our senior activities. Prom is in two weeks, then graduation. The street is blocked off to traffic so people can walk freely and not have to worry about cars.

After our block party, Jackson Avenue will open up for Last Thursday. We have a good representation from the local businesses. Most of them are giving out coupons to use at their shops.

I look around to see if any reporters are here, and so far none have showed up. It took a while for the sun to come out, but now that it's noon, the sky is glowing. I get the official program started by welcoming everyone and introducing the performers and speakers for the day.

The last person to speak is Mark Lewis, the doctor who has his master's from Brown. Mark takes the stage. At the end of his speech he says, “I am the man I am today not only because of the college I attended, not only because of my parents, but because of this community right here. Yes, I have a degree from Brown, and yes, I started a clinic. I guess that could be called success. But I believe I am successful because I try to live a life of integrity and because I practice empathy for others. I learned that here, right here at Richmond.”

After Mark finishes his speech, Principal Green comes to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Richmond High!” Principal Green says. “Now, allow me to do a little bragging. Miss Maya Younger, our student body president, and her twin, Nikki, have been accepted to Spelman College!” There are claps and whistles, and it feels so good to have all these people rooting for us.

Principal Green reads a list of Richmond seniors and which schools we will be attending. “And today, we are going to help make a dream come true for one more student,” he says. “This student will get the Richmond High School Leadership and Community Involvement Scholarship,” he says. “I would like Maya to do the honor of announcing our recipient.”

Principal Green hands me an envelope. I know I
am supposed to say something like, “Everyone's a winner,” or something else to those who won't get the scholarship, but all I can do is rip open the envelope. From the corner of my eye I see Principal Green and one of the college advisers holding an oversize check. It's turned so that the words are facing them and not the audience. I pull the paper out of the envelope, and I read exactly what it says. “It is my great pleasure to announce the recipient of the Richmond High School Leadership and Community Involvement Scholarship: Charles Hampton!”

After the block party, Malachi and Ronnie congratulate Charles. They walk next to him and Devin, with Nikki, Essence, and me behind them. We meet up with Star, Tony, and Kate and walk Jackson Avenue going in and out of the shops using our coupons. All of us keep replaying the moment Charles took the stage, how his mom was crying and clapping and thanking God.

“And the look on Cynthia's face,” Star says. “She just knew she won.”

We all laugh, but then Charles looks at me and says, “Thank you, Maya,” in a way that makes me know we are forever friends.

Vince and Bags are walking across the street with Cynthia and Tasha. Vince is dancing with a belly
dancer and drawing a crowd. The more people laugh and point, the wilder he flops his arms and gyrates his body.

“Let's go in here,” Essence says. “I'm hungry.”

“You're willing to eat at Soul Food?” I laugh.

Essence holds up a coupon. “Girl, free food is good food.”

The boys don't want to eat just yet. They keep walking and leave me, Essence, and Star with Nikki and Kate. The five of us go into Soul Food. Essence gets in line, and we grab a table at the window. I look out the window at the avenue, hoping to see the man who sold me the necklace. I want to thank him, tell him I know what it means. I look for him at the corner, but instead a local photographer is there selling her prints.

Z is here, too, pushing his cart down the sidewalk in front of Daily Blend. His cart is overflowing and piled so high I'm not sure if he can see where he is going. He bumps into Vince. He stumbles a bit but doesn't fall. Bags turns and starts yelling at Z. I can't make out what's being said, but I know it's nothing good. Vince and Bags are laughing at and taunting Z. Cynthia walks away from them, as if she wants no part of this. I see her squeeze herself through the crowd. People stop and watch the argument, and some of them even join in, yelling at Z, telling him he can't be here with his cart.

Z tries to move; he pushes his cart forward, but Vince and Bags won't budge and the street is so crowded, it's hard for Z to maneuver his way out. Now he is cursing and yelling, and everyone in Soul Food gets up from their tables and comes to the window to watch the drama.

Vince knocks Z's cart over and everything after that happens so fast, I'm not even sure what I'm seeing; all I know is Z and Vince are in each other's faces yelling and instead of people trying to break it up, people start arguing with each other, right in the middle of Jackson Avenue.

“There's no reason why he needs to bring that junk over here!” someone shouts. “If he doesn't want to act civilized he should stay home!”

I hear someone else say, “He has a right to walk this street just like everyone else!”

People are yelling. I can barely make out what anyone is saying, but I know there is arguing about who was in this community first.

And then I hear glass shatter. Someone has thrown a rock into the front window of Daily Blend. The mild chaos becomes total mayhem and everyone is running, trying to leave.

The owner of Soul Food locks her door, turns off the lights, tells us to come with her to the kitchen.
We hide in her dark pantry, sit on the floor. I can hear the sounds of more glass breaking.

There is one voice that stands out. It sounds like Vince, and he is saying, “This is our neighborhood, too!” I think back to the day when Devin got into it with Vince, to the words written on the wall—
This is our school, too
—and I wonder if all this, the buffet, the poster war, the assembly, has just been a joke to him and Bags. And I know I will never be able to say this for sure, but I think he said the n-word that day in the hall.

The store owner sits next to me on the floor. She is trembling. I take her hand. One of her cooks is on the phone with the police. When she hangs up, she says, “We just need to stay here, stay calm. Help is on the way.”

The next morning I wake up to the sound of the news. Nikki's TV must be up as loud as it can go. “There will be no school today at Richmond High,” the reporter says.

I go into her room. Essence and Nikki are sitting on her bed. I get in, sit crossed-legged next to Nikki.

The news is replaying scenes from yesterday.

Of course they showed up to report about this.

Mom knocks on the door. Her eyes are still red from crying last night. When Nikki, Essence, and I walked in the door she couldn't stop hugging us, couldn't stop crying. “Good morning,” she says. “Just wanted to check in. You girls okay?”

We say yes.

Mom stays in the room, watches the news with us. The camera scans over a block of Jackson Avenue. Daily Blend has the most damage. But other stores have broken windows, too.

A commercial comes on. I ask Mom, “Can I go over to Daily Blend and help clean up?”

“Maya, you are not leaving this house.”

“But, Mom, look, the news is even saying that everything is under control.”

“Maya, the answer is no.”

“But—”

“Don't ask me again.” Mom goes to her room.

I get up. Nikki is looking at me, and I know she knows what I'm thinking. “Let's go,” she says.

The three of us get dressed and sneak out of the house.

The first place we stop is Daily Blend. Glass litters the streets. The sun reflects off it, giving us the illusion that we are walking on jewels. There are workers outside sweeping and a few people boarding up a window.

When Nikki and I approach them, one of them backs up, clinching her hammer. “We're here to help,” I say. “We'd like to help you.” I take the broom from one of the women who is sweeping, and I start cleaning the glass.