This Side of Home (4 page)

Nikki eats a handful of fries and says, “Just wait for dessert. I want to take you to that frozen yogurt
place. You can put whatever topping you want on it. So good.”

Kate looks at me. “Are you coming?”

“Uh, no. I have plans with Essence.” I look at Nikki. “
We
have plans with Essence.”

“But you love ice cream,” Nikki says to me.

“Right. Ice cream. Not frozen yogurt.” I can't help but sound irritated. “And Essence will be waiting for us.” This is the third time this month that Nikki has canceled or changed plans on me and Essence.

“Do you want to come, Tony?” Nikki asks.

“I'm with Maya on this one,” Tony says. “If you want ice cream, you've got to get the real stuff. That watered-down version just doesn't compare.”

Nikki whispers to Kate, “They're just anti–anything healthy.”

Kate laughs.

“That's not true!” I fight back.

“Well, why won't you try that new vegan restaurant with me?” Nikki asks.

“I already told you why I'm not going to those restaurants.” I look at her hard. Long.
Don't go there right now, Nikki. Don't
. She already knows how I feel about all these white people coming over here opening up their shops in our neighborhood. She knows how many black entrepreneurs couldn't get business
loans from the bank. Dad and Mom talk about it all the time.

I look at my phone to check the time. “If we don't leave soon, we're going to be late. You know it takes forever to get to Essence's,” I say.

“I can take you,” Tony says.

Before I can respond, Kate says, “Can you drop us off at the fro-yo place first?”

“Kate, it's like three blocks away,” Tony answers.

“More like ten,” Kate says.

Tony sighs. “Yes, I can take you.”

Kate takes the last bite of her sandwich. “Thanks.”

We walk to the parking lot and a car pulls up beside us, real slow. I know the car because of the license plate. Roberto Sanchez. His license plate is personalized with his football number, and he has two bumper stickers of the Mexican flag on his car. He rolls his window down. “Ey, Maya, what's up?”

“Hi, Roberto.”

Nikki puts her hand on her hip. “Is that all you see?”

Roberto puts his car in Park and gets out. “You get a hug,” he says. He opens his arms wide. They hug, and I hear him whisper to Nikki, “So does your friend have a boyfriend?”

Nikki laughs and grabs Kate's arm, pulling her closer. “Kate, I want you to meet someone.”

Tony steps forward, stands right next to Kate. Is that what it feels like to have a big brother?

Nikki introduces Tony to Roberto, and then a car starts honking because Roberto's car is blocking traffic. Roberto gets in his car but not without asking Kate for her number. She is red-faced and smiley and gushing with new crush joy.

The man honks his horn again.

“Kate, let's go,” Tony says. He walks over to his car. I follow him. Nikki stays behind to play matchmaker.

When Kate gets to the car, she opens the back door and gets in. “Maya, you can get in the front. I don't want Tony to feel like a chauffeur when I get out.”

I get in and Tony starts the car.

Kate talks the entire ten blocks. “So what do you know about Roberto?” she asks.

“He's hilarious. His bark is bigger than his bite, or whatever the saying is,” Nikki says. “You should definitely call him.”

“What grade is he in?”

“He's a senior.”

Kate actually is quiet for a moment—just a moment. Then she says, “Tony, don't say anything to Dad.”

Tony looks in the rearview mirror.

“I mean it, Tony.”

Nikki butts in. “You're not allowed to date?”

I notice Tony's eyes again, looking at Kate in the rearview mirror.

“My dad is overprotective, too,” Nikki says. And she goes into the story about when Dad found out she was dating Ronnie. Kate listens to the story, laughs when Nikki tells the part about Dad texting Ronnie a “friendly reminder” of Nikki's curfew an hour before he was supposed to drop her off. “It's so hard dating guys at Richmond because my dad pretty much mentors them all.”

Tony's mind seems to be somewhere else, and I have a feeling that the look he gave Kate was about more than how funny and protective their dad can be. I know that certain looks from one sibling to another mean something.

Tony drops off Nikki and Kate.

“So where does Essence live?” Tony asks.

“All the way past St. Johns Bridge. You can drop me off at the bus stop. You don't have to take me all the way.”

“It's fine. I don't mind,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“It's fine,” Tony says. “Really.”

“Thanks.”

Tony turns the radio on. He dials through the stations until he finds one that is not playing a commercial.

We're not even halfway down the block when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out. It's a text from Essence.
Don't come. My mom is trippin' today
.

I text back.
U OK? Call me later
. And then I say to Tony, “Um, sorry, Tony, change of plans.”

He stops at the red light. “So where do you want me to take you?”

“Home, I guess.”

“Home? Let's go get ice cream.”

“Is there a Baskin-Robbins around here?” Tony asks.

“No. But we have some pretty good ice cream shops in the area,” I tell him.

“Oh, yeah, my mom mentioned a place that's on Jackson Avenue. It has like, different flavors you might not think of for ice cream. Like Lavender Honey and Strawberry Champagne.” He's talking about the new ice cream parlor that opened at the start of summer. It always has a line wrapped around the block.

I tell Tony, “The best place around here is Cathy's Cones. It's not fancy and the flavors are pretty regular, but it's good.”

“Okay. Let's go there.”

When we get to Cathy's Cones, we are greeted by the dry-erase board that has QUESTION OF THE DAY
written at the top. Today's question is, WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE CARTOON GROWING UP? I grab two markers and hand one to Tony. “You have to answer the question of the day before you can order.”

Tony writes SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS. His handwriting is neat and in all caps.

I write RUGRATS next to THE PROUD FAMILY and above THE FLINTSTONES.

Once we order our ice cream, the questions continue. Tony and I get to know each other and realize that besides our love for ice cream, we both like Thai food. Both hate black licorice but love the red kind.

“So, have you started your college search yet?” he asks.

“I've pretty much known where I've wanted to go since I was in middle school,” I tell him. “Spelman.”

“Where is that?”

“It's in Atlanta. It's an all-girl, historical black college,” I tell him. “What about you? What colleges are you looking at?”

“First choice is Stanford. I did their summer intensive for high school students last summer, and I loved it,” Tony says. “If I don't get in, I'll probably go to U of O.”

“I really hope I get my first choice,” I tell him.

“You have a major in mind?”

“Journalism.”

We eat our ice cream and people-watch. Tony is eating faster than I am. He is almost finished with his pralines and cream, and I am just getting to my second scoop of coffee.

“So you must like to write. I mean, if you want to be a journalist.”

“The writing is okay, I guess,” I explain. “But I love investigating. I've always liked asking questions, finding deeper reasons and meanings for things.”

“So besides writing, what else do you like to do?”

“Um—”

“You have to think about what you like to do?”

I laugh. “I don't know. I like to do a lot of things.”

“First things that come to mind. No hesitating. Name three things you like to do,” Tony insists.

I feel like I'm on a game show.

Tony clears his throat. “I'll go first,” he says. “Three things I like to do: watch movies, hike, and make beats. I'm really into music. Your turn.” He waits for my response.

“Okay. Sing—I actually love to sing and listen to music. And, uh, I like to watch movies, too,” I say.

“You sing? Can I hear something?”

“No! I'm not just going to start singing.”

“Why not?” Tony laughs.

“I don't just sing for people.”

“Well, will I ever get to hear you sing?”

“Maybe at school. I sing for assemblies and sometimes at our games.”

“So you're going to make me wait until school starts?” Tony gives me sad eyes but then smiles.

I change the subject. Way too much attention is on me right now. “So, you like movies,” I say. “Drama or comedy?”

Tony scrapes the bottom of his foam cup and takes one last bite of his ice cream. “I pretty much like any kind of movie.”

“Even the old black-and-white classics?”

“Especially those,” Tony answers.

“Do you like Alfred Hitchcock?” I ask.

“That man was a genius! I have a DVD collection of his show,
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
,” Tony says.

“For real? I love Hitchcock, too,” I tell him. “I used to watch his show with my grandmother all the time.”

“My dad had me watching Hitchcock when I was a kid. My mom hated it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“My mom gets paranoid about everything. She thought I was too young to watch that kind of stuff. I think she was afraid it would screw me up.” Tony wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Who knows? Maybe it did.” He looks at me with evil eyes and a devilish smile.

I laugh. Even though I'm full, I finish the last few
spoonfuls of ice cream in my bowl. “So what about you? What do you want to be?”

“Well, if I have a choice, some kind of music engineer or studio tech guy.”

“What do you mean, ‘if you have a choice'?”

“Long story. My dad, he thinks, he says music is a waste of time. He, yeah, my dad, he just isn't that, he's not that supportive.” Tony backs away from the table, looks at the line that's forming at the counter. “We should give up our seats. It's getting crowded.”

I say okay even though the line isn't that long. Even though I want to stay and talk with him more. I look at Tony, with his nothing-special green eyes and his messy brown hair. Tony, whose mother is on a mission to save the black and brown children of the hood. Tony, who gets tongue-tied when talking about his dad. He's awkward but kind of funny. And he likes movies. Good movies.

My journalist mind is full of questions now, and I have something new to investigate: Who is Tony Jacobs?

Summer's sun simmers in the sky. Last night I barely slept it was so hot. Toss and turn, turn and toss. That was my whole night until finally I woke Nikki up so I could have some company. We ate Popsicles one after the other until our tongues were tie-dyed rainbows. When we were too tired to stay awake but too miserable to sleep, she brought her fan into my room and we had double the air so we finally fell asleep.

Now I'm in the shower and Nikki is in front of the mirror flat ironing her hair. The smell of the smoke fills the bathroom and competes with the fragrance of my citrus body wash. “I don't know what to wear to Essence's birthday party,” Nikki says. “What are you wearing?” Her voice sounds muffled because of the running water.

I push the lever and the shower water becomes a fountain gushing out into the tub. I turn the knob to the left and the water stops. “I don't know yet.”

“I was thinking about wearing a dress, but that's probably too much, right? What about jeans—would that be too casual?”

I open the shower curtain halfway and reach for my towel so I can dry off. “Why don't you wear—”

“I mean, I guess a skirt would be fine, you know, instead of a dress. I don't know, Maya, I might not go.”

“Nikki.” I step out of the tub, wrapped in my towel.

“I'm serious.” Nikki scoots over to make room for me at the mirror.

“All those clothes you have and you can't find anything to wear?” I stick about four bobby pins in my mouth and start pinning my twists up.

“Well, you know how they can be. Essence's family is—”

“No one there is going to judge you, and if they do, who cares?” I slide a pin in my hair, leaving half the twists down in the back.

“That's easy for you to say. Your hair is acceptable to them, and no one thinks your clothes are weird.”

The last time we got together with Essence and her cousins, they gave Nikki a hard time because she
perms her hair. And once they realized they could get under her skin, they talked about her thrift store clothes and free-spirited style. One of Essence's cousins said, “Girl, you too much for me. What you trying to be, white or something?”

Both Essence and I stood up for Nikki, but ever since then she opts out of any gatherings they're going to be at.

“You have to go, Nikki. It's her birthday. And anyway, I twist my hair because I hate the maintenance of permed hair. My hairstyle is not making a political statement.”

“Well, I know that,” Nikki says. “But they treat you like some kind of black princess of the Nile.”

We laugh.

Nikki pulls the plug to her flat iron out of the wall. “I mean, they really just don't like me. When you talk, they say how smart you are. When I talk, they say I talk white. I'm just not black enough for them, I guess.”

“Do you hear what you're saying?”

“Do you remember last time we ate breakfast at her aunt's house? The lady just about fainted when I told her I don't like grits.” Nikki lines her lips and then puts on lip gloss. “And they—”