Taneesha Never Disparaging Read online

  Now I’d said that all like I had everything under control. But the fact was I hadn’t given one thought to getting that note signed. I had made up my mind: I was going to school next Friday and that was that.

  “They’ll sign it. I just didn’t give it to them yet.”

  “Why you always got to be in my way?”

  Dagnamit.

  Shrek was back, rude as ever, blocking the sidewalk just like she’d done last week.

  “Sorry,” Carli and I said together.

  “I know you sorry.”

  I looked into those two slits she used for eyes. It was probably in them right then—the hatred that would reach out and touch me in a real bad way pretty soon. But I was too simple-minded to see it for what it was. I thought that girl was just being cranky. Maybe on PMS like Mama always talked about. How could I have known then that she was just a plain-old devil?

  Carli and I eased past her huge, red jacketness. I picked up my pace as much as I could considering Carli’s limp.

  “Teenagers,” Carli whispered to me.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  “Yeah. Teenagers,” I whispered back, even though Shrek was far enough down Bernard by then that there was no way she could have heard me.

  Just then, I heard lots of people running behind me and before I could turn to see what was happening—

  “You can run, but I’m still going to kick your ass!” shouted a husky, butter-colored boy when his tall body whizzed by Carli and me. A pack of older boys ran after him, pushing us into somebody’s front yard. We stood there, watching the action just a few feet away.

  “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” the group of boys trumpeted. Through an open space in a jumble of dark pants legs, I saw fists fly. A slender, brown boy lay on the ground. The husky boy pounded his face like he was punching dough.

  Cars neared the scene and slowed up. Their doors clicked locked. But nobody stopped driving. They all rolled on.

  “Carli, let’s get help!” I whispered.

  We backtracked and hurried past the fire station that was next to Hunter. In the school parking lot, I ran up to a stocky, copper-toned man with a thin mustache.

  “Mr. Loomis!” I panted. “There’s a fight up the street! Right over there! See?!” I pointed at the group of boys bobbing and weaving in a huddle, two blocks away. “This boy’s getting beat bad!”

  “Well, I can’t do nothing about that.” I glanced at the Safety Net Security badge pinned to his black jacket. “I got to stay here in the parking lot,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, hiding the badge.

  “But, he’s hurt!” Carli said.

  “All I can say is go tell them in the office. Maybe they can call the police.”

  Moments later, in Hunter’s office, Carli and I stood in line in front of the desk of a woman so tiny I was probably taller than her—Mrs. Andrews, the school secretary.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Andrews!” I called, peering around the girl at the front of the line. “I don’t mean to cut, but there’s an emergency!”

  “Everybody’s got an emergency, honey.”

  Mrs. Andrews had her dark straight hair pulled into a tight bun. Not bothering to turn her nutbrown face toward me, she pinched the oval rim of her black glasses with two of her miniature fingers. She focused on the navy blue binder that she held open in front of her.

  “All these kids need somebody to come pick them up. I’m making phone calls now.”

  “No—No, I mean outside! There’s a fight!”

  She glanced up. “A fight? Where?”

  “Up the street!”

  “Fight!” The magic word blazed through the kids that stood in line or sat along the wall. Book bags dropped to the floor and coats fell off laps when kids ditched their places in line or sprung from their chairs. Everybody wanted a look through the office window, a glimpse at whoever was duking it out outside.

  “Everybody hush!” warned Mrs. Andrews. “Get back in line! Sit back down!”

  “This boy’s getting beat up!” said Carli.

  “Up the street? Not in the school yard?”

  “No. On Bernard. A few blocks away,” I answered.

  “Well, then that’s not… Look honey, I got to call these parents.” Mrs. Andrews took her eyes off Carli and me.

  My mouth dropped. I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t she hear what we said? That boy could be getting killed right then.

  “Who’s supposed to pick you up?” Mrs. Andrews asked the girl standing in front of her.

  “But can’t you call the police?” asked Carli.

  “Before that boy gets… before…” I didn’t want to think of what came after “before.”

  Mrs. Andrews sighed real deep. “Okay, honey. I’ll call the police.”

  Now you’re talking some sense. Dang!

  “Now you two got to move out the way. I got to make phone calls here.”

  I didn’t move. I wanted to see her actually call the police. Carli waited next to me.

  “Go on now! I told you I’ll call. You know you’re not supposed to come back in the building when school’s out. Not unless you’re in an after-school program.”

  “We had to tell you about the boy—” I said.

  “And you did. Now you both go on home like you’re supposed to.”

  While Carli and I were leaving the office, I heard Mrs. Andrews on the phone. “They said they’re on Bernard. Boys. Probably from the middle school, from Legacy.”

  Good.

  Carli and I walked back through a building that normally seemed bright. I usually thought Hunter’s shiny, clear picture windows looked like open mouths bragging about the Honor Roll lists and art projects that showed off on brand new walls. Hunter had gotten rebuilt two years ago. It usually looked fresh. Clean and neat. But today the building seemed just as gloomy as the sunless day, just as gloomy as I felt.

  Back on Bernard, Carli and I saw a fire department ambulance parked in front of the spot where the fight had been. We watched two men in dark blue uniforms lift the stretcher that carried a slender, bloodied body into the truck.

  “I hope he’ll be all right,” I said, when I really meant, “I hope he isn’t dead.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  CHAPTER 5

  SHOWTIME AT THE BEY-ROSS’

  Later, my parents and I sat at the dinner table—me in jeans and a red sweatshirt, Mama in an orange sweatsuit, daddy in charcoal grey business pants and a light grey shirt, no tie.

  “This boy got beat up on Bernard today.”

  Daddy sat his fork on his plate with a loud tink. He looked at me like I was from Pluto, not even a real planet.

  “What happened?”

  “These guys chased him and beat him up.”

  “Were they from Hunter?” asked Mama. Like Daddy, she had stopped eating.

  “Naw. I don’t think so. They looked older.”

  “Where were you while this was going on?”

  “I was right there, Daddy. Me and Carli. We were on Bernard.”

  “I don’t like that,” Mama said. “Kids fighting in the street. It’s dangerous. We need more police.”

  “We need better parents,” said Daddy.

  I told my parents how I’d asked Mrs. Andrews to call the police. I told them about the ambulance, too. My news carved worried lines across Daddy’s forehead. When he went back to eating, he cut a baked chicken breast into angry little pieces.

  Later, I rinsed dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher. I overheard Mama talking on the cordless telephone in the hallway.

  “Marsha, with a Saturday shift I’d be able to pick Taneesha up after school. I just don’t like her coming home alone.”

  Mama’s going to pick me up from school?

  I knew that tone in my mother’s voice. Once she made her mind up, that was it. From now on, I had an after-school ride.

  “Yeah. They have an after-school program. Usually she participates. I tried to get her in dance like last year, but the class fi
lled up fast.”

  No more walking up Bernard.

  “I can’t sign her up for anything else. All the activities are full.”

  No more watching somebody get beat up.

  “Miles would do it if he could. But most afternoons he’s got appointments when she’s getting out of school. So it’s on me.”

  No more feeling scared on the way home.

  I was done with the dishes. Standing at the kitchen counter, I dried my hands with a paper towel and thought about how the fight that happened today wasn’t the first one I’d seen. But I’d never been so close to a major blowout with older kids before. I’d never seen anybody bloody and beaten, laid out on a stretcher. If I never had to walk home from school again, that would have been fine with me. I smiled to myself at the thought of Mama coming to get me every day.

  “I know the staff ’s tight right now.”

  Uh, oh. I didn’t like the sound of that. Mama’s words had sagged.

  “Okay. I understand. Sure—”

  My poor heart went flat as a birthday balloon a month after the party. Right then, I knew the deal. I’d still have to walk the ten blocks home— me and Carli, on our own.

  “Well, Marsha, at least you’ll have some temporary help next Friday. Taneesha.”

  Hunh?

  “Remember? She’s coming in for Take Your Child To Work Day.”

  Says who?!

  What in the world was my mother saying? I hadn’t talked to her about Take Your Child To Work Day at all!

  Mama walked into the kitchen and clicked the phone into its cradle on the wall.

  “Mama, did you say I’m going to your job for Take Your Child To Work Day?”

  “Yeah. What’s up?” With her back to me, she started pouring powdered detergent into the dishwasher.

  “You didn’t talk to me about it!”

  I was mad as anything over the fact that Mama didn’t seem to think it was important to find out what I wanted. I stood there steaming because not only had she not bothered to talk to me about her peachy plans but she wasn’t even taking the time to look at me right then.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She stayed facing back out and pushed the dishwasher door closed. “I have so much on my mind.” She turned the dial and the dishwasher whirred softly. “But anyway, it ought to be fun, don’t you think?”

  Fine time to be asking me what I think.

  Trying to keep my temper, I took a real deep breath.

  “Mama, I don’t want to go.” I braced myself for whatever she might say about my big declaration of independence.

  And I watched her not even so much as tilt her head my way.

  She coolly poured water onto the soil of the potted aloe vera plant in the kitchen windowsill, acting like what I’d said was no big deal.

  Unbelievable.

  Obviously, my own mother couldn’t have given a good tahoot about my feelings.

  “But I already made arrangements at Ontario Hospital. When I found out about Take Your Child To Work Day at the PTO meeting.” She tossed this last bit of information at me like a scrap to a dog and stooped to place the small plastic watering can she had just used inside the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink.

  “But I want to go to school next Friday.” My lips tightened. Unlike Mama, I was having trouble staying cool.

  “I’m glad you take school so seriously, Taneesha. Really.” Crouched low, she fiddled with something inside the cabinet. “But I made sure you could come to the hospital with me.”

  “But, Mama!”

  “Don’t be such a worry-wart. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.” She closed the cabinet, stood, and still kept her back to me.

  That’s it!

  “MAMA, YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!”

  She spun around like her feet were greased rollerskates.

  “Taneesha, don’t you ever use that tone with me.” Her voice was so unnaturally quiet that it sort of freaked me out. And the look in her eyes was even spookier.

  “What’s going on in here?” Daddy asked, rushing into the kitchen. He shot a puzzled look at me, then at Mama—who would have had steam blowing out of her ears if she were on the Cartoon Network. “Taneesha, are you raising your voice to your mother?”

  “Daddy, Mama wants me to go to Take Your Child To Work Day!”

  “Yeah? I know.” He had this little oh-is-that-all? tone in his voice. It came with a matching doofus smile. “We figured you’d go to the hospital with your mother this time. Next year, you can come to my office with me.”

  “You figured that, huh?”

  He was dissing me just as bad as Mama had.

  “When were you going to let me in on it?”

  They both looked confused. Well, maybe they’d get this:

  “Here’s some news: I don’t want to go!—AND YOU CAN’T FORCE ME!” I stormed out of the kitchen and headed toward the staircase in the living room.

  “NOW YOU WAIT ONE MINUTE, YOUNG LADY!”

  Daddy’s megaphone order stopped me midstomp, like one of those giant hooks that pull bad performers offstage in Harlem on TV reruns of Showtime at the Apollo. Actually, he sort of scared me.

  “We just want you to experience a work environment,” he said.

  Now he was trying to sound all nice and everything. I didn’t care. I was still mad.

  He gave a big sigh. “Tell you what. Why don’t we chant about this? You know what Nichiren said—”

  “I don’t want to chant.”

  “Well—” said Mama. I noticed that the fire in her eyes had blown out. “It’s time for Gongyo anyway. Come on and sit down. You can lead.”

  “I don’t want to do Gongyo either.”

  I didn’t feel like reciting the evening prayer—Gongyo. I was ticked at my parents for not listening to me. And I knew one sure way to rattle their nerves was to dis Buddhism.

  “You need to, Taneesha. You’ll feel better,” Mama cooed, like she was talking to a baby or something.

  It was too late for her to get all coochy-coo, though.

  “I don’t want to, okay?”

  “Listen, Taneesha,” Daddy said, back to being mean. “I understand that you’re upset—”

  You don’t understand! How can you?! You’re not LISTENING TO ME!

  That’s just what I would have said—and how I would have said it—if they hadn’t been bigger than me.

  “—but we’re a family, a Buddhist family. We pray. And since you’re upset, that’s all the more reason to get to the altar. Have a seat.”

  He gripped the wooden high back of a chair whose seat was covered in moss-green fabric. It was the middle chair of one of three identical ones placed in a row in front of the wooden altar table.

  I knew what Daddy’s grip on that chair meant: “Sit Down, Or Else.” I didn’t want to find out what “or else” was so I kept my distance while I waited him out. Refusing to make eye contact with him, I stayed rooted near the stairs to see if he’d press the issue.

  Finally, I couldn’t bear the heavy pause stuck between me and that mean man. I dragged my feet over to the chair and plunked into it. Those two sat on either side of me.

  In the five minutes or so that it took to finish Gongyo, reciting the Lotus Sutra scripture, even though I was supposed to be the leader, I mumbled the words on purpose. I ignored Mama’s nagging whispers: “Louder, Taneesha.” “Sit up!” “Put your hands together—please!” I slouched in my seat and kept my hands limp in my lap throughout the whole dang thing.

  They can’t make me chant and they can’t make me go to crummy old Take Your Child To Work Day, either.

  They’ll see.

  CHAPTER 6

  E.T. MEETS SIX X-RAY EYES

  Who are you kidding, Taneesha Bey-Ross? You know you can’t do this. You’re going to flop!

  I did my best to ignore Loudmouth’s non-stop jabbering inside my head. Sometimes it took everything I had to tune out Evella’s pesky voice poking at me. I hated the way she popped in whenever I w
as in an uncomfortable situation—like right now, for instance.

  This Friday—one week and four days after “Showtime at the Bey-Ross’”—I’d been dragged kicking and screaming (well, griping, at least) into Ontario Hospital for Take Your Child To Work Day.

  With my back stiff as my father’s jokes, I sat in a brown, pleather-cushioned chair, trying to ignore the fact that my pantyhose felt like Brillo pads. I smushed my knee bones together and kept my beige Payless dress shoes planted on the hard, green floor. Sweat trickled down my chest while I fought the urge to scratch at the itchiness underneath the yellow wool skirt and sweater get-up that my mother had picked out and I hated.

  Surrounded by walls painted in a blue ocean scene—dolphins, seals, killer whales—three empty chairs were behind me. But my eyes zeroed in on what was in front—the big eyes of three little girls I’d never seen before in my life. They sat across from me in separate beds, wearing pale blue and white striped gowns and ogling me as if I were E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.

  On my lap, I had two books Mama had given me earlier—when she’d introduced me to the girls and then left me all alone in that great big room with them. Thinking of how she had just abandoned me just ticked me off all over again. Why wouldn’t it?

  In my head, I heard Mama going on and on…

  “Remember, Taneesha, your evil twin never takes a vacation…”

  Plus, Evella played her can’t-do noise on top of my brain as if she was stuck on “repeat.”

  Loser! Loser! Loser!

  And I just couldn’t control that girl.

  Not only that, but knowing that the only reason I had to deal with Evella’s blabbermouthing that morning was because Mama and Daddy hadn’t listened to me had me smoking mad.

  Now, I knew my mother’s whole evil twin thing was pretty lame. And weird when you got right down to it—split-personality weird.

  Loser! Loser! Loser!

  I knew Evella was only imaginary. Just in my head.

  Loser! Loser! Loser!

  But it really was like I had an evil twin in there.

  That’s what I was thinking when all of a sudden one little word shined its light in my brain:

  Chant.

  I was whipped, and right then, that sounded like a real good idea so I started chanting fast in my head.