The next day, Jaris was heading for lunch. He hoped Carissa wouldn’t be hanging around moping. As he neared the spot under the eucalyptus trees, he saw all his old friends. Trevor Jenkins was coming down the trail and Jaris grabbed his hand. “Hey, what’s hap’nin, bro?”
Trevor grinned. “I got the courage to ask Shay in speech class to go for frozen yogurt after school. She said okay!” “Way to go, man,” Jaris said.
They all settled down and started eating.
Sereeta glanced over at Jaris. He was munching a ham and cheese sandwich Pop made for him. Pop was now routinely making lunches for Jaris and Chelsea. They were wonderful. You never knew what was coming next—celery sticks, broccoli, salsa, pickle relish, hot sauce. “How’s it going for you, babe?” Sereeta asked.
“Mom’s busy getting ready for the convention,” Jaris said, still chewing a bite of sandwich. “Pop is gonna miss her. I dread those four days.”
“Tonight I cook dinner for Mom and Perry,” Sereeta announced. “I cooked that apricot glazed pork with rice for me and Grandma last night. It turned out good. I’m gonna make that. Grandma said it was delicious. Course, Grandma is so nice she might not always tell the truth. So I told her it was really important that she’s gotta be honest. Then she fessed up and said something was missing. Turned out the hoisin sauce was missing.”
Oliver laughed. “What’s hoisin sauce?” he asked.
“It’s like oyster sauce, I guess,” Sereeta replied. “I didn’t have any, so I’m using oyster sauce. It’s a real easy recipe. You just stir-fry the pork and add broccoli, cauliflower and carrots. Then the apricot and oyster sauce, and stir it up. You serve it with rice. I don’t think I can screw it up.”
“It sounds scrumptious,” Alonee said. “I wish I was coming to dinner.”
“I wish you were coming too,” Sereeta said. “I wish I was cooking for Mom and Jaris, and all you guys. Anybody but Perry Manley. But I can’t feel that way. The whole purpose of this is to make us one happy family.” Sereeta grimaced. “I gotta try really, really hard to be nice to Perry. You never know when you’ve got him miffed. I call Mom every night now, and she seems good. But I don’t know.”
After a moment of silence, Oliver looked at Jaris. “I went to the fitness center the other day,” Oliver said, “and I saw your dad. Man, that guy looks really good. He was lifting a few weights. He was doing better than guys half his age.”
“He’s worked hard all his life,” Jaris explained, “lifting auto parts, dragging tires around. Lifting barbells is easy. I’ve never seen Pop with an extra ounce of fat on him.”
“My dad has to lose some weight,” Alonee remarked. “Firemen can’t put on excess pounds.”
Derrick grinned. “My poor pa is having trouble getting up the ladder to fix roofs. Mom yells at him all the time. ‘Guthrie, don’t you dare take another piece of that fried chicken!’” Derrick said.
“Hey Jaris,” Oliver said, “your Pop’s getting the eye from some of the chicks in that fitness center. He’d pass for a dude in his thirties.”
Sami and Matson arrived then. They heard what Oliver was saying. Sami advised, “Jaris, your mama better rein that dude in. He oughtn’t to be at the fitness center showing off that hard body.” Sami was just joking. She didn’t realize that she had hit a raw nerve with Jaris.
Sami’s kidding comment started up all those dark thoughts in Jaris’s mind. Pop was really steamed about Mom going to New Orleans because Greg Maynard was part of the group. His reaction was unreasonable, but he was steamed. Things wouldn’t be so bad if Greg Maynard wasn’t going too. They wouldn’t be so bad if Maynard hadn’t always made it clear that he really liked Mom. Or if Maynard wasn’t divorced and lonely, living all by himself in his condo. Or if Maynard wasn’t always sitting in the Spain living room. Or if he didn’t seem so educated and charming when Pop was at his worst. When Pop drank a little too much, he’d roar around the house venting his dark thoughts.
Jaris tried to stop thinking such wild thoughts. His parents loved each other. They had always argued, sometimes heatedly. But they always made up and seemed to love each other even more. Surely they would keep on loving each other no matter what. The bonds were too strong for either of them ever to break them.
But Jaris couldn’t know what was going through his father’s mind. Nobody knows what another person is thinking. Pop didn’t like the fact that Mom was more educated than he was. Sometimes he felt inferior to her, even if he was the owner of a successful garage. It rankled him that his wife was a professional going off to a convention in New Orleans while he was repairing beaters. True, it was his garage. But he was still a grease monkey, and the cars were still beaters.
Jaris imagined some pretty twenty-four–year-old at the gym smiling at his dad. What would go through Pop’s mind? “Wow! She think’s I’m hot.” Jaris shuddered and pushed the fears from his mind. He told himself that, before he knew it, Mom would be gone and back from New Orleans. Everything would be normal again.
“Sereeta,” Jaris spoke up suddenly. “Let’s go to a concert tomorrow night in the park. Some guys playing the blues. I know it’s not the loud banging music you like, babe. But I’d just like you to hear these guys. I’m really getting into the blues. I’m listening to Pop’s old music, and it’s really cool. I put some old vinyl music on my iPod, by a guy named Blind Lemon Jefferson. I never heard of him until a few weeks ago. But he’s got this really lonesome, painful sound that gets to me.”
“Sure Jaris, I’d love to go,” Sereeta agreed.
For the rest of the lunch break, Jaris focused on his date with Sereeta for tomorrow night. He tried to forget Greg Maynard and the chicks noticing Pop at the gym. He just kept thinking of being with Sereeta. And he looked forward to listening to the music he was growing to love.
After lunch, Langston Myers arrived in class in high good humor. Jaris had never seen him so happy.
“Before we begin class this afternoon,” Mr. Myers announced, “I have very exciting news. The novel I have been working on for several years is in the hands of my editor, and it shall be published soon. It is set during the heady days of the Harlem Renaissance, and I’m quite confident it will be very successful. We might even be seeing it on the best-seller lists.”
Some of the students in the room applauded. No student in the room honestly cared whether Mr. Myers became a published author. But applauding seemed the polite, and prudent, thing to do. After all, he’d been working on the novel for a long time, and getting it published was an achievement. Jaris had vague dreams of someday writing something himself and seeing it published. He could imagine how excited and happy he would be if that ever happened.
Jaris thought for a moment. What must it feel like to hold a book in your hand and see your own name on the spine? He couldn’t blame Mr. Myers for being ecstatic. The English quiz consisted of some quotes the class had read and discussed. Jaris thought it was easy. He recognized all the authors, and he filled in their names. He followed instructions and chose one of the quotes to write a short essay on. Jaris was finished before the time for the test was over. But when he glanced over at Marko, he could see he was having trouble.
“Uh Mr. Myers,” Marko said, raising his hand, “I’ll have to take a makeup on this. My brain injury is kicking in again. I am all confused, sir.”
Mr. Myers did not like Marko Lane. He had gone out of his way to allow Marko to do a lot of work in English while recuperating from his injury at home. But Mr. Myers had been assured that Marko was now fine and that he could be treated as any other student. Marko should be able to take tests just like everybody else. Mr. Myers strongly suspected that Marko had just not studied for the test. Now he was using his physical condition as an excuse.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lane,” Mr. Myers replied crisply. “If you felt ill at the beginning of the test, you should have come up here to explain. It is unacceptable to bow out almost at the end.”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Myers,” Marko insisted. “It like comes on all of a sudden. I get this spacey feeling, and I’m not sure where I am.”
Several students snickered.
“Mr. Lane, please see your physician,” Mr. Myers suggested. “Have him write a letter explaining these strange spells you are subject to. I shall reconsider. Otherwise, this test stands as it is.” Mr. Myers seemed extremely annoyed.
As the class filed out, Jaris was still at his desk, double-checking his report for AP American History. It was due today.
Jaris overheard Marko talking to Jasmine. “The old fool wouldn’t buy it, babe. I forgot all about us having this stupid test today. You were with me at the club last night, Jasmine, why didn’t you remind me we had a test today and we needed to study?”
“I gotta remind you of everything, boy?” Jasmine snapped back. “How come nothin’ is ever your own fault, Marko. It’s always somebody else’s fault. You’re a big boy, fool. I went home way before you did last night. I remember sayin’, ‘Dude, school tomorrow. I can’t party all night.’ But you just smiled and waved at me. I hadda hitch a ride with my cousins ’cause you havin’ too much fun to get home!”
“This test grade is gonna bring me down bad, girl,” Marko whined. “Myers is such an idiot. The test didn’t even make sense. All those stupid quotes. Who cares what those crazy old dudes said hundreds of years ago? Myers is a lousy teacher. All he cares about is his stupid book.”
Jaris shook his head and smiled to himself. Alonee and Oliver were walking beside him.
“Poor Marko,” Alonee commented. “He can’t ever stop being Marko.”
Lydell came along, looking for Kevin. When he saw him, he cried, “Kev, I really aced that test. I think I got an A!”
Kevin flashed a nice grin. It was good to see Kevin smiling. He had been looking pretty glum since he and Carissa split. “Way to go, dude!” he told Lydell.
“I think goin’ to the gym is helping my brains,” Lydell remarked. “Making the blood flow.” He still clutched his journal tightly under his arm. He wasn’t going to let Marko sneak up behind him and rip out a page again.
Marko didn’t like Jaris Spain, but they were about the same in intelligence. Both boys had better-than-average IQs, but neither was near the brilliance of Oliver Randall. The major difference between Jaris and Marko was that Jaris studied hard. He knew he wasn’t a genius; so he became an overachiever. Marko liked playing too much to spend unending hours studying, as Jaris did. So Marko usually ended up with a grade lower than Jaris.
“Hey Spain, wasn’t that a lousy test?” he asked. “I think the tests this guy gives are even stupider than what we used to get from old Pippin.”
“No, actually it was pretty straightforward,” Jaris objected. “He talked about this stuff a lot, and I studied for about an hour last night. Chelsea quizzed me on the names of the guys making those quotes so that I wouldn’t get them mixed up. Did you study much, Marko?”
“Yeah, I studied hard,” Marko lied.
Jasmine poked Marko in the ribs. “Liar!” she accused him. “You didn’t study at all, sucka. You dropped me off and then met your friends. You didn’t get home till late.”
All the time Jasmine was talking, Marko was paying no attention. He was glaring at Langston Myers as the teacher strode from the classroom.
Just then, Mr. Pippin came to the door with his poor, miserable, battered briefcase. He was still carrying it after many, many years.
“Hello Mr. Pippin,” Mr. Myers cried in an exuberant voice. “My book is going to be published finally, old boy!”
“Congratulations!” Mr. Pippin responded. “That is a truly marvelous accomplishment. I think all of us English teachers have that dream—that one day we will be published. I know I did many years ago, but the publishers kept turning me down. Finally I packed my dear old manuscript away where it still is, turning yellow. What is your book about?”
“Ah, it’s quite a juicy drama,” Mr. Myers replied buoyantly, “with overtones of mystery. The story is set in Harlem during the Renaissance there in the twenties. It’s a honey of a book, my man. It is filled with colorful characters as well as real people who lived during that time, people like Josephine Baker and Bessie Smith.”
“Wonderful!” Mr. Pippin said, trying to be enthusiastic about another man’s success. Nothing grand like this had ever happened to Mr. Pippin. Mr. Myers was younger than Mr. Pippin by some twenty years. Mr. Pippin had buried all his dreams, one by one. Now, in his final teaching years, he couldn’t even control the discipline in his own classroom, whereas Mr. Myers had good order in his. Mr. Myers even succeeded in cowing that monster, Marko Lane, who had tormented Mr. Pippin. And now—the final indignity for Mr. Pippin—Mr. Myers was a published author.
Mr. Myers worked his way down the hall, repeating the good news to other teachers.
Marko Lane watched him from a distance, full of rage. How could that pompous fool have a book published, Marko thought? Marko had heard that Myers had shopped the book around for a long time without success. Getting a book published was hard. And all Myers had ever published were ridiculous poems in journals like Mississippi Mud Ink. He was paid for his work only in free copies. Now a publisher was buying his book? How could it be, Marko wondered?
“I think he’s lyin’,” Marko said to Jasmine.
“What do you care, sucka?” she snapped. “It got nothin’ to do with you. If some boring old teacher got his dumb book published, it ain’t nothin’ to you or me.” She was still in a bad mood from last night when Marko was ogling that long-legged singer.
“I’m goin’ to look on the Internet and see who’s publishing his book,” Marko declared darkly. “If he’s got a book comin’ out, it oughta be there.”
“You can’t be happy unless you’re goring somebody, can you, boy?” Jasmine sneered. “I don’t know why I stick with you. You like a mean old bull elephant stompin’ on everybody, looking for somebody to be mad at.”
“I told that old fool Myers,” Marko fumed, “that I got sick during the test. He wouldn’t have no sympathy for me. I almost got killed when that guy hit me with the baseball bat. Myers ought to have sympathy for somebody almost got killed. He won’t let me take a makeup test unless I get a letter from my doctor sayin’ I get these spacey spells.”
“So go to your doctor and get his letter,” Jasmine told him.
“That old quack is gonna say I’m fine. He won’t back me up,” Marko insisted.
“Then take your medicine like a man, Marko,” Jasmine advised. “You blew the test ’cause you didn’t study. It’s your bad.”
“I’m gonna search the Internet,” Marko snarled. “I’m gonna see if I can’t trip that old Myers up.”
Jaris had overheard it all. Marko couldn’t help being Marko. Jaris finished checking his report and left the room.
At school the next day, Jaris was waiting for Sereeta at Harriet Tubman’s statue. Jaris wanted to know how last night went. He had thought about calling her last night and finding out. But she wouldn’t be home before ten. He didn’t want to bother her much later just to satisfy his own curiosity. He figured if it had gone badly and she needed support, she would have called him. But Sereeta was smiling this morning, reassuring Jaris that the night went well.
“It was good, babe,” she reported, kissing Jaris on the cheek. “Perry was almost nice. And the baby was there in his high chair, poor little Jake, looking around with his big eyes. He actually smiled at me. It gave me goose bumps.”
Sereeta crouched a little and wiggled her head. Her eyes widened, and she clutched her books in front of her. “My little brother! Is that wild or what?” She laughed gently. “I look at Jake and I freak out, Jaris. He looks so cute. I dragged out my old baby pictures the other day. I looked at myself when I was his age, and I could see a resemblance. Mom says the same thing, but not when Perry is around. Oh Jaris, remember how awful I was when Mom was expecting Jake? I thought he was replacing me in Mom’s life, taking all the love that I deserved away from me. I wanted him to be a mean, bratty baby just to get even. I was such a monster, Jaris.”
“You were just sad and lonely about losing your mom,” Jaris consoled. “You’re a good, kind person. But you were scared you were getting written out of the picture. You didn’t mean the stuff you said.”
“You’re such an angel, Jaris. I don’t deserve you,” Sereeta sighed. “I’m not as nice as you, Jaris. But then nobody is. So I don’t feel so bad . . .”
“I’m not that good,” Jaris objected. “Come on. I have my dark side.”
“Jaris, the thing is,” Sereeta said in a shaky voice. “The thing is . . . I think I love him. Jake. I think I love my little brother. I get this weird feeling now when I see him. He looks so precious to me, his chubby little arms, his little fists.”
“That’s great, Sereeta,” Jaris told her. “There’s nothing bad about that. What’s that old song say? ‘What the world needs now is love sweet love.’ The more people you love, the happier you are.”
“I’m stupid happy right now,” Sereeta said. “Grandma packed me a nice lunch, we got no tests today, and tonight we get to be together. It doesn’t get any better than that.”
Jaris was starting to talk about the music they would hear tonight when Marko Lane sprinted by as if running the race of his life. “Uh-oh, what’s that now?” Jaris groaned.
Marko caught up to Jasmine. He was talking so loud that anyone on the campus could hear him. “Babe,” Marko was yelling. “I got the scoop! You won’t believe it, Jaz. It’s just sweet! It’s so sweet!”
“What’re you talkin’ about, boy?” Jasmine responded in an annoyed voice. “Everybody looking at us. Give it up, tell me what’s hap’nin. You win the lottery or something?”
“It’s not a real publisher,” Marko crowed. “They got old Myers’s book for sale on the Internet, but it’s put out by what they call a subsidy press. That means he paid to have the book published. A regular publisher gives you an advance, and then you get royalties from the books that sell. But this is different. You pay them a big chunk of money, and they print whatever garbage you’ve written. Anybody can get published like this. They print the books and send them to you. Then you gotta sell them yourself. Old Myers has nothing to brag about. He paid for his stupid piece of trash to be published.”
“How’d you find that out?” Jasmine asked.
“I got to old Myers’ Web site,” Marko started to explain. “He’s selling the books from there. He’s tellin’ the big news right there. He got the name of the publisher and I never heard of them. So I check it out, and it’s one of these subsidy deals. I mean, some old lady could write a book on how to raise petunias, and they’d put that out if she had the money. It’s no big honor like Myers was trying to make out. It’s a crock, Jasmine. Man, that old fool isn’t goin’ to be ridin’ so high when this gets around.”
“Oh brother!” Jaris moaned to Sereeta. “Did you get that?”
“Yeah,” Sereeta replied sadly, “that’s going to be so humiliating to Mr. Myers. There he is, telling everybody the big news about his novel getting published. Everybody just figured it was a regular book deal, and now . . .”
Jaris and Sereeta hurried over to where Marko was holding forth. Now a dozen students were listening.
“Hey Marko,” Jaris asked, “you sure you want to be doing this? Mr. Myers maybe did write a good book, but the book business is pretty tight now. Maybe this was the only way to get it out right now. Sometimes really good books get published by subsidy presses. Then they do well, and regular publishers pick them up. That’s happened lots of times.”
“Yeah, right,” Marko sneered, gloating over his discovery.
“Dude, he’s not gonna like you very much when he finds out what you’re doing,” Jaris advised.
“He hates me anyway,” Marko said. “Remember when that lunatic Kevin Walker attacked me just ’cause I took a page from wacko Lydell’s journal? Old Myers came along and blamed me. I way lying there on the ground where Walker had hurled me, and I got blamed for the thing. I was just trying to find out what crazy ideas that wacko Lydell had, and I get to be the bad guy. Now it’s payback time. Let’s see how old Myers likes it when the truth comes out.”
Mr. Pippin came along on his way to junior English. When he saw Marko Lane, he tried to change direction. But Marko leaped into his path. “Mr. Myers is a fraud, Mr. Pippin!” Marko crowed. “He didn’t sell no book to a publisher. He paid to have it published himself!” For a moment it looked like Mr. Pippin was going to hit Marko with his old, battered briefcase.
Jaris stepped back. If Mr. Pippin did hit Marko with the old briefcase, it seemed like it would explode. They’d be showered with all the papers, pens, and whatever other items Mr. Pippin had been collecting for the past thirty years.
“You hear what I’m sayin’ Mr. Pippin?” Marko insisted. “Old Myers did not sell his book to nobody. He’s paying to have it published. Don’t you get it? He’s a liar and a fraud.
“I don’t have to put up with you anymore, Marko Lane,” Mr. Pippin almost sobbed. “Go away!” Mr. Pippin looked imploringly at Jaris. “Jaris, please, get Ms. McDowell to make him go away.”
As Jaris made a move toward Ms. Torie McDowell’s classroom, Marko split. Jaris figured Mr. Pippin didn’t need Ms. McDowell anymore.