Bestie

My noun, my verb, my adjective. Best-ee rhymes with free! Synonym: Nobody Hates Alma.

Alma don’t take nothing for free. When the teacher handed out school supplies at the beginning of the year and all the kids were stuffing their pockets, their backpacks, their assholes, she wouldn’t take them.

“What are you crazy?” I say.

She ignores me and says to the teacher, “What can I do to pay for them? Can I clean your boards?” When she says it, she don’t whisper. Everybody hears.

After Alma ignored me like that, I didn’t get mad, because—

Okay, I got mad. But I’m always mad so Alma don’t really notice. Mostly what I get is jealous. Because I can never be like that.

So why don’t I hate Alma? Why don’t everybody hate Alma? Back to the school supplies and the flashback.

Some new girl wearing two different shoes stands up. Against her chest she holds free binders, free notebooks. Free pencils stick out of her pockets. Free egg burrito breakfast sticks to the corner of her mouth. “So what,” she says to Alma, still chewing. “You think you better than us?”

Alma knows not to sweat it. She knows I have her back. But I always let her speak up for herself first. She’s my bestie, not my bitch.

Alma says, “What I do has nothing to do with what you do. I don’t know your life. You do what you need to do. I do what I need to do.” She looks down at the girl’s pants.

New girl throws down her books and all the free shit she’s holding. I stand up. The class scoots back their desks to make a ring like Madison Square Garden. Teacher buzzes the office. Ding ding ding. Fight over before it begins.

Alma: “You sew that yourself?”

New Girl with Two Different Shoes: “Whatchu say? Did I what?” She’s breathing hard like they really just threw down.

Alma, all calm, cool, and collected, points and says, “Your pants. I know they didn’t come like that. How did you do that? I could never do that. Did you do it yourself?”

New Girl with Two Different Shoes takes a step back. Opens her mouth, closes it. Repeat. Finally says, “Uh. Yeah.”

Alma says, “Could you do that for me? I have pants that are nice but not in style anymore. Do you think you could do that to them? Not for free, of course.”

New Girl with Two Different Shoes gains her bearing: “Uh. Of course not. Nothing’s for free.”

Alma: “Right. Maybe I could help with your—” Alma looks at the girl’s books spread over the floor.

New Girl with Two Different Shoes: “Uh. Maf?”

I sit, put my head down on my crossed arms so no one can see my face, and smile. Nobody’s allowed to see my smile. Nobody but Alma.

Alma says, “Deal.”

Then Alma does something funny. She walks right up to New Girl with Two Different Shoes, the girl who stands two heads above her and is ten times as wide, and does that thing that only Alma can do. She wiggles her finger and gets New Girl with Two Different Shoes to bend down. Alma whispers in her ear.

Nobody, including me, knows what was said. Alma wouldn’t tell me. Which didn’t make me mad.

Okay, it made me mad. (But mostly it made me jealous.) All I do know is a week later, just when everybody forgot about the whole thing, Girl with Two Different Shoes is wearing a matching pair of Mary Janes and Alma is wearing the cutest pants. Even Alma forgets about it. But I don’t.

Not when I see Girl with Two Different Shoes getting slipped a bag of clothes from one teacher and then another. Not when I see her holding a brochure with a sewing machine on it from the vocational school. Not next quarter when I see that Girl with Two Different Shoes all sudden don’t need no free school supplies no more.