When the sandwiches and raspberry tea were finished, and the talk about periods and blooming was over, Mom said we should go shopping for school shoes. She grabbed her car keys and we went out front to the driveway. I don’t know what made me look to the right, but I did and, boy, I must have leaped up in the air fifty feet when I saw the car coming up the street. I couldn’t stop jumping and hollering and waving like a maniac.
“Akilah. Akilah.”
I heard Mom’s voice, the stop-that-right-nowness in her tone, but I kept jumping.
Then the car was right alongside us. Mr. Ojike slowed down as they approached, but he didn’t stop. He waved to Mom and me. Not excitedly, but carefully, the way stilt walkers in parades balance and wave. Victoria’s brother, Nelson, nodded, which normally would have made me silly, but for once I didn’t care about Nelson. I waved and screamed and jumped, but Victoria didn’t look up. She didn’t turn, move, or do anything. So I stopped jumping and waving.
Their car crawled past us, all slow. It reminded me of the line of black cars that trailed behind us at Grandpa Jack’s funeral. Once again I thought of everything I had written to Victoria. Everything and anything that would make her mad at me.
Mom placed her hand on my shoulder. “She’s just tired.”
I wanted to believe her, but I knew something was wrong. My thoughts must have been sitting out there as big as day. Mom said, “Victoria’s crossed over the Atlantic and a few time zones. She must be worn out, baby.” One thing: My mother does not baby me. That’s Dad’s job.
“Can I—”
“No,” Mom said firmly. “Let them settle in.”
We got into the car and pulled out of the driveway.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Wish up the moon. Wish up the moon. Tomorrow just wasn’t getting here soon enough. Finally a sliver of moon showed itself, but the sky wasn’t dark enough for nighttime. Stupid summer nights. We’d never have a new day at this rate, and you can’t get tomorrow started unless you’re done with today.
Once it was dark outside, truly owl-hooting dark, cricket-chirping dark, I made deals to bring up the sun: I’ll send over the moon if you hand over the sun. No one was paying me any mind. The sun was just tra-la-laing along, down in New Zealand. Australia. Way, way down under.
Somewhere between wishing down the moon and trading it in for the sun, I fell asleep.
I woke up expecting to see the sun, but it was still dark. Not just-before-the-cock-crows dark, but dark as in the moon wasn’t going nowhere, no time soon. In fact, according to my clock, I had been asleep for only eighteen minutes. Don’t you hate that? So now I was rested and up. I would never get to sleep. I would never see the sun. I would never see Victoria.
I got out of bed and turned on my computer to send e-mail, GirlWar to QueenV3.
I meant to ask her if she was mad at me. If I said something wrong. I meant to write about soccer and Juwan Spenser. Shopping for school clothes. My stupid talk with Mom. I meant to ask a million questions about Nigeria. Instead all I wrote was “Glad you’re back. Let’s get together.”
Now I could sleep. Really sleep.
The next time I woke up, streams of light beamed through my blinds. Sure enough, the sun was grinning at me, a big old cheesy grin. I was in and out of the shower so fast I didn’t need a towel to dry off. That’s how little water actually hit me. I know I brushed my teeth and threw on my soccer outfit. I just didn’t do all of those grooming things on Mom’s “did you” list. I scooted into my chair and kept my legs under the tablecloth to hide the fact that they were lotionless. Once I got to rolling around on the soccer field, no one would know the difference.
“Chew, Akilah. Ten times, then swallow.”
“I am chewing.” My mouth was all full of toast.
“Young lady! Close your mouth.”
I’m no lady, I thought. I’m just a girl, ready to kick butt on the soccer field—after I see Victoria.
When I ran to the Ojikes’ house, Miss Lady was out walking Gigi. The second the dog caught scent of me, Gigi started barking like mad. Miss Lady didn’t yank Gigi’s leash or quiet her down. She just let her bark.
“I see you ain’t waste no time making it over here.” Miss Lady saw everything. “Is your mama well, child?”
“My mama’s fine,” I said.
“How’d she let you out the house with those ashy legs?”
“I’m going to play soccer in the grass and mud. I’ma have to take a bath when I come home anyway.”
“You can still fix up. Be a lady,” she said. Now Gigi was sniffing me. I didn’t care about Gigi’s wet snout as much as I cared about people insisting I be a lady. I’m a girl, not a lady.
I went up to the Ojikes’ door and pressed the buzzer. I rocked back and forth, feeling like I could lift off and fly. The excitement of finally seeing Victoria was killing me, but I managed to keep my feet on the ground.
Mrs. Ojike opened the door. I had to look up. Really up, because Mrs. Ojike is, as Mom says, “a woman of stature.”
“So early, Akilah.”
“Couldn’t wait,” I said. “I’m so glad you all are back.” I talked on and on but noticed she wasn’t letting me in, nor did she stand aside.
“I’m sorry, Akilah, but Victoria is not feeling well.”
“Can’t I see her for a minute? Just a minute? Please?” I dragged out the please.
“Dear, she’s not yet awake.”
“It’s not like I’ve never seen her pj’s before.”
I tried to look past Mrs. Ojike, but she didn’t give me an inch in either direction. The door was cracked wide enough for her figure alone.
“Well, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Akilah, Victoria is not well. You must give her time to feel better.”
I knew I was wearing out my welcome, but I thought she’d change her mind.
I went to the soccer field. During the warm-ups I was minding my business, stretching with Janetta Mitchell, when Juwan came over and said, “So where’s your ugly partner hiding?”
That was a trick to make me answer. Then he’d say, “I told you Victoria’s ugly.” I had to fall for that trick only once to know better. I said, “Juwan, you’re the only ugly person I know.” Janetta and I kept doing our warm-ups until he went away.
Juwan has known me since Pre-K. Same amount of time he’s known Janetta Mitchell. Does he bother her? No.
After practice I started on my way home. I took Victoria’s block, hoping I’d see her or Nelson out in the yard.
Just as I was willing Victoria or Nelson to come outside, Mrs. Ojike opened the front door and called out to me. I raced over like a bloodhound. So much for being a lady.
Just as I got to the porch, she said, “Wait right here,” and closed the door. I thought she was bringing Victoria to the door to say a quick hello. Instead she returned with a shopping bag that she put in my hand, closing my fingers around the handle.
“It’s for your mother.”
“Oh.”
“Run along, Akilah. I will let you know when Victoria is feeling better.”
I took the bag home and gave it to Mom. She pulled out the cloth, squealed, and said, “It’s beautiful!”
It was just a cloth. Not like the kente Mrs. Ojike had on her wall. This one didn’t have all of those colors laced into one another. It was just brown and black, with some white stick figure drawings on it.
Mom kept running her hands along the patterns. “It’s a mud cloth,” she said, her eyes darting from wall to wall. She was finding the perfect spot to hang it.
I didn’t care where it went. As I slumped, sulking, on the sofa, I heard the words texture and print and glorious.
“Hey.”
My head stayed sunken in my hands.
“I thought we’d have to pry you from the Ojikes.”
“Mrs. Ojike said Victoria wasn’t feeling well. Not to come by tomorrow, either. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”
“She didn’t say that.”
Mom sat down. She pulled my back braid to lift my head up out of my hands. I let my head drop back down.
“Akilah, listen to me. You have to give Victoria time. Maybe she didn’t adapt to her country. Maybe it was too much for her.”
I looked up. “Adapt?”
“Sure, Victoria was born in Nigeria, but she’s lived in England and in Queens for most of her life. I’m sure the food, the water, the travel, perhaps even the climate, overwhelmed her.”
I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew Mom was probably right.
“Akilah.”
I looked up.
“Those ashy legs, young lady.”