Blu McCants Where you at, trick? I need my java. SIXTY-FIVE MINUTES TODAY! #SpeakUpNow
Like · Comment · Share · @ladysingsblu · Tuesday at 7:16 am ·
After I take a shower, I throw on one of Omar’s hooded Miami sweatshirts and a pair of jeans I have in the trunk. There are no extra toothbrushes in the house, at least ones that are unused, so I use my finger. No lotion either, so my face is close to ashy. Not a good look, Claudia.
Fortunately, Mr. Smalls is a late sleeper, because I’d hate for him to get the wrong idea about me.
“Thanks for getting my jeans. Is it cold out there?” I ask him.
“Colder than a witch’s nose,” he says, laughing. “Did you call your sister?”
“I left her a note to let her know where I was going last night. Trust me, she’s not the worrying type.” One of the perks of having a free-spirit older sister and parents gone for half the year. “Plus my phone’s dead. Forgot to plug it up last night.”
“Yeah, mine too.”
Omar checks the hallway first and then motions for me to come. He holds my hand as we tiptoe down the stairs and out the door.
“I thought y’all didn’t have cold winters down here. Sure feels like winter. I’ve got to run back in the house—T-Diddy needs a hat.” He lets my hand go, and now I feel even colder.
In the car, I look at the dashboard and it reads twenty-nine degrees. I put the hood over my head and blast the heat. When Omar gets in, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask.
“The free game is over, enough with the questions, homegirl. Just drive.” And like it’s the most normal thing, he sticks his left hand under my right thigh and leaves it there. “I need some hot chocolate. Can we make a run to Starbucks or something?”
“Oh, shizzle! I was supposed to pick up Blu for coffee this morning.”
“Shizzle, really?” He shakes his head and laughs.
“I’m serious. Blu and I go for coffee every Tuesday and Thursday. We’ve been doing it for years.”
“She’ll understand. Just tell her you’re in love.”
“So I should lie to her.” Now it’s my time to laugh.
“Whatever.” He moves his hand from under my leg like his feelings are hurt.
“It’s not love, Omar. It’s just a lot of like. It takes time to love someone.”
“Well, then give me some of that like.” He leans over to kiss me on the cheek again.
“Omar, you don’t learn to love someone in sixteen days.”
“You’ve been counting, huh? Sixteen days or sixteen years, it’s all the same. All I know is in this cold, harsh world, you are my winter coat.”
“Who said that, Omar?”
“That’s all me, homegirl. Give me some time, Claudia Clarke, and I could learn to love you completely. Now let’s go to Starbucks. What’s up with the heat in this car?”
The line at Starbucks is so frickin’ long that we decide to skip it and just grab some of the watered-down hot chocolate and muffins in the school cafeteria.
The TV cameras are still in front of our school. Fortunately, we can park around back and go in through the gym, which Omar has the code to. One of the perks of being Mr. Football.
“Sixty-five minutes is like the whole first period. I feel kind of bad for Mr. Washington.”
“Why? He’s riding with us.”
“True. I hope you don’t get suspended again. Actually, I hope you don’t get expelled this time.”
“She’s not going to suspend me again. Uncle Al’s lawyer sent her an email about freedom of speech and whatnot. Nobody gonna break my stride.”
Omar tries to hold my hand in the hallway, but I pull it away. He tries again, and I do it again. Not because I don’t want him to hold my hand; it’s just that my emotions are still a roller coaster. I tell myself if he just does it one more time, grabs my hand, I will let him. He does.
Hand in hand, we walk into the noisy cafeteria, where every student who gets to school early hangs out. Some people eat, some don’t. But almost everybody has a jumbo cup of iced tea.
The cooks at our school make the best sweet tea on earth, but they haven’t quite figured out that hot chocolate requires more than a teaspoon of chocolate powder in an eight-ounce cup of hot water. Jeez!
Once we’re inside, and a few people see us, I wonder what the response is going to be. Not for Omar, because people are used to seeing him with any and every girl. But no one, except Blu, has ever seen me with a guy. And I’ve never dated a guy at West Charleston. This should be interesting.
We walk past a few students, and they stand up, face us, and start clapping. A few more do the same. It’s like the domino effect. Before you know it, the entire cafeteria, even the cooks, are applauding us. I’m thinking, Are they joking us, or are they seriously that happy we’re together?
A few minutes ago, when we were on the other side of the cafeteria door, I didn’t know what to expect. Sure wasn’t this spectacle. Even the cafeteria workers are clapping. It’s like we’re the president and Michelle.
Omar, of course, eats it up. He starts waving at folks like he’s the frickin’ president.
“Omar, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know, homegirl, but it’s kind of cool, right?”
Luther, the smoker kid, jumps up on a table.
“Attention, attention!” He stomps his big black boots, and everyone turns to face him.
“When we started the silent treatment, we didn’t know what we were doing. Some of us even thought being silent was silly. Real talk.” More applause. “We didn’t know if it would work. We just took Omar and Claudia’s word for it.” Are we getting some kind of award?
“We trusted them to right the wrongs at West Charleston. We trusted them to lead us to the promised land.”
Loud chants begin to race through the cafeteria. “WE’RE FIRED UP, CAN’T TAKE NO MO’! WE’RE FIRED UP, CAN’T TAKE NO MO’!”
“Today, we shout out Omar and Claudia,” Luther continues, “for keeping it real, for representing West Charleston, for getting the band and the drama club reinstated. YEAH!” Omar and I look at each other, unsure of whether we’re dreaming. We’ve just spent the last ten hours sitting on opposite sides of a lit candle and staring into each other’s eyes. Surely we could be asleep and this could all be a dream. “It worked?” I mumble to him.
“T-Diddy, you’re the man. Thanks, dawg, we’re going to the Battle of the Bands. That’s what’s up,” Belafonte comes over and says.
“T-DiddyAndBeyoncéRunThisWorld,” Freddie says, and winks at T-Diddy.
“I guess we did it, homegirl. Yeah, it worked. Wow!” My head is spinning. The last time I was this happy was when my dad took me to meet Alice Walker, my other favorite writer, and she invited us to have dinner with her.
I see Blu walking toward me. Finally someone’s going to congratulate me for the work that I did.
“Trick, you nixed me for some jock. Really?” she says, laughing. I slide my hand out of Omar’s, and he kind of looks at me like, “What’s up?” Blu and I head over to get some hot chocolate.
“My bad, Blu, time got away from me,” I say, trying not to blush.
“Yeah, I bet. Nice shirt.” And she rolls her eyes.
“So we got the dance team back. That’s great.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Did he smash?”
“Nope, we just played a game that lasted all night,” which is technically true.
“Your nose is growing, trick.” Even though she is my best friend, I’m just not ready to tell her about Folly Beach. But I will. “You didn’t check your email?”
“My phone is dead.”
“Girl, the school board held a special meeting last night. They gave us the band back and a few other things.”
“Thank the lord,” I say.
“Don’t go hallelujahing already.”
“What?”
“The library is still closed. And the school board said they may have to make another round of layoffs.”
Before I can react to this nonsense, someone pushes me in the back.
“You’re fired, bish,” Kym King says from behind me. “You think you’re all that. I got something for you. Believe that.”
“I got something for you too,” I say, feeling a little cocky and over-the-top happy. “A breath mint.” Blu laughs.
“What you laughing at, dude?” Kym says, emphasizing the last word.
“Don’t let that trick walk in here all disrespectful, holding your Omar’s hand, and then try to play you,” Eve says, instigating.
“Yeah, don’t do that,” Blu says, then reaches into her purse. She pulls out a small container of Vaseline and then starts rubbing it all over her face. “If we’re going to blows, let’s do this, then. This dude is ready to rumble.”
We all stare at each other for like two minutes, in silence. It’s kind of ironic how we’ve all become pros at this quiet thing.
“Let’s go, Eve. You had your chance, Claudia. I tried to warn your little stupid tail. Now it’s on.” She and Eve leave.
“Dayum, I was looking forward to whooping her ass. She’s been asking for it since fifth grade,” Blu says.
“What are you going to do with all that Vaseline, Blu?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Come here.” And she starts wiping my hands on her face. “Apparently Omar didn’t have any lotion at his place, Ashy.” And I don’t even try to hide the huge smile on my face.