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Jessa, JJ, and Xavier are walking down the hallway towards me. I ignore their sympathetic expressions. I hadn’t talked to them since my birthday party, and they’d tried calling a bunch of times. I’m sure they were at the funeral but I don’t remember very much during that time. Whenever they’ve texted I’ve replied back with emoticons, mostly thumbs up or thumbs down.
Jessa pulls me into a hug without asking. “You okay?” she asks, releasing me with a smile.
Not really. I nod and turn to my locker. I try to recall my combination number. Two turns left 37, three turns right 20, one full turn left 13, push in and pull. Locked.
Hmmm. I was sure that was it.
I try again. Two turns left 37, three turns right 20, one full turn left 13, push in and pull. Still locked.
I’m getting angry. I try once more. Two turns left 37! Three turns right 37! No wait that’s wrong. I have to start over. How do I start over? I forgot. I yank vigorously on the combination lock. Open! Open! Open! Stupid lock! Stupid locker! Stupid school! Stupid day! Stupid everything! I hate it all!
“Whoa, whoa! Hey, calm down,” Xavier says. I glare at him. Does he not see my face? I am calm.
Jessa puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s just probably stuck, Clove.”
I throw my backpack over my shoulder and walk briskly through the hall to the girl’s restroom. I find the handicap stall and slam it closed. Leaning against the door I give myself a mental pep talk. Get it together. It’s just a combination lock. I don’t cry. No matter how hard I’ve tried to make tears fall, they won’t come. It’s like they’re still confused about what happened.
“Pinky is back at school today,” I hear a girl talking in the bathroom. I don’t need to peek through the crack of the stall to know it’s Tisha Marshkin and her minion Mars.
“Yeah I saw her going bat-blind crazy over her locker just a moment ago,” Mars answers.
They stop talking and I look down at my feet and silently wish I had paid more attention to what I wore today. The tennis shoes I have on are caked with mud from when I went hiking with JJ and his family months ago.
Tisha and Mars start giggling but resume their conversation.
“Did you see Trevor yet?” Mars asks. “That boy’s got what I need!”
“Well get it then girl. You asking him to the Sadie Hawkins dance?” Tisha says.
I’d forgot about the traditional Sadie Hawkins dance. It’s the only dance underclassmen get because prom is reserved for Seniors only.
“Thinkin’ bout it,” Mars answers. “What about chu? You gonna ask Jonah?”
Jonah? My Jonah...as in my best friend Jonah? JJ? I’m not even sure JJ’s trying to go to the dance.
Neither one of us had ever gone to our school dances in the past. We usually have church events on the same days as the dances and I know my dad schedules those things on purpose. He can be overprotective sometimes.
“I think Pinky has a crush on him,” Mars says.
“Jonah?” Tisha asks.
“No, Trevor. Pinky has a crush on Trevor,” Mars tells her.
How does she know? Have I been that obvious? I haven’t even been at school for the past two weeks and before that we had a bunch of snow days.
Tisha clicks her tongue loudly. “Gurl er’body gotta crush on Trevor. But I know for sure he don’t like Pinky. I’on care if her mama died or not, she still a cow.”
Mars giggles. “That’s so mean. Have some sympathy.”
The bell rings and the girls hurry out leaving the bathroom completely silent. Eventually, someone will come and check the stalls to make sure no one’s trying to ditch or smoke. Sooner or later I have to get this over with, but I need my books and my lock was not cooperating. As if someone has read my mind, my lock slides underneath the stall, opened. I come out of the stall and to find Jessa waiting for me.
“Xave got it open for you after JJ told him the combination numbers,” Jessa says against the door. “You come out when you’re ready. Me, Xave and JJ gotchu, a’ight Cuz? You’ll get through this.”
I appreciate that. Even though Jessa and I aren’t blood relatives, we still act like we are. She gets where I’m coming from because she’s heard the same stupid questions and comments, like “Oh my gosh is it contagious?” or “Did you bleach your skin?” or as always, “Y’all look like heifers!”
Jessa has always stood up for me when I didn’t have the courage to stand up for myself. She’s feisty and as country as a back-porch swing.
I listen as her feet shuffle out of the bathroom. This day is overwhelming already. I take a deep breath and unlock the stall door. Mama always used to say, “Procrastination is a thief of time.”
***
I HAVE THE LAST LUNCH of the day and I’m glad I have it with JJ and Xavier. I don’t have many girl friends at school other than Jessa but she doesn’t have lunch with me, so the three of us sit at a round table near a window. We’ve had this table on lock since me and JJ’s freshman year. Jessa and Xavier didn’t have lunch together their freshman year.
Xavier eats a big bag of chips, a candy bar, and washes it all down with pink lemonade. JJ has his usual vegetarian lunch of fruits and vegetables, and I have a cup of ice. That’s all I feel like eating. The mixed smells of the cafeteria make me nauseous. I just want to lay my head down, but that might be weird or make other people feel even more sympathetic or uncomfortable.
A girl walks by our table, “Hey Pinky, sorry about your Mama. Let me know if I can do anything.” She walks away before I can even nod a thanks.
JJ extends an apple to me. At first, I shake my head no, but then I take it. He once told me apples help with nausea. Part of the random information that he gives at least once a day.
Xavier talks with his mouth full of chips. “Yo J, you going to the Sadie Hawkins dance?”
JJ shakes his head. “No because we leave for the college tour the same night, remember?”
Xavier pops another chip in his mouth. “Oh man I forgot about that. I can’t keep up with all the events this year. I think I got senior-itis or something.”
I always thought that was a made-up term, but I Googled it and found that it was actually legit.
“I still don’t know why you’re not coming,” JJ says. “You might find a school for engineering.”
Because my dad is Youth Minister and in charge of the trip, I’m automatically signed up to go but I don’t really feel up to it anymore.
“Haven’t I missed the deadline?” Xavier asks. “Even if I could go, I already know what school I’m going to.”
JJ pauses before putting a carrot stick in his mouth. “What school is that?”
“School of Xavier.”
That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard but I rest my head on my hand to listen to him explain.
“See, the way I see it is, I make plenty of money fixing people’s computers, updating them and making things. What do I need college for? So I can have a bunch of debt?”
Hmmmm, good point.
“I ain’t coming from a trust fund like Jessa,” Xavier continues. “Me and my mom are out here trying to survive.”
JJ begins to explain scholarships, grants, and savings, and Xavier looks at him like he’s bored to tears. “Mane, I know what all that is and how to do all that too,” he says.
People in Smalltown and Memphis say Mane alot. It’s like homie, dawg, or bro. But JJ has never used the word. He couldn’t understand it when he first moved here from France almost nine years ago. He speaks very proper and sometimes mixes in French. The phrase him and his family use most are “Tu sais.” I know that one means “You know.”
JJ pulls all his hair up into a man bun. “You’re a Senior and you haven’t applied anywhere, tu sais? Come on the tour, meet some girls, go to Six Flags...”
Xavier’s eyebrows raise at the mention of girls. “I’ll think about it,” he says and pulls his dreadlocks into a man bun too. I swear they are always twinning. Their bromance gets on my nerves sometimes.
JJ eats another carrot stick. “Yep, think about it. We’ll be touring a couple of schools with good engineering and math programs.”
Something’s different about JJ but I can’t figure it out. His freckles are still there, his red hair is still long. He has muscles and that’s new but there’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on. I turn my cup upside down trying to get the last piece of ice to fall down but it stays where it is. What is it about the last dog-gone piece of ice that just wants to remain in the cup? I try shaking it loose but it just swirls around the base.
“Inertia,” JJ tells me.
What?
“When the ice stays in the cup. Inertia, an object-”
I get distracted away from another one of JJ’s scientific facts when people in the lunchroom start clapping, whistling and hollering. It’s a time known as Booty Woots. It’s a terrible name and game. Whoever came up with it is an idiot. Guys clap when a girl with a big behind gets up to throw away trash or put away a tray.
It’s totally sexist. Some guys shout scores: ten for maximum bubble butts, “womp, womp, womp” for small behinds. I’m on the womp, womps. They started this at the beginning of the school year but Coach LaMont made them stop, and told them it was “highly inappropriate”. Unfortunately, he’s not here right now so the ridiculousness carries on.
Tisha and Mars twist their hips super hard when they head to the trash can. People shout ten and nine. There are some girls confident enough to get up while girls like me stay seated. I have nothing to throw away anyway. And even if I did, I wouldn’t dare get up. Especially not after what happened the first time. I not only got womp, womps but I got “boos” too.
A piece of trash lands in front of me. I don’t know where it comes from but I try to search to see who threw it. I can’t tell. Turning back around I find that there’s a couple more pieces of trash in front of me. Xavier and JJ look around too. Really? Neither of them saw where this trash came from?
JJ takes the trash and throws it elsewhere. Somehow this starts a trash fight. As people start throwing trash around, a Snickers wrapper hits me in the face with half the Snicker still in it. I feel the wet sticky caramel on my face. Gross. I let it fall to the floor. More food hits me and it smells like ranch. A salad? Someone threw a salad at me? Who would do that and why?
Either JJ or Xavier hands me a napkin. I wipe my face just as someone blows a whistle. Coach LaMont barks at the entire lunchroom. “All of you clean this up right now.”
There are groans from people and some complain that they didn’t even throw anything.
“Jonah and Xavier started it!” someone yells.
This gets Xavier upset. “What!?” he says. “I didn’t start nothin’!”
Coach LaMont doesn’t want to hear any of it. People start picking up trash. Not me, though. My face resembles a trash can, so I’m not staying to clean any of this. I grab my things and walk right past Coach LaMont.
As I run towards the bathroom for the second time today, I walk pass the glass doors that show a menacing sky. The street lights are coming on one by one.
I’ve forgotten about going to the bathroom and find myself drawn to the brooding storm clouds and the violent sway of the trees. I open the doors. The wind pushes against me and a piece of lettuce flies across my face. I still my body against the wind and keep my eyes to the sky. The mystery of it is compelling.
Drops of cool water land on my forehead. It feels good, better than good, like small taps awakening me. I know that I should go inside because I don’t want to get my hair wet, but for the first time in weeks, I feel alive again.
Far off in the distance a funnel cloud is forming. JJ once told me that tornadoes in the Southern Hemisphere spiral clockwise and in the opposite direction in the Northern Hemisphere. He would absolutely love to see this. When we were kids, he wanted to be a meteorologist. He has tons of books on weather, astrology, and darn-near anything science-y.
The town warning sirens began to sound but I don’t care. I want to get closer. I want to feel something. I wait for fear to pulse through my veins, but still I feel nothing so I keep pressing forward.
Someone calls my name from behind. I pay them no attention because I’m focused on this funnel cloud, the way it twists and gradually gets bigger.
“Clove!”
I wish I was closer so I can see what’s inside the eye of the storm, and I wish whoever is screaming my name will stop. My foot is heavy as it lifts off the ground so I can take one step closer.
“Clove! Get back inside!”
I used to think storm chasers were crazy, but I get it now. This sky is amazing.
Arms grab me from behind and carry me away from the storm. I kick so that they’ll put me down. “Miss Daniels, you must come inside now. It’s dangerous.”
The last word stays with me. Dangerous. It’s something that I’d never been. I’ve always been safe, good, and kind even when the world hadn’t been that way for me. What’s the purpose of being good? What’s the point of loving God? Plenty of people do wrong, never go to church and they’re still alive to tell their story. No more good girl. I want to live dangerously.