TO DO: Eat pizza! (and . . . do some other things, but . . . pizza!)
I WENT TO bed that night with a belly full of pizza. It was the first night in ages I didn’t have to police Maddy’s plate. The first night we ate without Momly’s tired face looking back at us. Without the smell of turkey wings mixed with the smell of clean. No white plates to put in the sink, because Uncle Tony had us eat on paper ones. It was the first night that me and Uncle Tony actually had to help Maddy with her homework. She had to practice for a spelling test. She wanted to know if the word Dr. Lancaster said, “concussed,” had anything to do with bad words. Me and Uncle Tony laughed, told her it had to do with a concussion, then we had to tell her that neither of us knew exactly what a concussion was. It was the first night that I tried to make small talk at dinner. Momly was always good at starting conversations at the table, even if Uncle Tony was better at stealing them. He couldn’t start them, though. And silent dinner was killing me, so I tried to.
“Y’know, the other day I got into it with this girl,” I said, pulling another slice of pizza from the box. “At practice.” Not sure where it came from. Probably just thinking about how good practice went with me and the girls today, and how sucky it went on Tuesday. I glanced at Maddy, and she was in full-blown cheese mode. It was like eating pizza clogged her ears. She would take a bite, then stare at the slice as if it was talking to her, telling her how delicious it was.
“What? Who?” Uncle Tony perked up, tightened his eyes. “Why?”
“Just this girl, Krystal. I didn’t bother tellin’ nobody about it because we squashed it,” I explained. “But she called Momly my ‘white mother’ and I just, like . . . lost it.”
Uncle Tony slurped the hot cheese, then set what was left of his slice down. Grabbed a napkin, cleaned the grease from his hands and mouth.
“That made you mad?” he asked. “I mean, I know Emily’s not your mother, but did that girl saying you had a white mom really offend you?”
I chewed on crust. Chewed and chewed, thinking. Thinking about . . . everything. I swallowed, shook my head.
“Nah, not really. It wasn’t that. I was more mad that she said it like she knew our family. Our situation.” I glanced at Maddy again. She was nibbling like a rabbit, which meant she was now listening. Didn’t matter. She needed to hear this part. “So I had to defend us. I had to defend Momly.” Maddy looked at me. I looked at Uncle Tony. He nodded and picked his pizza back up.
“You know, Emily would’ve told you not to get into no mess with nobody over her. She would’ve said she doesn’t need you to defend her, because she’s the adult and it’s her job to defend you.”
“Yeah, I know. She probably would’ve got on the phone and snitched on me to Ma.”
Uncle Tony snorted. “And what you think Bev woulda said?” He took another bite of his pizza.
I thought for a moment, ripping the crust in my hand open to pick the soft white bread out of the crunchy part. I glanced back up and shrugged, bread between my fingers like a pinch of cotton. “Probably woulda yelled at me.”
“Concussed you out,” Uncle Tony joked. “Just like she’s gonna do me since I forgot to call her and tell her about everything that happened today.”
I tossed the bread in my mouth, chewed. “Yeah, but then she probably would’ve told me she was proud of me.”
To that, Uncle Tony didn’t have a follow-up joke, like normal. That was a first. Instead he just said, “I’m proud of you too. Me, Emily, Bev, Ronnie, and little Waffle here”—Maddy bounced her eyebrows at me and flashed a joker-y grin—“we all are.”
This was also the first night in a long time someone tucked me in. I don’t mean actually tucked me in, but just came and checked on me. I always did it for Maddy, counting her beads, and toward the end of the week when there were fewer to count—and after the accident there were much fewer to count—I would make up all kinds of silly stories until she fell asleep. Lately, they’ve all been some weird spin-off about Frida. Other times, I would just sit on Maddy’s bed and listen to her make up tales herself until she dozed. Crazy ones about what our mother’s legs might be doing. Maybe they were dancing in Mexico. Maybe they were off kicking butt somewhere. “Who knows,” Maddy would say. “Ma’s legs ain’t no junk.”
Tonight, though, my uncle came and checked on me. This was after he’d finally spoken to my mother. After my mother talked to Maddy. After she talked to me. After she made my uncle put her on speakerphone so she could pray. After she asked my uncle to take her off speakerphone so she could tell him what she would’ve done if anything had happened to Maddy, and how dare he take all day to call her. After she asked for Momly’s hospital room number. And after she told us she loved us. All of us.
Uncle Tony knocked on the door. I had just finished doing my Frida research for the night and was sitting at my desk, staring into the mirror, wrapping my hair—combing it around my head and pinning it in place before covering it in a scarf, a pretty silk one Ma gave me with stars all over it.
“Come in,” I said, tying a knot in the fabric.
“Hey,” Uncle Tony said. He was holding an empty plate and kissed me on top of my head, the image of the two of us in the mirror, obviously related. Uncle Tony set the plate on the desk.
“Hey,” I said, getting up and climbing into bed. Uncle Tony took a seat on the chair.
“I just wanted to come say good night,” he said. “And to let you know I called Skunk, and he’s going to help us out with some stuff.” He nodded, awkwardly, before finally just saying, “And . . . I wanted to check on you. How you doing with everything going on? School isn’t your favorite place, Momly’s going through what she’s going through, track is stressful, I’m sure, and Maddy, I know can be a handful because she’s got your mother in her.” He smirked just for a second.
“I’m cool.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t seem surprised by my answer, but he leaned in anyway and asked, “You sure?” He looked at me like he could see that thing on my face that Becca saw. That I saw in hers. That look that says I got thoughts somewhere I can’t get to. Under-thoughts.
But what was I supposed to say? I mean, I was fine because I had to be.
“Yeah, I’m sure, why?” I faked, but before he could call me on it, I changed the subject, which, when I think about it, might be one of my hidden talents. “What’s the plate for?”
“Oh,” Uncle Tony said as if he had forgotten about it. He reached behind his back and grabbed it, then sat right beside me. “Well . . . I was wondering if maybe you would have a cupcake with your uncle.” He extended the plate to me. “Go on. Your ma won’t know, and you better not tell Momly or Maddy on me.” A wink and a grin.
I gave him a blank stare. Folded my arms across my chest.
“Go on,” he nudged. “For me.” I sighed, bit down on my lip, and pretended to pick up a cupcake. Held the invisible cupcake to my lips, took a bite.
“Good, right?” Uncle Tony said, doing the same, his eyes starting to water. “Strawberry.” I kept my hand to my mouth, now covering it. Keep it together. Come on, Patty. Keep it together. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think about my life without my little sister, without Momly. My life without my mother, or uncle. And even though I was grateful for all of them, I wondered how my life would be different if my dad had just . . . woke up. Why couldn’t he have just woke up? If he was here, I could just be . . . regular. But I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t say nothing. So I just nodded at my uncle, who was now wiping tears from his own cheeks, and swallowed my pretend cupcake. And then, it all burst out of me. All those stupid tears I’d been cramming back finally broke loose. I cried me a flood.
The next morning I didn’t send Ma a smiley-face text like I normally did. But that’s because Uncle Tony took off work—something that never happened—so that he could fill in for Momly and take Ma to the hospital dialysis unit to get her blood cleaned. And because Momly was in the same hospital, I convinced Uncle Tony to take me and Maddy with him.
It was super early, like around six thirty in the morning, when we left the house and piled into Uncle Tony’s SUV. There were papers all over the backseat, half-full cups of coffee in the cup holders, and a few french fries—hard yellow twigs—that must’ve been there forever on the passenger seat, wedged between the cushions. His SUV didn’t smell like clean. It didn’t have that nose-itchy scent that we were used to in Momly’s car. It still smelled poisonous, but not the good kind.
When we pulled up in front of Ma’s house, our other house, Maddy ran to the door like usual.
“Once, Maddy,” I reminded her.
“I know!” she shot over her shoulder, pushing the doorbell. “Coming,” Ma said through the wood. The sound of locks unlocking. Ma opened the door and pushed on the screen door, which I held open so Maddy could get her hug, which was extra-extra-long this morning. Then I gave Ma a kiss on the cheek and wheeled her out to the car. I mean . . . SUV. Uh-oh. I hadn’t thought about the fact that Uncle Tony didn’t drive a regular car. A car like Momly’s. One that Ma could hoist herself into. So as I pulled up to the passenger side, Uncle Tony hopped out of the SUV and came around to help.
“Hey, Bev,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“Hey, Toon,” Ma said, looking up at him. She reached up, took a chunk of his arm between her fingers, and pinched.
“Ouch!” Uncle Tony yelped.
“That was for taking so long to call me yesterday!” Ma growled. “And by the way, you look terrible in the morning.”
“You don’t look so great yourself.” He gave it right back, smirking.
“Yeah, but I got dirty blood. What’s your excuse?” Ma grinned like—won! She has the best smile.
“My wife is in the hospital,” Uncle Tony deadpanned. His face changed, and Ma knew that even though she was trying to lighten the situation, the joke was over.
“Sorry, Tony. I don’t . . . I don’t mean to be insensitive. I’m so sorry this had to happen to Emily, of all people.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just a concussion and a broken arm. But it could’ve been worse.” Uncle Tony glanced at Maddy. Ma did too.
We had to go. No time for jokes, and no time for tears, because Ma had to get to dialysis, and we had to make sure we got to the hospital before Momly went into surgery.
First we had to get Ma in the SUV, and when I say we, I really mean Uncle Tony.
“Come on, let’s get you up here,” he said, lifting her from the chair like a baby. He set her in the seat the same way my dad used to do me. I gotta admit it was weird seeing Ma be lifted up. Be held like that. And he lifted her out of the SUV just as carefully when we got to the hospital. I’d already pulled her chair from the back and unfolded it, ready to roll.
“First stop, Emily’s room,” Ma commanded. But we made a pit stop in the dialysis unit first. It was a room with a bunch of people sitting around hooked up to machines. Some were missing a foot, or a leg, just like Ma. Others looked pretty regular. It was like a blood-cleaning club, complete with magazines and newspapers, but most people were looking up at a TV screen showing one of those early morning shows like Good Morning America. They had some lady on there demonstrating how to cut a pineapple into the shape of an owl.
“Shoot, by the time I do all that, I could’ve just ate the doggone fruit!” a woman wearing a blue hat was saying as we came farther into the room. Her silver hair was stuffed under it, wisps sticking out the sides like she was hiding an old cat up there. She noticed my mother. “Hey, Bev.”
“Hey, Theresa.” Then Ma spoke to everyone else in the room. “Hey, y’all. These my babies, Patty and Maddy.”
Everyone did that weird whiny thing grown-ups do when they meet kids they’ve been hearing about. I’m surprised one of them didn’t ask me how track was going. I knew they knew I ran. Both my mothers talk too much.
“And this my brother-in-law, Tony. Emily’s husband.” I learned then that the whiny thing isn’t just for kids, but also for adults that adults had been hearing about. “Y’all know Emily’s in here? She’s upstairs. Got in a car accident yesterday.”
“No,” Theresa moaned, in shock.
“She’s okay, she’s okay,” Uncle Tony said, doing the calm down hands. He gave my mother the really? face. That’s the face you give people when you wanna say, You really just gon’ air my business out in the streets like that? Um . . . this is Beverly Jones. The queen of the air-out.
“She’s okay, but she needs y’all’s prayers anyway,” Momly said. They all nodded, except for one old man who had nodded off. “Anyway, I’m gonna go up and see her right quick, and then I’ll be back. Save my seat.” The lady, Theresa, nodded and patted the seat next to hers.
When we got upstairs to Momly’s room, Uncle Tony went in first.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
“Hey, sweetie.” Momly was sitting up, spooning clumps of oatmeal from a bowl. Uncle Tony gave her a smooch. “Who you got with you?” Maddy crept in. And me. “Oh, hey, sweeties.” Then her voice quickly zipped from sweet to sour. “Tony, why aren’t they in school?”
“Don’t worry, they’ll make it there. Even if I gotta roll ’em there myself,” Ma said, rolling into the room, purposely making an entrance. Beverly Jones. The queen of entrances. She planned the whole thing in the elevator on the way up.
Momly laughed. “Hey, Bev.” Ma wheeled up next to her bed. Grabbed her hand. The one connected to the unbroken arm.
“How you feeling, Em?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You ain’t that fine if my knucklehead brother-in-law had to pick me up.” Then she leaned in and said just loud enough for all of us to hear. “His SUV is filthy.”
Momly closed-mouth laughed. “I know.”
“Hey!” Uncle Tony squawked. “I mean . . . it got you here, didn’t it?”
“Yep, it sure did get me here. It also got me a two-year-old stale french fry stuck to my butt.” At this, Momly couldn’t contain herself and let out a belly laugh. It was so loud that it caught me off guard. I don’t know if I’d ever seen her laugh like that. She also seemed super rested. Just, like, chillin’ in the hospital.
“Sounds like the morning is starting off on the right foot.” Another man’s voice came from the door. It was Dr. Lancaster. He came into the room, shook Uncle Tony’s hand.
“Dr. Lancaster, this is Beverly Jones.” Ma turned her chair, shook the doctor’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones.” Then he stood by the head of the bed.
“And how are you today, young lady?” he said to Momly.
“Hangin’ in there. My head feels a little better, that’s for sure.”
The doctor nodded. “And you all?” he addressed me and Maddy.
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Great.” He put his hands together. “So, Emily, I’m going to give you the rundown of what’s going to happen. In a few minutes a young man named Terrence will arrive to transport you to the operating room. I will be there waiting along with two others, Dr. Morris and Dr. Fisk. Nice folks, talented surgeons. There will also be an anesthesiologist there, named Patricia.” The doctor paused and pointed at me. “Patty, right?” I nodded. “Short for Patricia?”
“Patina.” I was used to people doing that.
“Ah. Patina. That’s a pretty name. Different.”
“Thanks.”
“Dr. Lancaster, can we make sure Patricia knocks me completely out?” Momly asked. “I don’t want to feel anything.”
Dr. Lancaster laughed. “That’s the plan. And once you’re out cold, which will take all of seven seconds, we’ll get in there and fix you right up.”
“And then she can come home?” Maddy asked, eager.
Dr. Lancaster squatted. “Not quite. We need to watch her overnight to make sure there’s no funny business. But I don’t see why she can’t go home tomorrow. How’s that sound?”
Maddy nodded.
“Well, I’ll be here to get you as soon as we get word,” Uncle Tony said to Momly.
“Me too,” I said.
Momly shot me down fast. “Oh no you won’t. Because you have to run.”
“I don’t have—”
“You do,” Momly insisted. “You’re going to your track meet, where you should be. There’s no use in you coming back up here worrying about me.”
I looked at Ma for a bailout. But all she said was, “Don’t look at me. You heard her.”
“Track, huh?” Dr. Lancaster asked.
“Yeah, she’s a fast one. Got them legs from me.” Ma shined.
“Absolutely,” Momly double-teamed.
“That’s terrific,” the doctor said. “My grandson is a runner. I’ve never seen him race, and honestly, he doesn’t strike me as fast, but he tells me he runs, so . . .” Dr. Lancaster shrugged. Checked his watch. “Terrence should be here,” he muttered, just as we heard a knock at the door. “And there he is.” Dr. Lancaster grinned. “The kid is like clockwork.”
Terrence, who I just need to say was fifty times better than any boy on the Defenders team or at Barnaby Middle, or . . . ever, let Momly know it was time for me, Maddy, Uncle Tony, and Ma to say good-bye.
“Send us all a text when you make it out of surgery,” I said, ironing the wrinkles out of my khaki skirt with my palms.
“A smiley face, just a little something,” Ma suggested, followed by hugs, kisses, and of course, a prayer. (Ma told Terrence he’d better bow his head.) And then we were on our way back to the elevator, but to different floors: Momly to the operating room, and us to the dialysis unit—Uncle Tony would come back for Ma in three hours—and me and Maddy were back in Uncle Tony’s dirt-mobile, headed to school.
At Chester, Uncle Tony walked us to the office to get our lateness excused, and then I wandered down the empty hall toward locker 172. I had already missed most of first period but grabbed my English book anyway. By the time I got to Mr. Winston’s class, he was wrapping up his usual theatrics and a weeklong lesson, explaining the final stanza of the poem.
“When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made,
Honour the Light Brigade,
“Noble six hundred,” he recited, his voice breathy like he was having the most poetic asthma attack of all time. “Is that not beautiful?” Everyone just kinda stared at Mr. Winston, which to most folks would mean, Leave us alone. But not to teachers. To teachers, when no one looks interested, that means ask more questions. “Can anyone tell me what they think this means?” asked Mr. Winston now.
The whole class became mannequins, which is the standard move for please don’t call on me. But for some reason, even though I was late to class, I was feeling bold. Funny thing is, even though I thought Mr. Winston was a weirdo, I actually kinda got this poem, mainly because of church. See, it was that one Bible verse—which is actually like reading one long poem—that Pastor Carter said all the time . . . alllll the time, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” It was his go-to, and whenever he said it, the whole church bugged out. And this Light Brigade poem started the same way—charging into the valley of death. So . . . yeah, I got it. Got it so much I even raised my hand.
“Patina,” Mr. Winston called on me, surprised. I put my pen top in my mouth, chewed on it for a second, then answered.
“It’s basically saying that their bravery should be honored. That they did what they had to do, and they did it together, even though it seemed almost impossible to win.”
The bell rang.
“Exactly,” Mr. Winston said over the clatter of chairs scraping the floor and backpacks zipping. “Now, onward to enjoy your weekends, my noble six hundred!”
In math I spent the entire time thinking about how Momly’s arm was probably at an obtuse angle when it broke. Maybe 230 degrees. That’s if it snapped backward, which made the most sense to me. I also thought about the 180-degree turn I was going to make as soon as I saw T-N-T. Let them know that I ain’t gonna be buffing the floor by myself anymore. That I ain’t no junk. The floor being the Frida assignment, of course. Maybe math actually was good for something. Somehow convincing yourself to stand up to hair flippers (and fake flippers), understanding bone-breaking angles, and estimating how long it would take to eat three (hundred) tacos.
Lunchtime. Friday’s menu: tacos. Pick your meat. Chicken, beef, or shrimp. Pick your shell. Hard or soft. Cheese, shredded or liquid. Lettuce, tomato, sour cream, salsa. Three tacos, $4.25. Everybody’s favorite.
I didn’t do no lunchroom laps today. Instead I just got my food and headed to the table where Becca and Macy and Sasha and the others were sitting. The table I’d been sitting at two days in a row, well, except for yesterday. I slipped in next to Sasha, lifted one of my tacos, and bit it in half.
“So what did I miss yesterday, Becca?” I asked. I was prepping to deliver the blow, that I, Patina Jones, was done being the Frida Leader. I was sick of it, and I didn’t put up with this on my track team, so I was definitely not putting up with it at this school. TO DO: put T-N-T on notice that the Frida Freebies were a wrap. Dunzo. Becca, who was holding her taco like it was a grenade about to explode hot sauce and lettuce, widened her eyes.
“Oh, I was about to tell you. Ms. Lanford changed the rules,” she said. Sauce was dribbling out of the end of the taco and onto her hand. Newbie!
“Changed the rules?”
“Yeah. She’s not grading us all together anymore. We all are responsible for different parts of the project. That way it’s fair, y’know?” Becca explained. She put down her taco and dabbed a napkin to her hand. “I think it’s better this way.” Then she flashed a sneaky grin. Um . . . me too, Becca. Me too, I thought. But there was something about that look on her face that made me want to thank her. Made me think she had something to do with it. Anyway, this was great news. And it made Friday even better, and I don’t know if it was the combination of it all, or what, but I was suddenly feeling . . . I don’t know. Like I had some kind of magical thing happening in me. This must be how Maddy felt all the time. Strong in a special way.
Once I got to history class, guess who spoke to me first. Guess. You get two chances, and one clue. They got almost the same name.
“Hi, Patty,” Taylor said as I came into the room. Caught me off guard.
“Hey, Taylor.” I didn’t put no funk in it. Not even when TeeTee spoke. No need to be mean to them. Plus, I understood what it felt like to want to fit in. Or at least to feel like you “fit out.” I don’t know if I would’ve been fronting like them, but I get it.
“Welcome back, Miss Jones,” Ms. Lanford said as I sat down. “I’m sure your group members will be happy to see you, especially since I’ve adjusted the rules.”
“Becca told me.” I tried to keep from grinning.
“Good. You will still have to give a group presentation, but now each of you will have to cover a specific part of the life of your subject. I got word that not everyone has been pulling their weight, so I wanted to make sure I’m giving fair grades.”
I was psyched, I’m talking totally gassed about this. But once we got into our groups, I discovered the other girls had already chosen which parts they wanted. TeeTee chose Frida’s love affair with Diego, no surprise there, though judging by Taylor’s face, there had been some drama over that choice. Taylor, I guess because her first choice was taken, decided to go with Frida’s death. Becca was going to talk about the art, which I would’ve loved to talk about since I was the one who had been doing so much research on it. But it was okay. Becca was . . . she was cool. So that left me to talk about Frida’s childhood, which to be honest, I was fine with because I already knew so much about it, including the newest thing I’d learned the night before, that after Frida was diagnosed with polio, which messed up her right leg, giving her a limp, her father encouraged her to play sports—soccer, even wrestling—even though girls didn’t really do that back then. He thought it would be good for her leg, but turned out what it was really good for was her confidence. And I kept thinking about that, not just in class, but for the rest of the day—that that’s kinda what running was to me. A way to shut people up. A way to . . . I guess, sometimes even shut myself up. Just turn it all off. Leave everything, all the hurting stuff, the unregular stuff that seemed so regular to me, in the dust.