“Can you talk about it?” I asked.
Rita took a deep breath and began. “He was always such a gentleman. He took me to museums and the opera and the ballet. I had never been to anything like that and I was overwhelmed with the beauty—I guess the word is maturity—of it all. I felt like a lady for once in my life.”
Tears rolled down my face. “I know exactly what you’re saying.”
“Finally, the night before Rhonda and Tyrone found me after practice, he invited me to his apartment.”
I gasped. “He had wine and soft music and candles, right?”
“Lavender,” we said together. We both almost gagged at the thought.
“And a huge mirror,” Rita added. “I think he liked looking at himself more than he liked looking at me. He was so vain!”
“Now that you mention it, you’re right!” I mused. “Even in the car, he constantly checked himself in the rear-view mirror. There’s something sickening about that.”
“Oh, he’s a real sick bird,” Rita continued. “Anyway, when things got too hot and heavy and I decided I wanted to go home, he dragged me into his bedroom and, well. . . you know. He raped me.” Rita was trembling.
I reached over and touched Rita’s hand. “Did he have a knife?” I asked.
“A silver-handled, sharp-pointed blade that he kept in his pocket.” Both of us were silent, remembering our own personal horror. “He cut me here,” Rita said, pointing to a faint, but long and jagged scar on her neck. “I wish I had been able to fight back like you did. He was just too quick and too strong.” She started to cry.
I wept also, touching the scab on my neck. “I don’t know how I was able to do it. I didn’t mean to cut him; I didn’t even try to cut him. I just remember looking up and seeing his face sliced like a piece of meat. It scared me to death.” I let myself remember for a moment, then shook the thought away and asked Rita, “So what happened next?”
Rita sighed deeply and continued. “The next day I tried to pretend that it was no big deal. I went to school! Can you believe it? Somehow I thought if I pretended it had never happened that the memory would go away.”
“You’ve got more guts than me,” I told Rita. “I haven’t been out of my house in two weeks.”
“Everybody reacts differently,” Rita told me. “I had no one to talk to, so I just stuffed it inside. I even went to practice, where I knew he would be. I don’t know what I expected, but somehow I figured he would be nice to me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “You were just trying to cope the best way you knew how. What happened at practice that day?”
“It was awful,” Rita began. “He yelled at me and laughed at me. I could see those golden eyes mocking me. When I couldn’t take anymore, I threatened to tell what he had done to me. Then he threatened to tell what he had done for me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“My high school years were all messed up. I failed most of my classes in the eleventh grade, even failed summer school. As me and Jonathan got to know each other last summer, I told him how I had decided to turn my life around, but didn’t know how I could ever catch up. He offered to help.”
“What did he do? Tutor you?” I could imagine him smoothly and easily manipulating Rita, just as he had done to me.
“Not hardly. Since his father is principal, he had access to all the computer security codes. He changed the grades on all my permanent records in the computer, including my SAT scores, so that I could graduate and get into a college. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even have had enough credits to get out of the eleventh grade.”
“Wouldn’t that have got him into trouble, instead of you?” I asked.
“Maybe. But he has a way of twisting things so that he looks innocent and you feel stupid and guilty.”
“I know.” I understood completely.
“But that day I threatened to expose him anyway—about what he had done to me the night before, about everything. He got really angry, snapped out the little silver knife, cut my arm through my track jacket, and told me if I said a word that he would kill me. I believed him.”
“So that’s when Rhonda and Tyrone found you? I remember them telling me you had a cut on your arm.” So much more was clear to me now.
“Yeah. I went home, told my mother as much as she could handle, and we split. Just like that.”
“Where’d you disappear to?”
“We’ve been living with my aunt in Dayton. Her name is Cleopatra Majestic Macmillan. She acts like she’s some kind of queen, too. Insists on the very finest, even though she hasn’t got a nickel. She’s the one who shook me up like I’m trying to do to you, the one who made me see that living and living good is the best revenge.”
“So what can I do?” I asked her. “I can’t move to Dayton.”
“You gotta go back to school—with your head held high. You beat him, Keisha! You won! Let your friends help you. What kind of friend turns her back on folks when they’re offering love and support? You may as well smack them in the face just like I did you.”
I hung my head. “I didn’t want to hurt them. I guess I was just thinking of myself.”
“Give them the chance to love you, Keisha. Give yourself the chance to love yourself. And take a shower! You’re kinda funky, girl!” Rita laughed, gave me a hug, and marched out of my room as boldly as she had marched in.
“Thanks, Rita,” I called to her. “I needed this.” As Rita drove away, I opened the window to the early March air that held the slightest hint of spring. I changed the sheets on my bed and cleared the clutter from my room as well as my mind. Edna’s words echoed in my mind once again: Yo’ spirit is a shinin’ silver star, chile. Can’t nobody take that away from you.
After a shower, with clean hair, clean clothes, and a fresh look on my face, I went downstairs to talk to my mother. “I’m going to school tomorrow,” I announced. I know my mother breathed a silent prayer of thanks.
The phone rang, as it had been doing constantly for the last two weeks. Mom sighed and reached over to answer it, but I touched her hand and said, “I’ll get it, Mom. I’m ready.” Tears filled Mom’s eyes. “Hello,” I said tentatively.
“Keisha!” It was Rhonda. “Girl, it’s so good to hear your voice! You feeling better?”
I thought, It’s not like I had the flu or something, but I just said, “What’s going on, Rhonda? You think I flunked the twelfth grade yet?”
Rhonda, glad to be talking about other things, chatted on about the English paper we had to do, the history test, and the leak in the school swimming pool that had flooded the cafeteria. “I’m sure you can catch up. We’ll all help you. We got your back, Keisha. You gotta know that.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “How’s the new principal?”
My father had told me that Principal Hathaway had resigned three days after the incident. I knew everybody at school was upset. Mr. Hathaway was really cool—he was fair, and honestly tried to get to know us. I knew that a lot of the students were angry that he had been forced to resign because of the supposed criminal behavior of his son, but I guessed they understood why he had chosen to go.
Rhonda replied, “Girl, you won’t believe this. Her name is Emmalina Wiggersly. She’s this lemon-faced, pencil-lipped lady, and—get this—she wears this huge wig! And she’s mean. Not cool and together like Mr. Hathaway.” Then she added, laughing, “She gave Leon detention last week because he wore a wig to school that looked just like hers. It was too funny!”
I smiled, knowing how silly Leon would look in a lady’s wig, prancing down the hall, mimicking the walk of a woman who was probably tied a little too tightly. “How’s Leon?” I asked.
“Going crazy with worry about you,” Rhonda told me immediately. “I didn’t know how much he cared about you. Do you know he has a whole bulletin board in his room with just your picture on it?”
“Yeah, I found out by accident during Christmas. I really underestim
ated Leon—all of you, actually. I’m sorry, Rhonda. I just couldn’t bear to talk about it—about anything.”
“I understand, Keisha. We all do.” She paused. “Hey! You feel like shopping? Let’s go to the mall!”
Suddenly I was anxious for my world to be normal again, to look for the perfect shoes to match a new outfit, to giggle with my friends about teachers and parents, even to talk about boys. “Oh, yeah! That sounds great. I’m ready to get out of here. Call Jalani—even Angel and Joyelle. Let’s get out of here. I need to find something new!”
As soon as I hung up the phone, it rang again. Leon’s voice, strong and determined, asked politely, “It’s Leon again, Mrs. Montgomery. How is Keisha? Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
“Hi, Leon, it’s me,” I said softly.
Leon was momentarily stunned into silence. “Keisha!” was all he could say. “I’ve missed you,” he said simply.
“I feel like I just got back from a real bad trip, Leon,” I told him. “I don’t ever want to see the slides or look at the pictures or visit that place ever again.”
“Consider it erased,” Leon said forcefully.
“I’m going to need some help learning to travel again,” I continued, glad to have an easy way to talk about it.
“I’ll be your travel agent and your guide if you want me to,” Leon offered. “But,” he added quickly, “I can just be your friend if that’s what you really need.”
“I’d like that, Leon,” I told him. “Your friendship is real important to me right now.” I changed the subject. Emotions made me feel wobbly and unsure. “Hey, Leon! Is it true that you were the one that made the swimming pool leak and flood the cafeteria?”
Leon laughed. “I’ll never tell; however, you should know that I prefer dunking my donuts in coffee, not funky pool water!”
I cracked up. It felt cool to laugh again. “They ought to put you in charge of senior prank this year!”
“My committee has already formulated a plan of attack,” Leon responded in a mock falsetto of a business professional. “We shall have an awesome senior prank! When are you coming back to school? It won’t be any fun unless you’re there.”
“I’m coming to school tomorrow,” I told him, trying to sound confident. “I gotta graduate, and I have lots to do to catch up.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had all day!” he told me. “Uh, Keisha?”
“Yeah?”
“Would it be OK if I stopped by in the morning to take you to school? Just in case you needed a little moral support,” he added, not trying to push me.
“I’d like that, Leon,” I replied. “And Leon?”
“What?”
“I need to apologize to you.”
“To me? For what? There is nothing that you owe me an apology for!” he said emphatically.
“I’m sorry I lied to you. And I never thanked you for the roses and the necklace. They were so lovely and so special. I thought they were from ... someone else,” I finished uncomfortably.
“You have no need to apologize. Just knowing they made you happy is cool with me.”
“The necklace stayed with me through a very dark time, Leon. I never take it off. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Thanks, Keisha. I’m glad you told me. And I’m really glad you’re back! I’ll see you in the morning.”
I hung up the phone. I was smiling. It had been a long time since I had smiled, and it felt good.
20
April dawned bright and windy. For April Fool’s Day, Leon brought a huge bag of seventeen-year locusts to school and released them in the outside courtyard where the underclassmen ate lunch.
“Roaches!” screamed several kids, who knocked over juice bottles and bookbags to run from the area. Angel hated bugs of any kind, and she ran screaming with the rest of them.
“Get some bug spray—a gallon of it!” yelled Joyelle. But she was laughing more at the students who were running from the confused insects than trying to get away. “They can’t hurt you! They’re just disgusting!” Leon peeked his head around the corner and viewed the scene with satisfaction. I was with him, cracking up with laughter. Joyelle saw us, figured we had done it, but said nothing. After all, it was April Fool’s Day.
“Aren’t you scared of bugs?” Leon asked her.
“No. My brother used to chase me with bugs all the time when I was little. I guess I just got used to it,” Joyelle explained. “But it was a great prank. Hey, watch your back—here comes the wig lady!”
Leon and I slipped quietly behind the courtyard wall and watched as Ms. Emmalina Wiggersly tiptoed daintily over the mess in the courtyard. Her wig was red today, and slightly askew. She obviously was afraid of bugs, but didn’t want the students to see that. “Did you see the perpetrators of this incident?” she asked Joyelle. She always talked like she was a police officer.
“Nope. I didn’t see nothing,” Joyelle told her.
“Didn’t see anything,” Ms. Wiggersly corrected her.
“You didn’t see nothing either?” Joyelle asked with fake innocence. The bell rang then and she giggled and said, “I got to get to class!” She ran from the courtyard in laughter, hurrying to tell Angel what had happened. Ms. Wiggersly remained there alone, checking the bottom of her shoe for insect bodies.
Leon and I ran down the long hall to the senior courtyard, laughing. I felt light and free. It felt good to laugh, be silly, do something stupid. I had been back at school for a month and had caught up with most of the work I had missed while I was out. All of my friends, my teachers, even kids I hardly knew had been helpful and supportive. They let me work at my own speed, and gradually I moved back into senior year. I went to a support group every Saturday, which helped; these were people who had been through the same kind of stuff I had, and because they were strangers, I found it easy to talk to them, to work through some of the rough spots.
The most difficult problem I faced was that Jonathan Hathaway had not been found. He had simply disappeared. His father claimed not to know where he was, and the police had been unable to trace Jonathan at all. There were no credit card receipts to follow, no phone calls to trace, no plane tickets to verify. Jonathan had vanished. This made me unable to completely relax and heal. I was always looking over my shoulder. I was afraid I would see him on the street, at the mall, or in a dark movie theater. Sometimes I would glance up and see a man who was the same height, or had the same build, and I’d gasp in fear. Sometimes I’d hear a voice that was sticky-smooth like honey, and I’d tremble with memories until I was sure that it wasn’t Jonathan.
Leon was the rock that he promised he would be. He listened if I needed to talk. He comforted me if I needed to cry. He made me laugh. He asked for nothing for himself, not even attempting to hold my hand unless I offered it first. I needed lots of space, and that’s what he gave me.
When we got to the senior courtyard, most of the other seniors were already there. It was the day of the senior meeting, where we got information about prom, caps and gowns, graduation tickets, and other senior concerns. Gerald and Jalani waved for me and Leon to join them. Rhonda sat with Tyrone on the other side. B. J. sat with them.
“Ms. Emmalina Wiggersly might be a bit late,” Leon announced, laughing.
“Couldn’t find her wig?” Tyrone yelled across the courtyard.
“Ah, now that’s a good idea for a senior prank!” Leon said devilishly. He seemed to have found his place in the senior class—finally. Instead of being the kid that other kids just laughed at, Leon was the kid who told the best jokes, who pulled the best pranks, who could be depended on to bring the senior class together with laughter. More importantly, Leon was known not really as my boyfriend, which was fine with both of us, but more my special protector—the one who made sure nothing would hurt me or frighten me or upset me. He was real good at that.
Gerald asked, “What are we going to do for senior prank, Leon? It’s gotta be something better than last year when the seniors d
umped sand in the front hall.”
“That was stupid,” Rhonda said.
“And a mess to clean up,” Tyrone added.
Jalani offered, “At the school I went to last year, the seniors made a sculpture out of wet toilet paper and raw eggs. It was supposed to be a hand with two fingers making the sign for victory—a sign the seniors were victorious, I guess. But one of the fingers fell off, and it ended up being an insult and getting them in trouble.” She laughed as she remembered the middle-fingered tribute. “Worse than that,” she continued, “after two days it really began to stink!”
Leon stood up. “I have an idea that will be remembered for all time—a prank that will be funny, but not messy; memorable, but not destructive—a prank that will make our class stand out as the best one ever!”
“What do you have in mind, Leon?” I asked, giggling a little.
“It’s gonna be ...” At that moment Ms. Wiggersly hurried into the courtyard.
“Seniors! Attention! These are the procedures for an orderly end to the school year. I will insist on decency and decorum and will not allow interruptions such as was found in the freshman area today!”
“What did those nasty little freshmen do now?” Leon asked innocently.
She ignored him and continued with her speech. Most of the information she gave us we already knew—dates for the events had been posted since last September. But today she was to announce the results of the senior voting for special responsibilities at graduation. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “I have the results here of the senior voting. Please give me your full attention.”
“You got it!” somebody yelled across the courtyard. She was never quick enough to catch who made the smart remarks, so she just became flustered. The kids enjoyed every minute of it.
Ms. Wiggersly glanced at her paper. “The senior who has been chosen to sing the class song is . . . Leon Hawkins!” Leon looked up with surprise, but bowed with pride and pleasure to the class. By choosing him, they showed him that they had not only noticed him, but accepted him as well. I grinned at him.