“Wow!” Angel had a million questions. “Will you tell us about New York? How did you get started? How can I do that? Do we have any modeling agencies in Cincinnati?”
Jalani laughed. “It’s nice to be treated like a celebrity, but I’m not one, really. And I promise, Angel, I’ll answer all your questions. But right now, I’m going shopping with Rhonda and Keisha to get some shoes.”
Angel and Joyelle nodded with excitement as they gathered their books to catch the bus home. Gerald had said very little, but he never took his eyes off Jalani. She glanced back at him as we left and smiled broadly. He smiled back, looking a little nervous. He looked like a kid who’d just discovered chocolate. Me and Rhonda cracked up as we headed with Jalani to my car.
I remembered much later that night, as I was reading chapter one in my world history book, that Jonathan Hathaway had been leaning against a far wall, watching us. I thought about it briefly, then fell asleep with my face in the book. History books do that to me.
4
The freshness of the first days of school faded quickly as September dragged on, hot and sticky. Class elections were held the third week of school, and I ran for senior class president against Elizabeth Espy, a pretty, popular cheerleader. I figured I didn’t have a chance, but when the results were tallied, I was elected president; Elizabeth, as runner-up, was named vice president; Marcus Blake was elected secretary; and B. J. was elected treasurer, because everybody knew he could be trusted. I instituted a senior countdown calendar in the main hall, so we could all watch our days as high school students disappear. But the days seemed to move slowly in the warm weather, and homework kicked our butts every night.
One evening after school I went to the library to work on a report for English. I had my drugstore reading glasses perched on the end of my nose, two stacks of books to my right, a stack of notebooks to my left, and the slowest computer in the world in front of me. I sighed in frustration as I waited for the screen to rumble through the files to find the Web site that I was looking for. I had started looking for some information on Beowulf for English class. I ended up with more information than I needed, with pages on monsters and dragons and heroes. All I was trying to find was something about women of the time, but either there was very little information or women did very little during the seventh century in England.
The closest thing I found was a site about the mother of the monster in Beowulf, who was a woman—but a really ugly, stinky one, I noticed, who killed all the men in the countryside. That wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. I sighed again, and tried once more. The screen listing was for something called “Boudica.” “Who or what was a Boudica?” I wondered out loud. The computer whirred and began to spit out pages of information. “Hey now!” I almost yelled. The librarian looked over with bespectacled disapproval. I think they learn that in librarian school.
Jalani typed at the computer next to me. Jalani, who had decided to do her research on fashions of the dark ages, had gotten sidetracked, and was deep into a Web site that listed the words to the latest rap songs.
“You find anything?” Jalani asked. “This stuff makes me sleepy.”
“Rap music makes you sleepy?” I asked as I glanced at Jalani’s screen.
“No, these cultural connections Mrs. Blackwell wants us to make. I thought this was an English class. Why do we have to do all this history?”
“Must be some connection to us today,” I mused. “But I haven’t found it yet. I feel sorry for the people who lived back then.”
“Why?” asked Jalani. “Because their lives were boring?”
“Because they had no toilets. No toilet paper. No microwave chili dogs!”
“I feel you. Have you seen the clothes they wore back then?” Jalani asked with amazement. “Unless you were rich, you wore long, ugly dresses and worked all day in the fields. It must have been rough being a girl during that time,” Jalani said.
“But I found one woman who made a difference, at least for a little while,” I told her.
“Who? A queen?”
“Not really. Her name was Boudica. She was a princess of . . . let’s see what it says here . . . some tribe called the Iceni, way back in A.D. 61.”
“Too long ago for me to care,” Jalani said.
“No, this woman was really pretty cool,” I tried to explain. “Even though her mama was stupid enough to give her a dumb name like Boudica!” We both laughed.
“Hey, what’s up, my name is Boudica!” Jalani couldn’t stop laughing.
“She sure wouldn’t have made it in our school,” I agreed, giggling at the image of a girl having to live with a name like that. “Anyway, she had long, flowing red hair down to her knees, with a deep voice and a huge body. She was over six feet tall and could beat up a man!”
“With a name like Boudica, she probably had to beat up everybody!” Jalani still couldn’t stop laughing.
“She was a woman who could kick some butt if she really had to. And she had to.”
“What happened?” Jalani asked, intrigued, wiping her eyes.
“When the Romans came to England to take over her people, they took her captive, beat her up, and raped her two daughters.”
“Raped?”
“Yeah. Raped.” I shuddered. Our laughter had died suddenly.
“Anyway, when they released the women, Boudica was so angry that she went around the countryside, gathered up both men and women, and formed a little army all her own.”
“You go, girl,” Jalani said. “So did she chase the Romans out?”
I sighed. “She killed hundreds of them!” Me and Jalani smacked hands in a high-five to celebrate Boudica’s brief victory. “The fight lasted for almost a year, it says here. Then the Romans, of course, killed her.”
“Of course.” Jalani sighed.
“But for one brief moment in history, she showed the men what power really was,” I said proudly.
“Is that who you’re doing your report on?” asked Jalani.
“Yeah, there’s no other woman who stands out like that for several centuries.”
“I’m sure they existed. But nobody wrote about them in the books.”
“Because the writers were all men!”
Jalani sighed again and turned back to her computer screen. “OK, I’m inspired now. Let me find something as cool as you did. I’m going to download one of these pictures and see if I can make a sample dress like it. That way I can do my homework and learn a new design, too!” She went back to the screen cheerfully, printed out what she needed and, pleased with her idea, started planning how she would present her findings to the class.
I downloaded all I could find on Boudica, printed it out, and stretched as I got ready to finish for the day. “Jalani, are you about ready?”
“Yeah, let’s raise up. Let’s get a pizza on the way home, bet?”
I told her that was cool, so the two of us headed out of the library, past the security bars and cameras. Jalani’s pager tripped off the security alarms, and after getting it checked and having our backpacks double-checked by the security guard, we headed into the large revolving doors, giggling about our double trip around the circular doorway in the same compartment, when we noticed someone in the other revolving compartment.
It was Jonathan Hathaway. He smiled broadly and circled back around so that he was standing outside the library with us.
“Done with your homework, ladies?” he asked cheerfully.
“Just a little research for Mrs. Blackwell. Our idea of fun is going to a mall; her idea of fun is going to a library!” I noticed that he was walking with us as we headed for my car. “Weren’t you going into the library as we were leaving?” I asked.
“I just have to pick up a book I have on reserve,” Jonathan answered quickly. “You don’t mind if I walk you to your car, do you? It gets dark so early now, and I’d hate to see anything happen to either of you.”
“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Hathaway,” Jalani said. “It’
s hard to find someone who knows how to treat a lady these days.”
“That’s ’cause all the dudes we know are just boys!” I said with a laugh. “They need to take lessons from you, Mr. Hathaway,” I teased.
“Please call me Jonathan,” he said smoothly. “I’m not a real teacher yet. Just think of me as a friend from college—a friend who might like to get to know you better,” he said, looking directly at me.
He made me feel funny when he looked at me like that. So I just said, “No, I’m not on that right now. I’ve got enough to do with homework and studying for the SAT and getting into college.”
“I’m willing to help you with whatever you’d like,” Jonathan continued, insistent. “I’ve got some SAT preparation study guides you can borrow, and if there’s anything you’d like to know about college life, I’m your man!”
I looked up at him oddly as we got to my car. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. . . . uh . . . Jonathan, but I’d like to do this myself. You understand how it is, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he said in his smooth, mellow voice. “Just remember that I’m at your service. Any time. Twenty-four/seven.” With that he turned and headed down the street. He did not go back in the direction of the library.
Me and Jalani got into the car and looked at each other in amazement. Then we cracked up with laughter.
“At your service. Twenty-four/seven.” I made my voice deep and smooth.
“I’m your man!” Jalani laughed so hard she had to hold her sides.
“Whenever you need a voice made of butter and a line made of maple syrup, just call me!” I could barely breathe I was laughing so hard. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Jalani joined me as we continued to make fun of Jonathan Hathaway.
I started the car and we giggled about Jonathan Hathaway all the way home. When she got home, Jalani called Rhonda, who called me, who called Jalani again, and the three of us had another good laugh at his expense.
However, just before I fell asleep, I wondered for a moment how Jonathan just happened to be at the door as we were leaving. And I couldn’t remember if he had gone back into the library after he walked us to the car or not. I shrugged and fluffed my pillow the way I liked it. All thoughts of Jonathan Hathaway passed as fatigue took over and I thankfully cuddled beneath the covers and slept.
5
October dawned golden, bright, and cool, a pleasant relief from all that heat we’d had in September. I like to watch the leaves fall when the breezes blow, and I love to run. I was on the cross-country team last season, but I didn’t feel like competing this year, so I just practiced with the team to keep in shape. I don’t do meets anymore—I run to please myself. I run for the freedom it gives me, for the release from memories that stab me in the gut, and for the way it makes my body feel strong and tight. Most coaches have told me that I’m a natural, smooth runner—I find energy instead of losing it as I run.
One cool October afternoon, I was jogging well—just listening to the rhythm of my shoes on the dirt path. It was about five o’clock, and already it was getting dark. I liked to run just a little ahead of most of the girls on the cross-country team, and a little behind the boys on the team.
The boys’ cross-country runners had already galloped past me that day, loping easily up the slopes and valleys of the park. Running in groups of two or three, they nodded at me as they ran. They were strong, muscular runners, with long legs and powerful lungs—most of them, at least. I giggled as I thought about B. J. He ran on the team as well. He wasn’t tall and thin like the other runners, but his short legs were strong and he never seemed to tire. He grinned at me, taking time to run two circles around me before continuing with the group.
Leon ran with the team also. He was a solid runner, never flashy, but we could always depend on him to give the team what we needed to make a good showing at an event. He showed up just after B. J. I almost lost my stride, laughing at his silly outfit. He had on green trunks, a T-shirt that read “County Jail Escapee,” and a Mickey Mouse hat on his head—his lucky running hat, he called it. Whenever the team went out for pizza after practice, Leon could be depended on to keep us laughing, putting breadsticks in his ears, burping Pepsi through his nose, and singing to the other customers in the restaurant. Afterward, we all went our separate ways. Leon always went home alone, not like some of the other kids on the team who hung out at each other’s houses. I asked him about it one day as we were finishing practice.
“Hey, Leon. How come you never hang with the rest of the dudes?”
“No reason, really. It’s always been that way. No big deal.”
I hadn’t pushed, but I could see in his face that it bothered him. “You like running?” I had asked, changing the subject.
Leon took a deep breath and smiled at me broadly. “Oh yeah!” he said with feeling. “I like cross-country because we run for long stretches—gives me time to think and breathe.”
“I feel you,” I replied. “I don’t like sprints—too much effort and too little thought!”
Leon had laughed. “I also like being outside, even on rainy days. I like the smell of the trees and the dirt.” He looked embarrassed all of a sudden—as if he had said too much.
“You can smell dirt? You got talents I never knew!” I teased him as I tossed my shoes into my gym bag. “I’m not that gifted, but I do like the way the wind makes me feel strong and powerful.”
Leon had looked at me and hesitated before he said, “Me, too. At school I hardly ever feel that way.” He had rushed off to his car then. I waved good-bye as he drove off, but he pretended he didn’t see.
I slowed my pace a little and let the girls’ team pass me as they thundered after the boys’ team. They reminded me of long-legged Amazon warriors chasing their male captives. They ran easily, as if the brisk weather and the crispy leaves were created just for them.
I noticed Joyelle next. She was struggling a little, breathing harder and running slower than the others, but you gotta give it to her—she didn’t give up. I shouted a couple of good words to her as she ran: “You go, girl!” Joyelle looked up and smiled at me with appreciation. She didn’t run with the ease of the older girls who were in better shape. She had eaten far too many hamburgers and french fries to run with any speed or consistency. But she refused to give up, and she told me not long ago that in just the few weeks she had been running with us, she felt better, and her jeans zipped up a lot easier.
Just behind the girls’ team jogged Jonathan Hathaway. I didn’t notice at first when he started running next to me. My mind was on the colors of the leaves and how Andy had loved to rake a big pile of leaves, then jump into them. Jonathan was dressed in a silk—yes, silk—University of Cincinnati track suit, and he ran easily in and among the girls, encouraging them, handing out water, jogging easily at the pace he set for them. I watched as they looked at him—kinda like puppies at a kennel. They’d do anything to please him. If he smiled and winked a golden eye at one of them, she ran harder, striving to please him. Not me, though. Basically, I tried to ignore him. I slowed down and let the group get far ahead of me. Jonathan glanced back at me, but said nothing. He ran on with the girls’ team. I finally slowed my pace to a walk, taking slow, deep breaths.
“Keisha! What are you doing out here?” It was Rhonda and Tyrone, their shoes shuffling through the crunchy leaves, holding hands.
“I run with the cross-country team a couple of times a week, remember?” I replied, as I bent over to stretch my leg muscles.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Girl, when I get with Tyrone, I forget everything!”
“That’s ’cause I’m such a powerful, potent dude!” Tyrone boasted, flexing his muscles like a bodybuilder.
“You talking about body odor or personality?” I asked him, laughing. Tyrone pretended to be offended. “What are you two up to?”
“Just walkin’ and talkin’,” Rhonda said quietly. “’Bout college and stuff.” They fell into step with me as I walked back toward the parki
ng area where the team bus was parked. Rhonda sighed. “You know, Keisha, in just a few months, me and Tyrone might be apart for years.”
“It’s not like we’re going to prison—we’re going to college,” Tyrone reasoned. “Besides, there will be lots of vacations and breaks that we can be together. Tell her, Keisha.”
“I’m not gonna get in the middle of this,” I warned them, laughing.
“Do you think it’s a good idea that me and Tyrone go to different colleges, Keisha?” Rhonda asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. If your relationship is tight, it will last,” I said, kicking the leaves. “Doesn’t much matter what I think anyway. You two have got to figure out that stuff for yourselves.”
“I got dreams, Rhonda,” Tyrone said, looking directly at her and ignoring me.
“Me, too, Tyrone,” Rhonda said quietly.
“Look, you two are crazy about each other. Don’t sweat it!” I interrupted. “I gotta catch up with the team before the bus leaves me. Rhonda, call me tonight.”
I sped up and left them in the leaves. I felt uncomfortable trying to help them figure out something they had to deal with themselves, and it made me mad that I had nobody to worry about being separated from. I just sighed and ran on.
When I got back to the bus area, most of the team was circled around Rita Bronson and Coach Jonathan Hathaway. Trying to figure out what was going on, I wedged my way into the group. Rita, one of the strongest runners on the team, was crying, and her sweats were all dirty and covered with leaves. One arm was bleeding, her neck showed a recent cut, and she was fiery-hot with anger.
Jonathan was saying, “Rita, if you’d get to practice on time, you wouldn’t get lost and get yourself all bruised from falling in the bushes.”
Rita’s eyes were slits of knife blades. “I hope you choke on your own spit!” She pushed through the group and ran up the hill away from the bus.
“We’ll discuss this later!” Jonathan yelled.