was supposed to pick up Jazz from school now?
Reesie violently flipped open her notebook, telling her righteous self that she might get away with it, since Mama and Daddy werenât exactly standing together on very much these days . She sighed and began to copy the freakishly long equation from the chalkboard, frowning with forced concentration. The bell rang before she could get everything down. On cue, Mr. Worthy turned and wiped the dry-erase board clean. Just for spite, she thought, scrambling to gather her things so she could make it to Art I on time.
The art class was a welcoming world for her. It was the one place where she most remembered her old lifeâthe best parts. They were drawing still lifes for this unit, and when her pencil touched paper, she was in the moment. Lemons in a silver bowl, a blue glass vase beside it, a red cloth draped behind. There was nothing before or after, only what her eyes saw and what her brain created in the moment.
The period was over before she knew it.
Heat was blasting in the hallway, which seemed to have shrunk as it filled with preteen bodies, voices, and smells. She got a momentary dizzy, stomach-tightening feeling that took her back to the Superdome on that awful day. This was almost too much for her to handle. She quickly squeezed through to the staircase, hurrying to her locker. It was practically empty. She stood for a moment, mentally ticking off the textbooks she was using as a side table in her room: history, earth science ⦠and yes, algebra. At least she could make an attempt at the homework.
Was she going to the detention? Not .
She heard two or three hiâs from girls she passed, and got four or five whatâs-up nods from boys as she hustled her way toward the side doors. There was no sign of Felicidad, Dadi, the only girl sheâd met on her first day whoâd actually not asked her a question about New Orleans. Reesie was willing to be friends with her for that reason alone. She remembered that Dadi, a fierce dancer, had a tap class after school on Tuesdays.
Maybe she should call Ayanna, or Orlando.⦠One touch of her jacket pocket reminded her that one, she didnât have a phone, and two, they were hundreds of miles away. Orlando was still in Houston, but they were closer friends than ever, even if they hadnât ever talked about that kiss. Ayanna, on the other hand, was getting slower and slower on picking up now that her family had decided to stay in Atlanta.
Reesie sucked her teeth in disgust.
She pushed out of the heavy steel doors, and her foot sank into snow. She hated snow. She lifted her face to the gray-blue sky, feeling the big wet flakes on her eyelashes and lips, almost like rain.
Almost like water, she thought, as she slogged her lime green, fleece-lined boots through it. In one movement, she tugged at the straps of the stiff purple backpack that she despised, and hunched her shoulders to wade through the soft ankle-deep snow. Almost like water.
And then, predictable as always, everything came back to her. Those memories that hid in the shadows when she tried to sleep. Those vivid thoughts that hung like bats in the back of her mind during algebra. Those memories that kept her distant from nearly all these supposedly good kids in this good school in this good New Jersey town.
She stomped along the unshoveled sidewalks. The trees arching over her hung heavy with icicles from a freeze and then a thaw a few days before. The different-colored houses she passed all wore holiday decorations, wreaths and lights strung across Victorian porches. Some even had stupid-looking inflated snowmen or reindeer in the middle of their front yards.
It was supposed to be the happiest time of the year, right?
Her fingers were turning numb inside the black-and-white-striped stretchy gloves she wore. She couldnât get used to the cold. Everything up here was so different! She looked up to see the redbrick elementary school
Reesie violently flipped open her notebook, telling her righteous self that she might get away with it, since Mama and Daddy werenât exactly standing together on very much these days . She sighed and began to copy the freakishly long equation from the chalkboard, frowning with forced concentration. The bell rang before she could get everything down. On cue, Mr. Worthy turned and wiped the dry-erase board clean. Just for spite, she thought, scrambling to gather her things so she could make it to Art I on time.
The art class was a welcoming world for her. It was the one place where she most remembered her old lifeâthe best parts. They were drawing still lifes for this unit, and when her pencil touched paper, she was in the moment. Lemons in a silver bowl, a blue glass vase beside it, a red cloth draped behind. There was nothing before or after, only what her eyes saw and what her brain created in the moment.
The period was over before she knew it.
Heat was blasting in the hallway, which seemed to have shrunk as it filled with preteen bodies, voices, and smells. She got a momentary dizzy, stomach-tightening feeling that took her back to the Superdome on that awful day. This was almost too much for her to handle. She quickly squeezed through to the staircase, hurrying to her locker. It was practically empty. She stood for a moment, mentally ticking off the textbooks she was using as a side table in her room: history, earth science ⦠and yes, algebra. At least she could make an attempt at the homework.
Was she going to the detention? Not .
She heard two or three hiâs from girls she passed, and got four or five whatâs-up nods from boys as she hustled her way toward the side doors. There was no sign of Felicidad, Dadi, the only girl sheâd met on her first day whoâd actually not asked her a question about New Orleans. Reesie was willing to be friends with her for that reason alone. She remembered that Dadi, a fierce dancer, had a tap class after school on Tuesdays.
Maybe she should call Ayanna, or Orlando.⦠One touch of her jacket pocket reminded her that one, she didnât have a phone, and two, they were hundreds of miles away. Orlando was still in Houston, but they were closer friends than ever, even if they hadnât ever talked about that kiss. Ayanna, on the other hand, was getting slower and slower on picking up now that her family had decided to stay in Atlanta.
Reesie sucked her teeth in disgust.
She pushed out of the heavy steel doors, and her foot sank into snow. She hated snow. She lifted her face to the gray-blue sky, feeling the big wet flakes on her eyelashes and lips, almost like rain.
Almost like water, she thought, as she slogged her lime green, fleece-lined boots through it. In one movement, she tugged at the straps of the stiff purple backpack that she despised, and hunched her shoulders to wade through the soft ankle-deep snow. Almost like water.
And then, predictable as always, everything came back to her. Those memories that hid in the shadows when she tried to sleep. Those vivid thoughts that hung like bats in the back of her mind during algebra. Those memories that kept her distant from nearly all these supposedly good kids in this good school in this good New Jersey town.
She stomped along the unshoveled sidewalks. The trees arching over her hung heavy with icicles from a freeze and then a thaw a few days before. The different-colored houses she passed all wore holiday decorations, wreaths and lights strung across Victorian porches. Some even had stupid-looking inflated snowmen or reindeer in the middle of their front yards.
It was supposed to be the happiest time of the year, right?
Her fingers were turning numb inside the black-and-white-striped stretchy gloves she wore. She couldnât get used to the cold. Everything up here was so different! She looked up to see the redbrick elementary school
Similar Books
