Gone Crazy in Alabama by Rita Williams-Garcia Page A

Where’s my tambourine?”
    Big Ma came running. “Mama, Mama! Mama, sit down! Sit down, Mama!” She turned to me. “Delphine, what did you do? What did you—”
    Before I knew it, my grandmother backhanded me across the cheek so hard I saw white.
    I stayed away from everyone for the next day and night. I stayed up in the pecan tree with my book when I could and slept on the porch at night. Since I had already run through the other two books I had packed, I had no choice but to finish Things Fall Apart . It was the perfect book, since Okonkwo couldn’t do right, and neither could any of the adults on this side of the creek or the other.
    When I finally came down from my tree I went to Little Miss Ethel Waters first.
    â€œVonetta. You have to stop going back and forth telling those tales.”
    â€œI’m not telling tales and you can’t tell me what to do.”
    I wanted to hit her right then and there. If only Cecile could see her precious Vonetta now. “Watch out for Vonetta” my fat fanny.
    â€œOur aunt and our great-grandma should be rocking on this porch together. Not sending poison pen letters back and forth through you.”
    â€œSo.”
    â€œThey’re old, Vonetta. And one of them is going to die first.” I refused to say it the southern hymn way—“the sweet by-and-by.” “Then the one left alive will say, ‘I miss my sister.’ And you’ll feel rotten in your rotten little heart because you helped to keep them apart. Then what?”
    â€œYeah, then what?” Fern asked.
    Vonetta crossed her arms. “One thing’s for sure. I’ll never miss you.”
    â€œOh yeah? Well, I hope you don’t act like this when Pa and Mrs.’s baby comes.”
    There was a lot of silence before there was anything else.
    â€œWhat?” one asked loud.
    â€œBaby?” The other, soft.
    I didn’t mean to tell them like this. It slipped out. From the looks on their faces, one trying to be proud and cool, the other crumbling, I wished I had told them sooner. And nicely.
    â€œPa and Mrs. are having a baby,” I said. “That’s why she’s been so sick.”
    â€œBabies don’t make you sick,” Vonetta said.
    â€œThis one’s making Mrs. sick,” I said.
    â€œA baby?”
    â€œA B-A-B-Y, baby,” Vonetta sang. “That means you won’t be the baby, you crybaby.”
    â€œThat means you won’t be the middle, you show-off.”
    â€œBaby, baby, ’bout to cry. Wipe that tear from your eye.”
    Fern didn’t bother to ball up her fists or bang them at her sides, her warning that she was about to strike. She just started to windmill-punch at Vonetta, and I let her. Vonetta whipped free and dodged to her left, then right, like a fighter in the boxing ring, taunting and teasing Fern. Vonetta was discovering her longer legs, dodging and dashing off, avoiding Fern’s blows. Fern could never catch her, but I could.
    â€œStop picking on Fern just because you can!” I yelled at her.
    â€œFern’s a big baby.”
    â€œAnd you’re afraid to get your watch back, you chicken.”
    â€œI am not.”
    â€œChicken.”
    â€œI’m not a chicken.”
    â€œYou’re more chicken than all those chickens in the yard—waving and smiling at those girls who are laughing at you. What do you think they call you? Certainly not Vonetta.”
    â€œI hate you, Delphine.”
    â€œI don’t care. Just stop picking on Fern. She’s your little sister.”
    Vonetta opened her mouth like she was about to say something, then shut it and walked away.

Chickweed
    Vonetta and Fern didn’t stay mad at each other for long. They never did. Even Vonetta and I got back to the way things were. Not completely, but enough. We didn’t really talk about things.
    Still, I braced myself to answer their questions about the baby, but no