splashed the center of every table. “We have to share,” Maia announced. She took the crayons and rolled a few toward each of them, divvying up the colors.
Christina was all the way across the room. Ruth wondered what she was drawing to illustrate her family, whether Mama would be part of it. After all, Mama spent more hours taking care of Christina than her own mother did; it was her job. And Ms. Mina was always calling Mama
family
. But could Mama be on Christina’s drawing
and
Ruth’s? Didn’t Ruth get first dibs?
Or what if Christina left Mama out of her drawing? Did that suggest family meant different things to different people?
Honestly, Ruth couldn’t figure out what would make her more upset: seeing Christina’s finished drawing with Mama in it, or not.
“You get these,” Maia announced, pushing a bunch of crayons toward Marcus and another group toward Ruth.
“No way,” he said. “I need flesh color.” He grabbed the peach crayon that was in front of Maia.
Ruth looked at the crayons in front of her. She picked up the dark blue, because Maia had saved the black for herself. She made the outline of Mama, and then drew in Rachel and herself and Granny. Then she picked up the brown crayon.
Marcus was coloring in his family with the peach crayon. Maia was making a big deal of having to wait for it.
Ruth colored her mother’s face. She forgot to leave white for the eyes, and couldn’t go backward, which left Mama looking angry. So she was more careful as she drew her own face. She touched the brown crayon gently to the page, shading so faintly she could barely see the pigment.
—
Recess happened on the roof of the school building, an artificial garden in the middle of the city. Maia had drawn the girls in the house to her like filings to a magnet. She told them that in Texas she had lived on a ranch and ridden horses every day, something New York City girls did only during summer camp and something Ruth had never done. Horses frightened her. She didn’t like the yellow of their huge teeth.
She took a deep breath and sat down just behind Christina, as if she were about to start a second concentric circle, even if she was the only member. Christina glanced over her shoulder and then scooted to the right, creating a few inches of space that couldn’t fit Ruth’s leg, much less her whole body. Maia was designing some sort of game: “And this is the castle, and the boys over there are the trolls that can’t ever touch you, and if you cross the line by the bench you’re out of the whole kingdom, and—”
Ruth wedged her feet into the spot Christina had created and scooted as far forward as she could. “Can I play too?”
Maia stared at her and scrunched her nose. “But we’re playing
Princess,
” she said. “You can’t be a princess. You don’t have the right hair.”
Instinctively, Ruth touched her hair. It curved in a bob to just above her chin. Lola touched it. “I like your hair,” she said. “It’s pretty.”
“My granny used the hot comb,” Ruth said, and all six girls in the circle looked at her blankly.
Ruth puffed up a little, excited to know something they didn’t. “Yeah,” she continued. “You heat it up on the stove, and while it’s getting ready Granny puts green Super Gro grease on my hair, and then when the comb’s really hot, she runs it through to get it all straight.”
Lola stared at Ruth. “And it just stays like that?”
“Yeah. Till she washes it again in a couple of weeks.”
Maia’s eyes widened. “You don’t wash your hair every day?” she said. “Do you even
shower
?”
The others girls laughed. Ruth couldn’t see Christina’s face, couldn’t hear whether she was laughing, too. She felt tears cutting the tunnel of her throat, and stood up fast, her fists at her sides. “I don’t want to play your game,” Ruth said, and she looked down at Christina. “You want to go over there and play something else?”
Christina hesitated. She
Christina was all the way across the room. Ruth wondered what she was drawing to illustrate her family, whether Mama would be part of it. After all, Mama spent more hours taking care of Christina than her own mother did; it was her job. And Ms. Mina was always calling Mama
family
. But could Mama be on Christina’s drawing
and
Ruth’s? Didn’t Ruth get first dibs?
Or what if Christina left Mama out of her drawing? Did that suggest family meant different things to different people?
Honestly, Ruth couldn’t figure out what would make her more upset: seeing Christina’s finished drawing with Mama in it, or not.
“You get these,” Maia announced, pushing a bunch of crayons toward Marcus and another group toward Ruth.
“No way,” he said. “I need flesh color.” He grabbed the peach crayon that was in front of Maia.
Ruth looked at the crayons in front of her. She picked up the dark blue, because Maia had saved the black for herself. She made the outline of Mama, and then drew in Rachel and herself and Granny. Then she picked up the brown crayon.
Marcus was coloring in his family with the peach crayon. Maia was making a big deal of having to wait for it.
Ruth colored her mother’s face. She forgot to leave white for the eyes, and couldn’t go backward, which left Mama looking angry. So she was more careful as she drew her own face. She touched the brown crayon gently to the page, shading so faintly she could barely see the pigment.
—
Recess happened on the roof of the school building, an artificial garden in the middle of the city. Maia had drawn the girls in the house to her like filings to a magnet. She told them that in Texas she had lived on a ranch and ridden horses every day, something New York City girls did only during summer camp and something Ruth had never done. Horses frightened her. She didn’t like the yellow of their huge teeth.
She took a deep breath and sat down just behind Christina, as if she were about to start a second concentric circle, even if she was the only member. Christina glanced over her shoulder and then scooted to the right, creating a few inches of space that couldn’t fit Ruth’s leg, much less her whole body. Maia was designing some sort of game: “And this is the castle, and the boys over there are the trolls that can’t ever touch you, and if you cross the line by the bench you’re out of the whole kingdom, and—”
Ruth wedged her feet into the spot Christina had created and scooted as far forward as she could. “Can I play too?”
Maia stared at her and scrunched her nose. “But we’re playing
Princess,
” she said. “You can’t be a princess. You don’t have the right hair.”
Instinctively, Ruth touched her hair. It curved in a bob to just above her chin. Lola touched it. “I like your hair,” she said. “It’s pretty.”
“My granny used the hot comb,” Ruth said, and all six girls in the circle looked at her blankly.
Ruth puffed up a little, excited to know something they didn’t. “Yeah,” she continued. “You heat it up on the stove, and while it’s getting ready Granny puts green Super Gro grease on my hair, and then when the comb’s really hot, she runs it through to get it all straight.”
Lola stared at Ruth. “And it just stays like that?”
“Yeah. Till she washes it again in a couple of weeks.”
Maia’s eyes widened. “You don’t wash your hair every day?” she said. “Do you even
shower
?”
The others girls laughed. Ruth couldn’t see Christina’s face, couldn’t hear whether she was laughing, too. She felt tears cutting the tunnel of her throat, and stood up fast, her fists at her sides. “I don’t want to play your game,” Ruth said, and she looked down at Christina. “You want to go over there and play something else?”
Christina hesitated. She
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