Pushin' Read online

  After my crazy dream about Chance last night, I really need to find him and make sure everything’s all right with my friend. He’s been going through it lately and I don’t know exactly how to help him, but I want to try cooling Chance’s mind a little bit now that I’m getting the hang of my mother’s powers. I’ve already called him twice and sent him a text, all to no avail. I usually run into Chance before first period, but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe his girlfriend will know where her man’s hiding this morning.

  “What’s up, Nellie?” I ask, approaching her locker during our passing period between first and second periods. “Have you seen Chance?” Mickey waddles her way down the main hall, trying to avoid sideswiping the other students rushing through the crowded hall. It’s kind of hard to miss Mickey, though: big belly, braids, and all. I’m amazed she doesn’t seem to feel self-conscious about being the only pregnant girl that we know of on campus. I would.

  “No, I haven’t, and I need to talk to him, pronto,” Nellie says, switching out her history books and replacing them with her English texts. She slips the Louis Vuitton backpack onto her left shoulder and closes her locker door. When Nellie looks at me I notice her latest cosmetic addition. Not only did this girl dye her hair platinum blond, now she’s got hazel contacts like the ones Mickey used to rock sometimes before her pregnancy. Mickey has opted for the simple life now because she says everything’s too swollen to look too cute, including her eyeballs.

  “Nellie, what’s going on with those,” I say, pointing at her new look. Mickey finally makes her way to her locker next to Nellie’s, looking tired and out of breath. She’s moving into the last few weeks of her pregnancy, and I know she’s grateful because it’s obviously wearing her ass out. Even if Mickey’s still irritated with me about getting in good with Nigel’s mom, I don’t wish her any type of grief. I just wish my girls would get their heads straight, especially Nellie.

  “I’m just trying something different,” she says, looking at our friend open her locker. I guess she sees the same thing I do: a completely worn-down Mickey.

  “Mickey, are you feeling okay?” Nellie asks, checking Mickey’s forehead for a fever. Mickey jerks her head away from Nellie’s touch. She shoots us both an evil glare.

  “I’m fine, just pregnant,” Mickey says, scratching her stomach like she’s got fleas. She pulls her sweatshirt up and really goes at it.

  “Problem?” I ask, leading us out of the main hall and into the language hall where my English class is housed. My girls also have English now, but their classroom is at the opposite end.

  “Yes. These pants are annoying the hell out of me.” Mickey’s gray sweatpants are folded under her stomach, leaving her belly bare for all to see, and she couldn’t care less. All she wants is to scratch her itchy skin, which doesn’t seem to solve the problem.

  “I don’t think it’s the pants,” I say, reaching out and touching her newly forming stretch marks. As a perpetually skinny girl, Mickey has never known what it’s like to gain and lose weight, or the inevitable growth marks that come with the transition. “It’s your mama tattoos,” I say, rubbing her stomach and connecting with my goddaughter, Nickey Shantae, who moves in recognition of my touch. I focus on her growing body, feeling her urge to get out, but it’s not time yet. My mother’s sight takes over my own vision, cooling both baby and mother down. Mickey stops scratching because I’ve soothed the itching for the moment.

  “Don’t they have some cocoa butter or something for that?” Nellie asks, looking at Mickey completely mortified. Being pregnant at any age is more than a notion, but in my opinion, no sixteen-year-old’s body should be going through all of these changes. We’ve already got enough going on as teenagers without the added stress of growing a baby inside our bodies. I can only imagine what Mickey’s going through, or so I think.

  With my hands still on her bare abdomen, my fingers begin to tingle. I let go, surprised by the sensation, leaving Mickey’s mind immediately. What the hell was that?

  “It doesn’t work,” Mickey whines, almost in tears. “Nothing works. I can’t sleep, I pee every fifteen minutes, and I’ve always got gas.” Nellie and I look at each other, taking a step back in case our girl explodes in more ways than one.

  “I can give you some of my grandmother’s special belly balm, and I’m sure she has something to help your other issues, too,” I say, wishing there was more I could do to help my friend, but Mickey has to go through this on her own. Mickey looks at me hopefully—not the disgusted look she usually gives when I suggest some of our homemade remedies.

  “Bless you, Jayd,” Mickey says, hugging me, which catches me completely off guard. Mickey’s not the affectionate type with anyone other than her man. I guess between the pregnancy and me chilling her out a bit, she’s losing some of that tough, gangster girl exterior, and not a moment too soon. Mickey’s baby is going to need all the tender loving care she can get.

  The bell for second period rings loudly in our ears and lucky for me I’m not far from Mrs. Malone’s class in the language hall adjacent to the main hall. My English teacher’s been more lenient on her students than usual now that the AP exams are over. All we do in class these days is read and chat about our journal entries—no more exams or papers for the rest of the semester. We have one more short essay due, but it’s on whatever topic we choose, based on our reading list for the year. We don’t receive our summer reading list until the last week of school.

  “I’ll talk to y’all later,” I say, heading toward my classroom. “And Nellie, when you see Chance, please tell him I need to talk to him about our scene before fifth period,” I say. Nellie slits her multicolored fake eyes at me and then nods her head in agreement. This girl is too much for me. I’d better send Chance another text message myself rather than rely on Nellie to promptly deliver my message to her boyfriend. Sometimes her jealousy gets the best of her and that doesn’t do any of us any good. If last night’s dream weren’t so urgent I would’ve never involved Nellie in my communication efforts, nor would I be so worried about my boy. But I know better than to ignore my dreams, especially when they’re as lively as mine was last night.

  “Settle down, class,” Mrs. Malone says as we all file inside, ready to start the day. I guess Operation Find Chance will have to wait until break. Right now my time belongs to E. E. Cummings and Mrs. Malone. I’m actually enjoying reading his poetry. The cat’s out there, but at least he’s original with his shit, right down to the fact that he doesn’t use capital letters in most of his writing. I like the white man’s intellectual swag. It’s the same type of confident genius Jeremy possesses. I can’t wait to hug Jeremy up at break after I sign up for cheer. I missed seeing him this morning and I know he’s still feeling tense after our run-in with Rah earlier this week. I’ve promised myself to be patient with Jeremy and let it flow because I like where we’re headed.

  It’s break and I still can’t believe I’m really doing this. I walk over to the long table where the cheerleaders are seated, taking my turn in line to sign up. I look around at the other dozen or so girls in line with me, noticing how excited most of them are. They look like they’re freshmen, sophomores at most. I guess the juniors signed up earlier this week. There are three squads: freshman, junior varsity, and varsity, with the last two being based on ability more than grade level, but it’s still an embarrassment for a senior to be placed on the JV squad, in sports and cheer.

  “Hi,” the perkier of the two black cheerleaders says to me, handing me a fluorescent flier and packet with all of the information necessary to apply. “My name is Shauna and I’m the captain of the varsity squad. This is Alicia, my cocaptain.” Alicia’s not as cheery as Shauna and I’m thankful for it. Maybe it’s possible to be on the pep squad without being so damn peppy, which I equate with a white cheerleader’s mode of operation. Perhaps Alicia’s a real black girl after all; the jury’s still out on Shauna.

  “Hello, and welcome to the best week of your life,” Alicia say
s, grinning from ear to ear as she reaches out her right hand for me to shake, showing her true cheerleader colors.

  “Well, it’s actually next week, but still, it begins today by you signing up.” Shauna rises from her chair, smooths down her red and white pleated short skirt, and hands me the sign-up sheet and pen. Alicia looks at my hesitant stance, wondering if I’m going to actually do it, and the same question is running through my mind. Do I really want to do this?

  Of course you do, my mom says, catching my drift. Why not? You’ve got great legs, you can outperform any of those girls, and you’ve got sass. You’d make a perfect cheerleader, girl.

  But I already have a full plate, Mom, I think back, placing the packet down on the table and taking the clipboard from Shauna’s hand, much to Alicia’s approval. Maybe they need more allies on the squad, especially since she and the other sister will be graduating in a few weeks. I’m sure they don’t want their black legacy to go. They’re the only two girls on the large squad who have sass and spunk from what I’ve seen: the perfect combination for a good cheerleader.

  Jayd, it’ll be fun. And besides, you need to live a little. You’re going into your senior year of high school and before you know it you’ll be graduating. You deserve to have some fun while you still can. Before you know it, you’ll be all grown up, and then you will have plenty of time to work—trust me. I know my mom’s right. My mom was only nineteen when she had me, and that was the end of her fun for a while, if you let my mom tell it. I’ve been with my grandmother most of my life, and my mom’s been making up for the time she lost in her first marriage ever since.

  Fine. But when Mama gets pissed at me, I’m telling her you made me do it, I say from my mind to hers while simultaneously signing up for the tryouts. I can’t believe I just did that.

  It wouldn’t be the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last, my mom says before finally leaving my thoughts. With my mom in my head I didn’t have space to second-guess my actions for too long.

  “Excellent!” Shauna exclaims, retrieving the clipboard and checking off my name. “Please read over all of the information in the packet, sign your name where indicated, and come prepared for a good workout on Monday afternoon.”

  “You’ll also need to have a copy of your transcripts and a one-paragraph statement on why you want to be on the pep squad. And dress in comfortable dance attire,” Alicia says, all about the business without Shauna’s enthusiasm.

  “Rehearsals are for one hour after school every day next week, with tryouts the following week. We will post our decision on the gymnasium’s announcement board next Friday.” Shauna’s all giggles as she puts a fresh sheet of notebook paper on the clipboard, ready for the next girl. There are a couple of guys on the squad, but they’re usually off-season football players who want to get up the girls’ skirts any way they can, including being the base of a human pyramid.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say, claiming my papers and leaving the line. On my way to third period I run into my man. It’s the first time I’ve seen Jeremy this morning. This day and night surfing is wearing him out, but luckily the competition is next Saturday and then hopefully he’ll be back to his mellow schedule.

  “Hey, lady,” Jeremy says, putting his right arm around my shoulders as I step into stride with him. He bends down, meeting my lips for a proper good morning hello.

  “Hey, baby,” I say, returning the affection as we head toward our government class. Mrs. Peterson’s probably already there, with her perpetually grumpy ass. She’s been more stoic than ever lately, only speaking to us to grunt out her orders for the day. I guess she’s ready for summer to get here just like the rest of us.

  “Did I just see you in the cheer line?” Jeremy asks. The idea still sounds so foreign. We never talked about it, but I think Jeremy’s secretly hoping I don’t become a member of the pep squad.

  “Yes, you did, and before you say anything, yes, I really am.”

  Jeremy looks down at me like he doesn’t recognize his girlfriend, but then softens his face into a smile. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. And you know I’m down for you no matter what, Lady J,” Jeremy says, taking my backpack from my right shoulder and carrying it to my desk. Who says chivalry is dead?

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Weiner,” I say, kissing him again before entering the grim room. It smells like Bengay and coffee in here, and it’s colder than necessary if you ask me. “Have you spoken to Chance this morning?” I ask, taking my seat before Jeremy sits down next to me in our assigned row.

  “No, and I called to check on him. I’m sure he’s just taking a day off, but you wouldn’t know anything about that now would you, Miss Jackson?” Jeremy’s right. I never rest, but I don’t feel like that’s what’s going on with our boy. I guess I’ll have to do some extra footwork on this one myself. If Chance doesn’t show up to Mr. Adewale’s class next period, I’m going to take more drastic measures to share my dream with him. After all, his mother called me and I have to answer before it’s too late.

  Chance still hasn’t returned any of my messages from this morning and because Jeremy and Nellie also haven’t heard from him, I’m more worried than before. I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Sinclair if it was okay for me to be a little late to fifth period to see about her favorite student, and she was more than cool with it. I bet if it had been me in need, my ass would have been out of luck.

  I pull up to Chance’s mini Palos Verdes mansion and notice the flawless Chevy Nova parked in the driveway. The mere sight of the crimson classic makes my heart jump. It feels so good driving that thing, but that’s not why I’m here. I step out of my car and walk toward the house. It’s too still around here for me. No matter how nice the neighborhood is, white folks have their fair share of family drama, too. I stopped by Taco Bell and grabbed Chance some lunch, mainly because I’m hungry and it is lunchtime. We both have to eat, and what better way to talk than by breaking tacos together?

  I ring the doorbell on the massive oak-and-stained-glass front door. Without asking who it is, Chance opens the door looking like he just rolled out of bed.

  “I decided to come and check on you since you can’t return a sistah’s calls and you decided to play hooky today,” I say, stepping into the foyer and handing him his lunch. I can hear his mom on the phone in the living room and she doesn’t sound happy.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Chance says, closing the door behind us and smelling his lunch. He looks like he’s been through hell and back. “Come on in,” he says, ushering us into the dining room where we can eat and chill for a minute. We sit across from each other, both emptying the contents of our feast onto the marble table, ready to dig in. I can hear Mrs. Carmichael on the phone saying the words “help me” repeatedly, and feel the need to jump into Chance’s mind to cool him off immediately. She’s calling me again; only this time, instead of in my dream, I’m here to help my friend and his mother reconnect.

  I jump into Chance’s mind, seeing what he’s not saying. He knows the entire truth about his birth mother’s family, his adoption, his real name and all. He confronted his mother about his suspicions and she told him everything. It wasn’t easy for either of them, but Chance feels betrayed by the woman he’s loved as his mother his entire life. He wants to know why she didn’t tell him the truth sooner and she can’t explain her reasons to Chance, who is unyielding in his emotions. What a mess. At least I know my dreams are on point, as usual.

  “Chance, what’s really going on? You know you can tell me anything,” I say, leaving his mind and focusing on opening the tiny hot sauce packets accompanying our meal. Chance picks up his burrito and takes a huge bite before letting it all out.

  “I’m going to Georgia to see my real family, or at least the black side of it,” Chance says proudly. I know it must feel like his mother kept this information from him for too long, but I know Mrs. Carmichael was just waiting for the right time to tell him. The worst part about that rationale is that t
here’s no right time to tell someone they’re adopted or that Chance’s feelings of having black blood were valid. Somehow I have to get Chance to see that his mother’s not his enemy.

  “This is your real family,” I say, gesturing at the large house around us. I know Mrs. Carmichael must be a total wreck, her only child leaving for Georgia and making her worst nightmare come true. From her psychic request, this is the best I can do on such short notice. I wish I could help more.

  “I know my mom loves me, but all my life I’ve felt out of place at family reunions, the country club, summer camps where everyone was rich and white. I could never understand why, but now I know, Jayd. Now I know,” Chance says, looking down at the blue paper in front of him and sliding it across the table for me to see. It’s his birth certificate. Chase LeCroix Monroe. From my sleepwalk through his dream during the holidays, I remember that his mother is Creole and his daddy’s a white boy, also from the South, whose family was adamantly against bringing home colored babies—but not mistresses—just like Jeremy’s dad, who doesn’t mind if his son dates colored girls so long as they don’t bring any mixed babies home.

  Mrs. Carmichael enters the room with a lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, her cell phone propped between her left ear and shoulder. She looks like hell, too.

  “Hi, Mrs. Carmichael,” I say, trying to hide my shock at her tattered appearance. She really should consider cutting her alcohol intake before the damage to her body is irreversible.

  “Jayd, please talk some sense into this boy,” his mother says, completely beside herself. She looks like she’s been crying for days. If I had to guess, I’d say she hasn’t showered in a couple of days, either.

  “I already tried, but I think his mind’s made up,” I say, focusing on Mrs. Carmichael’s eyes and jumping right into her pain. It’s so hot in here I’m starting to sweat. Calming her down with my new powers is my biggest challenge yet. “You should be as supportive as you can. You know Chance is your baby, and he’ll always come back to you.” The tears stream down Mrs. Carmichael’s face and I’ve lost her. I should’ve stopped while I was ahead because my last comment has sent her into a complete frenzy.