Kendra Page 4

  Me and Mara are the only two girls on the crew, and I kinda like that. It’s, like, the first time I’m getting to spend time with guys in a while because Nana never lets me hang out with them at Bronxwood. I mean, when I was real little, it was okay to ride my scooter with boys and hang out in the community center with them. But by the time I was, like, twelve, she started watching me with boys more and more and giving me a hard time when I wanted to be around them. It got to be more of a problem than it was worth.

  This is probably why I don’t know how to act around guys. Well, the cute ones, anyway.

  Not that Darnell, Trevor, and Gregg, the stage manager, aren’t cute. They’re okay. But we’re just friends, all of us on the crew. It’s not like any of us is trying to hook up with each other or anything.

  I put a coat of paint on the part of the set that faces the audience, and I come down from the ladder, real glad Darnell is there to keep it steady for me. When I get to the ground, Darnell says, “Don’t listen to him, Kendra. I wasn’t—”

  “I know,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He lowers his head a little bit and says, “Okay. Good.”

  I hold up my hands, which are splattered with blue paint. “I’ll be right back.”

  As I’m walking to the janitor’s closet, I see Mara working on adding more details to the bus stop backdrop. She painted a garbage can and more trash on the ground near the can than inside, and she even added some pigeons. “That looks nice,” I say, walking up behind her.

  She smiles. “You think so?”

  “Definitely. You’re good with that kinda thing.”

  “So are you. I saw the pictures you painted on the living room backdrop.”

  “Yeah, but they’re not as good as this. I wish I was a real artist like you.”

  “You are,” she says. “You’re just better at seeing the big picture than the little stuff. I see all those houses you’re sketching all the time. Those are great.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but I’m not so sure they’re great. I mean, they’re okay. But it don’t make me an artist, not like the real artists here.

  The school I go to is called the North Bronx High School for Arts and Communications, so to get in here you have to pick a concentration and you have to get approved. Adonna wanted me to be in advertising and marketing like her, but they always have to make presentations and stuff and I’m not good at that kinda thing.

  I wanted to be in the fine arts concentration so I could learn how to paint and sculpt. But Mr. Melendez was one of the teachers looking at our portfolios on the evaluation day, and when he saw that 95 percent of what I was drawing was houses and floor plans, he said he thought I should be in the design concentration instead. He told me, “You don’t want to sit around painting bowls of fruit all day, do you?”

  And I mumbled “no,” because that’s what he wanted to hear. And, really, it didn’t matter to me which program I got into, as long as I got to go to the same school as Adonna. Because if I didn’t get into this school, I would have ended up at the high school near Bronxwood and it’s way worse than this school. And I would have been all alone.

  While I’m washing my hands in the janitor’s closet, I’m thinking about what Mara said, that I’m better at seeing the big picture. And it’s kinda true, too. In my drawings, I’m always trying to make my houses look nice and pretty. Perfect. But I never even think about the little details that could make them look more realistic. Probably because they’re never gonna be real, anyway.

  When my hands are dry, I look at my watch and it’s almost six o’clock. As much as I like being here with the crew, today is one day I can’t wait to get home, because Renée’s gonna be there. I mean, I know she’s supposed to be going to dinner with some of her friends, but maybe if I’m lucky they ate early or the dinner got canceled or something. Because I need time with her, too. She’s only gonna be here one night. And that’s really not enough.

  SEVEN

  Renée don’t get home ’til almost eleven o’clock. And I kinda wanna jump up outta bed as soon as I hear the door open, but I don’t want her to know I was waiting up for her. At the same time, I don’t want her to just go to sleep right away and not know I’m still awake.

  So I wait about two minutes. Then I push aside the book I’m reading, which is really kinda nasty, put my slippers on, and go down the hall.

  Renée’s in the living room taking off her shoes when I get out there. Even though the hall light is on, the living room is still dark. Before I can say anything, she looks over and sees me, and she jumps a little. “Babe, oh, you scared me.”

  “Sorry, I was just—”

  “What are you still doing up? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I was reading a book, um, for English.”

  That gets a smile outta her. “Good.” She kicks her shoes aside and starts unbuttoning her blouse. Then she sighs. “Oh, I am so exhausted. Today was way too long.” She takes off her blouse and throws it over the chair. “I had to drive in from Boston, then go to City for the second round of interviews and a teaching demonstration. The whole thing was grueling.”

  “Where’d you go after that?”

  “Nowhere special,” she says. “When I was finally done at City, I met up with some Princeton girls and we all went out to dinner at this Italian place on the Upper West Side. Then we ended up at some club in the meat-packing district.” She shakes her head. “It was wall-to-wall people. You know, the after-work crowd. The men were working the most tired pickup lines I’ve ever heard. They were pitiful!” She’s smiling while she talks, so it probably wasn’t all that bad. It sounds a lot better than sitting at home with Nana, which is what I did after play practice, while waiting for Renée to get home.

  Renée takes off her pants and throws them on the chair with her blouse. “I’m standing at the bar with my friend Jennifer, and this guy comes up and tells her that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and how he just has to know her name. Then when Jennifer tells him she has a boyfriend, he turns to me, without missing a beat, and gives me the exact same line of bullshit.” She laughs. “I was standing right there the whole time. He didn’t think I heard him the first time?”

  I laugh, too. “Was he at least cute?”

  She flashes me an oh, please look. “There were a few decent guys, but as soon as they walked into the club, all the desperate girls would practically pounce on them. As a sociologist, I have to tell you, the whole club scene is fascinating. It’s like watching the mating rituals on an alien planet, trying to make sense of everything.”

  Renée opens her little suitcase and takes out a T-shirt. I stand there and watch her take off her bra and let it fall to the floor, then pull the T-shirt on over her head. Every time I see her change I notice the same thing, that her body is almost, like, the total opposite of mine. She’s all curvy and sexy and everything. Me, I can only hope to maybe grow into a body like that one day. But it’s not looking good for me. Not any time soon, anyway.

  As Renée lays out the sheet and blanket that’s been waiting for her on the couch, I lean against the wall, not really knowing what to say to keep her talking. I do know I wanna sit down on the couch with her and talk for a while, but I don’t wanna keep her up too long when she just said how tired she is.

  The real truth is, I wanna tell her that I wasn’t really reading anything for school, that I waited up just to talk to her. But I don’t wanna come off sounding all needy. I just wanna say something. I mean, it’s like I’m looking at the person I been waiting for my whole life. And here she is, right in front of me, and I don’t even know how to get to her.

  “Do you know where you’re gonna work yet?” I ask, slowly going over to where she’s sitting on the couch.

  “Not yet,” she says, moving over to make room for me next to her, “but I think City College will make me an offer real soon. They were talking to me as if I were already part of their faculty. I’ll probably get an offer fr
om Boston, too, but I think I’d prefer City. I love it here in New York, and a lot of my friends from college and grad school live here. And Gerard lives in Jersey, not that a woman should choose a job because of a man—don’t ever do that, Babe—but it would be great teaching and doing research here in the city, and getting to spend time with Gerard. Because long-distance relationships never work.”

  I swallow hard.

  Renée goes on. “Gerard and I have already spent too much time apart with me studying and writing all the time. For once, I actually have time for the man.”

  I met Gerard a few times, and he was there at the graduation on Sunday, but all I know about him is he’s a New Jersey cop and he’s even cuter than all of Renée’s other boyfriends, who were pretty cute, too. He’s tall, dark, and muscular, with a real deep voice and everything. Other than that, I don’t know a thing about him.

  “Well,” I say, “I hope you get the job at City.”

  “I will.”

  Something tells me not to get too excited for her because nothing is official yet. It feels weird, too, because whatever decision she makes is gonna change my life, too. If she ends up teaching in Boston, I’m gonna have to move and change schools and friends and everything. But if she chooses City College, maybe she can stay home for a while, at least ’til she saves up enough money to get us our own apartment.

  “There are so many great things about being in the city again,” she says, and I’m not really sure if she’s talking to me or just thinking out loud. “Of course, there are the museums and theaters, but the restaurants and clubs—I missed all of that, by doing this whole school thing for so long. I just want to have some fun for a while, you know?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, swallowing again.

  I don’t know why, but I’m kinda surprised by what she’s saying. I mean, Renée is young and I can understand that she wants to have fun, but I don’t need her to be going to clubs and everything. I need her to be my mother now.

  Me and Renée stay up and talk for a little while longer, ’til she starts yawning and I decide to let her get some sleep. Especially after she tells me she’s gonna leave in the morning to drive down to Maryland. Then, before I go, she says she’s not even sure if she’s coming back here after Maryland or going straight back to Princeton, which she still calls “home.”

  And to me, it’s sad. It’s like she just got here and she’s already leaving. So fast. I don’t know why, but I thought once she graduated, she would be ready to kinda stay in one place. I mean, at least for more than one day.

  EIGHT

  It’s Luther’s voice that wakes me up. The music is coming from the living room, reminding me that Renée is really home, that last night actually happened.

  It’s only a little before seven, but when I finally get outta bed and down the hall, I see that Renée is already dressed, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She’s packing and singing loud and off key, “You are my shinin’ star, my guiding light, my love fantasy.”

  I lean against the wall watching and can’t help but smile because she loves to sing but can’t do it to save her life. I mean, she’s really, really bad. But she don’t hear herself like the rest of us hear her.

  The living room is a mess. Renée’s suitcase is open on the floor by the coffee table, but most of her clothes are still thrown over the back of the chair. And the blanket and sheets she used are rolled up at the end of the couch, while the pillow is on the floor.

  Not that there’s anything new about this. The living room always gets this way when she comes to visit because, really, there isn’t any room for her in this apartment anymore. I sleep in her old bedroom, in the same bed she used to sleep in. As a matter of fact, practically everything in that room used to be hers. The dresser, the desk, everything.

  Hopefully, when Renée finally gets us a place of our own, I can get some new stuff, kinda like what Adonna got a couple of months ago, a whole new bedroom set. I mean, assuming Renée is gonna make that kinda money at her new job.

  The kettle whistles and Renée rushes past me with a quick “Hey, Babe” and goes into the kitchen to turn it off. I follow her in there and see her pouring water into a bowl of oatmeal. I can smell my favorite flavor, apples and cinnamon, and for half a second I think she’s making the oatmeal for me, but then she stirs it and licks the spoon, and I know it’s hers. She takes the bowl to the table, sits down, and starts eating. When I go over to the counter, all that’s left in the variety pack are the plain ones.

  I don’t say anything to her. I just close the box and put it back in the cabinet. Nana will eat the plain ones because she can’t stand to waste anything. I need to get dressed, but Nana’s still in the bathroom. So while I’m waiting, I go into the refrigerator and grab a yogurt. I sit down next to Renée and, while I’m still licking the inside of the foil lid, she starts questioning me about my grades. Before I know what’s going on, she’s lecturing me.

  “It’s almost the end of the school year, Babe,” she tells me, like I don’t know that. “You need to put all your energy into bringing your average up. I know you think it doesn’t matter, but colleges look at all your grades, even from freshman year. And don’t you want to get into a good college?”

  Like I’m even thinking about college already.

  “My grades are fine,” I say.

  “Fine isn’t good enough.” Her face is so serious, too. “Anybody can get fine grades. Don’t you want to stand out?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Renée kinda shakes her head, and inside I feel like I’m missing something. Like me and her aren’t really talking to each other. Not like we were last night. And I don’t know what changed.

  By the time I get dressed, Renée is in the living room on her cell phone, laughing with somebody about something that happened last night. Nana is in the kitchen having breakfast. I go in there and pour myself a glass of apple juice, the little Renée left in the container, and remind Nana that I’m gonna be late again today because of dress rehearsal.

  “Dress rehearsal?” she asks, and I can’t believe it, but she actually looks all confused like she don’t know what I’m talking about. Never mind the fact that I told her about this at least ten times already. Sometimes I don’t know about her. I kinda think she’s too young to have Alzheimer’s, so probably she’s just forgetting things on purpose.

  But it’s kinda annoying, especially so early in the morning. “You know,” I say real slow, trying to be patient with her. “We’re running through the whole show with costumes and set changes and all that. Then we’re having a pizza party. Remember?”

  She sighs, aggravated. “How much is this going to cost me?”

  “Nothing. Kenny gave me the money last week. It was only five dollars, anyway.”

  I know Nana would like to complain about Kenny more than she already does. But she can’t. Everybody knows Kenny don’t have a dime to his name, and still, every couple of weeks, there he is at our door with his little envelope for Nana. It’s never a whole lot of money, only about thirty or forty dollars at the most, but even she knows it’s the best he can do.

  “Okay,” Nana says. “Just don’t be out there to all hours of the night.” She drinks a little of her green tea and makes the face she does after every single sip. It’s crazy. The only reason she even started drinking the stuff is because Oprah said it’s supposed to be good for you. After she heard that, she started making herself drink it twice a day, every day. Morning and night. Funny thing is, she always has a big slice of Entenmann’s pecan danish with it, so it’s probably not gonna improve her health all that much, in my opinion.

  “I’m gonna come home as soon as it’s over,” I tell her in that goody-goody way that always makes Adonna laugh. “Straight home.”

  Renée comes back into the kitchen to throw something in the garbage, still singing along with Luther.

  “I better get going,” Nana says, finishing her tea and making the face again. She gets up from the
table and puts her dishes in the sink. “Clyde is picking me up and I don’t need to have that man out there waiting for me.”

  Me and Renée glance at each other and then look away fast so we don’t bust out laughing. And it’s a lot of work, too. Nana rushes outta the kitchen and opens the hall closet. Then, like two seconds later, she has her jacket on and she’s flying outta there. “Bye, girls,” she says, then don’t even wait for us to say bye back.

  That’s when me and Renée lose it. We’re laughing for a good two minutes. Hard, too. “I can’t believe that’s my mother,” she says. “The woman’s acting like a teenager, all giddy and shit.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s weird.”

  “You think she’s in love with this guy?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. You ever seen her in love before?”

  Renée shakes her head. “Never.” Then her cell phone rings again and she runs into the living room to get it.

  I throw away the apple juice container. Then, while I wait for Adonna, I wash all the dishes so I won’t have to hear Nana’s mouth when I get home from play practice, talking about how could I leave the sink full of dishes when I know how hard we have it, trying to keep Ms. Grier’s roaches to her own apartment?

  Nana don’t have use for women who keep a nasty house.

  Finally, the bell rings, and I dry my hands and go to open the door. Adonna practically runs in. “We have to leave right now,” she says, talking all fast. “For real.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Somebody said—and I’m not sure, but I have to be there—somebody said that that girl Broomhilda—”

  “Brunilda,” I say.

  “Whatever. Someone said she’s gonna get jumped in front of the school today.” Adonna’s smiling, all excited.

  “Why are you so happy? She’s only a freshman. What did she ever do to you?”