thing I’m a better dresser,
Dyamonde sometimes thought to herself. Not that she’d ever say that out loud. Dyamonde thought being mean was the most uncool thing in the universe.
Monday morning, she and Isabel were standing in front of school talking when Tanya, Tylisha and Tameeka, the three T’s, paraded past like models on a runway, showing off their new matching hoodies.
Oh, puleeze,
thought Dyamonde.
Free snuck up behind the three T’s, swishing his bony hips like he was a model too.
“Stop it, Free!” said Dyamonde,trying not to laugh. Free straightened up just as Tameeka turned around. Isabel covered her laughter by bending down to retie her shoes, and Dyamonde lowered her smiling eyes.
“Cool sneaks!” said Dyamonde, noticing Tameeka’s pink high-top sneakers.
“Thanks,” said Tameeka.
“Those come in red?” asked Dyamonde. Red was her favorite color.
“Yeah,” said Tameeka. “I saw some red ones at Sneaker Heaven.”
Dyamonde’s face fell. SneakerHeaven was expensive. She really liked those sneakers, though. Tameeka could tell.
“Why don’t you tell your mom to buy you some?”
“Huh?”
“Tell her. That’s what I do. If I need something, I tell my mom to get it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. Who ever heard of telling your mom what to do?
“No. I’m serious. I tell her
nice,
but, you know. She’s my
mom,
and it’s her
job
to get me whatever I need.”
Well,
thought Dyamonde,
I guess that’s true.
“You should try it,” said Tameeka. “Just tell her you need some red high-tops. That’s it.”
Dyamonde nodded. Damaris and Free, who were standing nearby, traded looks.
“Don’t do it, Dy,” said Free. “If you do, your mom will pop you one. Guaranteed.”
“He’s right, Dy,” Damaris chimed in.
“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Shows how much you know. She’d never do that. My mom doesn’tbelieve in coral…in corporate…my mom doesn’t believe in hitting.”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dyamonde shrugged him off.
That evening, when her mom was in the living room reading the funnies, Dyamonde marched in and cleared her throat.
“Mom, I need some red high-top sneakers.”
“Is that a question?” asked Mrs. Daniel.
“Not exactly,” said Dyamonde. “I really need you to get me some red high-top sneakers.”
“Dyamonde, the three pairs of sneakers you already have are just fine,” said Mrs. Daniel.
This isn’t working,
thought Dyamonde.
I must not be doing it right.
“No, they are not fine!” said Dyamonde, raising her voice. She crossed her arms and threw her shoulders back. “I need red ones, and you have to get them for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re my mother, and mothers have to take care of their children, and you have to get them for me. It’s your job!” Dyamonde was practically shouting.
Mrs. Daniel was silent for a moment.
“Is that so?” she said, in a quiet voice.
“Yes, that’s so,” said Dyamonde. Only now she wasn’t so sure. Her mom’s voice was scary-soft.
“I see,” said Mrs. Daniel.
Dyamonde gulped.
“Well, let me give it some thought.”
“Okay,” squeaked Dyamonde.
Dyamonde stood in the middle of the living room floor, bouncing from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do next.
“You can set the table for dinner,” said her mom. “That is, if you don’t
mind.
”
Oh, boy,
thought Dyamonde.
I hope I’m not in big trouble.
For the rest of the evening, she watched her mom, waiting to see if she was going to announce some punishment. But nothing happened. Still, Dyamonde had a hard time falling asleep that night.
Tuesday morning, Dyamonde tiptoed around the house, careful not to disturb her mom. They ate breakfast together, like any other day. And like any other day, hermom smiled when Dyamonde said good-bye.
Free was on the stoop waiting for Dyamonde when she came out of the building.
“Well?” asked Free, getting right to the
Dyamonde sometimes thought to herself. Not that she’d ever say that out loud. Dyamonde thought being mean was the most uncool thing in the universe.
Monday morning, she and Isabel were standing in front of school talking when Tanya, Tylisha and Tameeka, the three T’s, paraded past like models on a runway, showing off their new matching hoodies.
Oh, puleeze,
thought Dyamonde.
Free snuck up behind the three T’s, swishing his bony hips like he was a model too.
“Stop it, Free!” said Dyamonde,trying not to laugh. Free straightened up just as Tameeka turned around. Isabel covered her laughter by bending down to retie her shoes, and Dyamonde lowered her smiling eyes.
“Cool sneaks!” said Dyamonde, noticing Tameeka’s pink high-top sneakers.
“Thanks,” said Tameeka.
“Those come in red?” asked Dyamonde. Red was her favorite color.
“Yeah,” said Tameeka. “I saw some red ones at Sneaker Heaven.”
Dyamonde’s face fell. SneakerHeaven was expensive. She really liked those sneakers, though. Tameeka could tell.
“Why don’t you tell your mom to buy you some?”
“Huh?”
“Tell her. That’s what I do. If I need something, I tell my mom to get it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. Who ever heard of telling your mom what to do?
“No. I’m serious. I tell her
nice,
but, you know. She’s my
mom,
and it’s her
job
to get me whatever I need.”
Well,
thought Dyamonde,
I guess that’s true.
“You should try it,” said Tameeka. “Just tell her you need some red high-tops. That’s it.”
Dyamonde nodded. Damaris and Free, who were standing nearby, traded looks.
“Don’t do it, Dy,” said Free. “If you do, your mom will pop you one. Guaranteed.”
“He’s right, Dy,” Damaris chimed in.
“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Shows how much you know. She’d never do that. My mom doesn’tbelieve in coral…in corporate…my mom doesn’t believe in hitting.”
“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dyamonde shrugged him off.
That evening, when her mom was in the living room reading the funnies, Dyamonde marched in and cleared her throat.
“Mom, I need some red high-top sneakers.”
“Is that a question?” asked Mrs. Daniel.
“Not exactly,” said Dyamonde. “I really need you to get me some red high-top sneakers.”
“Dyamonde, the three pairs of sneakers you already have are just fine,” said Mrs. Daniel.
This isn’t working,
thought Dyamonde.
I must not be doing it right.
“No, they are not fine!” said Dyamonde, raising her voice. She crossed her arms and threw her shoulders back. “I need red ones, and you have to get them for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re my mother, and mothers have to take care of their children, and you have to get them for me. It’s your job!” Dyamonde was practically shouting.
Mrs. Daniel was silent for a moment.
“Is that so?” she said, in a quiet voice.
“Yes, that’s so,” said Dyamonde. Only now she wasn’t so sure. Her mom’s voice was scary-soft.
“I see,” said Mrs. Daniel.
Dyamonde gulped.
“Well, let me give it some thought.”
“Okay,” squeaked Dyamonde.
Dyamonde stood in the middle of the living room floor, bouncing from one foot to the other. She didn’t know what to do next.
“You can set the table for dinner,” said her mom. “That is, if you don’t
mind.
”
Oh, boy,
thought Dyamonde.
I hope I’m not in big trouble.
For the rest of the evening, she watched her mom, waiting to see if she was going to announce some punishment. But nothing happened. Still, Dyamonde had a hard time falling asleep that night.
Tuesday morning, Dyamonde tiptoed around the house, careful not to disturb her mom. They ate breakfast together, like any other day. And like any other day, hermom smiled when Dyamonde said good-bye.
Free was on the stoop waiting for Dyamonde when she came out of the building.
“Well?” asked Free, getting right to the
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