Zora and Mai don’t see it that way, though. They say I’m straight up wrong for what I did, and they think Ja’nae is crazy for forgiving me.
“I might have to search you the next time you leave my house,” Zora says, sounding like she’s serious.
I give Ja’nae the evil eye. She tries to apologize. “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” she says.
“Well, if you didn’t mean nothing, why’d you tell?” I say, getting mad at her.
Mai is walking by us, shaking her head. “Why’d you take Ja’nae’s money, then?” she asks me.
“It was stupid, all right?” I snap. “But she owes me money. Plenty of it,” I say. “Still does.”
Ja’nae tells everyone that they’re missing the point. “A real thief don’t give you back nothing. They keep on rolling. A real friend don’t do you wrong. Raspberry proved she was a real friend,” she says.
Zora’s eyes are the color of sand today. They make her look weird, like somebody on Star Trek . She makes a sucking sound with her teeth and says, “Ja’nae told me how much money you two got for cleaning that old lady’s house. Next time you go to clean, count me in,” she says, kicking a balled-up piece of paper out of her way.
“I still need sixty dollars to buy sneakers. If I can’t pay my half, my father won’t let me get them. And I really need those sneakers. They go with a new outfit my mother just bought me.”
Ja’nae sees Ming and starts waving him over. She tells Zora that all she needs to do is work with us two times and she’ll be able to pay the costs of her half of the sneakers, plus have some money left over.
We change the subject when Ming walks up. Right away he starts rubbing Ja’nae’s cheeks with his hands. She’s smiling all over the place. Ming’s saying he’s gonna walk Ja’nae home before he goes to his parents’ food truck. Mai’s right behind Ja’nae and her brother, complaining about working the food truck. But Ming ain’t paying Mai no attention. He’s got his arm wrapped around Ja’nae’s shoulder, telling her how good she smells.
After school, Zora and me are outside the building, talking, when Momma pulls up to the curb and tells us to get in. “I’ll drive you home, Zora,” Momma says, handing me a pack of gum. I give two sticks to Zora. I stack three sticks together like a sandwich and bite down.
When we pass Zora’s street, we tell Momma that she needs to turn the car around. But Momma ain’t listening. A few minutes later, she stops the car in front of somebody else’s house. The brick house is the color of warm milk with a hunk of butter in it. The roof is shaped like a dunce cap. A faded white picket fence goes all the way around.
“Who you know live here?” I ask getting out the car on Momma’s side.
“You like?” Momma asks me. She turns to Zora with the same question in her eyes.
“I guess,” Zora says, frowning at the mess in the front yard, and in the alleyway. Three old tires are sitting on the lawn by the tree, right next to a rusted bathroom sink. The window shades are rusty, too, and they’ve got giant pieces missing from them. The paint on the front door and around the windows is cracked and peeling.
“We—we’re—gonna be living here, I hope,” Momma says, following me onto the porch.
Zora and me look at each other. We can’t afford a new paint job for our car, how we gonna afford a house? I think.
Momma sticks her face up to the window and looks inside. I look, too. The place has wooden floors, nice ones. A kitchen counter with tall, wooden stools. A fake fireplace. But still, it needs a paint job real bad. And them rusted blinds and torn-up shades gotta go.
When we’re back in the car, Momma explains that she’s trying to get a Section 8 so we can move in this messed-up house. She says that the last family who lived here got evicted. “They trashed the place. The neighbors put up a fuss and got them kicked out. But it’ll be fixed up real nice before we move
“I might have to search you the next time you leave my house,” Zora says, sounding like she’s serious.
I give Ja’nae the evil eye. She tries to apologize. “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” she says.
“Well, if you didn’t mean nothing, why’d you tell?” I say, getting mad at her.
Mai is walking by us, shaking her head. “Why’d you take Ja’nae’s money, then?” she asks me.
“It was stupid, all right?” I snap. “But she owes me money. Plenty of it,” I say. “Still does.”
Ja’nae tells everyone that they’re missing the point. “A real thief don’t give you back nothing. They keep on rolling. A real friend don’t do you wrong. Raspberry proved she was a real friend,” she says.
Zora’s eyes are the color of sand today. They make her look weird, like somebody on Star Trek . She makes a sucking sound with her teeth and says, “Ja’nae told me how much money you two got for cleaning that old lady’s house. Next time you go to clean, count me in,” she says, kicking a balled-up piece of paper out of her way.
“I still need sixty dollars to buy sneakers. If I can’t pay my half, my father won’t let me get them. And I really need those sneakers. They go with a new outfit my mother just bought me.”
Ja’nae sees Ming and starts waving him over. She tells Zora that all she needs to do is work with us two times and she’ll be able to pay the costs of her half of the sneakers, plus have some money left over.
We change the subject when Ming walks up. Right away he starts rubbing Ja’nae’s cheeks with his hands. She’s smiling all over the place. Ming’s saying he’s gonna walk Ja’nae home before he goes to his parents’ food truck. Mai’s right behind Ja’nae and her brother, complaining about working the food truck. But Ming ain’t paying Mai no attention. He’s got his arm wrapped around Ja’nae’s shoulder, telling her how good she smells.
After school, Zora and me are outside the building, talking, when Momma pulls up to the curb and tells us to get in. “I’ll drive you home, Zora,” Momma says, handing me a pack of gum. I give two sticks to Zora. I stack three sticks together like a sandwich and bite down.
When we pass Zora’s street, we tell Momma that she needs to turn the car around. But Momma ain’t listening. A few minutes later, she stops the car in front of somebody else’s house. The brick house is the color of warm milk with a hunk of butter in it. The roof is shaped like a dunce cap. A faded white picket fence goes all the way around.
“Who you know live here?” I ask getting out the car on Momma’s side.
“You like?” Momma asks me. She turns to Zora with the same question in her eyes.
“I guess,” Zora says, frowning at the mess in the front yard, and in the alleyway. Three old tires are sitting on the lawn by the tree, right next to a rusted bathroom sink. The window shades are rusty, too, and they’ve got giant pieces missing from them. The paint on the front door and around the windows is cracked and peeling.
“We—we’re—gonna be living here, I hope,” Momma says, following me onto the porch.
Zora and me look at each other. We can’t afford a new paint job for our car, how we gonna afford a house? I think.
Momma sticks her face up to the window and looks inside. I look, too. The place has wooden floors, nice ones. A kitchen counter with tall, wooden stools. A fake fireplace. But still, it needs a paint job real bad. And them rusted blinds and torn-up shades gotta go.
When we’re back in the car, Momma explains that she’s trying to get a Section 8 so we can move in this messed-up house. She says that the last family who lived here got evicted. “They trashed the place. The neighbors put up a fuss and got them kicked out. But it’ll be fixed up real nice before we move
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