“It’s just, my mom . . .” she says, taking the doll from me and putting it back on the bed. “I have to look out for my mom, you know?”
Zora reaches her arm out to pull me up from the bed.
I look straight at Zora. “Does your dad love your momma, Zora?” I ask.
Zora takes a breath. “No. Not no more.”
“But your momma still loves your dad?” I ask, heading downstairs.
“No—I don’t know—maybe. My mom’s used to my dad. Like your mom’s used to that raggedy car of hers,” she says, straightening a picture of Martin Luther King on the wall.
I don’t tell her that Momma would get rid of that old junker in a minute if she could afford something better.
At dinner, Momma is talking and smiling and asking me and Zora stuff about school. The usual words that come out her mouth ain’t good enough for this place. So all her “ain’ts” are turning to “are nots.” She’s making her “y’alls” into “you all.” Tonight, every word Momma says that would just be fine in the projects gets all dressed up and made into something more dignified and elegant.
At first, I get mad at Momma trying to act all proper. I want to say something to really embarrass her good. But then I see Dr. Mitchell handing her the creamer for her coffee. Asking if she wants some fresh Parmesan cheese for her spaghetti. Pouring her some wine in one of his fancy glasses. And looking at her like she’s special. Beautiful. The way I wish Sato would look at me. So I keep my mouth shut.
The day before we’re supposed to go clean for Miss Neeta again, Miss Neeta calls me and says she made a mistake. She paid us too much money for cleaning her place. Losers weepers, I’m thinking. Then Miss Neeta starts talking about how she has to hold off on paying her gas bill, because her money is short. And how she can’t use her lights so she can save on electricity.
I want to say, “Dag, you act like you gave us a thousand dollars.” But Miss Neeta’s on a fixed income. Her money is tight. I hold my tongue. “How much you want back, Miss Neeta?” I ask, hoping she will just get off the phone.
“You girls did such a nice job,” she says. “You can keep ten, ten dollars each.”
Ten dollars for all that work. For lugging boxes, and sniffing dust, and almost breaking my neck on top of a ladder. Ain’t no way, lady, I say in my head. Then I tell her I’ll talk it over with Ja’nae.
When Ja’nae and I talk it through, I realize I never should have bothered mentioning it to her in the first place. Ja’nae tells her grandmother, who says we should clean Miss Neeta’s house out of the goodness of our hearts. No way. I don’t work for free. So, we give Miss Neeta fifteen dollars back and tell her we can’t clean for her no more.
Ja’nae’s grandmother says she knows somebody else looking to hire us. I tell Ja’nae I ain’t listening to her grandmother no more. But when she says the person owns an elderly care home, and don’t mind spending money, I straighten up. “We can give your grandmother one more chance, I guess,” I say, thinking about all the money we can make.
At school, Zora acts like she’s mad at me. She don’t invite me over to her house or nothing. I’m thinking it’s cause of my mom and her dad. I guess she don’t like what’s happening no more than I do.
For the next few days I stay clear of Zora. But going straight home to an empty place ain’t my thing. So today I go with Mai to her folks’ food truck. It’s parked a few blocks from school. That way, her parents get kids from our school, the college crowd, and the high schoolers two blocks away. Mai is embarrassed working on that food truck. She’s got to serve food to the same kids she sits next to in class all day. And she’s got to hear them make fun of her dad’s English, or her mother’s weight.
To make matters worse, kids is always loud mouthing her dad.
“This ain’t the right change,” Jo Jo Miller says to Mr. Kim.
Mr.
Zora reaches her arm out to pull me up from the bed.
I look straight at Zora. “Does your dad love your momma, Zora?” I ask.
Zora takes a breath. “No. Not no more.”
“But your momma still loves your dad?” I ask, heading downstairs.
“No—I don’t know—maybe. My mom’s used to my dad. Like your mom’s used to that raggedy car of hers,” she says, straightening a picture of Martin Luther King on the wall.
I don’t tell her that Momma would get rid of that old junker in a minute if she could afford something better.
At dinner, Momma is talking and smiling and asking me and Zora stuff about school. The usual words that come out her mouth ain’t good enough for this place. So all her “ain’ts” are turning to “are nots.” She’s making her “y’alls” into “you all.” Tonight, every word Momma says that would just be fine in the projects gets all dressed up and made into something more dignified and elegant.
At first, I get mad at Momma trying to act all proper. I want to say something to really embarrass her good. But then I see Dr. Mitchell handing her the creamer for her coffee. Asking if she wants some fresh Parmesan cheese for her spaghetti. Pouring her some wine in one of his fancy glasses. And looking at her like she’s special. Beautiful. The way I wish Sato would look at me. So I keep my mouth shut.
The day before we’re supposed to go clean for Miss Neeta again, Miss Neeta calls me and says she made a mistake. She paid us too much money for cleaning her place. Losers weepers, I’m thinking. Then Miss Neeta starts talking about how she has to hold off on paying her gas bill, because her money is short. And how she can’t use her lights so she can save on electricity.
I want to say, “Dag, you act like you gave us a thousand dollars.” But Miss Neeta’s on a fixed income. Her money is tight. I hold my tongue. “How much you want back, Miss Neeta?” I ask, hoping she will just get off the phone.
“You girls did such a nice job,” she says. “You can keep ten, ten dollars each.”
Ten dollars for all that work. For lugging boxes, and sniffing dust, and almost breaking my neck on top of a ladder. Ain’t no way, lady, I say in my head. Then I tell her I’ll talk it over with Ja’nae.
When Ja’nae and I talk it through, I realize I never should have bothered mentioning it to her in the first place. Ja’nae tells her grandmother, who says we should clean Miss Neeta’s house out of the goodness of our hearts. No way. I don’t work for free. So, we give Miss Neeta fifteen dollars back and tell her we can’t clean for her no more.
Ja’nae’s grandmother says she knows somebody else looking to hire us. I tell Ja’nae I ain’t listening to her grandmother no more. But when she says the person owns an elderly care home, and don’t mind spending money, I straighten up. “We can give your grandmother one more chance, I guess,” I say, thinking about all the money we can make.
At school, Zora acts like she’s mad at me. She don’t invite me over to her house or nothing. I’m thinking it’s cause of my mom and her dad. I guess she don’t like what’s happening no more than I do.
For the next few days I stay clear of Zora. But going straight home to an empty place ain’t my thing. So today I go with Mai to her folks’ food truck. It’s parked a few blocks from school. That way, her parents get kids from our school, the college crowd, and the high schoolers two blocks away. Mai is embarrassed working on that food truck. She’s got to serve food to the same kids she sits next to in class all day. And she’s got to hear them make fun of her dad’s English, or her mother’s weight.
To make matters worse, kids is always loud mouthing her dad.
“This ain’t the right change,” Jo Jo Miller says to Mr. Kim.
Mr.
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