Night on Fire by Ronald Kidd Page B

hello for me.”
    â€œYes’m, I will.”
    I left Mason’s proud of myself, glancing at the bag and imagining what Mama would say. As I did, I bumped into someone.
    â€œOops! Excuse me,” I said, looking up.
    It was Jarmaine, carrying her schoolbooks.
    â€œThat’s all right,” she said. “I wasn’t paying attention either. I was just going home.”
    â€œFinished for the day?”
    â€œNot yet,” she said. “I have to do some homework.”
    I thought of the times Lavender had helped me do my homework, while Jarmaine had been at home doing her own. It didn’t seem right.
    I said, “Hey, Mother’s Day is coming up, right?”
    Jarmaine nodded.
    â€œI could help you pick out a present for Lavender.”
    â€œThat’s nice of you, Billie, but I already have one.”
    â€œWell, then, here’s an idea. Maybe I could get her a present myself. After all, she takes care of me too. She’s kind of like my mother.”
    I thought Jarmaine might smile. Instead she winced as if I had hit her.
    â€œAre you okay?” I asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said.
    I wondered how often Negroes in my town had said those words when they weren’t fine at all. I wanted it to be different with Jarmaine and me.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I asked.
    Jarmaine studied me. “You don’t know, do you?”
    â€œWhat? Tell me.”
    â€œShe’s not your mother. Hearing you call her that makes me feel bad.”
    I stepped back, surprised. Talking with Jarmaine was like walking on ice—you never knew when you might fall through and come up shivering.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I mumbled.
    Reaching into my pocket, I felt the two dollars in change that Mrs. Jutson had handed me and thought I might be able to use it as a peace offering.
    â€œYou want a milk shake?” I asked. “We could get one at Wikle’s.”
    She looked at me and shook her head. “Wake up, Billie. Look around. This is your street, not mine. I’m a Negro. I don’t shop around here—look what happened to my friend Bradley. And Wikle’s? If I sat at the lunch counter, they’d arrest me.”
    â€œFor having a milk shake?”
    â€œWelcome to Alabama.”
    Jarmaine lowered her gaze and started up the sidewalk.
    I called after her, “It shouldn’t be like that.”
    She hugged the schoolbooks to her chest and kept going.

CHAPTER TEN
    Darkness is your friend .
    Daddy used to tell me that when I was little. I was afraid of the dark, like a lot of kids. So when Daddy came to my room to kiss me good night, I always begged him to stay. He would sit for a few minutes on the edge of the bed, holding my hand. When he got up to leave, he would say those words in a kind, gentle voice.
    I began to believe him. I guess I still do. Darkness is mysterious. It’s promising. You can wrap it around you like a shawl.
    Grant had a room full of it, a darkroom.
    I was thinking about it later that week when Grant and I rode to his house after school. Mrs. McCall must have seen us coming, because she pushed open the screen door and came out carrying two glasses of lemonade. She was tall like Grant, with a handsome face, pretty eyes, and a quiet manner.
    She handed us each a glass of lemonade, then went back inside. The glasses were sweating. It reminded me of what Mama always said: “Horses sweat, men perspire, women glow.” After bicycling home on a warm day, I was glowing like mad.
    I took a gulp of the cold, delicious lemonade. It was the McCall family’s favorite drink. Grant’s mom bought lemons by the bushel basket from old Mr. Bell, who had a fruit stand down the street. You could smell the lemons whenever you were around the McCalls—clean, fresh, a family with zest.
    A bicycle rider coasted down the hill, with a heavy bag hanging from his handlebars. It was Arthur the Arm, a neighborhood kid earning a few