Two Naomis by Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich

around pretty fast. We create a maze, and we even make her moonwalk. It’s almost fun. I had no idea that programming could be like making stories. Most of the other partners are giggling and chatty, but we’re quiet; I’m doing most of the work on the computer, but at least she’s not making snide remarks anymore. I figure out how to add characters, and there’s a ballerina with two Afro puffs like I used to wear before I got to fourth grade, where it’s best to wear only one. I add her to our game.
    â€œDo you take ballet?” she asks.
    â€œNo, West African dance,” I say. “But, uh . . . I might.” After a minute I ask, “What about you?”
    She shakes her head, then adds, “I’m into acting, though. I’m in the drama club at my school.”
    â€œCool,” I say. I don’t mention anything about drama queens or tantrums, which is pretty mature. And generous.
    The Other Naomi opens her mouth, then closes it. She watches me play around with DuoTek until Julie calls time. “Congratulations on a fantastic start, ladies!” she says. “See you next week!”
    Momma and Tom are standing outside the room when we come out. They both look like Brianna on Christmas morning right before she opens the biggest present.
    â€œHow was it?” they ask at the same time. Then they both laugh.
    We don’t. We shrug. My shoulders are getting a real workout these days.
    â€œIt was okay,” I say.
    â€œSally go round the sunshine! Sally go round the moo-oon! Sally go round Shelly Ann’s all the afternoon!” sings Brianna. Momma and Tom look at each other.
    â€œHow about some sweets?” Momma asks. “We can have Reverse Lunch today.”
    Ooh, dessert first! And I love Shelly Ann’s! Shelly Ann’s grandmother used to own it, and Shelly Ann told me that the poet Gwendolyn Brooks used to come in, order chocolate cake, and write. Some of my lists are like poems, I think. Shelly Ann lets me help take customers’ orders sometimes, and she said that this year she’ll teach me how to make that caramel cake.
    The Other Naomi brightens up like the sun is rising from inside her. “Dad! Great idea.” She turns to me. “We always go to Morningstar on Saturdays. They have the best cookies. . . . Remember the ones we brought to your house?”
    â€œI had the hopies for Shelly Ann’s!” yells Brianna.
    â€œMorningstar sounds lovely,” says Momma firmly, like she’s somebody else.
    â€œSo does Shelly Ann’s,” adds Tom. “I can’t wait to try it!”
    â€œDad!” says Her. “You’ve been there! Remember, for Annie’s bake-and-take birthday party? Anyway, Morningstar—”
    â€œRight, right,” says Tom quickly. Then he gives her some side-eye. He’s blushing, though. I guess she was supposed to pretend like she never heard of Shelly Ann’s.
    â€œWe always go to Morningstar,” she says to Momma. “My mom loved—loves—it.”
    I forgot that her mom moved real far away. I might be a little tantrum-y myself if I couldn’t walk to Dad’s anytime I want.
    Momma gives her a little half smile and reaches out like she’s going to pat the Other Naomi’s arm, but she doesn’t.
    Now they’re talking. Actually, now they really are talking, close and quiet, like people with secrets. I hate secrets that aren’t mine.
    I grab Brianna’s hand, all big sisterly, just to let that Other Girl know. “Teach me the Sally song,” I say, even though I already know it, because she sings it every five minutes.
    â€œI’ll teach everybody!” says Brianna. She starts singing, and we start walking. I think about how there will be caramel cake at Shelly Ann’s. I pretend I don’t notice when she puts her hand out to the Other Girl. I wonder if there’s a tiny Momma on Brianna’s shoulder too