“Was that a baby earthquake?” R. J. asks.
“Could be, but I doubt it,” I say.
“It has been a while since we last had one,” Leon says.
“We should watch the news to see if…”
And before Anne Marie can finish tellin’ us to watch the news for an earthquake report, which won’t be there, I shift the focus.
“I am not gonna quit school. Imma get my diploma come hell or high water.” I mean it too. Mama didn’t make it all the way through school cuz she had to work. My grandmother doesn’t trust anything learned from books, so I’m sure she never made it very far. I intend to be the first Deschamps girl to do it. If for no other reason than for my little sisters to know it’s possible.
“Diploma’s just a piece a paper,” R. J. continues. “ ’Sides, somebody gonna marry you soon enough, so none a that’ll matter,” he says with that crooked smile a his. Leon laughs to himself; Anne Marie shakes her head. I ain’t in no mood for this today. Does he have no pride? This boy’s been following me around since I’s seven years old. Wadn’t interested then, and I sure ain’t now. ’Specially not when there are so many others out there I’d like to be makin’ time with. Well… one. Just one in particular, who might just be the finest boy I’ve ever seen in my life. This same one in particular who promised me he’d be at this damn shindig not two days ago, and so far I ain’t seen hide nor hair a him.
“It’ll matter to me, that’s for sure,” I say.
“That’s good. Give them pretty li’l babies you gonna have a mama they can look up to. Course, you already a famous hero.”
I groan. I do not wanna talk about that goddamn article again. It’s been over a week since it came out. Enough already.
“Oh, will you give it a rest?” Leon shoves a hot dog in R. J.’s face. “Here. Give your mouth somethin’ else to do, please.” I can’t help but giggle, and I smile at Leon.
Anne Marie fills a bowl with fruit punch in addition to the lemonade. Festive.
“I don’t know why you ain’t proud,” mouthy Bernadette says. “If I’d gotten my name in the paper for savin’ some lives, I’d never stop talkin’ about it.”
That’s for damn sure.
“I don’t like makin’ a fuss, and if people forget about it, they won’t expect me to do it again. Cuz I ain’t never doin’ that again.”
They laugh and let it drop.
Sun’s gettin’ lower and lower. Dammit. When I see Clayton next, Imma kill ’im!
I shouldn’t be surprised. You know how babies can get all excited about a toy when they’re playin’ with it, but if you hide it from ’em when they ain’t lookin’, they forget it was ever there? Sometimes I think Clay’s like that with me. The first time I can remember feelin’ belly butterflies over Clay was when I was eleven. He never paid attention to me back then. But in the last couple years—really since I got to high school—he’s been different. He’d nod if he saw me in the halls, and sometimes he’d tease me, but never in a mean way. The first time I wondered if maybe he liked me for real was last summer.
I know it’s childish, but somehow I got roped into playin’ jailbreak with some neighborhood kids. I was runnin’ for home base, and I happened to see Clay talkin’ to one of his friends on the street. I didn’t slow down, though. I made it to home base: an old Cadillac that probably hasn’t been used since Roosevelt was in office.
I’m fast, so I was the first one there, but I ducked down behind the car so Clay wouldn’t see me runnin’ around like an idiot. I figured I’d just stay hidden, and eventually he’d leave.
When nearly all my team members made it to home base, I will admit I got excited because we won. Jailbreak is dumb, but I always enjoy a victory, and we crushed the other team. They started whinin’ about it (sour grapes), but the game was over, so I walked back out to the street… and he was still there! On the corner, starin’ right at me. I kinda waved then, cuz it was awkward, and he half smiled. I turned to go in the opposite direction, and I tripped over absolutely nothin’ and fell on the ground. Right into a mud puddle. A couple of my teammates cracked up. I felt a strong urge to cry, but I couldn’t, because before I could do anything, Clay was at my side, helping me up.
“Are you all right?” he asked me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumbled, so embarrassed.
He held on to my hand and looked me over for cuts and bruises. The other kids shut up then, cuz Clay’s older than them and far cooler.
“You gotta be careful,” he said, and I could see that he, too, wanted to laugh, but he didn’t.
“Thanks,” I said. I tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t let me.
“I’m not hurt. I swear.” I tried to pull away again, and he held on again. And he was starin’ at me hard, and even though I was sweaty, dressed like a derelict, and partially covered in mud, he seemed to like what he saw.
Then one of his friends from the baseball team came by, and that was it. He let me go, smiled, and went off with his buddy.
But that was last summer. Since then, we’d see each other every now and then and were friendly, but not much more than that. Something happened this spring, and it happened to him.
He has been silly lately. Not me. Ever since school let out, I feel like I run into him just about everywhere I go. Not that I mind, of course. He’s cool and casual, like always, but I don’t
