Needy Little Things(8)
Mama sighs as she places a Stouffer’s lasagna in the middle of the table. Jojo and I share a nervous glance. Neither of us mind the meal, but cooking is one of Mama’s favorite things. She lives for fresh foods and trying out new recipes. The preprepared frozen stuff only comes out when she’s sad. And for Mama, sad is never just sad. My strong opinions about mental health were shaped by watching her work through major ups and downs with her own. I wish I could help her. Jojo. Tessa. This ability is lacking in the worst way.
“How was work?” I ask cheerfully, hoping to kick off our usual dinner small talk. Mama’s a manager at a swanky hotel downtown called the Wilhem.
“It was okay. Long day.” Her voice is monotone, and she doesn’t look up from her plate, which she has yet to put any food on.
“Malcolm was thinking about renting a room for a couple of nights during spring break to celebrate his eighteenth.”
She scratches her scalp, further disrupting her already frizzy braid-out. “Gotta be twenty-one to book at Wilhem.”
I discreetly spit out a still-frozen chunk of lasagna into my napkin. “Yeah, he figured that out. We’ve got better plans now anyway. This lady gave us tickets to a music festival on Saturday.”
Mama’s forehead wrinkles. “And why would she do that?”
“As a thank-you for fulfilling—”
She holds up her hand to stop me. “Sariyah, you know I don’t like you giving handouts to strangers. It’s not safe.”
I bite my tongue to keep from talking back, but Jojo jumps in for me. “Her head hurts if she doesn’t do it. And you know she got a nasty attitude when her head hurts.”
“Oh, I know,” Mama says. “And that’s why you have prescription migraine medication, Sariyah.”
“Mama, it doesn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You know what happened to your father’s mother, parading around the way she did.”
Daddy says Grandma’s need-sensing started when she was eight years old, after her mom remarried and they left her to care for his three young kids. He says only a miracle could have gotten her through all of that. Other people didn’t see her ability as miraculous, though. Folks down in Chefly would call her a witch in the daylight but come knocking at her basement door at night. She made them pay good money—good enough that she was attacked and robbed on more than one occasion. It took a heavy toll on her. Left her untrusting and bitter. She died only a few weeks after I was born. I wish I could go back in time and beg her not to pass her miracle down to me.
“Can I go?” Jojo asks. “To Malcolm’s birthday party at the music festival?”
“No,” Mama snaps. She points her fork at me. “And you’re lucky if I let you do anything at all this weekend.”
“What? Why?” I figured after all that mess at Sweet Pea’s, she’d go easy on me for at least a week.
“I got an email from both your physics and math teachers about your grades, Sariyah.”
“Ooooh,” Jojo teases.
I buck at him, shaking the whole table.
Mama pushes away her empty plate. “Do I need to get you a tutor?”
“No.” We can’t afford one anyway. “I’ll study harder. Jude even agreed to help me. His grades are perfect.”
She twists her mouth to the side, skeptical. “All right, Ri. But you’re more than halfway through the semester. Keep playing and you’ll be watching your friends graduate without you, then settling in for some summer school up here instead of going down to visit your daddy.”
“I know. I got it.” I definitely don’t got it, but this conversation is pointless.
“And don’t think you’re skipping another day of school tomorrow.”
“Mama, come on! It’s the last day before spring break. It’s not like we’re going to be doing anything in any of my classes.”
“That’s not what your math teacher said in that email. He said you got a quiz tomorrow.”
I cross my arms. Mr. Howard would. He stays maximizing every second of class time.
“But I missed the review today. You should let me stay home and study. I can make it up after break.”
“Nope. He sent me the study guide and answers. After dinner, you’re going to sit right here and work on it. Use that little music festival as motivation because you ain’t going unless you pass that quiz.”
“But, Mama! I can’t—”
She silences me with one stern look as she gets up from the table to grab her buzzing phone. “Hello?… Yes … Oh, really?” She paces and uh-huhs a few times before saying goodbye and hanging up.
“Who was that?” Josiah asks.
“What have I told you about staying out of grown folks’ business?” she asks before going ahead and telling us both the business. “Looks like they’ve released the name of Ms. Jess’s attacker. Danny Irvine. He’s awake and talking.”
I choke on a sip of water, anxiously imagining this guy at the hospital trying to convince the police that I was actually the one who stabbed him. It’s stupid. I did enough Google searches to feel confident that I won’t be in trouble if they find out I gave Ms. Jess the nail file. There’s no way I could have known what would happen, but I still can’t stop obsessing over it.