AT COMMUNITY MEETING on Friday, Brianna announces that, in pairs, they’re going to do research projects on the culture and parenting practices in a country of their choice. “So I want you to find a partner and let me know Monday what country you want to research. Think about places you’re curious about. You can consult the library or the internet. This is your opportunity to take a kind of trip to a part of the world you’ve never seen.”
Angel thinks about African babies nursing as their mothers pound roots, of South American babies strapped to their mothers’ backs with colorful cloths, of fancy English kids singing and dancing along with Mary Poppins.
Lizette raises her hand, a single lazy flap. “Me and Angel are going to do Finland.” She says it as though they’ve discussed it already, as though they knew anything about this project to begin with.
Brianna starts. “Finland. Okay,” she says slowly. “Anyone else have ideas?”
Jen looks around the room. “Anyone want to do China with me? My pastor did missionary work in China, so we’d have a head start.”
Lizette is hunched over her desk, her chin almost touching the Cosmo lying open before her, her sleeves pulled over her hands. She seems intent on Community Meeting. It was nice of her to decide to work with Angel, though it would have been nicer if she’d consulted Angel. And Finland? Angel is aware that Finland is a country, possibly in Siberia or Europe, but has no image at all of Finnish children. She thinks they must be either very blond or very dark and dressed in polar bear skins.
The typed outline is due at the end of next week, full ten-to-twelve-page reports and presentations—with visual aids—a week after that. “You are encouraged but not required to cook a native dish for the class to try.” Brianna consults her notes. “Okay. Any other issues that have come up for you this week? Trinity, spit out the gum.” She taps Respect the classroom and equipment. “You know better.”
Trinity spits her gum into her hand. “Sorry, miss.” She shakes her hand over the trash until the wad unsticks from her palm.
Angel considers bringing up Ryan Johnson and her quivery feeling that she made a dreadful mistake in telling him about Connor, but she isn’t sure she wants her class knowing about him.
She doesn’t even know why she told him. “Hi, Angle!” he’d chirped. He’d called out of the blue to see “what’s up,” without mentioning the baby or her pregnancy, as if it might embarrass her. “You’re not missing much at school. I have Mrs. Esposito again, so that’s cool.” Angel had been furious that Ryan could be so cheerfully oblivious to his part in her exile. Listening to him go on about the basketball team’s win against Los Alamos, she’d felt so desolate she had to say something to stop him in his tracks. “The baby’s yours, too, so you can quit being so proud of yourself. I’m not the only one who fucked up.”
“Wait, are you for serious? It’s mine?”
“He is yours. Don’t act so surprised. You know how babies are made, right? You heard why I dropped out and you didn’t even wonder?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m, like, on the honor roll.”
She’d hung up on him, but an hour or so later he called back, and didn’t quit until she agreed to let him come over. In the last few days, he’s texted constantly, just to say hello and to ask about the baby. He hasn’t threatened to take Connor away from her, but she still has the sense that with Ryan on the scene things are even more out of her control.
“Hey, miss,” says Ysenia. “I pick Paris for my country report. Their kids never sass, and they’re all fashionable. I saw that on Good Morning America.”
“Yes!” says Jen. “And Paris moms never gain weight.”
“Paris isn’t a country, dumbass,” says Lizette.