In English class, Antoinette wasn’t there. She’d been suspended, but the other students twisted their mouths my way. They felt self-righteous now: I was the villain. If anything was worse than getting beat down in public, it was snitching to the principal.
When Mrs. Youngley called on me, I told her I hadn’t read the assignment.
“That’s not like you, Ailey.”
“I know. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, but I filled up my tray. I wanted something to hold in front of me, a barrier between me and my shame and ridicule. I walked past tables and more whispers until I saw Cecily and the crew. I smiled in relief: here was my oasis. When I set my tray down, Cecily was holding court, telling a story. The other girls giggled, and I joined in.
I waited for Cecily on the steps, after school. I’d already brushed off her spot, because she didn’t like sitting in dirty places. She was careful with her clothes. She was late showing, but when she sat down in the clean place I’d made for her she greeted me warmly. Asked how I’d been doing since the fight. She moved into her usual derision of Antoinette: her lack of hair, her stupidity, and this time, I eagerly laughed. I didn’t feel sorry for Antoinette anymore. She deserved everything Cecily threw her way.
It was a safe, beautiful half hour, and then I saw the Volvo nudge forward in the line of cars. My aunt beeped the horn.
Cecily touched my arm. “Look. I really like you.”
“Thanks. I like you, too.”
“You’re super cute and you dress really nice. And that’s important, because I can’t hang with anybody tacky. But it’s like this. Even though that heifer jumped you, you snitched. And I can’t have snitches around me. I got a reputation to protect.”
My smile dropped. Blood thudded in my ears.
“No, Cecily! I didn’t snitch, neither!” I didn’t care about lying. There had been only two witnesses in the principal’s office. She couldn’t check out my story.
“Yeah, you did. Otherwise, how come you’re here and Antoinette got suspended? Not that that heifer didn’t deserve it.”
“I don’t know! I just, like, wasn’t suspended.”
She gave me a pitying look. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Cecily, please.”
“I’m sorry. But me and my girls voted. For what it’s worth, I took your side, but you lost. You can’t sit with us no more.”
Behind me, my cousin called my name, and my voice trembled with urgency when I told him, just a minute, okay? One minute, and he walked down the school steps. My breath came heavy as I tried to figure out something to say that would save me.
My aunt beeped the horn, longer this time.
“Your ride is waiting on you, girl,” Cecily said.
She picked up her book bag, unzipped it, and began looking inside for something. She didn’t look up when I spoke to her, and when my aunt laid on the horn, I picked up my own bag and headed toward the Volvo. In the back seat, Veronica was napping in her car seat. On purpose, I bumped into her with my arm. Her eyes opened momentarily before her head rolled to the other side.
*
For two months, I’d called Lydia’s dorm phone every Sunday evening, to talk about how I’d finally made a friend. When I lost the companionship of Cecily, I called to tell my big sister I was lonely again. However, I hadn’t been able to catch her. My mother told me not to worry—Lydia was a junior in college. She had her own life now, but I kept calling. Trying. The young women who answered the phone would shout down the hall.
“Lydia Garfield, telephone! Lydia Garfield!” A long pause. “Sorry, she’s not in.”
One evening in early November, my big sister rang the house after dinner.
“Lydia, I’m mad at you,” I said. “I tried to call last week for your birthday.”
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry. Will you forgive me if I tell you a secret?” She gave a squeal and I forgot my irritation.
“What?!”
“Baby sister, I’m in love!”
“Oh my God! Tell me everything!”
“His name is Dante Anderson, he’s from Atlanta, he goes to Morehouse, and he’s super cute!”
“Dante? Like the Inferno? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s a great name. The best name there is. And you be nice, because I’m bringing him home. I’m asking Mama for permission.”
My sister and her beau appeared the day before Thanksgiving. They made a striking couple. Dante was much darker than she was and flagrantly handsome. He was polite, too, giving a submissive “yes, ma’am,” when my mother banished him to the basement let-out sofa. She told him this was an old-fashioned household.