Darkness Before Dawn Page 3

  Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,

  Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,

  Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  I loved this song. I started the next verse as the rest joined my wobbly soprano.

  Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s crying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  All of them had shed many tears in the past few months. The fire and the music danced together in the darkness. Rhonda and Tyrone began the next verse together. They hadn’t planned it—seems like their thoughts were really together that night.

  Someone’s happy, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s happy, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s happy, Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  They looked at each other and smiled. I could tell they felt almost guilty because of their happiness. But Tyrone had told me earlier that he figured joy had to be grabbed when it was given. He had seen too much taken away in too short a time.

  Gerald glanced at Angel and began the next verse. He’d give anything to make sure Angel had nothing but happiness for the rest of her life. And dancing made her happy. I had seen her perform once. She was a feather on the stage, dancing with the air and her dreams.

  Someone’s dancing, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s dancing, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s dancing, Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  Leon’s smooth bass drifted out of the shadows next. His voice was laced with a pain we all felt, but couldn’t explain. He’s so silly at school, we might have expected him to sing, “Someone’s laughing, Lord,” but Leon’s voice came from a place we could all feel. We joined him as he sang.

  Someone’s hurting, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s hurting, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s hurting, Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  After several more verses, B. J. ended it with the final verse—I know it was his favorite.

  Someone’s praying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s praying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Someone’s praying, Lord, kumbaya,

  Oh, Lord, kumbaya.

  The picnic ended not long after that. No one was much inclined to tell any ghost stories, for which I know Monty was very grateful. School was over, and summer vacation stretched ahead, long and inviting for all of us there who needed time for peace and healing.

  3

  “Will all seniors please rise and be recognized!” It was hot and stuffy in the auditorium on that first day of school in September, but not one of us in the senior class seemed to care. We jumped to our feet and cheered loudly—chanting “Seniors! Seniors! Seniors!” while we stomped and made general fools of ourselves in the front of the auditorium. It’s a tradition at Hazel-wood High that on the first day, the entire school meets for an assembly to welcome everyone back, review the school rules and changes for the year, and introduce the new class of seniors. Me, Rhonda, Gerald, Tyrone, and B. J. sat together in the very front row and, holding hands, stood up with the rest of our class, feeling proud and victorious that we had made it to that moment.

  Leon Hawkins sat behind us. He said to me as I walked in the building that morning, “Lookin’ good in that yellow! Makes you look like butter!” I guess it was a compliment, but getting compared to butter is weird. He stood up on his seat, and screamed at the top of his voice, “Hallelujah! I’m so glad I’m not a junior anymore!” Everybody laughed as he almost fell, and I turned around and smiled at him. He got yelled at by Mr. Jasper, the senior advisor, but Leon was used to it and ignored him.

  Angel and Joyelle were new ninth graders at Hazel-wood that year. They sat in the back with the freshmen. I know they were looking enviously at all of us victorious seniors in the front. I had heard them talking in the main hall that morning, looking scared and overwhelmed. Angel had whispered to Joyelle, “Do you know how much homework and notebooks and reports and projects we have to do to get to be seniors?”

  Joyelle nodded. “Yeah, but they were like us once. We’ll get there, too.”

  “But that was a long time ago!” Angel had sighed. “We’re only fourteen! I feel like such a baby!”

  “I’ll be fifteen next month, and your birthday is right after Christmas, so just don’t tell anybody how young we are. This is high school! Fake it, sister!” Joyelle had laughed with delight.

  Mr. Hathaway asked the entire room for silence, and finally quieted the jubilant seniors the way he did every year. “Remember, seniors, none of you has graduated yet. You still have nine months of education to complete and nothing is guaranteed. I expect the best from each of you or I guarantee you can expect the worst from me!”

  As seniors, we’d heard his first day speech many times before, but this time it was different, so we paid attention. Many of the announcements had to do with dates for the SAT tests, college applications, and counselor visits, along with the usual information about bus schedules, hall passes, and lunch bells. Mr. Hathaway also introduced the teachers who were new to the school. When Mr. Hathaway called them to the stage, the restless teenagers summed up each one in a glance. I could hear the whispers.

  “That one is going to be mean—look at those evil eyes.”

  “I’ll be skipping out on that one’s class by the second week—she’s an airhead.”

  “Would you look at that outfit she’s wearing! What would possess her to wear purple pants and a green striped shirt?”

  “We can scare her away, but we won’t—she’s too cute.”

  “How can somebody so tall be so clumsy? He tripped twice on the stage steps!”

  “She looks like a kid! That’s a teacher? Are they allowed to wear jeans and gym shoes like us?”

  The last new person to be introduced was Mr. Hathaway’s son. I glanced up in mild interest as Mr. Hathaway called him to the stage.

  “He sure looks good! Umph! What a face! What a body!” Rhonda remarked.

  “What you lookin’ at, girl?” Tyrone teased. “What more can you want? You got me—the magnificent one!”

  “I don’t want him, Tyrone. I just recognize quality stuff when I see it. And he definitely has got the stuff!” She grinned at Tyrone and punched his arm. “And who named you the mighty magnificent one anyway?”

  “I did!” He smiled.

  Mr. Hathaway was smiling, too, as the young man bounded onto the stage. The auditorium echoed with the whispers of approval from the girls. He signaled for silence. “This is the final introduction of the morning.”

  “Glad you saved the best for last!” a girl from the back of the room yelled out.

  Mr. Hathaway must have been in a good mood, because he ignored her, although the students laughed at her outburst. “This is Jonathan Hathaway, my son. He’s a junior at the university, majoring in education. He’ll be doing his student observation this year, and he has volunteered to help coach some of our basketball and track teams, so you’ll be seeing quite a bit of him. I expect you to show him the same respect that you show me.”

  “Oh, he’ll get more than that!” another girl yelled out. Everyone laughed, including Jonathan, who looked relaxed and comfortable. His clothes, unlike the jeans and big shirts worn by most of the boys at the school, were soft and tailored, and hung on his muscular body with ease. The first two buttons of his beige silk shirt were unfastened, and soft curly hairs from his bronzed chest peeked from the collar. His matching slacks were neatly pressed, and he brushed a minute speck of dust from them as he smiled at the crowd with confidence. Mr. Hathaway gave Jonathan a wide, proud grin but, strangely, Jonathan didn’t return his father’s smile.

  Just before the bell was to ring to begin classes for the day, Mr. Hathaway cleared his throat and asked for silence. “I feel that I would be out of place not to mention two members of the senior class who are not here today—Andrew Jackson and Robert Washington. I know tha
t many of you still grieve and that many of you wish that there was something you might have been able to do to prevent their deaths. Please know that I understand your pain, and if you’re ever in trouble, please don’t be afraid to ask for help—from me, or any member of the staff. We walk our paths here together. Please take care of yourselves, and take care of each other.”

  The auditorium was absolutely silent. The ringing of the bell shattered the moment, but the students were subdued as they hurried to their classes. I turned to Rhonda as we walked out together. “I gotta give him credit. Mr. Hathaway tries to have both heart and soul. That’s hard to find in a principal.”

  “You got that right. It gave me chills.” Rhonda shuddered.

  “I just hope we can slide through this year with our eyes closed.”

  “What did you think of his son, the college kid?” I asked casually. I didn’t want Rhonda to think I was interested in the dude.

  “That’s no kid. Kids are what we see every day. That’s a man. And a fine one at that!” Rhonda said as she was bumped by the backpack of a ninth grader. The halls were crowded with kids yelling to each other, pushing to get through, going two different directions, banging doors of lockers, stopping in groups to have conversations.

  “The whole idea of passing classes in four minutes is nuts!” I grumbled as we made our way down the hall to our first class. “He is fine,” I continued, reflecting on Jonathan Hathaway, “but something about him makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s those golden eyes.”

  “It’s those eyes that make him look so good!” Rhonda laughed. “Of course, who’s looking? I got my Tyrone and he makes me sizzle. I don’t need any golden-eyed college boys. What about you, Keisha? You interested?”

  “No way!” I said forcefully. “After Andy, I don’t even want to talk to any dudes. They just cause pain.” I could feel myself starting to cry, but I forced the tears back.

  “Take your time, Keisha,” Rhonda told me gently. “The hurt will go away eventually. We all miss Andy—and Rob, too.”

  Just then we bumped into a student who was obviously lost. She had her schedule in her hand, and was looking from the paper to each doorway, obviously trying to find a classroom.

  “Need some help?” I offered.

  “Where is Room 199?” she asked in exasperation. “I figured out that the one hundreds are on the first floor, the two hundreds are on the second, which makes sense, I guess. So where did they hide Room 199?”

  Rhonda and I laughed as we fell into step with the new girl. “You must be new here,” Rhonda commented.

  “You a junior?” I asked.

  The girl, who was dressed in a dynamite white cotton pantsuit, looked like a model. Her rich ebony skin and hair were a striking contrast to the thin, light, breezy material. Me and Rhonda eyed her outfit with appreciation. We recognized good taste in clothes.

  “No, actually, I’m a senior,” she admitted with a sigh. “My mom died last year, and I’ve come to live with my dad and his new wife.”

  “Rough way to start your senior year,” I told her.

  “Yeah, but my dad is trying to make it easy for me. His wife isn’t bad for a stepmother, and they understand that I need time to adjust. I used to visit them every summer, but living here instead of New York is going to take some getting used to.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life”—I laughed—” and I still haven’t got used to it!”

  “New York City?” Rhonda asked.

  “Yeah, right in Manhattan.”

  “Here’s Room 199,” Rhonda said as they climbed the steps and turned to a hall on the second floor.

  “It’s on the second floor?”

  “Nobody knows why. Maybe just to confuse new kids,” Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Jalani,” the new girl replied.

  “That’s a pretty name,” I remarked. “Sounds Indian or something.”

  “It’s Nigerian—Ibo to be exact. My mother was from Nigeria. It means strong and mighty, but I don’t feel very strong or mighty today. It’s hot and confusing, I miss my friends, I miss New York, and I really miss my mom.” I could tell she was trying not to cry.

  I touched Jalani’s arm. “I know where you’re coming from. We know about pain around here.”

  “Jalani, why don’t you come with me and Keisha to the mall after school? I’ve got to get some new shoes. My mother doesn’t understand, but I have nothing to wear with that new blue outfit I got.”

  Jalani brightened up. “Now, shoes I understand! When we moved here, I packed six boxes just for shoes! My mom never understood either.” She sighed.

  The bell rang then, and me and Rhonda hurried down the hall. As Jalani slipped into Room 199, Rhonda yelled, “Meet us by the main office after school!”

  By the end of the day, the temperature outside had soared to ninety-five degrees. Inside the school, despite the open windows and useless fans, the students sweltered through that first day. Classroom temperatures had to be well over one hundred degrees. The building was old and impossible to air-condition.

  I was first to reach the main hall after school. I sat on a bench, exhausted from the heat and the routine of the day. Gerald strolled over and sat next to me. “Rough day?”

  “Yeah, it’s hot, and I feel so alone. I miss Andy. Remember last year when he hooked up the janitor’s hose and soaked everybody as they came out?” Gerald smiled, remembering. “Then he pointed that hose up to the sky, and let the water fall down on him and everybody around him. We were dancing and screaming and then Mr. Hathaway came out.”

  “Andy almost got Hathaway wet, but he did have a little bit of sense!” Gerald chuckled.

  “Luckily, somebody warned Andy that Hathaway was coming around the corner,” I said.

  “It was Leon Hawkins—that silly dude with the good voice.”

  “Oh yeah, I had choir with him last year.” I said. “He’s crazier than Andy was.” I sighed. “We could use a little Andy right now. When will this feeling go away, Gerald?”

  “It will always be there, Keisha, but you’ll learn to lock it away. If you don’t, you’ll let the pain eat you up.” Gerald was surprisingly understanding.

  I gave Gerald a hug to thank him. We saw Angel in the crowd and waved to her. Angel looked confused at first, then smiled as she realized she had found her way to the main hall and found her brother. Gerald whispered to me, “Speaking of pain eating you up, look at Angel. She’s so thin. I worry about her.”

  “She’s a dancer, Gerald. She’s supposed to be thin. I wish I had her figure.”

  Angel wore pale pink shorts and a matching top. Her large almond-shaped eyes seemed to fill her small face. Her waist was tiny, her legs sturdy but thin. She walked like a dancer.

  “How was your first day?” Gerald asked. I could tell that he was proud of her—she was pretty and dainty, and I knew he would demolish any dude that tried to hurt her.

  “Really good,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve got homework already.”

  “Did you find the cafeteria?” Gerald asked.

  “Yeah, but it was too hot and crowded in there. I ate outside with Joyelle. And yes, Gerald, I ate all the lunch you fixed for me.” Angel rolled her eyes at her brother.

  “Even the four cookies?”

  “I gave one to Joyelle. Was that OK?” she teased him.

  Gerald just grunted and pretended not to care. I could tell he didn’t think she was telling the truth, however.

  “Do you and Joyelle have any classes together?” I asked.

  “All except first and last bell,” Angel answered. “I think that’s why the day was fun. Poor kid—she’s got last bell gym. Here she comes.”

  Joyelle dragged her way through the crowd of kids rushing to leave the building to the bench and plopped down with a groan. Her hair, which had been neatly curled that morning, was a frazzled, fluffy mess. Her new linen slacks, which she had insisted on wearing, looked as if they had spent the day ba
lled up in the bottom of her closet. She was wrinkled and sweaty.

  “Are all the days like this?” she asked finally. They all laughed as I offered her a cold Pepsi. She gulped it gratefully.

  “This was easy,” I told her. “Tomorrow it’s still going to be hot, but it’s going to rain. You can be soaked and miserable outside, and hot and sweaty inside, because they close all the windows. Not a good hair day.”

  “Oh, my hair!” Joyelle moaned.

  We laughed. We’d all been there. Rhonda and Jalani walked over to us then. In contrast to Joyelle, Jalani looked cool, sleek, and self-assured. Gerald, who had been teasing Joyelle, looked up with a start.

  “Hey, Gerald, this is Jalani—new to the senior class this year,” Rhonda said, noticing Gerald’s instant attention to the new girl.

  “What’s up?” he said, unable to take his eyes from her. “You’re . . . uh . . . the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “You’ve seen me and Rhonda and a zillion other girls today.”

  “And I have never seen you quite so bold!” Rhonda added.

  Gerald grinned, ignored us both, and tried not to show his nervousness. “Like I said, Jalani, you’re the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

  She smiled and seemed pleased. “And that’s the best line I’ve heard all day,” she told him.

  Angel asked, “Are you a model?” She seemed to be really taken with the smooth way Jalani moved and talked and dressed.

  “I did quite a bit of modeling in New York,” Jalani admitted. “It’s fun, but really hard work.”

  Angel and Joyelle were impressed. “Have you been in any commercials?” Joyelle wanted to know.

  “I do mostly print work. I’ve been in teen magazines and clothes catalogs. But you know that commercial for the hamburgers where the girl falls in love with the dude who sells the burgers?”

  “That’s you?” I shrieked. We were all impressed.

  “I knew you looked familiar! Oh my gosh, you’re famous!” Angel was jumping with excitement.

  “Not really. But I made a lot of money. It’s in a savings account for college. I’m going to major in fashion design.”