November Blues Page 5

  Olivia picked up right away. “Hello,” she said tentatively.

  “Hi. This is November. Were you asleep?”

  “No, just sitting here looking at the home shopping channel.”

  “You watch that too? You ever buy anything?”

  “No, I’m too cheap. I think it’s funny how hard they try to convince you that if you don’t buy that stuff—in the next three minutes—your life will come to a complete stop!” She had a warm, reassuring laugh. “How you been feeling?”

  “Better, thanks.” November paused. “I finally went to the doctor.”

  “Well, that’s good. What did he say?”

  “I went to a lady doctor. She said the first week of November.”

  “Heavy stuff. Will you come back to school in the fall?”

  “Oh, snap! I hadn’t even thought about it. I’ll be as big as a house! Everybody will be laughing at me and making fun of me and talking about me behind my back.”

  “Join the club,” said Olivia quietly. “You tell your mama yet?”

  “Yeah, I finally did.”

  “Did she freak out?”

  “Well, she didn’t get out the chain saw, but she was real hurt. I hate making her feel so bad.”

  “It’s not your mother who has to go through this,” Olivia observed. “She’s not the one who’s gonna swell up like a blimp.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” November groaned. “That’s one part I try not to think about.” Then she paused. “Can I ask you something, Olivia?”

  “Sure.”

  “When we were in the bathroom that day, why did you come back? I mean, for real now, if I knew somebody was throwing up, I’d lace up my kicks and jet out of there as far away as possible!”

  Olivia was silent for a long time. Finally she said, “Well, I envy you a little. I never had anybody cool like Josh who really cared about me. Hold on a second.”

  November could hear the rattle of a candy wrapper. “I needed a chocolate fix,” Olivia said finally, her words suddenly thick-sounding.

  “I feel you. I never used to like chocolate that much, but now I wake up in the morning needing a Hershey bar,” November admitted.

  “I can’t even use pregnancy as an excuse. I just crave chocolate. It’s my favorite food group!” Both girls laughed.

  “So finish what you were telling me.”

  Olivia’s end of the line grew quiet again. “Well, two years ago I went out with one of those morons on the basketball team.”

  November made a slight sound.

  “You think girls like me can’t get dates?” Olivia asked sharply.

  “I didn’t say anything,” November protested.

  “Well, usually, we can’t. At least I can’t. I was really flattered when Logan asked me out. But I thought he liked me for my mind, my wit, my ability to quote long passages of Shakespeare!”

  “Let me guess. He wasn’t after your intelligence,” November suggested.

  “You got that right.” Olivia laughed harshly. “When he first asked me out, I couldn’t believe it. I was so excited. I went and got my hair and my nails done, bought a new dress. I even went on a diet. How stupid is that?”

  “You were just a kid—ninth-grade girls aren’t the sharpest pencils in the box when it comes to figuring out dudes.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, he took me out a couple of times, he let me think he cared about me. He bought me stuff and took me out to dinner at nice restaurants. It was like one of those made-for-television movies—not quite realistic, but a nice way to pass the time. I was so happy.” She paused, and November braced herself for what she figured was coming next.

  “Bottom line, he got way too friendly way too soon. But I didn’t want to lose him. I was so excited that a fine dude like Logan was interested in me that I let him talk me into something I really didn’t want to do. When he got what he wanted, he dumped me that very night. I’m half dressed and shivering in his car, and he told me as he was driving me home, with a look of disgust on his face that I will never, ever forget, ‘I guess it’s true what they say about fat girls being easy!’”

  November gasped.

  “I started to cry, and he told me, ‘Hey, you ought to be grateful!’ Then he laughed, made me get out on the corner of my street, and drove away.” Olivia’s voice broke, then she added, “I cried all night.”

  “Oh, Olivia. I’m so sorry.”

  “The next morning at school he told all his friends how successful he had been.” She paused. “He had my panties, November. When I got to school about ten of his friends were in the front hall tossing them around, making jokes about how big they were.”

  November gasped again and shook her head in acknowledgment. “Oh, man! I remember that day now. You started crying, and you ran past me into the bathroom.”

  “And you followed me, and gave me some tissues and a peppermint.”

  “You remembered that?”

  “I told you I never forget anything. You were talking to Dana and Arielle, giggling about whatever it is that fly girls laugh about, and you took the time to leave them, check on me, put your hand on my shoulder, and ask if I was okay. You don’t know how much that meant.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” November admitted.

  “So that’s why I came back. I had seen you run in there, heard you get sick, and I figured maybe I could return the favor.”

  “Now that you tell me about it, I wish I’d done more.”

  “It was enough.”

  “What a dirty rotten piece of scum he is!”

  “It was worse than that. Each of them had picked what they called ‘an ugly girl’ to go out with. They had money bets on how long it would take to get each girl in bed. I fell right into their trap.” She took a deep breath. “They laughed about it every time I passed them in the hall for weeks after that. I almost died of shame.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” November said gently.

  “I know that now. But at the time I felt like I needed to be pretty and popular and that would be an easy way to do it.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t get pregnant.”

  “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Are you okay with it now?”

  “Well, I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once!” She laughed at her own joke. “Seriously, I no longer let gutter trash like those dudes make me feel bad. I’m cool with who I am. I got high hopes and great expectations. I’m gonna be a doctor.”

  “You know, you really are pretty cool, Olivia,” November said. “You’re so easy to talk to.”

  “I’m the best-kept secret at Douglass High School!” Olivia chuckled. “Call me anytime you need to talk. Hang in there, November.”

  CHAPTER 11

  JERICHO

  FRIDAY, MAY 7

  JERICHO SAT IN HIS LAST-PERIOD CLASS, trying not to fall asleep, praying the bell would ring soon. The math teacher droned on in the front of the room—something about polynomials and negative numbers. How can a number be less than nothing? I don’t get it. If I don’t get out of here, my head is gonna explode! It was all Jericho could do to stop himself from screaming, “Shut up, man! I really don’t care! Just let me out of here!” at the top of his lungs. Josh had always been good in math classes and had helped Jericho endure the calculations and details of geometry and algebra by cracking jokes and drawing cartoons of the teacher on his homework. Now it was all one giant lump of meaningless information without Josh there to help him make sense of it all.

  Spring had finally decided to show up, and the warm sun reached Jericho through the closed classroom windows. He raised his hand. “May I be excused, please?”

  Mr. Bormingham, who all the kids called Boring Man, looked over his glasses at Jericho and rolled his eyes. “Please hurry, Jericho. We will truly miss all your stimulating input into our classroom conversation.”

  Nothing worse than a sarcastic teacher, Jericho thought as he hurried out of the room.
No one else was out of class, and he breathed in the silence and the glorious emptiness of the moment. He didn’t really have to go to the bathroom, so he took his time as he walked down the hall, baggy jeans dragging on the floor. He listened to bits of laughter from one classroom, a video playing in another, and a teacher having a lively conversation with her class in another. He felt himself relax.

  Coming at him down the hall he could see Luis Morales, one of the guys who had pledged with him for the Warriors of Distinction. Luis had lettered in both track and football, and he walked with an easy stride. Jericho had watched how the girls hovered around Luis like he was hot caramel fudge in a muscle shirt.

  “What’s crackin’, dude?” Jericho asked as Luis approached him.

  “Ain’t nothin’ to it, man. I’m aight. Track’s keeping me pretty busy. Makes these last days of the school year go faster. Then I go right into football.”

  “I hear you. Man, I’m so ready for school to be out. I feel like I got fire ants in my veins. I had to get out that class for a hot minute.”

  “I feel ya. You got Boring Man?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Had him last year.” Luis glanced down the empty hall, then back at Jericho. “You handlin’ this—you know, the stuff about Josh?”

  “Just barely. But I ain’t got no choice but to keep on steppin’.”

  “It sucks, don’t it?”

  “Even the halls feel different with Josh not in ’em. Every morning me and Josh and Kofi would sit right here in the main hall, just waiting for Arielle, Dana, and November to walk by.”

  “I hear you, man—the Delicious Divas,” said Luis. He slapped palms with Jericho. “And they knew it too. The three of them walked in together every morning, soaking it up like sunshine.”

  “Like fine wine, my man!” Jericho looked at his watch and wondered how much longer he could stall before going back to class.

  “Miss Arielle had you runnin’ around like one of those hamsters in a wheel!” Luis reminded Jericho with a laugh.

  “What can I say—I was dumb,” Jericho admitted. “Not that it matters now that she’s hooked up with Logan.”

  “Well, since it looks like you’re gonna have some time on your hands this summer, why don’t you come on out for football? Conditioning starts in a couple of weeks.”

  Jericho looked thoughtful. “I heard you got the quarterback spot for next season, man. That’s tight.”

  “I’ve been working for that position since ninth grade. It’s good to be a senior,” Luis told him with a grin. “We could use you, Jericho.”

  “I don’t know if I can be goin’ back to football as a senior.”

  “It’s not like you never played before. I remember back in middle school—you were one tough little hard-nosed lineman. And didn’t you play on the freshman team for part of the year?”

  “Yeah, but I quit so I could concentrate on my trumpet. Music is smooth and easy. Football meant sweat. You feel me?”

  “You could get back in shape pretty easily,” said Luis earnestly.

  “Maybe. It’s been a while,” Jericho said doubtfully.

  “As big as you are, all you have to do is stand there and block!” Luis laughed, slapping Jericho on the back. “Seriously, man, you ought to come out for the team. We’ve got a pretty good backfield—Roscoe is a good little scatback, but we need some beef on the line.”

  “Truth? I’ve actually been thinkin’ about it. ’Specially since I’m not doing marching band this year.”

  “Just let Coach Barnes know. He’ll do backflips.”

  “Now that’s something I don’t want to see!” Jericho grinned, then wondered how long he’d been in the hall. He’d better be getting back to class.

  But then Luis asked, “Hey, have you talked to Josh’s parents recently?”

  Jericho paused. “I guess it’s been a couple of weeks. His mother, my aunt Marlene, is seriously depressed—won’t get out of bed at all some days—and my uncle Brock has taken up karate, spends hours at it. Kinda off the deep end, if you know what I mean.”

  “I guess you gotta do something to fill up that hole in your life,” Luis said. “When my grandfather died, my father knocked out walls and built a new room on our house. From scratch. He hardly ever slept. When the room was done, it seemed like he got closer to normal. At least whatever passes for normal for a man who thinks nylon shirts and bell-bottom jeans are still in style.”

  Jericho grew pensive. “It’s kinda weird to talk to Josh’s folks. I don’t know what to say, anyway. I know they blame me for what happened.”

  “No, they don’t. Parents always blame themselves. When I was ten, I totaled my bicycle and almost busted my stupid head, doing wheelies on a ramp I made out of garbage cans and a refrigerator box. Instead of yelling at me for being dumb, my parents blamed themselves for not watching me better. Trust me—Josh’s folks think that somehow it’s their fault.”

  “You might be right,” Jericho said, but without conviction.

  “Yo, the bell is about to ring. You better get back to class before Boring Man sends out the troops for you! I’ll catch you on the field, man.” Luis disappeared down the hall and Jericho reluctantly returned to class.

  CHAPTER 12

  FRIDAY, MAY 7

  JERICHO WALKED INTO HIS HOUSE, FEELING glum. His stepmother, Geneva, was busy with dinner, stirring the potatoes and adding sauce to the green beans. She smiled at him. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.

  Jericho shrugged. “Same as usual, I guess. Dinner smells good.”

  “Roast beef,” she said as she opened the refrigerator door. Then she added, “Brock called today.”

  “From the karate dojo again?”

  “I know he’s gone a little overboard with that karate stuff. I guess everyone has their own way of dealing with tragedy. I don’t know how I would cope if something ever happened to you or Rory or Todd,” she told Jericho. She took out two onions and began to chop them furiously.

  Jericho was surprised and pleased that she’d mentioned him with her two sons, but he only said, “Yeah. Deep. What did Uncle Brock say?”

  “He wanted to talk to your dad. It seems your aunt is not doing well. She needs something to get her back into the world. She’s dug herself into a hole and she either won’t or can’t get out.”

  “I wish I could help her,” Jericho replied hopelessly.

  “We all do. She’s seeing a doctor, and I think he’s put her on some kind of medication, but nothing seems to make a difference. She’s not functioning well without her boy.”

  “Neither am I,” Jericho said quietly.

  “I know, Jericho. Really, I do.”

  “Thanks, Geneva,” Jericho said earnestly. He opened the refrigerator and got out a gallon of milk.

  “Mr. Tambori called also. He’s concerned about you—not just about your music, but about your spirit, I think,” Geneva added.

  “Tambori is cool, and he thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t. I’m through with the trumpet. Forever.”

  “That’s a very long time,” Geneva told him gently.

  “That’s how long Josh will be gone.”

  Geneva didn’t reply all at once. Finally she sighed and told Jericho, “Call the boys down and tell them dinner is ready. Your father called and said he’d be late. They’re short a couple of cops down at the precinct and he took an extra shift.”

  After dinner, Jericho trudged upstairs to do his homework—a couple of hours of math, he knew for sure. Ordinarily he would have begun the evening with his trumpet, letting the music carry him away from the stresses of the day. Then he’d call Arielle and let her soothe him in ways the trumpet never could.

  But Arielle spent her time these days soothing Logan, and the trumpet lay under Jericho’s bed collecting dust. The back door slammed downstairs. He flopped down on his bed and balled up his pillow under his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of dark window ledges, boy-birds in flight, and muddy, bloody l
andings.

  CHAPTER 13

  FRIDAY, MAY 7

  GENEVA KNOCKED ON JERICHO’S DOOR A few minutes later, startling him. He was surprised to realize that he’d dozed off, and as he turned over on his pillow he mumbled, “I’m sleepy, Geneva. Can it wait?”

  “November is here. She says you’ve got her class notes for the chemistry project.”

  Jericho sat up immediately. He knew there was no such project. “Yeah, that’s right, I do. Tell her to come on up.” He looked around his room, which was a disaster, and moved some dirty clothes off his desk chair so she could at least sit down.

  “What’s up, Jericho?” November said as she walked in. She wore a Douglass sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants to match.

  “Nothin’ happenin’. What’s up with you? I know I’m dim sometimes, but I would have remembered a chemistry project.” He waited. He hadn’t seen November much, except at school. They used to hang together every weekend, but since Josh had been gone, and Arielle had dumped him, there seemed to be less and less to talk about.

  November glanced at the mess on Jericho’s desk—several empty CD cases, soda cans, lots of wrinkled food wrappers, scribbled-on school notebooks, a few books, and several copies of Sports Illustrated, including the swimsuit issue. “You need one of those extreme makeover shows to come in here with a bulldozer,” she declared.

  “I tried. They turned me down,” he told her, and they both laughed.

  November was quiet for a moment, then moved aside two empty boxes of cornflakes, revealing a framed photo of Josh that was sitting on Jericho’s desk. It had been taken at last year’s school picnic, at the end of the junior-senior footrace. Josh’s face glowed with sweat, and his feet barely touched the ground as he lunged for the finish line. Arms upraised and waving, wide grin signaling victory, the photo captured him so completely that it seemed he might burst out of the frame. She picked it up, almost expecting it to feel warm. “He looks so…alive in this picture,” she said softly.