Culture Clash (6 page)

“Have a seat, Jayd,” she says, pointing to one of the two chairs by the door. She walks behind her crowded desk and sits across from me. The ASB students are out and about during fifth period, passing out flyers and making announcements in other classes, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions for our impromptu counseling session.

“Nice plant,” I say, noticing the orchids sitting on the corner bookshelf behind her desk. She looks like she’s been reorganizing her crowded space. There are boxes of books and papers where stacks of the same used to be. Spring cleaning is a necessary chore for everyone, and I guess a person’s workspace is no exception.

“Thank you. It was a gift from Laura and Reid,” she says, smiling at the gift. “They wanted to show their appreciation for my help with
Macbeth
, even though Laura wasn’t able to perform.” I wish I had known that before. I would’ve reserved my compliment for something else not presented to her by the king and queen of evil. “Which brings me to why I want to talk to you. I won’t keep you long. I know you’re anxious to get to class.”

The tardy bell for fifth period rings loudly in the quaint space. After the sound passes I remain quiet, waiting for the question I’ve been dreading.

“What really happened that night, Jayd? And don’t tell me you had nothing to do with it, because I don’t believe that for a second.” I look into Ms. Toni’s bright eyes and notice two flecks outside of the brown pupils, similar to the ones present in my own. I can’t lie to her, but I also can’t tell her the truth. What do I do?

“You tell her what she needs to know, nothing more,”
my mom says, answering my thought with one of her own.
“I know you think she’s one of us because she looks familiar, Jayd, and she may be. But all of us aren’t always understanding, so be careful what you choose to reveal.”

“I know you’re right, Mom. Thank you,”
I think back. Ms. Toni looks at me inquisitively, like Jeremy does when my mom drops in on my mind. I’d better say something so I can get out of here. Not that I’m in any rush to get to drama class, especially after what happened Monday. But I do want to get off of the witness stand.

“Ms. Toni, I can’t explain what happened that night. All I know is that one minute Laura was harassing me and the next she couldn’t speak.” I readjust myself in the wooden chair and continue with my fiction. “I was just minding my own business, getting ready for the show.”

“Minding your own business, huh?” Ms. Toni asks, unconvinced. She taps her long red fingernails on her desk, patiently awaiting the truth. But I can tell that her patience with me has just about run out.

“Yes. I was sitting at the vanity, doing my hair, when Laura started talking trash to me. I swear I didn’t start the argument; she did. I know better than to strain my voice before curtain call.” Ms. Toni smiles at me, but it’s not a friendly one. What does she know that I’m not privy to? I feel like I’m being set up.

“Jayd, I’ve known you for over a year now, and if I know one thing about you, it’s that you can’t keep quiet when you feel threatened or slighted in the least bit. What Misty and Laura did to you is reprehensible, but what you did was worse,” she says, now tapping her desk with a pencil. “Do you want to know why?”

I’m not sure if Ms. Toni’s question is rhetorical or if I should answer, so I’ll just be quiet for now. It sounds like she’s on my side, but not really.

“It’s because I know you know better than to fight fire with fire. You’re not petty, Jayd, and I expect more from you.” My eyes begin to well up with tears. Ms. Toni’s the only teacher at this godforsaken school who can make me cry. Hell, she’s the only one who I’ll let see me shed a tear.

“I was just defending my part,” I say, without completely confessing my role in the twisted tale. If I tell her about how my dream of Laura snatching the crown off my head basically came true, she still wouldn’t excuse my behavior. “With Misty’s help, Laura stole my crown and I had to get it back.”

“Not like that, you didn’t.” Ms. Toni puts down her pencil and rises from behind her desk. She’s a good six feet tall, but today she looks much taller than usual. Or maybe I just feel smaller in her presence.

Without saying a word, Ms. Toni walks over to the bookshelf and scans her collection of titles. Last year I borrowed some great books from her and read them faster than any of the texts I read in my classes. Her selection constantly changes, and I love that. After careful consideration, she pulls one of the books off the shelf and thumbs through the pages as I await my sentencing. I wish I could share the tricks of our trade with Ms. Toni. I also want to get in that permed head of hers, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“I want you to read this novel and let me know what you think of it,” she says, walking around her desk and passing me the tattered book.

“
Voodoo Dreams
,” I read aloud. I’ve heard of Jewell Parker Rhodes, but never read anything written by her. I have enough work to do with my AP exams coming up in a couple of months, not to mention the rest of the school and spirit work already on my shoulders. But from the way Ms. Toni crosses her thin arms across her chest, I don’t think she cares about my personal dilemma right now. What she has made clear is that she knows Laura lost her voice opening night of the play because of something I did, whether she has proof, a confession, an eyewitness or not. And I can’t continue telling Ms. Toni that her instincts are wrong when she obviously knows better.

“It’s about a young girl reclaiming her African roots and the power that comes with that pride,” she says, eyeing me carefully for a response, of which I give none. “It also shows what happens when you allow other people to dominate your psyche to the point where you get down to their level.” Ms. Toni’s dark brown eyes pierce mine. I can feel exactly what she’s not saying, which is that I let Misty take my crown and went about getting it back in an underhanded way. I don’t agree with her, especially when it comes to dealing with Misty, but I’ll keep my opinion to myself.

“Sounds interesting. Thank you,” I say, unsure of where this leaves the two of us. I hate it when she’s mad at me. I feel like there’s a heavy weight on my shoulders when Ms. Toni and I are at odds. But I hate it even more when Mama’s on my case, which she would be if I ever confessed to a teacher that I used a potion on someone at school, no matter how cool I may think the teacher is. Mama would literally have my ass in a sling.

After a moment of silence, Ms. Toni takes a deep sigh and smiles at me as I read the introduction to my latest pleasure read. It’s about my lineage, but fiction. It’s not the first text I’ve ever read about my infamous great, great, great—and then some—grandmother, but this one looks hella juicy just from the opening lines. I can’t wait to really get into it this weekend.

“You have to be responsible with your talents, Jayd. I know it seems as though I don’t understand what you’re going through, and that’s why you turned to Mr. Adewale. But I know more than you think I do. I may not be a fine black man like Mr. A, as you call him, but give me some credit,” she says, lightening the serious mood. “I’ve been here for you since last year, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Now the tears are free-falling down my cheeks. I’ve missed my school mama.

“I know, Ms. Toni. I never meant to make you feel like I preferred talking to Mr. Adewale instead of you. It’s just that our histories so are similar.” Ms. Toni reaches over and pats my hand.

“I know. He filled me in on your commonalities,” Ms. Toni says, choosing her words very carefully. “And I must say, I was surprised to know that he knew more about your family lineage than you’ve ever shared with me. But if you expect me to continue being on your side, you’re going to have to let me in. We all have enemies in the administration and we have to stick together, capiche?” Ms. Toni says, sounding more like a mafia lord than a teacher. She stands up and opens her arms to let me in. I know we’re cool now.

“Capiche,” I respond, rising to accept her embrace. I’ve missed her hugs. I’ll try not to do anything to ever get on her bad side again. “I’d better get to class now.”

“Just remember what I said, Jayd. Your talents are nothing to be ashamed of, but be careful how you use them.” I take my book and leave her office, ready to deal with the racist jerks in drama. Now that I’ve decided not to participate in the auditions for
The Crucible
, I have nothing but free time on my hands in class. And this novel is just the distraction I need to keep from cussing anyone out.

I didn’t realize how tired I am until just now. I don’t know if it was all of the arguing I did today or the emotional reunion me and Ms. Toni just had, but whatever it is has got me yawning all the way down the hill. I still have one more class to go after drama and work to do once I leave campus. I can’t wait to get home, handle my business, and pass out for the night. We only have two more days of school before the weekend hits, and I’ll be so happy when Friday finally does come, I probably won’t know how to act.

A
s I walk into the empty space, I get the unfriendly feeling that I’m not alone. Dressed like a samurai warrior, I look around and scope the scene, waiting for my enemy to rear its ugly head. There are no windows or doors in the space and the walls are white, bare, and padded like in a mental institution. The bamboo floor crunches beneath my feet, making the only sound in the place as I walk around looking for an escape route. From the openness of the space and the way that I’m dressed, I think I’m in a dojo, and that’s unfortunate because the only martial art I know is crazy. And we don’t need a uniform for that kind of fighting in my hood.

Suddenly my opponents appear. The ceiling is open and it’s again my fault that I didn’t see my enemies coming: all I had to do was look up. One by one they fly in from outside and take shots at me. I should’ve paid more attention when my uncles and cousin watched Bruce Lee flicks on Sunday afternoons when I was younger. I have no idea what the hell to do. I duck from the first cloaked warrior, everything shrouded in black but its eyes. And then I realize that all I need to fight back is my sight: no karate shoes required.

“Call on your lineage, Jayd. Their eyes are yours,” I hear my mom say from the walls of the room. I know I’m tripping if the walls are talking to me. But I have no time to worry about that right now. I have to fight back before I’m destroyed.

When the next fighter appears from the sky I look her dead in the eyes and don’t back down. She tries to probe my thoughts, but I call on my lineage continually and rapidly, like I’m marathon praying, and my great-grandmother’s powers come to my eyes. The warrior holds her head as I use Maman’s powers to cause it to throb in pain with my look. When she can’t take anymore, the warrior disappears the same way she appeared and the next contestant comes down to play.

“I won’t be so easy to beat, little queen,” he whispers in a low, guttural voice whose very tone catches me off guard. His first look knocks me down on the mat and I involuntarily bow at his feet. What the hell was that shit?

“Humble yourself, little one,” he growls. Mama always taught me to salute my elders, but this fool ain’t one of them, no matter how loudly he roars at me or how old he may be. I’ll never bow to someone who’s trying to kick my ass.

“My name isn’t Leroy and you ain’t Sho Nuff,” I say, recalling a scene from one of my favorite movies,
The Last Dragon
. “I only bow to elders who earn my respect.” I jump up from the mat, possessed with a power I didn’t know I had. My buoyancy precedes my understanding, but I’m rolling with it. I leap from one wall to the other without letting go of my opponent’s gaze. This is some cool shit right here.

Although there are no mirrors, I can see the reflection of my glowing eyes bounce off the white walls like Mama’s do when she’s on her game. My opponent smiles at my youth and that’s his final mistake. Locking onto his gaze, I begin to see as he does, just like Mama can. Noticing the shift in power, his smile turns into a snarl and he begins to chase me around the dojo, matching me move for move. When he gets right behind me, I turn around and lock onto his gaze, my eyes now in full blaze. He sees his reflection through my vision and begins to break down under my sight.

With Mama’s vision coming to the forefront, I’m using my enemy’s power against him. I don’t know much about martial arts, but isn’t the first rule never to underestimate your opponent? I guess this fool missed that lesson.

“Bow to my lineage now, and I’ll spare you your powers,” I say, sounding more like one of my ancestors than myself. I look into his wet eyes and watch the tears fall down his covered face, moistening his mask. He struggles with the idea for a minute, but the longer he resists the more of his powers I strip away. I mentally continue to call my ancestors’ names and those of other powerful ancestors in our lineage, including Netta’s line. I don’t know why people continually test us, when everyone knows how bad our house is. When will they learn not to mess with the Williams women?

“Challenges fortify us, Jayd. And when we stand up and face them—scared or not—we get stronger.” My mom’s right, because right now I feel invincible, even if it’s only a dream.

“I pay homage to you, Queen Jayd, and to all of the queens before and after you,” the man says, almost whispering, he’s sobbing so hard. “Now get out of my head, please.” My adversary’s pleading softens my heart and my gaze. I didn’t want to break him down and make him look like a punk. I just wanted him to leave me the hell alone.

“Ashe,” I say, acknowledging the spiritual energy flowing through my veins. I soften my visual grip, but not before I catch my reflection staring back at me through his weakened eyes. I look like a straight-up warrior woman, reminiscent of the pictures I’ve seen of our ancestor, Queen Califia. My samurai attire is gone and I’m now wearing a cutoff skirt and sleeveless shirt, my tattoos and scars from battle and other initiations prominently displayed. My most striking feature—other than my glowing eyes—is my crown. Made of peacock feathers, it sits boldly on my head, similar to the ones that the Native American dancers wore at the school for last year’s culture fest. What the hell?

“Jayd, wake up, girl. You’re talking in your sleep again,” Mama says, shaking me awake. Ever since my sleepwalking incidents not too long ago, my grandmother has been more watchful of me while I sleep. I look around our dark room and come to, ready to talk about the experience I just had in my spiritual dreamworld. But Mama quickly returns to her bed to sleep. I guess I’ll have to wait until daylight to get this dream off my chest.

I’m so glad it’s Friday I don’t know what to do. This has been one of the most challenging weeks I’ve had at South Bay, and that’s saying a lot, considering all of the drama I go through around here on a regular basis. And today was no exception. I turned in all of my Friday assignments and tried to stay as quiet as possible in my classes for the entire day. It worked well, but I’m sure I lost a few participation points here and there, especially in English class.

Mrs. Malone didn’t take too kindly to me bowing out of our discussion on John Updike, which I was so passionate about in Monday’s class. But I said all I had to say for the week about rich bitches thinking they own the world, including Charlotte, the one I sit across from in second period. Mrs. Malone can read about the rest of my thoughts in my paper abstract, which was also due today.

Mrs. Malone did bring up a valid point, which I may argue with my pen instead of my mouth. Charlotte spoke again about the validity of dreaming and, as usual, she pointed to her daddy’s work for evidence that dreams are the imagination’s way of staying active while asleep. I damn sure wasn’t going to admit out loud to finding any truth in her argument, but she did have a good point. My imagination gets quite a workout when I dream.

Since I awoke from my dream this morning, my sight has been tripping. I’m used to having very vivid dreams, of course. But being able to again see as Mama and Maman see, scared me a little. Being able to conjure the powers in my lineage was something I thought had been reserved for my forced dream-walk through Misty’s mind on Valentine’s Day. With Mama’s help and my mom’s guidance I was able to walk through Misty’s dreams and undo all of her evil wishes. I unwove the twisted reality she created with the help of my ancestors and their collective vision powers, especially Maman’s. But I don’t think I’m supposed to be able to still use their powers, whether I’m dreaming about them or not. I’ll have to ask Mama about that when I get to Netta’s shop after school.

“Hey, Jayd. Got a minute?” Reid asks as I make my way up the steep hill to my sixth period gym class. Since dance was only offered for one semester, I was automatically enrolled in AP weight lifting, which is just fine with me. I like the solitude of working in the weight room. And I also like the tone I’m gaining in my arms and legs from the program I’m on.

“What is it, Reid? I don’t have time to argue with you about anything right now,” I pant. This hill is taking a lot out of me. I brought books for my English and government classes with me so I wouldn’t have to go back to my locker after school. But now I’m seeing that that may not have been the best idea, with the sun beating down on me like it is. It’s that time of year in Los Angeles, when it’s cold in the morning and hot in the afternoon.

“I don’t want to fight either. I just want to know what you’re really up to,” Reid says. I don’t like the sound of his voice. He sounds a bit creepy, like a serial killer stalking his prey. And I’m in no mood to run, nor can I with my heavy backpack weighing me down.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I look over my shoulder at Reid struggling to keep up with me. He’s not fat, but he does have a spare tire or two hanging around his waist. If he didn’t have money I doubt he’d have a girlfriend, especially one who thinks she’s as pretty as Laura knows she is.

“Yes, you do. I know all about your little club,” Reid says, this time even more disturbingly than before. “What do you think you’ll accomplish with an African Student Union? And who do you think you are, bringing that type of club—if you can even call it that—to South Bay High?”

I halt my trek to look Reid in the eyes while I cuss him out. Who does he think he is, questioning me?

“Reid, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just as much a student here as you are. And because I attend this school, I’m allotted the same rights as everyone else, including you. So yes, I thought it would be a great idea if the students of African descent could have a club to call our own and represent our culture while we’re at it. If you have a problem with that, tough.” I spin back around on my heel and continue my walk toward the gymnasium, with Reid hot on my tail. What’s gotten into him this afternoon?

“It will be tough for you and your new club. It won’t last, Jayd. Mark my words. You will be defeated.” And just like that, my eyes begin to glow like they did in my dream last night. The elder brother in the dream thought he could defeat me until I pulled on Maman’s vision to help me kick his ass. And this time, without even calling on it, I can feel Maman’s power resurface through my gaze. What the hell?

Noticing me stop, Reid walks around and looks at me, smiling like he’s the victor, but he’s in for a surprise. I look up, trying to gain control over my collective vision, but not before Reid looks directly into my eyes. And that’s his final bad.

“My head!” Reid screams, putting his hands to his temples, trying to massage the pain away, like all the other victims that have fallen under the power of Maman’s wrath. He looks a whole lot less bad when he’s squirming. “What are you doing to me?”

“What am I doing to you?” I ask, now toying with him like the pest that he is. Reid needs to be humbled and I’m just the girl to do it. The bell must’ve rung a few minutes ago, because not a soul is present to witness their mighty ASB president fall to his knees at my feet. “You came up to me talking shit, or don’t you remember? I was just trying to get to class.” Maman’s powers pulsate in my head. I can feel the blood pumping rapidly through my veins, the pulse matching the throbbing apparent in Reid’s temples. This is the freshest shit ever.

“Jayd, stop. Whatever you’re doing, please make it stop,” Reid says, now quietly pleading. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, but not that sorry. I still think he needs to learn a lesson in manners. But unfortunately I don’t have the time to play with him any longer. We’re given only ten minutes to dress out and then it’s roll call. If I’m late I’ll have to run a mile, and I’m not down for that, especially not in this heat.

“I don’t take threats lightly, Mr. President,” I say, almost whispering. “Remember that the next time you’re feeling especially bold,” I add, unlocking my visual hold on him. I have to get this power in check if I’m going to possess it on the regular.

Without making a sound, Reid makes his way up off the ground and looks at me like he’s just seen a ghost. I wish I could tell him how close to the truth that thought is, but that’d be taking it one step too far. He’s already felt the power of my lineage and that’s enough for now. Reid looks at me and I at him. It’s about time he recognized there are other powerful people on this campus besides him. And, much like the fighters in my dream, the sooner Reid recognizes the powerful blood flowing through my veins, the better off he’ll be.

When I finally made it to the weight room for sixth period, I worked out so hard I sweated out my press and curl, not that I mind much. Working out helps me calm down. That coupled with last night’s psychic workout has given me a confidence I never knew I had. And after mentally kicking Reid’s ass a couple of hours ago, I feel like I can conquer the world. I’ve been walking with this secret all day and I’m ready to let it out, but unfortunately today we have an audience at work.

I park my car in the crowded lot and make my way to the front door of Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Shop. The small salon is packed with clients, busy even for a Friday afternoon. Spring brings out the need to be beautiful in the sistahs and I’m looking forward to the tips. I ring the bell and look down at my buzzing phone, where Rah’s name appears on the caller ID. The ladies in the shop all look up and wave at me without missing a beat from their vibrant gossiping.

I push the ignore button on my phone as Netta makes her way from the wash area to her station where the security buzzer is located. From the stressed look on my face, I know Netta can tell it’s Rah I’m ignoring. It’s only been a week since Sandy made her presence permanent at Rah’s house, and I’m still feeling the impact of that atomic bomb.

“Hey, lil queen,” Netta says, buzzing me through the front door. “Get your apron, girl, and get those two heads out of the wash bowls for me as soon as you wash up. And then I need you to get to work on the clients’ boxes. We are way behind,” Netta says, smiling and smacking her Doublemint chewing gum. She moves toward the dryers where all three seats are occupied and checks her clients’ progress. The five women in the shop look at me as I cross the room to the wall where the closets are housed, momentarily suspending their chatter.