Kiki and Jacques (7 page)

Lucy slammed down the soda and marched over to where Kiki and Monique were playing with Baby Amir. She glared at Jacques before settling on the floor next to them.

Gulping hard, Jacques looked the other way. Grandmère Jeannette and Mrs. Labelle were sitting with three or four Somali ladies, sharing recipes and admiring their colorful dresses. Father Lazar stood nearby, talking with Mr. Silverstein. Jacques noticed that Mr. Silverstein's eyes kept darting to where the women were seated.

Suddenly, Grandmère Jeannette did something really weird. She pulled off her glasses. She can't see a thing without them, Jacques thought. What in the world was going on?

And where was Sammy?

Music started.
Thump-bump, thump, thump-bump
. The beat shook the wooden floor of the social hall. At first it sounded like hip-hop, but Jacques soon realized that the sound was African. The singing was strange and hypnotic.

The music got louder. A few of the Somali boys went to the middle of the room and began to dance. The Somali women stood, swinging their arms and clapping to the rhythm; the other ladies started clapping too. Even Sister Bernadette gently tapped on her knees.

Mohamed came forward and joined the boys in the center of the room. He was even more athletic dancing than he was on the soccer field, twisting and jumping to the beat.

Jacques's eyes bulged. One of the Somali boys was pulling Father Lazar onto the dance floor. The priest shook his head, shrugged, and then with his left hand awkwardly resting on his hip, he began swaying back
and forth, bowing out after a couple of minutes with a good-natured sigh.

Finally, Jacques noticed Sammy with Mr. Silverstein and three or four men that he didn't recognize. The men linked arms and began to dance in a circle next to the Somalis. It looked like they were doing the Jewish dance that Jacques had seen at Sammy's cousin's bar mitzvah.

Sammy motioned for Jacques to join them. But before he could decide, the church door opened and Jacques's stomach tightened.

Dad stepped in.

It was plain that Dad had been to the Bienvenue Bar or somewhere like it. His shirt was dirty and unbuttoned, the collar stained with sweat. Dad shifted his feet, holding the doorway for support.

“Where's my boy?” Dad bellowed. “I've come to get my kid, the one who thinks his old man can't hold a job anymore!” Dad staggered forward. He smelled like beer and cigarettes. Grandmère Jeannette jumped up from her chair. “Sweet Mary!” was on her lips. Jacques saw Kiki turn, and one of the Somali women gasped.

Father Lazar and Grandmère Jeannette headed toward Dad, but Jacques got there first. He motioned for his grandmother to stay put, while he grabbed his father's arm. Grandmère Jeannette hung her head, and a sad look appeared in Father Lazar's eyes.

“Come on, I'll help you.” Jacques held his breath from the stench as he draped his father's arm over his own shoulder.

After Mom died and they moved in with Grandmère Jeannette, Dad had started staying out late in the evenings. More than a few times, the owner of the Bienvenue, or some other bar, would call around midnight. Jacques and Grandmère Jeannette would have to go fetch Dad and get him up the stairs and into bed.

Jacques tried not to look at any of the faces in the social hall as he turned and led Dad down the steps of the church. The night air pressed cold against his face, but he didn't feel anything besides numb, not even embarrassed. Truth was, he'd gotten used to it. The only thing he hated was the look of pity in people's eyes whenever he had to bring his father home.

After the party at St. Francis, things seemed a little different at school. The Somali boy who had played on Jacques's basketball team stopped him in the hallway. He was wearing a Manchester United soccer jersey.

“You are not so bad on the court.” The boy had a pointed chin and crooked bottom teeth.

“Thanks,” Jacques mumbled. “Sweet shirt, dude.”

The boy looked down at his chest. “It comes from my older cousin in England. He sends me his clothes that don't fit. Our family, we are all over the place.”

“What's your name?” Jacques asked.

“Yasin.”

“I'm Jacques. . . .”

“I know.” Yasin grinned and added, “We are in the same math class together.”

“Oh yeah,” Jacques said, “with crazy Mrs. Woodhouse.”

“Yes, she is scary like
Dhegdheer
.” Yasin caught the quizzical look on Jacques's face. “The witch with long
ears—all Somali children fear her most!” He laughed easily. “I catch you later, maybe in gym.”

“Sure.” Jacques wondered if Yasin lived nearby.

As soon as Jacques got to homeroom, he could see that things weren't going to go easy with Lucy. She wasn't talking to him, that much was clear. He tried to say hi, but she twisted around in her seat and began chatting loudly with the girl sitting behind her.

When Kiki sneezed, Lucy walked over and gave her a tissue. Jacques's desk was right next to Kiki's, but Lucy managed to hand out tissues while ignoring him completely.

Sammy caught up with Jacques between classes. “Hey, did you see Boucher carrying Nicole's books?”

“I guess the Sadie Hawkins dance was a big success.” Jacques smirked.

“For Nicole, anyway.” Sammy grinned back. “So, what happened with Lucy? Did you tell her that you like Kiki?”

“I don't like Kiki!” Jacques replied quickly. “Or Lucy. They're both friends, that's all.”

“Oh right.” Sammy laughed.

Mohamed strode by. Nothing new there. Mohamed didn't even grunt; his eyes wandered along the ceiling as if he didn't see them.

Boucher passed behind Mohamed's back. “Good luck with practice today, Gagnon!”

“I've got it covered,” Jacques replied. But the trouble was, he didn't have it covered at all.

There was no skipping soccer practice. It was his
first day on the field as co-captain with Mohamed. What exactly did Coach Morrin expect? What did the other guys think?

School let out and Jacques stepped into a blast of hot air. Grandmère Jeannette had mentioned something about an early Indian summer, but this was more like steam rising from the sauna at the Y. Was it hot like this all the time in Africa?

When he got to practice, Jacques stretched every limb twice and downed a quart of Gatorade to combat the heat. He felt the team watching him, waiting. Jacques took a deep breath and ran onto the field, but immediately whiffed the ball and missed an easy shot.

“Jackie Jellyfish can't kick straight!” Boucher cupped his hands around his mouth and sang the words.

Jacques kept on trying, but nothing, absolutely nothing, went in.

“Good thing we got until Sunday before our first game,” Coach mumbled loudly. He pulled several pieces of gum from his pocket and stuck the wad in his cheek.

Mohamed said little, but there was no need. He dipped and swerved with an easy grace that made Jacques think of him dancing at the church hall. Mohamed made four goals, each one confounding O'Shea, who was a decent goalie.

Even Boucher seemed impressed. “At least we're a lock for the championships.” He laughed with a ragged edge in his voice.

After practice, Coach Morrin found Jacques standing in the shade, wiping his dripping forehead.

“You need to take a few more risks out there, buddy.”

Jacques cast his eyes on the ground. “I get it.”

Coach Morrin sighed and patted him on the shoulder, but that didn't make Jacques feel better at all.

Jacques pushed a bowl of cereal back and forth along the dining room table, his stomach slowly churning. He finally shoved the bowl away and walked into the kitchen where Grandmère Jeannette was washing dishes.

“There's something I gotta tell you.”

“Okay, shoot.” Grandmère Jeannette kept scrubbing.

“The thing is, the first soccer game is Saturday, and I'm co-captain and everything, so I can't come help you at the shop.” Jacques cleared his throat and added, “Sorry.”

Grandmère Jeannette glanced up, frowning. “That's our busiest day! But I know the first game is a big deal. I suppose I can manage.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “How's it going, anyway, with the Somali boy? Mohamed, isn't it?”

“I can't talk; I'm late for school.” Jacques's stomach felt sick and better at the same time. He grabbed his backpack to leave.

“One more thing,” Grandmère Jeannette called after him. Her voice sounded strangely high. “I might be going out to the speedway on Saturday evening, so you and your father will have to cook for yourselves.”

“Oh . . . okay.” That was odd. Usually Grandmère Jeannette invited him to go along to the speedway, and usually he said no; he'd rather watch TV or hang out with Sammy. And to be honest, he didn't really want to be seen at the race track anymore with his grandmother. But this time she hadn't even asked.

Jacques hurried home that afternoon after practice. Grandmère Jeannette wouldn't be back from the shop for another half hour, and ever since the church party, Dad had been coming home late nearly every night.

As soon as Jacques reached the apartment, he checked that all the rooms were empty. Then he grabbed the phone and dialed quickly, before he had the chance to chicken out.

A girl answered.

“Is Duane there?” Jacques croaked.

“Wait a minute,” the girl replied. “Duane! Du-ane . . . !”

Jacques's heart started beating like it might burst from his chest. “Keep away from my grandmother's shop. I won't do it!” he repeated silently.

The girl got back on the phone. “He's out somewhere.”

“Can you take a message?” Jacques asked.

“I guess so,” she replied.

“Tell him that Saturday is off. Definitely off! Tell him I won't be there.”

“Okay.” The girl hung up.

Jacques realized that he'd never even given her his name. Still, his heart was slowing to a dull thump. He felt better, sort of.

The front door squeaked open, and Jacques leapt away from the telephone.

“What's wrong?” Grandmère Jeannette walked in, carrying groceries.

“Aren't you kinda early?” Jacques exclaimed.

“Young people shouldn't be so jumpy.” She set the bags on the table. “It was slow toward the end of the day, so I closed up and stopped at the Save-and-Shop.”

Grandmère Jeannette placed two cartons of milk in the refrigerator. “By the way, I ran into your Coach Morrin while I was shopping. He says he don't really need you on Saturday.”

“What do you mean?” Jacques was suddenly short of breath.

“The game is on Sunday. You must of heard him wrong. You'll have to miss some of practice, but he says he can spare you.” Grandmère Jeannette folded the bags and stuck them under the counter. “You better come by the shop at one, and I'll have you lock up at five.”

“But Grandmère . . .” Jacques began.

“But nothing,” Grandmère Jeannette cut him off. “You've done it before; it's easy. I'd ask your father, but the truth is, the way he's been acting these days,” she lowered her eyes for a moment, “I trust you more—though don't you ever tell him that!” She blinked and nodded. “It's all settled.”

Jacques clenched his jaw. It didn't seem fair that he always had to worry about Dad. Still, Jacques didn't say a word. He knew it wasn't his grandmother's fault that after Mom died, his father had never been able to pick himself up and move on.

The rest of the week was a jumble. Mohamed dominated every practice, scoring effortless goals from impossible angles, while Jacques barely held his own. Jacques prayed he might come down with something catchy by the weekend, but on Saturday morning he woke up feeling perfectly well. He could always say he had a stomachache and get by with Dad, but he knew that he could never fool Grandmère Jeannette.

Jacques cut out of practice early and dragged his feet along the sidewalk on his way to the bridal shop. He paused at every cross road and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a skinny kid in a hooded jacket standing in front of the library. As soon as the kid turned, though, Jacques snorted with relief; it was just a weirdly tall girl from sixth grade.

When Jacques passed by the Army Navy Store, Mr. Silverstein waved to him through the display windows. Jacques waved back but wondered why Mr. Silverstein
was wearing a bow tie to spend the day selling cargo pants and hoodies.

By the time he reached the bridal shop, Jacques felt better. The sun was shining through lazy clouds. It was just an ordinary Saturday. Duane was all talk, and always had been. How a kid like that could ever get a girl like Monique to marry him was impossible to figure.

Jacques went to check that the alley-side door was locked, then settled into tidying the showroom and hanging up gowns. He only twitched a little when the front bell jingled.

Grandmère Jeannette smiled broadly as she stepped forward to greet Mrs. Labelle, who walked in with Lucy right behind her.

“
Bonjour
Jeannette,
comment ça va
?” Mrs. Labelle offered enthusiastic air kisses. “My niece is going to a wedding next month, and she needs a pretty dress. I told my sister you could find us a nice bargain.” Mrs. Labelle whispered the word
bargain
while Lucy rolled her eyes. “It's gonna be first class. They're having a band up from Boston.”

Jacques looked at Lucy, who immediately turned the other way and stamped one foot.

“C'est bon!”
Grandmère Jeannette exclaimed. “Of course we'll find somethin' real special.” She glanced sideways at Jacques as she took Lucy to the sales rack. “I have just the perfect dress for you,
chérie
.”

“I'm going to get a Coke,” Jacques blurted out. “My throat hurts wicked bad.”

Jacques fled through the door and onto Main Street.
Yvonne's House of Pizza was a block and a half away, next door to the library. Jacques hadn't had any lunch and couldn't remember whether he'd eaten breakfast. He plunked down at the cracked Formica counter in front of the restaurant window and ordered two slices. Across the street, a group of Somali kids were coming out of the library. When he spotted Kiki on the steps, Jacques jumped from the stool and hurried outside.