A Heart Divided (11 page)

Crystal groaned. “Oh no. It’s Boozer and the Skank.”

“Heading this way,” Tisha added.

Now I recognized them from the under-the-bleachers, nicotine-for-lunch bunch. They were indeed heading right for us. “Who are they?”

“Jared Boose and his girlfriend, Sandy Kincaid,” Tisha said.

“Better known as the Skank,” Crystal added. “Low on the food chain. She actually tried to join Crimson Maidens her freshman year. It was so pathetic.”

Sandy Kincaid didn’t look like someone I’d have any particular desire to know either. But something about Crystal’s comment rubbed against the grain. “I thought Crimson Maidens was open to anyone,” I said, all innocence, curious to see how she’d respond.

“Oh, sorry, Kate, but you needed to sign up the first week of school,” Crystal replied. “I don’t think you’d enjoy it all that much anyway. It’s just a bunch of girls who—”

“Hey, ’sup, Slick?” Jared asked, offering Jack the latest variation of a fist bump. Jack was too polite not to do it with him. Crystal didn’t get to finish her sentence, and I didn’t get a chance to explain that I knew all I needed to know about Crimson Maidens. Like I would ever want to be a part of
that
little club.

“What the hell was Luke and them gorillas doing in here?” Jared went on. “Taco Bell ain’t good enough all of a sudden?”

“I guess they didn’t want tacos,” Jack said, his voice even.

Jared smirked. “Yeah, they wanted ′em some
white
meat.”

“So
not funny,” Tisha snapped.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, girl. Hey, was Nikki and them out front when y’all got here? They’re still harassin’ people to sign their damn petition.”

Jared’s unvarnished racism and the oh-so-superior attitude of Jack’s friends was making me insane. “You mean this petition?” I plucked a copy out of my purse. The temperature dropped enough to flash-freeze the burgers, but I plunged on. “Anyone care to sign?”

Jared jeered at Jack. “You better get your lady in line, Slick.”

Through clenched teeth, Jack told Jared to stop calling him Slick. And to mind his own business. And to get his own table. Now. Jared looked like he wanted to lob a comeback but didn’t have the nerve. So he and Sandy slunk off.

“Thank you, Lord,” Tisha said.

“Kate?” Chaz pointed to my petition, which was still on our table, one corner now soaked in iced tea. “Could you put that thing back where it came from?”

“What do you have against a vote?” I asked. “This is America, that’s how we decide things.”

Chaz shook his head. “Having a vote would just be just the tip of the iceberg. What comes next? See, what these people really want is to take away our heritage. You’re not from here, there’s no way you can understand.”

I plucked the petition from the wet spot. “I’m trying to understand
.
To me, that flag just stands for racism.”

“Lord, I’m sick of hearing that,” Crystal declared. “I love that flag, and I don’t have a racist bone in my body.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Chaz agreed. He clapped Jack on the back. “Tell her how it be, Redford.”

“I think Kate has a point,” Jack said.

Chaz chuckled. “What, I’m a racist now?”

“I’m just saying that if some students are offended, why not let everyone vote on it?” Jack asked.

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Terry said, backing Jack up.

“Well, Terry, I’m sure some students are offended by the American flag,” Crystal drawled sarcastically. “Maybe we’d better take a vote on that, too.”

Chaz elbowed Jack playfully. “Just remember, guy: The Pride of Southern manhood rests on your last-o’-the-Redford-line shoulders.”

“How about if my mom adopts you, so the pride can rest on
your
shoulders?” Jack snapped.

“Get out of town, Redford,” Chaz guffawed. “Next thing you’re gonna say you’ve signed that thing.”

“No,” he said. “I haven’t.”

“Yet.” It popped out of my mouth before I could stop myself. Some crazed part of me needed to make my stand, here and now. I looked over at Jack. “McSorley’s deadline is Monday. Last I heard, we’re still about twenty signatures short.”

Chaz’s eyebrows headed for his hairline. “You seriously think my boy would sign for you?”

“No,” I said. “I think he’ll sign because it’s the right thing to do.”

“And
I
think you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Chaz said, glowering.

“Let’s just drop it,” Jack suggested.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Not with his best friend sneering at me like that. “Maybe you didn’t get the memo, Chaz,” I told him. “The war is over. Your side lost. Deal with it.”

His cold eyes held mine. “Jackson Redford ain’t turning on his own. I don’t care how hot your little tail is.”

Jack yanked Chaz to his feet. “Don’t you ever talk to her like that.”

“Why, the truth hurt?” Chaz taunted.

Terry banged his hands on the table so hard the cutlery jumped. “Dammit, will y’all just chill? You’re both acting like jackasses.”

Jack let go of Chaz. Then he grabbed the petition and scrawled his name. At the same moment, Nikki swung through the front door.

“Hey, Nikki!” I heard Jared shout at her. “Bring your petition over here, girl. I’ll sign. With this!” He made an obscene gesture toward his crotch, and Nikki pivoted away from him toward the ladies’ room. But she had to duck around Big Jimmy, who was coming on the run from the kitchen, smacking the flat end of a meat cleaver against his uninjured hand.

“Dammit, Jared Boose! That kinda talk ain’t welcome in my establishment!”

“Aw, I’m just funnin’, Big Jimmy,” Jared said. Then he caught Chaz’s eye and flashed him a cocky thumbs-up.

Disgusted, Jack pushed back from the table. “Let’s get out of here,” he told me.

“Come on, Jack,” Chaz protested. “I’m nothing like that low-life cretin Boose. You know that.” He offered Jack his hand—a clear peace offering.

Jack hesitated, then shook with Chaz. “Yeah, man. I know.”

“We’re cool?” Chaz asked him.

“Yeah.”

Chaz grinned and smacked his left hand on top of their handshake. “You can’t cut me loose that easy, Redford. And I always got your back, man. Always.”

but except for Terry and Tisha, they continued to be cold to me. The fact that I’d helped Nikki get enough signatures for a vote on the flag—and that Jack’s was one of those signatures—certainly didn’t bring us any closer. Somehow, they forgave him and blamed me.

The night Nikki turned in our signatures there was a big celebration at her church. My whole family came, but Jack didn’t. I told myself it was okay. After all, he’d signed the petition in front of his friends. He mentored kids of all different colors who needed help. He was totally supportive of
Black and White and Redford All Over;
he’d even said
he’d make some calls and try to get me an interview with the Klan guy. So what more could I possibly want from him?

A voice inside my head answered: You want him to stand with you. Not just in front of his friends, but in front of everyone. You want him to choose.

The next day, McSorley announced that the signatures were certified. After that, we waited all week for him to say when the vote on the new team name and emblem would take place. Friday morning, a memo was posted outside his office. The vote would be in four weeks, right after midterms. Some of Nikki’s friends claimed that McSorley was buying time until he could think of a way to get out of the vote. And some of Jack’s friends hoped that was exactly what would happen.

Jack and I came to an understanding. He’d hang out with his friends when I was with Nikki or when I was doing interviews for my alleged play (alleged in that I
still
hadn’t actually written anything) or transcribing my notes. Then he’d come over and listen to the tapes with me. My family was always happy to see him. Jack was a parent’s dream: polite, smart, handsome, rich, same name as the town. That kind of thing.

School was more complicated. Jack’s friends were omnipresent, and so was the tension. Also, Miss Bright was furious with both of us. Jack hadn’t auditioned for
Living in Sunshine.
Instead, we’d told her—even though she claimed she’d written the lead role especially with him in
mind—that we both just wanted to be on the set construction crew. Somehow, that was my fault, too.

In a late-night phone call, Lillith tried to put the whole thing in perspective. “Okay, it’s not like they’re Nazis,” she said. “Nazis are scary. These people are just pathetic, stuck in some weird Civil War time warp. You can’t blame Jack. He’s just like this guy I know who has six toes. I mean, he was born that way.”

Typical Lillith logic. I really missed her. I told her how Jack had invited me for dinner the next night because he wanted me to meet his mother, and how his mother, Sally Redford, was to Redford what the queen of England was to… well, you get the picture. And one other thing. Jack’s house didn’t have a street address, because it didn’t need one. Everyone just knew it as Redford House.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser: Stretchy shirt that ended an inch above the top of low-cut jeans. Leather jacket. Primped and painted just enough to make it look as if I hadn’t, I hoped. I was nervous. I told myself it was only dinner at my boyfriend’s house, no big deal, but the Hell’s Angels popping wheelies in my stomach weren’t listening.

Portia sat on the window seat under the eaves, living vicariously through my preparations. “Why would you wear that to dinner?”

“Because my studded dog collar is in the laundry.” I rummaged for earrings in my jewelry box.

“I told you, Kate. Cool girls here don’t wear jeans and belly shirts. And they definitely don’t wear them to dinner at Redford House.” She came to stand by me, twisting to check out the rear view of her new boot-cut black pants. “Does my butt look big in these?”

“No.”

She sprayed herself with my perfume and sniffed the air. “Dee-lish. Can I wear some next Friday night?”

I reached for my hairbrush. “What’s next Friday night?”

“The home game against Franklin West, silly. I’m going with Cassidy” Cassidy was her new thank-God-she-had-one best friend. “Hey, guess what? This boy likes me. His name is Barney. I know he has a dumb name, but he’s nice. He read
Childhood’s End
even before I did. He and this other guy Alan are going to the game, too. What should I wear so I don’t look fat?”

We saw our mother in the mirror at the same time she appeared in the doorway. “You aren’t fat, Portia.”

Portia folded her arms. “You weren’t supposed to hear.”

“I gathered.” My mom took in my outfit and frowned. “You’re wearing
that
to Redford House?”

“Thank you!” Portia sang out.

I groaned. “Will everyone please give it a rest? It’s
just a place where people live.”

“So is Buckingham Palace,” Portia remarked.

“Portia, there’s no need to make your sister nervous,” my mom said. “She’s perfectly capable of handling herself in any situation.” She turned to me. “Oh, by the way, Kate. Your father picked up some flowers for you to take with you.”

“He did? Since when does Dad remember flowers?”

My mother laughed. “Since his daughter got invited to dinner at Redford House.”