Taneesha Never Disparaging (3 page)

Plus, what had Buddhism done for me lately? Today, for example? If the catastrophe Carli had set in motion was going to be undone, it wasn't
Buddhism
that was going to undo it. It was me, Taneesha Bey-Ross.

Speaking of which, it was about time to work my plan. My parents had stopped talking. No telling how long that would last. I put down my fork, cleared my throat, and dived in.

CHAPTER 3

C
arli nominated me for class president.” “Good for you, Taneesha! I think you'll make a fine president,” said Mama, snapping out of her lock-eyed trance with Daddy all like Cinderella's Fairy Godmother had just said, “
Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!
” She had this big old grin on her face.

Was she out of her mind?

“But—”

“I think you'll make a good president, too, sweetie.”

“But—”

“In fact, I think you'll make a
great
president,”
Daddy continued. “Think of being class president as preparation for when you have the big job: Taneesha Bey-Ross, President of the United States.”

“Get real, Daddy.” Why had I even bothered to tell them about this? I knew why: I needed their help.

“No, I'm serious,” he said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “You're a natural leader, Taneesha.”

Who in the world was he talking about?

“There's only one problem:
I don't want to do it.
I wish Carli had asked me before she nominated me.”

“Well,” said Daddy, “did you tell her that?”

“No.” How could I? That would've hurt her feelings. She seemed so happy about gearing up for my campaign.

“She can't read your mind, you know,” Mama said, as if she was reading my mind. “Are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I don't want her to feel bad. I think she was trying to be nice.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Daddy. He slurped a spoonful of soup.

I felt a little sweaty. This was it. Time for me to spring my plan on them. Ready… Set… Go! “I was wondering if you could kind of, sort
of—write me a note
.”

They looked blank. Like they hadn't understood me.

“A note saying I can't be president.”

Still nothing.

“And what would our reason be,” Daddy said,
finally
, “in this note, for saying you can't be president?” On “president” he did this one-raisedeyebrow thingy he does a lot.

Did I know my parents, or what?

I had my comeback all ready:

“You could just say I have too much homework to do it. It's true, you know. I have lots of work. I wouldn't want my grades to slip because I'm trying to do too much. Being president is a big responsibility.”

I looked hard at those two's faces, trying to read their expressions. And it seemed to me as if they were both fixing to laugh. At me.

Mama smiled.

Is she really going to help me out? Do I actually have a note on the way?

Then a chunk of my blue sky fell down and bonked me right on the head.
Hard
.

“Taneesha, I think you need to chant,” she said.

Here we go! I hated having my problems, and I had plenty, boiled down to one word: “chant.” If chanting worked so much, how come it had bombed in school that day?

“Mama, I don't need to chant. I need
help
. Didn't you
hear
me? I just want a little note. I told you how hard school is and everything. But all you two can do is laugh at me and tell me to chant!”

I couldn't stand how my parents threw chanting into everything. Sometimes it drove me nuts. It was like they couldn't hear me or something. Like they were talking robots that only went “Chant, chant, chant” no matter what I was saying.

“We weren't laughing at—”

“Oh come on, Daddy! Yes you were. You two always act like I'm a joke or something. Just once I wish you'd
listen
to me.”

They looked at me like I was speaking gibberish.

“Okay,” Daddy said after a moment. “We're listening.”

I breathed in deep. “Like I said, I just want a note explaining everything. It doesn't have to be long. I just want you to tell Mr. Alvarez that this isn't a good time for me to try to run for anything.”

I looked from Mama to Daddy, holding my breath, hoping to hear the one word that would make my life a little less crazy: “Okay.”

But, looking at their faces, I started feeling like the band-leader on a sinking ship—frantically waving my baton while I was going down fast.

“You don't even have to write it,” I blurted. “I'll write it and sign it!” I hadn't meant to squeak. It just came out that way.

“Honey,” Mama said as if she was talking to a baby or something, “You're a big girl. Eleven years old. You can speak for yourself. Just tell Mr. Alvarez how you feel.”

“But—”

“You just need confidence, Taneesha,” Daddy said, all tender. “The way to get it is to keep chanting and doing your best.”

They just didn't get it. I was drowning.
Drowning
, dagnamit.

“But—”

And all Daddy could say was: “Remember,
Nichiren said, ‘A coward cannot have any of her prayers answered.'”

Whatever
that
meant.

“But—”

“When you forget who you are, Taneesha, you've got to chant harder,” said Mama. “I think that's the problem. Your evil twin's just working on you.”

Now she had to go talking about
that
.

“It's like I always say, everybody's got an evil twin yanking their chain. Your evil twin's job's to make you feel small—like you're not big as the universe. And she never takes a vacation. Your job's to remember you're all that and then some.”

I dropped my shoulders. Didn't she
see
? The problem was, I didn't feel like “all that.” Right then, I felt like one big nothing and her and Daddy acting like whatever I said didn't matter just made me feel nothinger.

But I knew I'd be wasting my time if I told them any of that. I knew they wouldn't have heard a word I said. They'd only go, “Chant. Chant. Chant.”

“Let's chant after dinner, okay?” Mama said.

It would have been funny—only it wasn't.

Tears came.

“That's okay, Mama. I got a lot of homework.” I pushed my chair away from the table. “I'm done eating.” I stood and picked up my dishes.

Seconds later, I stood at the sink and rinsed silverware, plates, and bowls in the sink.

Watching white salad dressing and tomato-red broth swirl down the drain, I felt Mama and Daddy staring at me.

I stacked everything into the dishwasher.

I didn't need to see their faces to know they were sticking to their decision—even though I was
dying
.

I dragged my feet into the hallway.

How could they have possibly thought that tacking Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, or some dusty old quote from Nichiren—the ancient Japanese guy that made chanting famous—over my jumbled-up feelings would do any good? That's what I wanted to know. They'd have had better luck slapping a Band-Aid over the crack in the Grand Canyon.

“Taneesha,” Mama said. “We love you.”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered.

“What did you say?” Daddy asked in a warning
voice.

“I'm going to do my homework.”

I kept dragging.

I heard Mama say something about not needing all this stress right now.

She
didn't need stress? What about
me
?
I
was the one who was doomed—doomed to go back to Hunter Elementary tomorrow totally noteless.

CHAPTER 4

F
ifth graders,” said Mr. Alvarez, “in the North Cleveland City School District all students have the option of participating in Take Your Child To Work Day. Your parents must sign the note I gave you so I'll know if you'll be in school next Friday or not.”

It was Monday morning and a full week had crawled by since Carli had nominated me for president. As usual, my life wasn't satisfied with just being bad, it had to get all horrendous on me. Plus, the report I'd gotten from Weather.com the night before had been wrong. It wasn't “partially cloudy” it was just plain old cloudy—
again
.

“Please raise your hand if you've already talked to your parents about visiting their places of employment next week.”

A few hands went up, including Carli's. I'd always loved the navy blue jumper with silver heart-shaped buttons she was wearing—dresscode with class. But I didn't love it enough to forget that she was pretty much responsible for ruining any chance I might have had of having a happy fifth-grade experience.

While Carli looked all cute, raising her hand in her classy jumper, a girl in boring black jeans and a white blouse, sweater, and pair of sneakers, hid her very
un
-raised left hand in her lap.

I rolled my head upward blasé-style. My eyes followed the every-which-way patterns of the twenty geometry mobiles hanging from the ceiling—one from each student in the class. Each mobile was a mix of colorful shapes. Raspberry octagons. Orange hexagons. Aquamarine pentagons. Some shapes were made by gluing strips together. Others by cutting—the same as how you cut snowflakes and rows of dolls out of paper. No two designs were exactly alike. My mobile was mostly different shades of purple, my
favorite color. I followed it with my eyes while it swayed a little in a breeze I didn't feel. I watched those mobiles like they were the only thing in the world, determined to do everything I could to sweep Take Your Child To Work Day right out of my mind. I hadn't said one word to my parents about that particular event. And I wasn't going to. Skipping school for a day sounded fun, but not if it meant I had to mingle with people I didn't know. Some people are natural minglers. I knew me; I wasn't one of them.

 

“Sorry, I can't get the candy from my aunt.” Carli said, while we walked up Bernard Avenue after school on one more afternoon without sunshine—me in my puffy silvery-purple coat, Carli in her pink one.

“What candy?”

“For your campaign, girl. Come on, get with the program. Election day'll be here before you know it.”

“Oh.
That
candy,” I said, wishing I had a time machine so I could go back to the morning of the day Carli nominated me. At home, I would have run a thermometer under hot water and drank
food coloring to make my throat look red. It worked once on picture day. That time, I stayed home with “the flu.” If I had done it again, I could have avoided the whole election thing because absent kids couldn't be nominated.

“Carli?”

“Yeah?”

I opened my mouth. But then, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't tell her that I didn't want to run.

“What were you saying about candy?”

“My aunt's in the hospital. She had to get a hip operation. So she can't make it.”

“Make what?”

“The
candy
.”

“Oh. Right. Well, that's okay.”

“Yeah. You're a strong candidate. You can win without candy. Everybody likes you and you really do have all those leadership traits Mr. Alvarez's been talking about.”

“You're funny, Carli.”

“I'm not trying to be funny. Sometimes I don't think you see how much, um… how much… um…
potential
you have.”

“Like I said, you're funny, Carli.”

“No.
You're
funny. But I like you anyway.”

At that, I
had
to laugh. We both did.

“So anyway, I'm going to help my father in the pharmacy next Friday. What about you? You going to your father's job or your mother's?”

“Neither.”

“How come?”

“Don't want to. It'll probably be boring.”

“Your parents don't mind if you don't do it?”

“Don't know. Didn't ask them.”

“But they have to sign the note—that's what Mr. Alvarez said.”

“I know.”

Now I'd said that all like I had everything under control. But the fact was I hadn't given one thought to getting that note signed. I had made up my mind: I was going to school next Friday and that was that.

“They'll sign it. I just didn't give it to them yet.”

“Why you always got to be in my way?”

Dagnamit.

Shrek was back, rude as ever, blocking the sidewalk just like she'd done last week.

“Sorry,” Carli and I said together.

“I
know
you sorry.”

I looked into those two slits she used for eyes. It was probably in them right then—the hatred that would reach out and touch me in a real bad way pretty soon. But I was too simple-minded to see it for what it was. I thought that girl was just being cranky. Maybe on PMS like Mama always talked about. How could I have known then that she was just a plain-old devil?

Carli and I eased past her huge, red jacketness. I picked up my pace as much as I could considering Carli's limp.

“
Teenagers
,” Carli whispered to me.

I looked over my shoulder.

“Yeah. Teenagers,” I whispered back, even though Shrek was far enough down Bernard by then that there was no way she could have heard me.

Just then, I heard lots of people running behind me and before I could turn to see what was happening—