So not the drama, p.6
So Not the Drama, page 6
Mina zigzagged through the bodies, reaching Lizzie in seconds. She plucked at Lizzie’s oversized T-shirt. It billowed out in a small puff then fell slack against Liz’s thin frame, coming midthigh to her capris.
“What was all the window shopping and Internet surfing over the summer for if not to force you to recognize the Fashion Dos and Definitely Do Nots?” Mina said. “Okay, are you trying to piss me off?”
“Did I?” Lizzie laughed.
“The denim capris are cute. But the shirt!” Mina frowned. “Seriously, how could you come to school sbummy on the first day of all days?!”
Lizzie slipped the shirt over her head, revealing a retro baby doll T-shirt imprinted with the drama faces.
Mina beamed. “Okay, see, now that I like!”
She gave Lizzie’s arm a squeeze of approval.
Lizzie threw the big shirt in her locker. “Just testing to see how shallow you actually are.” She patted Mina on the shoulder. “You’ll be glad to know you’re still as materialistic and judgmental as ever.”
“Thank youuu.” Mina took a deep stage bow and blew Lizzie a melodramatic kiss. “Alright. Now that I see you’re looking fly-i-i-ii-i-i-i- I can go to class in peace. Later, girl.”
Mina turned on her heels to head into the classroom and crashed into GoldiLocks.
“My bad,” Mina said, drawing back.
Goldi walked by, never acknowledging her.
Jaw dropped, Mina turned back to Lizzie. “Did you see that?”
“She’s in my home room,” Lizzie said. “Her name’s Jacinta Phillips.”
“Yeah, that much I know,” Mina said. “Quick, which clique will she go to?”
Lizzie squinted. “Ummm ... the glams probably.”
“Jessica’s clique?” Mina shook her head. “Nah, almost all of them are rich chicks.”
Lizzie turned heel. “You asked. That’s just my guess. Gotta run.”
Mina walked in the same direction as Goldi. A slow fog of realization dawned that they were in the same class. She had been psyched for this sociology class until just a second ago.
The study of social behavior was one of five Life Lessons (LL) courses—a curriculum based on real-world issues, created to get students more excited about learning.
No one would ever admit, to a parent anyway, that it wasn’t a sudden thirst for education that made the courses so popular; LLs required no books and were taught by Life Gurus—very cool term—instead of teachers.
It also didn’t hurt that getting into an LL course was about as easy as getting beyond the velvet rope at an awards show. LLs were elective classes like Home Economics, Information Technology, and Marketing. But the process for getting into the Life Lessons courses was nothing like signing up for Home Ec, where you checked it and a second choice elective off on the course selection sheet then waited to see which one you’d get first.
There was a process for getting into a Life Lessons class. It started in the eighth grade. Every eighth-grader, in public school, filled out a three-page questionnaire asking them everything from their favorite color to which ink blot resembled a horse standing on a cloud. Lots of odd stuff that Mina couldn’t connect to Psychology, Sociology, Lifestyle Modeling, or any of the other courses.
Whatever mumbo jumbo the test results revealed, what the test reviewers called the students’ “life choices,” was used to place many of them into an LL course once they hit high school.
It didn’t matter what course you requested, ultimately the top-secret answers determined which class the powers-that-be allowed you to have. And only one LL was allowed per student. Once you were assigned a course, you weren’t allowed to take another. You might get an LL as a freshman, maybe as a senior. The class was a mix of grades.
Some students never got an LL.
Mina was the only one in the clique to get one. A fact she took as a symbol of her destined status. A theory Michael openly mocked.
“Getting an LL is like the lottery, you just got lucky, Diva,” he’d said. “Get over yourself.”
Mina refused to agree with him. She was a believer in signs. Everything meant something.
The confidential and highly controversial selection process for Life Lessons courses was fought by many parents for its exclusionary tactics, but embraced by students who felt they were special when chosen to take an LL.
Getting into Sociology, one of the LL courses she had actually requested, made Mina feel like a rock star. Now she just felt queasy.
She stood at the classroom’s entrance, sulking. It took her a minute to realize that the room was chairless. A few people lounged on the table tops, but most people stood, uncertain. Mina wandered inside, confused, trying to find someone to make conversation with and ask what the deal was. Her mind raced over the rules of engagement:
1. Know your place. Hers was midstream popular—just well-known enough among her fellow frosh to be part of the in-crowd, but not recognizable enough among the more established set.
2. Treat those you’re above with polite courtesy—the social winds change too fast and the peon you were dissing today could be the keeper of the key the next.
3. Treat those you’re below with a modest indifference but with due respect—never be eager. Desperation is a scent called loser.
4. Be known for something—for now, she liked to think of herself as “that black girl who’s captain of JV cheer squad.”
Her eyes scanned the room coolly while her brain worked frantically to categorize everyone. She wanted to eliminate starting a conversation with the Unpops—she wasn’t in the mood to make casual conversation with some nobody that might end up clinging to her as a friend beyond the bell.
She smiled in the general direction of Grace, an Upper, while still eying the area for the right someone to talk to so she’d look properly social.
Before she could step into the room, a voice from beside her said, “Umph, they just let anybody into these classes.”
Mina’s stomach clenched. Praying someone else had the same haughty, clipped voice she glanced to her left.
Jessica stood, model-thin in a pink and green plaid miniskirt, blush pink baby doll T-shirt, and a pair of pink, ankle-wrap espadrilles.
Mina tried not to stare at the skirt. She’d wanted that same exact skirt so bad, she’d gone completely kindergarten and broken into a full session of begging in the store.
Please, please, Ma. Please!
But her mother had flat-out refused. “Mina, you have a million minis already. Enough.”
“So the fresh fish finally made it to the big pond, huh?” Jessica said.
“Hi, Jessica.” Mina’s heart raced. This couldn’t be happening to her. Her luck was not usually this bad.
And she has on my skirt!
Jessica ran her fingers through her long weave, which Mina noticed was now wavy instead of straight. “So, are you still cheering?”
“Uh-huh,” was Mina’s only answer. She stood straight, mindful of her body language. She was uninterested but not intimidated, not much.
“That’s cool. Oh you’re on JV, right? I gave up cheerleading,” Jessica said with an eye roll. “It was boring.”
“I heard you were step mistress last year.” Mina hoped she was still on the safe side of nonchalant. She decided to toot her own horn a little. “You were the freshman captain, huh? Like me this year.”
“Yeah, I heard you made Junior Varsity Captain.” Jessica rushed the conversation back to herself. “I’m captain of step squad again this year, too. Step is the hotness, girl. Cheerleading is so five minutes ago.”
Naturally, Jessica didn’t mention that cheerleading was now off-limits due to Mari-Beth dropping hints during Jess’s second season that she was “so over” cheerleading. Mari-Beth hadn’t cheered a day in her life. She was tired of Jess having practice and competitions interfering with the time she wanted to call Jess on the fly and be entertained or at least bored along with a friend.
Jess didn’t mind the pattern of domination in her friendship with Mari. Jess knew her place. Rather than risk being cut off from vacations on the beach and weekend trips to the salon, Jess took every ounce of her high maintenance bud’s demands.
So far Mari hadn’t pulled any tantrums about Jess being on the Stomp Starz. Jess was good at step and wanted to stay on the team. But none of that was any of Mina’s business.
Mina didn’t know or care why Jessica stopped cheering. All she heard was Jessica baiting her to say something against step. Jessica’s own twin was on the varsity cheer squad, so how five minutes ago could it be?
Jessica was an Upper and Mina knew where she stood, which was right there, on the outside looking in, letting the small talk linger. But she steered clear of the trap with a simple, “I’ve been cheering too long to stop now.”
“Yeah, you need to stick to cheerleading,” Jessica said. “JV was so weak last year! Keep up the tradition.” She waved to Grace and sashayed out of Mina’s face.
Mina’s hands shook as she juggled a handful of notebooks.
Allowing herself a few calming breaths, Mina leaned against the wall. A small, plump white woman with a wild nest of shocking red hair walked in and stationed herself at Mina’s elbow. She wore clogs, a tunic, and a pair of well-worn slacks, very 60s meets Old Navy.
Mina waited for her to launch into the usual My name is speech. The woman stood still as a tree, eyeing the students pouring into the classroom.
Mina swayed, fidgeted, and sideways-glanced along with her classmates, waiting for the Guru to relieve the stress of the unknown. She inched further into the classroom, away from the door, turning so she could face the Guru head on.
More time ticked by. Still she said nothing, just stared at them. The students stared back, silently confused and too embarrassed to challenge her odd behavior. The whispy swish of shoe against carpet as someone shifted from foot to foot was almost as loud as the teacher’s voice from the adjoining room.
The melodic boing of the final bell filled the room for a second. There were a few more seconds of confused shuffling of feet and throat clearing.
Mina’s nerves buzzed. As a nonstop talker, silence was her enemy.
She jumped when the woman’s voice finally cracked the silence like an egg. “Many of you are probably a little nervous about taking your first sociology class.”
Glad for the release, a hiss of murmurs: “No not really,” “A little,” and the inevitable, clownish, “This isn’t Algebra? I’m in the wrong room,” caused a ripple of giggles.
Mina’s nervous laughter caught in her throat when the Life Guru stopped inches from her. She had to force her eyes away from the halo of red, shimmering curls framing the woman’s face to look her in the eye.
“Hi, I’m Mrs. Simms. Why aren’t you sitting down?”
Mina looked around for help before stuttering, “I ... I ... um, don’t have a chair.”
Mrs. Simms seemed to consider this, snorted lightly, and then returned to the center of the room again. “On a scale of one to ten, how uncomfortable were you guys when I stood here just staring?”
A chorus of high-end numbers rang out. It seemed to please her. She laughed like someone had just told her a really good joke. “Good. Same scale, this time how uncomfortable you were walking into a classroom without any chairs?”
More nines and tens were called out.
“Well then, welcome to Intro to Sociology, the study of how groups influence how individuals think, feel, and act. Or as some students have labeled it in the past, That Crazy Old Bird’s Class.” She laughed at her joke, making her way around the room, weaving in and out between the tables as she gabbed on. “Get used to being faced with new challenges. In my class, there is no comfort zone. And I’m not going to waste a lot of time coddling you guys. We have a project to start.” She opened a door next to Mina. “All of the seats are in here. They’re in groups of four, which represent your project groups.Your name is taped to a chair. Find it.”
The class peered around her into the dark space.
“Take your seats and place your groups around a table,” she instructed from her desktop. Her legs kicked softly at the air. Her smile held on to whatever secret the project had in store.
Dazed, students made their way to the closet. They waited.When it was clear the teacher wasn’t going to help them pass out the chairs, they bunched around the door, staring. Mina stepped inside and began calling names.
Mrs. Simms hopped off her desk and was at the closet in two steps. “Good for you. What’s your name?”
“Amina Mooney.”
“Amina, even though the rest of the group sat back and wondered what to do, you stepped up. Very good. You didn’t allow the group’s reluctance to influence your decision to take action.”
Mrs. Simms grinned like someone who didn’t have a grip on reality.
“I’m sorry. Go on, Amina.” She took her place back on top of the desk.
Mina continued calling out names.
“Oh, this one is mine.” She pulled out the next chair and stepped out of the closet. “I guess somebody else should take over.”
She took the chair to a back table, nearly bumping shoulders with Jessica as she passed.
Mina kept her eye on the closet, curious who else would be in their group. She hoped she’d drawn Grace on her team.
Someone else jumped into Mina’s role as chair distributor and called out “Kellita Lopez.”
Mina watched as Kellita approached. Her long, full chestnut hair fell in soft, voluptuous waves to her shoulders. She put her chair down in a slow, fluid move then sat erect. She folded her hands primly on the table with what some people would call grace and others snobbery.
Mina was ready to vote for the latter when the girl spoke up in a near whisper.
“You can call me Kelly.”
“And I’m Mina. No one calls me Amina except my mom ... when she’s mad,” she chattered.
The name Jacinta Phillips was called, jolting Mina back to the chair handout.
She whirled around in her chair and caught sight of Goldi taking her chair. Mina held her breath as Jacinta walked to their table.
First Jessica and now this?
Mina glared as Jacinta situated her chair at the far end of the short table, aloof, no intros or hellos.
She held on to hope. Maybe the last group member would be Grace. Come on, let it be Grace, let it be Grace.
“Jessica Johnson,” the person handing out chairs called.
Mina’s mouth gaped open. The old nausea she’d get right before cheer practice rolled in and settled in the pit of her gut. What if Lizzie was right about Goldi joining the glam clique? Mina sized Kelly up quickly. She didn’t look like someone that would offer much shelter from the storm if Goldi and The Bee joined forces.
Jessica walked stiff-legged back to the table and placed her chair opposite Mina’s. She flipped her weave off her shoulder then gave each one of her group members a long hard look. But Jacinta beat her with the first smart words.
“Three black Barbies! Unbelievable.” Jacinta pursed her lips and stared past the girls into a distant part of the classroom.
“Look, frosh,” Jessica raised her eyebrows at Jacinta. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me. So check yourself.You don’t even want to go there with me.”
Mina was giddy. The shots exchanged between Jacinta and Jessica were music to her ears. Hope wasn’t buried yet.
Jacinta eyebrows hitched then swan dived into a scowl. “Barbie, please! You don’t want to go there with me. Mrs. Simms,” she called out, voice husky with annoyance. “Are we in the same group because we all black?”
Mrs. Simms looked over and pondered the question for a second. Her hair rustled like a flock of cardinals taking flight as she laughed. “No. But if you girls end up discovering something about the sociology among yourselves because you’re all of a similar racial makeup, then I might give you extra credit.”
“You’re gonna end up getting us in trouble, clashing with the teacher before we even know what’s up,” Mina fussed in a whisper.
“God, Mina, can you be more dramatic?” Jessica’s perpetual frown deepened.
Jacinta pursed her lips as if she smelled something bad. She rolled her eyes at Mina and dismissed all of them with a slight turn of her head.
Kelly sat back from the table and kept her eye trained on the Guru.
Mrs. Simms launched into the assignment’s purpose, her voice high and excited. Mina’s group joined the rest of the class, listening, interested in spite of themselves as she explained that their job over the semester would be to eradicate their prejudices. When she explained that eradicate meant to get rid of, whoops of high-pitched, nervous laughter echoed throughout the room.
They looked around at one another, unsure if the Guru had lost her mind or if she seriously believed such a huge task, one that the world itself hadn’t mastered, could be accomplished by their class of twenty-four, in one semester.
Mrs. Simms’s voice boomed over the buzzing, startling the students into submission. “If you don’t believe one person can change the world, then you haven’t been paying attention!”
Her declaration made, she sat atop her desk, cross-legged until her outburst sank in. When it was quiet, a smile broke through her stern face. She softened her voice. “One day a young guy, fourteen years old, the age of most of you in here, made a comment to an older woman. A comment the woman felt was inappropriate. Days later that young boy was found dead.”
With their attention wrapped around her words, she continued in a voice only a notch above a whisper, allowing the teacher’s voice from the next classroom to filter into their silent space. The students leaned forward to hear.
“That young boy’s name was Emmett Till. And his murder occurred in 1955, in Money, Mississippi. Emmett wasn’t from the hot, steamy banks of the Mississippi; he was from the city, Chicago.” Her hands rose, fell, clapped, and clasped. They constantly moved, emphasizing words as she took the class back in time.
