A Star is Born Page 7

  I wondered how my father would have fit in, if he would have been comfortable.

  Bobbi, Mom, Kambui, and me cleaned up. Mr. Santana fell asleep in a chair, and Mrs. Askew went with LaShonda and Chris back to St. Francis.

  I felt really good. We had done something and it had meant something. Different things to different people, but it had all had some meaning to it.

  Plus, I had a piece of an idea. I needed to think it through more and maybe talk it over with Kambui and LaShonda. I didn’t want to talk it over with Bobbi because I knew that if I did she would think it through in a heartbeat and piss me off.

  I called Kambui and told him that the dinner, how we were all together like an extended family, was what LaShonda needed all the time and that maybe we could convince Mrs. Askew to do something about keeping LaShonda and Chris together.

  “You going to call her?” he asked, meaning he didn’t want to call her.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  Then I called LaShonda and told her my idea.

  “She won’t go for it,” LaShonda said. “She’s got guidelines or something.”

  Then I called Bobbi.

  “You think we should go to the Virginia Woolf Society and ask them to expand their program to include families?” she asked.

  If you could really hate a squinty-eyed white girl who could think faster than a computer, Bobbi McCall was the one to hate.

  THE PALETTE

  A Reply to Zander Scott

  By Ashley Schmidt

  I am sorry that I wrote so hastily about Tyree Jackson. But there has to be a balance between individual responsibility and personal regard. We cannot offer excuses for bad behavior just because we like the person doing the offensive act or just because the person is usually not one to do bad things. I believe this and I stand by it. I am giving Alexander Scott an opportunity to reply in The Palette.

  A Reply to Ashley Schmidt

  By Zander Scott

  We have to either judge people by their potential or we judge them by their circumstances. Ashley is saying it doesn’t matter why someone does something if that something is wrong in her eyes. But she is setting herself up as a judge and jury. If someone in her family was starving and stole food to keep from dying, would Ashley then condemn that person?

  No, she would excuse that behavior as “justified” because she understands the whole picture. Does she understand the whole picture with Tyree? Is she interested?

  So the plan was really simple. We would call the Virginia Woolf Society, tell them we wanted to have a conference, meet with them at their office, and Bobbi would tell them that they need to expand their offer to LaShonda to include all of St. Francis.

  “And don’t forget to smile a lot,” Mom said. “Rich people feel comfortable when you smile.”

  The Cruisers were not about to go around smiling at people, but I didn’t want to get up in Mom’s face about it.

  Kambui decided we should meet with them on Saturday afternoon, and me, LaShonda, and Bobbi agreed.

  “They said they couldn’t possibly meet with us on Saturday and that it would have to be either Wednesday or next month.” Kambui was breathless and I knew the phone call hadn’t gone well. “At four-thirty.”

  One good thing about Wednesday was that it was the day before we were going to put on our play for the community. If the play went badly we might be too down to talk to anybody.

  Okay, so the Cruisers got together on Wednesday and hopped into a cab. Kambui gave the driver the address, but the man turned around, looked us over, and then asked if we were sure we had the money for the cab fare.

  “Twelve dollars to Thirty-second Street!”

  We got the money up and handed it over. I was thinking of saying something about did he know his way downtown but I thought he might put us out so I didn’t.

  We got to 31 East 32nd Street and told the guy in the lobby we had an appointment on the seventh floor. He gave us the same fishy look the cabdriver did.

  “I think it’s Kambui,” LaShonda said. “He always did look a little sinister.”

  “That’s true,” Kambui said, punching the floor button with a sinister finger.

  We got to the Virginia Woolf Society office and went into a room that looked like all you should do is whisper because if you spoke out loud something in the room would break. A thin woman pointed first toward a small couch and then to two leather chairs before disappearing behind a door with a frosted glass window.

  “I guess she didn’t think we could figure out we couldn’t all sit on one chair,” LaShonda said.

  The room was full of books the same color as the leather furniture. I looked around and didn’t see a paperback in the joint. After a while the frosted glass door opened and we were called into the room with a wave of the hand.

  There were three women in the room sitting at a long desk, one on either end and the other one in the middle facing us. There were four chairs facing the table and I knew they had just been put there.

  “I am Mary Brownstein, this is Elizabeth Poe, and this is Mrs. Turner, our board president. What can we do for you today?”

  I turned toward Bobbi. She didn’t move. I glanced over at LaShonda. She didn’t move.

  “We were thinking about LaShonda’s going to live in the new place you have in Harlem,” I said.

  “This is the young lady I spoke to you about, LaShonda Powell, who has a flair for design.” Mrs. Brownstein turned as she spoke to the woman who was the board president. “We believe she has so much potential.”

  “But …” For a moment I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I wondered what Mr. Lord would have said.

  “Yes?”

  “The thing we were thinking is that everyone at Da Vinci has potential,” I said. “And we were wondering —”

  “We?” Mrs. Brownstein looked at LaShonda.

  “We’re known as the Cruisers,” LaShonda said. “We look out for each other. I have their backs and they have mine.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Brownstein.

  “What we see is that you’ve recognized how talented LaShonda is, and not many people do,” I said. “But we were thinking that instead of just hooking up LaShonda, it might be better if you could give a hand to St. Francis, the group home she’s living in now. That way you could help some of the other kids there show their potential, too. And in a way, that would help the entire community, too.”

  “That’s very unselfish, but I wonder about the focus.” Mrs. Brownstein sat back in her chair and looked over her glasses. “Wouldn’t it be more advantageous to the other young people at this group home —”

  “St. Francis,” LaShonda said.

  “Yes, wouldn’t it be more advantageous just to show that such talent exists and to showcase it?” Mrs. Brownstein said.

  “I don’t think so,” LaShonda said.

  “If you don’t think that all the kids in the home have potential —”

  “St. Francis?” Mrs. Brownstein said.

  “Yeah, then it’s cool to snatch out one person and hold her up,” I said. “But if you believe that they all have talent and they all have smarts, then it’s just a matter of giving them all the opportunity. It’s like our school. Everybody in the school is smart. Da Vinci just gives us a chance to show it.”

  “We’re giving our play tomorrow night for anybody who wants to come to it,” Kambui added. “So it’s, like, a community thing.”

  “What will your play be about?”

  “It’s called Act Six, and it’s what happens to several of Shakespeare’s characters at some future date,” Bobbi said.

  “Why is it called Act Six?” At the other end of the table, Mrs. Turner, the board president, spoke for the first time.

  “Because all of Shakespeare’s plays had five acts,” Mrs. Brownstein said quickly.

  “And how would we be able to help St. Francis?” Mrs. Turner asked.

  “They can’t afford a full-time person to help raise fund
s to keep the place going,” LaShonda said. “They have to keep going to the city for additional funds, and they think the city might cut them back so they can’t keep paying the rent.”

  “And you’re all right with not moving, LaShonda?” Mrs. Brownstein asked.

  “I am, I really am. There are so many kids who have something on the ball there,” LaShonda said. “I think a lot of them will do well if they have the chance.”

  “I’m still worried about the focus,” Mrs. Poe said.

  “Isn’t Gerald Yorke looking for a position?” the board president asked. “He would be perfect working for this home and he’s used to dealing with the city. This might work out quite nicely. We’re having brunch with his uncle next week. I’ll talk to him about Gerald.”

  Mrs. Turner stood up and the other two popped up right behind her and we knew the meeting was over. We were escorted to the hallway and Mrs. Brownstein gave LaShonda a hug.

  “One day you’ll have to design a gown for me!” she said.

  “I sure will!” LaShonda beamed.

  In the elevator:

  “Bobbi, you were supposed to do the talking!” I said.

  “I froze up!” Bobbi said. She was ready to cry. “I always freeze up unless I’m mad.”

  “I think we did all right,” LaShonda said.

  “At least they didn’t say no.”

  “They’re grown-ups,” Kambui said. “They’re going to do what they want to do, anyway.”

  “Where did you get all that talk about how everybody had talent and stuff like that?” LaShonda said.

  “From that Lord dude when he was mouthing off,” I said as we hit the street.

  “That’s not how he was meaning it, though,” LaShonda said. “He was thinking you should dumb everybody down so we’d be equally behind.”

  We got to the subway and Bobbi found out she didn’t have her bus pass. We went to one of the cops in the station and he said he couldn’t let her in, but then a transit worker came over and let her go through the gate.

  I thought we had done okay, too. We had presented our case and had the Virginia Woolf Society at least thinking about it.

  “Yo, folks, I got something else to say,” I said.

  “Go on and say it,” Kambui said.

  “I’m proud to be a Cruiser.”

  FRIENDS

  By Bobbi McCall

  They don’t have to ride white horses

  Or come to my rescue when I’m down

  They just need to be there when I turn

  So I can see them standing behind me

  When I’m needing

  A someone or maybe two

  They don’t have to be brilliant

  Or strong or fast

  They can just slide along

  Glide along

  Like they did when they first

  Cruised into my life

  When they smiled at me

  When we started our journey

  On the high seas of friendship

  One thing about Mr. Lord, he doesn’t give up easily. When our principal, Mrs. Maxwell, announced that we were going to give Act Six for the community, I thought it was over. But Lord showed up with his people and they came early to get front-row seats.

  “Almost all of the seats are filled!” LaShonda was looking out from between the curtains. “I see some of the ladies from the Virginia Woolf Society there, too.”

  I didn’t see them at first but then Kambui pointed them out in the middle seats on the left-hand side.

  “You think Lord’s people are going to stop the play?” Bobbi asked.

  “Five minutes!” Miss LoBretto, our drama coach, called. The play was going to start on time if she could help it.

  Then Mrs. Maxwell walked out onto the middle of the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the teachers, administrators, and student body all join in thanking you for coming out to see our play tonight. We think you will be pleased and hope you will encourage our young people in their performances. They’re a bit nervous tonight because they want to do well, and I know you want them to do well.”

  “Amen to that, sister!” An old black man was nodding his head.

  I saw Mr. Lord look over to where the old man sat and throw down a halfhearted mean mug.

  “Our children learn in school,” Mrs. Maxwell went on, “but they also learn from the community. How you receive them will go far in teaching them how much they are appreciated.”

  “Preach it, sister!” The old man was getting into his thing.

  “After the play is over, the students will answer any questions you might have,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “And you’ll see how much work they have put into this production.”

  “Suffer the little children!” The old man was nodding again.

  “Can we give our children a big hand even before they perform to tell them how much we love them?”

  “She’s working it!” Bobbi said as the audience started applauding. I looked over at Lord and he had to go along with the program. He was applauding, too. Then he was whispering something to his people and I knew we were over.

  With everybody behind us the play went better than it had before. People were laughing at all the right places and some were even talking to themselves about what was happening on the stage. At the end we got another big round of applause, and even Mr. Lord’s people applauded for us.

  During the question-and-answer period, one of the ladies from the Virginia Woolf Society rose and told everyone that LaShonda had designed and made the costumes, and she got a big hand over that.

  What I was waiting for was Mr. Lord to step up and try to rain on everybody but it didn’t happen. Like Bobbi said, Mrs. Maxwell had stopped him before he even got started.

  I didn’t expect Mrs. Maxwell to be so sneaky. Okay, she wasn’t really sneaky but she knew how to deal when it was time to deal.

  “I think we should do a puppet play next,” Kambui said. “Then we could go to hospitals and perform for sick kids.”

  “I can make puppets!” LaShonda said.

  I had a feeling we were going to be doing a puppet show.

  The Cruisers shook hands with everybody in the audience and they gave us a lot of hugs and too many kisses.

  “Aren’t you that weatherman’s boy?” a little dark-skinned woman with a squeaky voice asked me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I liked your play a lot and you could be in the movies,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Was it about anything in particular?”

  “It was just supposed to be funny,” I said.

  “Well, it wasn’t funny, but you young people were trying your little hearts out and that’s what counts,” she said. “Don’t stay out too late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I found Mom in the audience and we walked home together. She was happy with the play, too.

  “I heard some people saying LaShonda should team up with Beyoncé or somebody and open up a clothing store in Harlem,” Mom said. “That’s probably too hard a gig, really.”

  The phone was ringing when we got home. It was my father calling from Oregon. It was eight o’clock in New York and five out there. He told Mom he wanted to speak to me and she gave me the phone.

  “Have you thought any more about an amount for your allowance?” he asked, very clearly and concisely.

  “I was going to say sixteen dollars a week,” I said. “But if I’m going to be making cass-oo-lays and stuff I’d better make that twenty dollars and fifty cents a week.”

  “Making what?”

  “Cass-oo-lays,” I said. “It’s a French dish with duck and white beans from the hilly areas of France, south of Paris.”

  “Oh.” This from my father.

  Mom was grinning all over herself and I held up my hand so she could give me five.

  “I have to go now,” I said. “My theater group just put on a play for the community and I’m quite tired.”

  �
��Oh.”

  He said he would think about the amount. I imagined him writing it down and comparing it to the figure he had in mind.

  Everybody called everybody at least twice to congratulate us and then we texted each other. By the time I got to Facebook somebody had already uploaded the program and said that the play was dynamite. They added that it was better than anything that Frederick Douglass Academy could do, which was true, but I was mad that they even mentioned FDA.

  One time I figured out how much I spent a week and it was about $23, which I bummed off Mom. If I did get the $20.50 a week from my father, which would be $1,066 a year, which was the year they fought the battle of Hastings, I would almost be phat. Not quite, but I was getting there.

  Mr. Siegfried thinks he’s slick. He’s always trying to teach us something in a sneaky way. So that’s why he got together with a teacher from some charter school in Jersey City to hold a debate. The debating team from Da Vinci was Bobbi McCall, Kelly Bena, Ashley Schmidt, Phat Tony Williams, and me, the Zander man. It was a stupid debate from the get-go because the topic was Are Wars Necessary? Everybody knows what the answer to that is supposed to be so we were figuring we would get a free ride out to Jersey City and just chill our way through the set. To make it even more stupid, the school from Jersey City had to argue that wars were not necessary and we were supposed to stand up and say they were.

  “Then everybody is going to boo us and say that they’re the winners,” Bobbi said.

  Which is the way I figured it was supposed to go, but I had never been to New Jersey, so it was all good.

  We got to the school, which is on this big boulevard, and met their debating team. I think I could have beat up their whole team by myself. They had these two fly Indian girls, a black dude, and two scared-looking kids I couldn’t tell what they were. We flipped a coin and we lost so we had to start the debate. Ashley was up first.

  “My people are from a little country in Eastern Europe,” she said. “We have been run over many times. During these times our people have been killed, put into camps, and displaced from their homes.”