Hoodie (16 page)

“I really never understood this life,” she said.

He noticed a tear spill over. Oh God, he thought, he didn’t mean to make her cry!

“Well, it ain’t all bad,” he said.

“I’m so spoiled. I really am,” she replied, the tears flowing freely.

“What?”

He felt uncomfortable. He was not prepared for her reaction. He thought he’d come back into his room and she would be marking up his paper with a red pen. He now wished she were, and thought about looking for a red pen.

“How you gonna feel bad for havin’ things?” Anton continued. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Everybody in the whole world want things. Nobody work hard to live in the ghetto.”

Emma placed the unopened soda can on his bed and buried her face in her hands. She was sobbing.

“Oh my God. Emma? It ain’t no big deal,” Anton said.

“Your mother works hard,” she bawled.

“Well yeah. And she ain’t gonna be here much longer,” Anton replied. He tentatively put a large hand on her back and rubbed it gently.

“I’m a spoiled brat!” she wailed.

Anton fought the urge within him to laugh. She was being unreasonable, crying uncontrollably into her hands. He thought long and hard before answering her. He wanted to make sure he said the right thing.

“You ain’t a spoiled brat just ‘cause yo’ family is wealthy,” he said grinning. He was glad her face was still buried in her hands. “Yo’ parents work hard for that money. They wanna give you a good life. That’s what good parents do. It’s all about how you handle that money. And you fine about it. You ain’t snotty or stuck up. You a nice girl, Emma. And anyway, I like that you gotta car. It mean I gotta ride home most afternoons.”

She laughed at that, wiping carelessly at her eyes. She looked at him finally, and he made an uncertain face.

“What?” she asked.

“You just be lookin’ like a raccoon, that’s all,” he observed.

“Oh God,” she said embarrassed, and made a move for the bathroom. He caught her arm and kept her seated.

“Relax. Like I ain’t never seen make-up run on a girl’s face.”

The truth was that he didn’t think he’d ever seen make-up run on a girl’s face. It looked comical, and he wondered why they bothered to wear it at all. She didn’t need it, he thought. He searched his cluttered desk until he found a box of tissues. He took one and handed it to her.

“Blow,” he ordered.

“I don’t want to blow my nose in front of you,” she said.

“Good grief, Emma. Who cares? You want snot runnin’ down yo’ face instead?”

She hesitated then blew her nose. He took another tissue out and gently began wiping away the mascara from underneath her eyes.

“You too sensitive, Emma. That’s yo’ problem,” he decided.

“You think?” she asked, feeling not at all uneasy that he was wiping her face. She felt strangely like a little girl whose daddy was comforting her after a fall off of her bicycle. She felt warm and safe with him.

“Yeah. But maybe I shouldn’t say that’s a problem,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe the world need more sensitive people in it. Maybe then we wouldn’t have all this killin’ and rapin’ and shit.”

“Maybe,” she agreed.

“Then again, my pastor always be talkin’ about how people sinful by nature. We born into it, so maybe it don’t matter. Maybe the world just a bad place, and we gotta do the best we can,” he said.

“Well, I think people are basically good at heart,” Emma said, and Anton burst out laughing.

“Girl, you so crazy,” he said, finishing his task and studying her face. “Okay, you don’t look like a raccoon no more.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He took the tissues and disposed of them in the bathroom. When he returned, she was searching the floor for her clothes.

“I don’t think I can handle anymore of this assignment today,” she said, locating her pants.

“My mind too intense for you?” Anton asked lightly.

“Something like that,” she replied, pulling off his shorts and replacing them with her pants.

Anton turned his face away to give her privacy. It was absurd, he thought, when he had just disrobed her earlier. She switched out the hoodie for her blouse and walked over to hand him his clothes. He took them reluctantly. She was no longer his baby doll to dress up and keep in his room. He had to let her go, and wondered suddenly what he would do for the rest of the day. It didn’t occur to him until she was gone that he had friends.

He stood in the doorway observing the empty parking spot where she had just been. His clothes were still in his hands, and he instinctively lifted them to his face breathing in. Her scent lingered on them, light and fruity, like a tropical island, he thought. He stood inhaling her, feeling as though he had been transported to somewhere warm and sandy and sunny. He had never been to a place like that, but he could see it vividly. There were palm trees like he’d seen on T.V. and hammocks swaying in the breeze. And she was there lying beside him like a golden goddess, her body cradled in the warm sand. It stuck to her naked skin. It was seductive. Her hair shimmered in the sunshine, and he ran his fingers through it. And then he kissed her, and she let him.

The sudden appearance of his friend in the doorway shattered the enchanting vision, jolting him back to his reality, and tossing the clothes on the couch, he went out to smoke some weed.

CHAPTER 10

SUNDAY, APRIL 25

Anton was at her house at three o’clock as promised. He had not changed out of his church clothes, and he thought that her parents might start believing that he always dressed up. But her parents weren’t there. Her father was golfing and her mother was visiting with friends. Did they know he was there? But she assured him that she had told them. He wanted to believe her, but he was skeptical. He thought that perhaps he should go, but she insisted that it was alright.

She led him up a massive staircase to her bedroom. She wanted to show him her world, she said. His heart beat wildly. For so long he had imagined it. He never thought he’d actually get to see it. And even though she told him things, described aspects of her room for him, it wasn’t the same as actually seeing them. He felt like he was about to enter into a sanctuary, become privy to the secrets of her world, and it filled him with intense joy.

Emma opened the door and invited him in.

“This is it,” she said indifferently.

Just as he had expected, her room was very large. She slept in a queen-sized bed, he thought incredibly. His was a twin, one of those extra long twin-sized beds because he was so tall. The quilt on her bed was speckled with tiny pink embroidered roses. There were creamy white nightstands on either side of the bed that matched the large bureau opposite them. A chest of drawers lined another wall. It, too, matched the nightstands and bureau. There was a small sitting room that housed a desk on which sat perfectly organized binders and books. Everything matched, he noticed. Everything was pristine. He was afraid to touch anything. He didn’t want to leave a fingerprint on her highly polished furniture.

It was only after she excused herself to the bathroom that he noticed she had one in her room. A master suite, he thought amazingly, and followed her. The door stood ajar and she was washing her hands. He walked in and laughed when he noticed the garden tub. It was enormous. She couldn’t possibly soak in that thing, he thought. She’d drown.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, drying her hands on a hand towel and then folding it back the way it originally hung on the towel rack.

“That,” he said pointing to the towel.

She looked confused.

“Hold up. Lemme try somethin’,” he said, and snatching the towel from the rack, he threw it up in the air letting it fall wherever it may. It landed on the edge of the tub.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m gonna see how long you’ll let that towel sit there,” he said.

She grinned. “I like to be organized.”

“No girl, this ain’t no organization,” Anton replied. “This called bein’ majorly Obsessive Compulsive.”

“No it’s not,” she said laughing.

He saw her glance at the towel.

“You wanna get it, don’t you? You wanna hang it up all pretty and perfect, don’t you? It’s killin’ you.”

“Shut up,” she said lightly.

“Well, I ain’t gonna let you. At least not while I’m here,” he replied and led her out of the bathroom with his large hand on the small of her back.

He noticed her ballet shoes sitting near a nightstand. He walked over and picked one up to examine it.

“You stand on yo’ toes in this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

He felt inside of it. “There ain’t no cushions or nothin’?!”

“Some dancers go without pads or lambs’ wool. I don’t,” she answered. She grabbed the bag sitting next to the nightstand and pulled out a pair of toe pads to show him.

“It still gotta hurt,” he said looking at the toe pads doubtfully. “What’s in this thing? Wood?” He rapped his knuckles on the shoe.

“Layers and layers of fabric glued together,” she said smiling.

“You crazy. Really?”

“I’m not kidding,” she said, gently taking the shoe out of his hand.

“What do you call them things?”

“Pointe shoes,” she said.

“Pointe shoes,” he repeated, as if trying on the words. He had never said them before. “So when’s yo’ show?”

“My show?” she asked confused. “Oh, my dance recital?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she said.

“You don’t want me to see you dance?” he asked.

“Absolutely not.”

He smiled.

Emma invited him to take a seat in a chair next to her bureau. He plopped himself on her bed instead. He was mindful of taking off his shoes before sprawling out on her quilt.

“Now see, this what I need. A nice big bed like this,” he said, snuggling her pillows. “You like four feet tall. What you need a big ass bed like this for?”

“I don’t know. It came with the set,” Emma replied shrugging. She moved over to the chair she had offered him.

“You don’t gotta sit there,” Anton said. “I don’t bite.”

She was uncertain about sitting on her bed with a boy, but she didn’t want to come across as prudish. He already thought she had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Why did she clean her bedroom so thoroughly before he came over?

“You comin’?” he asked.

She attempted humor. “Why? So you can get me into bed with you?”

Anton laughed. “Yeah, I have plans on gettin’ freaky with you in yo’ parents’ house. Girl, I know you didn’t tell them I was comin’ over.”

“I did too!” Emma said, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

“How they gonna be okay with me bein’ here alone with you?” Anton asked.

“They think we’re outside,” Emma said sheepishly.

“Oh I see.”