Ola Shakes It Up (6 page)

“Yes.”

I moved down another step. We were all quiet now, and I knew what everybody was thinking. Living in Boston, you know that there are rules. Everybody lives in their own neighborhoods. Everybody goes to their own schools. People break those rules all the time, but if they do, they usually end up on the six o'clock news. Were we gonna get in any trouble for living here? I moved down another step until I was squeezed in tight between Dad and Mama.

“So we're the
only
black people in this town?” Khatib asked slowly. “How are people gonna feel about us?”

“Everyone was staring at us all day” I muttered. Now that we were talking about it, I realized how much that had bothered me.

“How did you kids feel about the white students in your old school?” Dad asked quietly.

I hadn't thought about that before. Our old school was mostly black and Hispanic, but there were a few white kids who went there, too. It was true that they stood out, but after a while you got used to them. Most of them lived in the same neighborhoods as the rest of us, anyway, and they acted just like us. But
we
didn't come from here. I didn't know how to explain it to Dad, but this was different, and I knew that Khatib and Aeisha felt the same way.

“How are they supposed to feel about us?” Dad asked, changing the question.

“Well, we came from a bad neighborhood,” Khatib said, frowning. He was plucking at strands in the carpet nervously. “The news calls it a bad neighborhood, anyway.”

“We came from a community,” Mama corrected huffily. All of us looked at her with relief. Dad usually does the talking when there's really something to worry about and he wants to prepare us for it — like when Aunt Josephine, Uncle Louis's wife, died last year from cancer or when he and Mama both had to work on Christmas last year and we had to spend Christmas day with old Aunt Mary. But when Mama does the talking, it means nothing is gettin' in our way, 'cause she won't let it, and Mama
always
has her way. “And this is a community, too. Might be a different one, but
all that means is that it'll take time for us to adjust to it. You were right, Ola. There is no welcome committee. But you were right, too, Aeisha. It's strange and shameful that none of these neighbors has come by to say hello. Guess it'll take time for them to adjust to us, too. You'll see. Soon people will stop staring and we won't be such a novelty.”

I leaned my head against Mama's arm. “I'm sorry I've been a pain.”

Mama put her arm around me. “You all have school tomorrow. I want everybody in bed soon.”

Khatib, Aeisha and I nodded, but none of us moved. Somehow the thought of a new school where we didn't know anybody was worse than moving into this new house. At least here we had each other. I noticed Khatib was frowning, and I wondered if he was worried about his tryout for the basketball team the next day. Aeisha didn't have too much to worry about. She was being placed in an advanced sixth-grade class that had a bunch of other brainy kids, so she would fit right in. But what about me? I didn't have a team or a class to fit into. What if no one wanted to be friends with me? What if this school and this neighborhood couldn't handle someone as unusual as me?

“Did you hear that?” Khatib asked. His eyes were wide.

“What?” I asked. Mama, Dad and Aeisha were sitting very still. Grady had his head perked. “Did the faucet explode?” Mama had tried to fix a leaky faucet in the kitchen that afternoon, and there's always trouble whenever Mama tries to fix anything. One time she tried to change the oil in the car and Dad ended up having to rebuild practically the whole engine.

“Shhh, Ola. Listen.” Aeisha kicked my shoulder with her foot.

“Hey—” I started to turn around and yell at Aeisha when I heard a faint knocking sound coming from downstairs. It was so soft, I could barely hear it. Then Grady started barking.

“What now?” Mama sighed, standing up and starting down the stairs. Dad followed her. “Quiet, Grady.”

“Someone's at the door,” Aeisha whispered, standing up to look over the railing. She had her hand on Grady's collar.

“We don't know anybody here,” Khatib said, leaning over to peer through the balusters.

“Maybe it's the neighbors.” I stood up and leaned over the banister, too.

“Maybe it's some maniac,” Aeisha whispered.

Mama and Dad were looking through the peephole.

“Maybe somebody stole that kid's bike and he wants to know if we saw anything,” I said, trying not to show how nervous I was. “If he thinks we did it, you should kick his butt, Khatib.”

“No way. These hands are my secret weapons for tomorrow.” Khatib nudged me with his elbow. “Why don't
you
kick his butt?”

I didn't answer 'cause just then Dad opened the door and a tall girl wearing the strangest clothes walked in and kissed Dad right on the cheek.

“Lillian,” Aeisha guessed first, and Khatib and I nodded. We all remembered from Marie-Thèrése's house that Haitians kiss each other hello and goodbye on the cheek. Sure enough, the tall girl kissed Mama's cheek too, then just
stood looking down at the floor. Mama started talking to her, but she was speaking so softly we couldn't hear what she was saying.

“What's she wearing?” Khatib whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Clothes.” Aeisha frowned at Khatib.

I didn't say anything. We couldn't see the girl's face very well from the top of the stairs, but we could see her bunchy yellow turtleneck that was too short in the arms and her long purple and black flowered skirt that was too big. She also had on knee-high gray sweat socks, like Khatib wears for basketball practice, and black patent leather shoes with the strap across the middle, like the ones little girls wear. The only thing she had with her was a crumpled brown paper bag, which she was holding tight against her stomach.

Mama turned around and motioned all of us to come down. “Come and say hello to Lillian before you go to bed.”

I headed down first 'cause I wanted to get a good look at this person who would be living with us and especially taking care of
me
after school. It would be hard for anybody to live up to Mrs. Gransby, and I intended to let Mama and Dad and this new girl know that. As I walked down the hallway I looked at her more closely. Everything about this girl was tall and bony. She had long, bony arms and legs, and a long, skinny neck. Her skin was deep reddish brown, and her hair was curled in tight rolls around her head. I couldn't see her face very well 'cause she still had her head bowed.

Dad put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me forward. “Lillian, this is Ayeola, the youngest.”

“Just Ola,” I said. I heard her whisper
“Bonswa,”
but she didn't lift her head.

“Hi,” I said, before Dad pulled me away and nodded for Khatib to come up. It's hard to size up somebody who won't look at you. Lillian whispered the same thing to them, and I wondered what it meant, but from the look Mama was giving me I could tell she was telling me not to bother Lillian that night. As soon as Aeisha finished introducing herself, Mama looked at the three of us and said, “Bed.”

We nodded and turned around to go up the stairs. I looked back to see if Lillian was watching us, but she had her eyes on the floor. I started to think about how strange it must be to leave your country and come someplace new, and I realized that we had something in common with Lillian. All of us had moved to a new place, and none of us had any idea what to expect. At least me and Khatib and Aeisha had Mama and Dad, though. Lillian had left everybody she knew behind in another country.

hen I came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, Lillian wasn't there. Dad said she needed her rest and that we would have time to get to know her later, but I was disappointed. I wanted to know more about her and why she wore such strange clothes.

“What time does the school bus come?” I asked, climbing up on one of the stools. Mama had gone all out for our first day of school. There were eggs, bacon, grits and toast piled up on our plates.

“Your dad's going to drive you to school,” Mama said. She touched my shoulder as she passed behind me to the other side of the counter.

“How come?” Aeisha asked. She was slathering three pieces of toast with margarine.

“Just for this first day,” Mama said. She sat down on one of the stools and ate a big spoonful of grits without saying anything else.

I pushed the food around my plate with my fork. Mama
hadn't answered the question, but I knew they thought it would be easier on us if they drove us to school. I didn't feel much like eating.

Mama looked at me and sighed. “Ola—”

Before she could say anything else, Grady started barking and ran out of the kitchen. In between his barks, we could hear someone knocking at the front door. Again.

“What
now?”
Mama asked, standing up. “When it rains, it pours around here.”

Aeisha and I followed Mama to the door. We'd only been in the house one day and we'd already had two visitors. Mama looked through the peephole and frowned. She looked back at us. “It's a woman standing in her bathrobe.”

“Her bathrobe?” I repeated. Two visitors and both of them dressed wrong.

Mama opened the door, and Aeisha and I peeked around her. A woman about Mama's age was standing on our front steps in a blue terry-cloth bathrobe. The lady was white, with long blond hair straggling around her face. Her face was long and thin and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.” The woman pushed out her hands. She was holding a homemade pie. “It's pumpkin. Made from Walcott's world-famous pumpkins. I tried to get over yesterday, but the baby cried so.”

Mama took the pie. “Well, thank you, Mrs… ?”

“Adele. Adele Spunklemeyer, from across the street.” The woman blinked tiredly

“We're very grateful, Mrs. Spunklemeyer.” Mama smiled
kindly at the woman. “I'm Fatima Benson and these are my daughters, Aeisha and Ayeola.”

“I would have made a cake, but I was afraid the baby's crying would make it fall.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer sighed and looked very sorry.

“I know how much work new babies can be.” Mama nodded in sympathy.

“He's not new. He's eight months old, but he cries so.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer gazed at me and Aeisha and sighed again. “Girls. Maybe if I'd had a girl, she wouldn't cry so.”

Aeisha and I looked at each other and tried not to laugh. All Mrs. Spunklemeyer could talk about was her crying baby.

“Sorry to come over in my robe and all, but he cries so.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer turned around. “Goodbye. I must get back.”

“Goodbye,” Mama called out after her. We watched as Mrs. Spunklemeyer shuffled back across the street and into her house. As she opened the door, we could hear the sound of a baby wailing from somewhere inside. “That poor woman.”

“She's
our Welcome Wagon?” Aeisha said, raising her eyebrows. She started laughing, and Mama and I joined her. Mrs. Spunklemeyer was going to be a funny neighbor.

We told Dad and Khatib about Mrs. Spunklemeyer when they came down for breakfast, and they laughed, too. It made all of us feel better about the day ahead—for a little while. While Dad was driving us to school, Khatib, Aeisha and I stared out the window. Our dead neighborhood had been transformed. Kids ran out of their houses or
walked along the street, and parents were getting into their cars to drive to work. There were old lady crossing guards everywhere. Dad was frustrated because he couldn't drive more than fifteen miles an hour in a school zone. When we pulled up in front of the high school, Khatib jumped out of the car without even saying goodbye or looking back. Soon we couldn't see the back of his blue jacket as he blended into the other students entering the building. The high school was huge. It had three long brick buildings that stretched around the block, and WALCOTT HIGH SCHOOL was spelled out in blue and yellow paint on the walkway. Aeisha and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing. Our old school had been big, but not
this
big. If our school was as big as Khatib s, we'd never find our way to our classrooms.