Pieces of Why (10 page)

I
NEVER SAW
the sky fill with clouds. I didn't notice as the breeze picked up and turned into a strong wind. I didn't even hear the first cracks of thunder. It wasn't until the clouds opened up and drenched me with a heavy downpour that I realized a storm had been brewing. It was a typical late-day summer storm, here and gone in ten minutes, but it was enough to soak me through. By the time I reached New Heaven Baptist Church, I was shivering despite the heat, and limping from a blister on the sole of my foot.

I'd lost track of the time, and I hoped I wasn't arriving when parents would still be lingering at the back of the church. The last thing I needed was for Ms. Evette to see me like this. She'd call my mother at work and then there would be an interrogation like none other.

I slipped into the building, sliding noiselessly through the heavy wooden doors, dripping a trail onto the carpet. The Rainbow Choir was singing a gentle, rocking spiritual that
Ms. Marion said was one of her favorites, and for a moment I stood still, pressed up against the back wall, watching the chorus sway. Ms. Marion's hands danced in the air as she directed them.

She'd reorganized the choir to make up for our lost members, changing some of the altos into sopranos, and I was surprised to realize we sounded good. The melody lifted like a breeze, and though my knees felt like they'd give way, the music held me up.

Then Ms. Marion stopped abruptly in order to correct the bass section's harmony. I caught Keisha's gaze and her eyebrows furrowed when she saw my dripping wet figure. Her hand raised and waved like mad, but another hand had gone up before hers.

“Yes, Kenny?” said Ms. Marion.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

He didn't stutter at all, but the other kids snickered anyway. Ms. Marion clucked, but she motioned for him to go.

Keisha put her hand down, half raised it again, and then she looked at me and shrugged. I swiped at my wet, tangled hair, wondering what I'd say to Kenny.

He came up beside me. “Follow me.”

“But I—”

“Trust me.”

Kenny led me down the steps to the adult choir room.
A row of wooden lockers lined the wall, and Kenny went over to one of the lockers and pulled out a backpack.

“Here,” he said, handing me a wad of black-and-white clothing. “You can w-wear this. It's my band uniform. I come straight to rehearsal from p-practice. Might be a little big for you, but it's d-d-d . . . dry.”

I shivered again. The air in the basement was cool and my clothes clung to my skin. “Thanks.”

The bathrooms were down a narrow hallway, and I went into the ladies' room to change. It felt strange to be alone down here with Kenny. A voice inside my head reminded me that soon I'd have to tell him why I'd showed up late for practice, limping and drenched, but I was too numb to listen. Instead, I stripped off my wet clothes, piece by piece, and replaced them with Kenny's uniform. Then I draped my things over the sink. Maybe I could use a hand dryer on them later and return the uniform when practice was over.

Kenny's shirt smelled like him: kind of spicy with a hint of mint soap. I held the sleeve up to my nose and breathed in. Then I froze as a fragment of memory came back to me.
I was a little
kid, hiding under M
a's bed, clutching t
he shirt I'd stolen
from my father's sid
e of the closet, bre
athing in his clean,
fresh scent.

I'd missed my father so bad, it had hurt.

My mouth fell open.

No. That couldn't be. It was like Keisha's aunt Loretta had said: A man had to be disturbed to pull the trigger. And I'd missed him? I thought of the way that old man had looked at me. My father's face must be branded into his mind, like a nightmare he'd never wake up from. But I'd loved him?

I couldn't help the choked noise that escaped my throat.

“Are you o-okay?”

I opened the door and shook my head.

Kenny's brown eyes looked worried, his dark lashes brushing his cheeks. He motioned to the bench in the choir room, and I followed him over. “You look really upset. Do you w-want to talk about it?”

I paused, not sure if I'd be able to get the words out, but if anyone could understand that problem, it was Kenny.

“Does it have to do with the night you f-fainted?” he pressed.

My mouth struggled to form an answer, and I was grateful that Kenny didn't rush me. Grateful, and guilty for all the times I'd rushed him.

“That night,” I said at last, “I was thinking about my father. I didn't know it then, but he killed a girl. Her name was Danielle, and she was our age.” I paused, waiting for Kenny's reaction, wondering if he'd known.

He let his breath out in a long, slow whistle, and I knew he was steadying himself so he wouldn't stutter. “No kidding?”

I nodded.

“I'd heard your father was in jail, but . . .” He stopped. “W-when did it happen? W-was it an accident?”

Every part of me wanted to lie, but I'd come this far.

“No,” I said. “He was robbing her house. I was just four years old at the time, and he got sent to prison. For life. Ma told me about the robbery, but not the murder.”

“That's aw-aw-aw—” Kenny made a rasping sound, then paused. “Awful.”

“Not as awful as it must have been for Danielle's family.”

We were both silent for a long time, and I was glad Kenny didn't try to make me feel better. Sometimes, better didn't exist.

“Anyway,” I said, once the silence got to be too much, “ever since I found out, I can't stop thinking about what it must be like to lose someone, or to be the one who gets lost. So today I went to the girl's house to apologize, only . . .” The sound caught in my throat, and I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “I couldn't do it.”

Kenny reached over and took my hand the way he had the night of the shooting. “Is this why you aren't s-singing anymore? I heard w-what happened at June Fest.”

I nodded.

Kenny was quiet, as if he were thinking hard. Then he leaned forward. “You're too t-tough on yourself, Tia.” He paused. “If you ask me, your f-father's the one who needs to apologize. Has he ever done that?”

I shrugged. “I don't know, but I doubt it.”

“W-well, maybe it's time to make s-someone else step up for a change.”

Even with the stammer, Kenny's voice was firm, and suddenly I understood that there was something noble about Kenny. He fought hard every single day for something the rest of us took for granted.

“Tia,” he said, “d-did you know I joined the Rainbow Choir because of you?”

I looked up, feeling a little zing of heat under my skin. “Really? Why?”

Kenny shrugged. “Your s-singing is the most amazing thing I've ever heard in my life. And I think . . .” He paused. “I think you're really p-pretty. No. Not just pretty. Beautiful.”

I drew in my breath. No one had ever told me I was beautiful. I thought of my reflection in the mirror—shades of my father's face staring back at me. I looked just like him with my brown hair and high cheekbones. How could anyone think
I
was beautiful?

“Did that sound d-d-d . . . dumb?” Kenny asked.

“No,” I said. “It sounded—”

I wanted to say perfect, but I never got to finish because that's when Michael Slater came to find Kenny. He stood on the staircase peering down at us.

“Ms. Marion sent me. What's taking you so long, dude?”

We both jumped, and Michael's eyes lit up when he saw
me wearing Kenny's uniform. He hooted, pointing at Kenny. “You dog! Down here makin' out with your girlfriend?”

Kenny stood, and we both tried talking at once, but Kenny couldn't get a single word out, so Michael held up one hand. “Chill,” he said. “I won't be telling nobody. But you better hurry up before Ms. Marion comes down here herself.”

Kenny nodded. Then he turned to me. “You should visit your f-father,” he said. “He owes you. He's the one who ought to ap-ap . . . apologize.” He said each word slowly and carefully, and then he leaned in and kissed my cheek before bounding up the stairs and out of sight.

T
HAT NIGHT
Keisha and I managed to finagle another sleepover even though it meant calling my mother at work, which I was only supposed to do in emergencies. Now we sat on the fire escape in the glow of the streetlights, talking about my failed attempt to visit Danielle's family. And Kenny.

Mostly Kenny. Wasn't much to say about me wimping out.

“Man, that kid is so in love with you,” Keisha said. “Imagine a boy joining a choir just to be with you. Even if it is c-c-crazy Kenny.”

“Yeah,” I said, distracted. My mind still buzzed with all the things Kenny had said. “Do you think I should visit my dad?” I asked aloud. “I mean, what if—”

Keisha cut me off. “No freakin' way! Your father doesn't deserve a visit from anyone, least of all you. Besides, how
would you get to the prison and back without telling your mother?”

I hadn't thought about that.

“And what the heck would you say to him?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I guess I'd ask him why he did it and if he's sorry.”

Now that I'd said the words out loud, I thought about how good it might feel to hear my father say he was sorry. Maybe Kenny was right.

Keisha got up and ducked through her window into her bedroom. She grabbed her laptop, then came back out to sit beside me on the staircase. She typed
Lo
uisiana State Penite
ntiary
into a search engine, and we both fell silent as the web page came up with a photo of the prison. I had only the one memory of visiting my father, but now the details came back—how big the place had been, and how it had looked like a fortress. There were barbed-wire fences all around, and lots of buildings shaped like X's. It was strange to look at them and think that somewhere inside, right this very minute, my father was living his life.

Keisha went to the section that said
Visitor Info
rmation
and scrolled down.

“Yup,” she said, as if she'd known it all along. “Minors have to be accompanied by an adult. Plus, the adult's name has to be on the inmate's approved list of visitors.”

“What about your mom?” I asked. “You think she'd be on my father's approved list?”

Keisha's mouth fell open. “Are you insane? Besides, she'd never take you there without asking your mother first.”

I knew Keisha was right.

“So, I guess I should scratch that idea off the list.”

“Good,” Keisha said, shutting the laptop and setting it behind us. “And if you were smart, you'd stop doing depressing things and start doing fun ones. Like making out with Kenny. Trust me, that will feel
way
better than visiting your father.”

I laughed. “As if you'd know anything about making out,” I teased, kicking her lightly, but she got a funny look on her face.

My brows dipped into a V.

“No offense,” Keisha said, shrugging, “but you're out of the loop. We've made out before rehearsal. Twice.”

I gasped. “With people around? Are you crazy?” My voice shot up an octave and Keisha slapped her hand over my mouth.

“Quiet before Mama hears you. We were in the adult choir room, so no one saw us.”

My cheeks burned. “What was it like?”

“Nice.” Keisha grinned.

“Wow,” I breathed. I couldn't believe Keisha had
leap-frogged ahead of me. I tried to imagine what it might feel like to make out with Kenny, but I couldn't quite do it. I shivered.

Keisha noticed and laughed. “You're thinking about Kenny, aren't you?”

I blushed and Keisha grinned. “Just wait. We're gonna get all this stuff figured out and then next time we travel for a concert, me and Khalil and you and Kenny can steal the back seats of the bus, and canoodle the whole way. Then we'll sing so loud that everyone in New Orleans will hear about the Rainbow Choir, and we'll never be short of members again. Amen.”

Me and Keisha leaned back against the stairs, and I looked up into the branches of the magnolia tree high above us, trying to imagine God sitting among the stars listening to Keisha's wish turned prayer and deciding whether or not we were worthy of making out with boys in the backseat of a bus.

Then I thought about Ma, sitting on the steps of her high school, smiling up at her boyfriend like he hung the moon. Was that how Keisha looked at Khalil? Made the hairs on my arms stand up straight, so I decided to change Keisha's prayer.
God,
I prayed,
forget about the bus. Just
don't bring Keisha
any trouble
.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
,
we were listening to music in Keisha's room. It was raining outside and every now and then a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. We'd cracked Keisha's window just enough to let in a little bit of cool air, and it smelled like mud puddles with an occasional whiff of magnolia.

I was on YouTube looking for silly videos, and Keisha was sprawled on her bed, texting Khalil fast and furious.

“Oooh,” Keisha said. “He's lovin' me.”

She typed something back, and then giggled as another text message chimed.

“He says I'm the best-looking girl in New Orleans, but I'm typing, ‘Only New Orleans?'”

A minute later she grinned. “Okay. Now he says the whole world.” She turned to me. “Think I should say I want to be Miss Universe? Or wait, maybe I can tell him he's Mr. Universe to me.”

Keisha and I both groaned at how corny that sounded.

“Lame,” I said. “Try something else.”

Keisha nibbled at the plastic casing of her phone. “I've got it,” she said after a minute had passed. But before she could type anything, her phone chimed again.

“Silly boy,” she muttered. “I can't even keep up.” Then she paused, frowning slightly. “He says he wants to meet me tonight. We've never gotten together outside of choir before.” She shrugged. “Guess you can't blame him for wanting something extra.”

“Tell him he'll have to wait,” I said, typing the words
singing cats
. “It's pouring outside.”

Keisha frowned. “He's telling me he wants to kiss me,” she said, but she didn't sound happy this time. She sounded confused, and that made my stomach twist into a knot. Keisha's eyes narrowed. “He says I promised we'd meet at the library uptown if he took the streetcar.”

“Did you say that?”

“Of course not! Why the heck would I want to meet uptown?”

“So if he's not replying to you, then . . .”

Keisha's jaw fell open as another text message chimed in. “Mary-Kate?” she read aloud. Keisha's eyes shot open and she hurled her phone across the room. If it didn't have the shatter-proof case, it would have broken for sure. “He's fooling around with Mary-Kate?” she repeated. “How . . .
since when?” She was sputtering, her cheeks flushed with rage.

A message chimed, and then a minute later her phone rang, but neither of us moved to answer it.

“That jerk!” I breathed. Even though I wasn't the one who'd gotten cheated on, my heart still raced. “How could he do that?”

“So, this whole time he's been texting me,” Keisha said, as if she was still trying to piece things together, “he's also been texting Mary-Kate?” Her breathing was ragged and her fists clenched. “But she's so stuck-up! Why would he want to fool around with her?”

The phone had stopped ringing, but now it started again, making us both jump. Keisha shook her head numbly. “I let that boy touch me,” she whispered, “like he had some right to, and now . . . Do you think I'm not a good enough kisser?”

I got up and sat beside Keisha on the bed, putting my arm around her shoulders. “It's not your fault,” I said. “Mary-Kate probably stole him away on purpose just to be mean. You know she hates us both. If he fell for her act, he's a loser.”

Keisha threw herself down on the bed and buried her face in her pillow.

“I'm the loser,” she said, her voice muffled. “Why did I ever trust him? I let him talk me into—”

She didn't finish her sentence, and I wondered if Keisha had done more than she was telling me. But this wasn't the
time to ask, so I rubbed her back instead. “You couldn't have known. He seemed so cool, and I swear he liked you.”

Keisha sobbed, and a minute later, her bedroom door opened and Ms. Evette stepped inside. She had Jerome with her, and she set him down on the floor beside me.

“This is about that boy,” Ms. Evette said, like it wasn't even a question. I moved over so she could scoop Keisha up.

“Now you listen to me,” she said. “Both of you. There are a lot of boys out there who will do you wrong, but there are also a lot of them who will do right by you. Most of the time you'll know the difference, but if you make a mistake, you've got to know in your heart that he's the fool who's losing out.”

Keisha only cried harder, so Ms. Evette took her by the shoulders.

“You are my beautiful daughter, and the boy you end up with will be blessed to have you. So this little . . . twerp . . . who's passed you up, or done whatever stupid thing he's done, well, he just missed out on being the luckiest boy alive.”

This made Keisha sniff a tiny bit, and then Jerome crawled over and put his finger up her nose.

“Jerome!” she sputtered.

Keisha's phone chimed again and Ms. Evette picked it up. She looked like she wanted to hurl it too, but she just turned it off.

“I came up to tell you that Tia's mother would like her to come home.”

There was something in her tone that shot a ripple of fear down my spine. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

Ms. Evette paused. “Your mama didn't sound too happy, hon.”

Keisha and I stared at each other, our eyes saying all the things our mouths couldn't. Finally, I whispered one tiny plea.

“But I can't leave Keisha.”

Ms. Evette patted my shoulder. “I'll take care of Keisha,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Dwayne's waiting to walk you home.”

I guessed Ms. Evette knew more than she was telling. I also guessed that Ma calling me home early so soon after I'd visited Danielle Morton's house was more than a coincidence.

Somehow, my mother knew.