Taneesha Never Disparaging (14 page)

I closed the Gosho
,
and, even without looking at my parents, I knew they were smiling. So was I. I'd read that passage because I wanted to. And I read it to say “Thank you” to them.

I bonged the bell and we all started chanting. A warm, tingly feeling glowed from inside of me and spread all over. My body and mind danced together to the rhythm of my voice.

Okay, girl with no name. So you're a Buddha, huh? At least that's what Never Disparaging says. He says we're all Buddhas. Even when we're mean, or stupid, or say dumb stuff. Even when we're bullies.

Tell you what: Tomorrow will be a good day. I promise. I'll make it a good day for all of us.

CHAPTER 18

O
n Thursday, next thing I knew, school was over way too fast for me. It seemed like 2:55 rolled around before my bottom hit the seat good in 509.

I hadn't won the day's election. Ronnie Lawson did—even though everybody had given me all that applause yesterday. But I had too much on my mind to care a whole lot about how losing totally stank.

Now kids, in all kinds of jackets and coats, were spilling out of Hunter like multicolored laundry powder from a box turned upside down. Carli and I walked toward the school building's
beige brick wall and waited there for our parents.

Shivering, I jammed my hands into my coat pockets and hunched my shoulders, shifting my weight from left to right. I kept doing that, trying to keep warm. I looked up at the dull, gray sky.

Man,
I miss the sun.

Then, a few yards in front of me, I saw something that hit me like a punch in the stomach.

“Look, Carli,” I pointed in front of us, at Bernard Avenue.

A giant tree had fallen clear across the street. It backed up traffic in both directions. Five firefighters hacked at the humungous trunk. There was no way Mama and Mr. Flanagan could get through. I felt doomed.

“I hope our parents can get to us in time.” I said.

I bet I sounded doomed.

“Yeah, me too.”

Carli definitely sounded doomed.

I started thinking up a Plan B.

Maybe Carli and I should go into the building to wait. But Mrs. Andrews…The secretary will get mad at us…

Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, you going to get your butt kicked!

I AM
NOT
GOING TO GET MY BUTT KICKED!

I almost jumped at the sound of me. I shook my head a little, surprised. Then I said it again: I AM
NOT
GOING TO GET MY BUTT KICKED!

Suddenly, I felt free and bodacious, like a galloping horse.

“Uh-oh,” Carli moaned. “Guess who's coming down the street.”

In slow motion, I turned toward the direction Carli nodded at. I didn't have to guess. I knew who I'd see.

Okay? Now what?
RUN!

I saw that big old girl walking, staring at me, looking like a dog with rabies—crazy, and almost foaming at the mouth.

My bodaciousness flew away.

“Nam Myoho Renge Kyo! Nam Myoho Renge Kyo! Nam Myoho Renge Kyo!” Without thinking, I'd started chanting quietly, fast and fierce.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I'm
not
running! I'm going to stand right here and face that girl!”

“Okay. Then I'll stand with you.”

I looked at Carli quickly, then we both went back to watching doom approach.

She walked along the sidewalk across the street. Her pit-bull eyes sliced into me. She kept coming.

The firefighters had finally chopped the tree into big chunks. They cleared its pieces from the street. Half of it lay on Carli's and my side of Bernard, half on the other. Firefighters directed traffic.

The older girl started crossing over, zig-zagging through cars that crawled along Bernard's muddy layer of snow slush.

I stood still, ready to grab Carli's hand and take off up the street if I needed to.

With her eyes glued to me, the older girl stepped up and over the curb. Before I could duck, her fist flew.

Suddenly, her feet slid around on a patch of ice. She lost her balance and fell facedown onto a shoveled part of the concrete sidewalk.

Right at my feet.

I heard the hard thud that must have rattled her bones and I jerked back.

I remembered the fall I'd had just like hers yesterday. The fall I had because she
pushed
me.

Yeah
! Now you know how it
feels
!

I soaked up the sight of her, my enemy, lying
on the sidewalk. I drank in every sweet drop of
revenge
. It tasted even better than guava-mango juice.
Delicious
.

The girl got to her knees slowly, as if it hurt to move.

I looked down at her as she sucked blood from her lip.

And something moved inside of me.

As big as she was, she seemed kind of helpless.

I blinked and opened my eyes wide to focus. Did I see a tear fall?

What was I
thinking
? I'd just acted like somebody I didn't know. I'd
laughed
over her pain. It was as if I'd turned into Evella—only worse. As if, for a few moments, I was somebody I didn't like. Somebody I
never
wanted to be.

I stooped down to help the girl up. Carli did, too.

“Get away from me! I don't need y' all's help!” The girl struggled on the ground for a moment, like she was fighting the concrete.

Finally, she made it to her feet and started brushing dirt and snow off her coat. She straightened out her black backpack.

Then she glanced toward the sidewalk.

I saw her notice something there. She gave Carli and me a quick look. I could tell she didn't want us to see what she saw.

But I
did
see.

The girl swooped down to the ground and crouched over a small blue pouch. The two medical needles and glucose meter lying near the pouch on the sidewalk must have fallen out of it.

That's
her
stuff?

Peeking sideways at me, she waddled like a duck, snatching up everything, and quickly stuffed the needles and meter into the pouch. She pulled its drawstring closed, stood, wriggled one backpack strap off her arm, and tugged her backpack sideways in front of her. Then she tucked the pouch into one of the backpack's side pockets, zipped the pocket, and returned the backpack to its place behind her.

Her eyes narrowed into hardened slits. “What y'all looking at?!”

I pictured Ebony, Shantay, and Loren at the hospital. They'd used the same kind of needles as the older girl's.

I looked her straight in the eye. I wasn't sure if I should say anything but I decided to try.

“Do you—do you have diabetes?”

“Taneesha, let's just walk away.” Carli sounded as if she thought I was lucky to still be alive.

“None of your business what I got.”

I shrank. Why had I even bothered? I was ready to take Carli's advice and cut out.

“And anyway,” the girl said, with a sort of softer mean face, “what you know about diabetes?”

Hey, I'm not a little kid. Okay. Here goes again: “My mother's a nurse.”

I hoped my big announcement impressed her. I hoped she could tell that it wasn't like I was some dumb little kid that didn't know anything.

But a second later, the big “SO WHAT?” all over her face killed my hopes.

How could I convince her that I knew what I was talking about?

“I met kids with diabetes at the hospital where my mother works,” I blurted. “I know sometimes people with diabetes take shots to keep from getting sick. They need um, um…”
Dang
! My mind scrambled to think of the name of—“
Insulin
! They need
insulin
. Is that why you've got needles?”

“What's it like having diabetes?” Carli asked.

I watched that girl fighting to stay tough—and
losing the fight.

Then she sighed like she'd been holding her breath all her life.

“I'm just finding out myself. I got it all of a sudden. The doctor say my body don't use sugar like it's supposed to. All I know is I can't eat like normal people.” She looked downward. I could hardly hear her when she said, “Y'all probably want to laugh at me, right?”

I shook my head slowly. Carli did the same thing.

A wave of relief washed over the girl's face. “I don't know about those people at your mother's job—” She spoke as if truth was rising up out of well deep inside of her. “—but I hate having to take a bunch of stupid shots all the time. I was scared if anybody found out I'm sick they'd think I'm weird. So I ain't told none of my friends.”

I wanted to tell her that I understood but the words stayed locked inside me.

“Well, if they're really your friends,” said Carli, “they won't mind if you're different. Real friends stick by each other.”

Carli's words nudged me to speak.

“She's right. Friends don't care about stuff like that. Everybody's got some type of problem.
Anybody mean enough to make fun of you for having diabetes's not your friend anyway.”

The girl seemed to think about that.

But that wasn't all.

I could tell something else pulled at chains inside her.

“Sometimes…” she whispered.

Then she stopped, like maybe she wasn't sure she should go on.

But then she did.

“Sometimes I'd rather die than have this dumb disease.”

There was silence after that.

The three of us stood still.

A light snow began to fall.

Snowflakes softly landed like cool feathers on my cheeks and melted.

The girl raised her eyes until they met mine, and Carli's, too.

The girl exhaled and a tiny cloud appeared and vanished in front of her face.

“Sorry,” she said, with her head hung low. “Sorry I been so mean to y' all. I guess—I guess I been in kind of a bad mood.”

And then I
knew
. I knew what I had to do. Not
only to help her break free, but for me, too.

 

“That's okay. I get in bad moods, too, sometimes.”

“Yeah. Me too,” said Carli.

The girl looked at us. And that was it. I could see just who she was.

“Uh…my name's…my name's Jewel.”

I smiled so wide that the crisp air hurt my stretching face. But I didn't mind at all.

“I'm Taneesha.”

“And I'm Carli.” She was all teeth, too.

Just then, Mama's minivan zoomed to a stop along the curb. Mr. Flanagan's green car pulled up fast behind her.

Windows slid down.

“Taneesha, you all right?!”

I heard a solid promise in Mama's worried voice: “If you got a problem, I got your back.”

“Is everything okay, Carli?” dittoed Mr. Flanagan.

“We're fine!” I stood there cheesing like a girl in a Colgate commercial.

All of a sudden, out pops Mr. Sun, sailing from behind a cloud and scattering shimmery beads of light on the falling snowflakes. I felt warm from
the inside out and the whole world shined especially for me.

I smiled at Carli and Jewel. Then I turned and waved at Mama and Mr. Flanagan and said, “Thanks! We'll see you at home!”

 

I was ready to burst I was so excited. It was a Friday and I had a guest to bring to Ontario Hospital! Exactly four weeks ago, I'd given my famous Take Your Child To Work Day report at school. And guess what? I got a standing O! In fact, because of my report, 509 put together group projects on diabetes prevention—keeping kids from getting diabetes. We presented it to the whole school, too! My mother was our guest speaker. Thank you very much, Officer HP.

That Friday, four weeks ago, also happened to be the first day Carli and I volunteered as official story readers for kids at Ontario Hospital. Since then, every Friday, we'd been walking to the hospital after school.

Today, I led the guest through Ontario's hallways. I never knew how many children would be
waiting for me from one week to the next.

The guest and I walked into the large children's room. With all beds filled, six little faces stared up at us—four boys and two girls. Carli was already there, sitting in a chair in front of the children.

“Hi, boys and girls,” I said, waving.

The kids waved and
Hi
-ed back.

“Shantay, you know me already. But everybody else, I'm Taneesha. I read books here with Carli.”

I opened my hand palm up toward the visitor the way game-show models do on TV when they're showing off the grand prize. “And
this
is a good friend of ours. She's going to read with us today. And guess what? She has diabetes just like you. Everybody, say hi to Jewel.”

I pressed my hands together and bowed to Jewel—Japanese-style, the way Natsuko bows. The way Daisaku Ikeda bows. And for just a second—a second like eternity, like forever—I thought I heard Bodhisattva Never Disparaging.

I heard that guy clapping, giving me a standing O.

I
deeply thank the following people for helping
Taneesha Never Disparaging
become a reality: Josh Bartok, Laura Cunningham, Joe Evans, Tony Lulek, and everyone at Wisdom Publications, for believing in Taneesha and warmly welcoming her onto their list; writers Rhenee McGraw-Harris and Christine Taylor-Butler, for providing honest and essential feedback; the staff, faculty, and participants of the Highlights Foundation 2006 writers' workshop in Chautauqua, New York, with special thanks to Rich Wallace and Jerry Spinelli, for their affirmations and perfect tweaking advice; editor Eileen Robinson of F1rstPages.com, whose caring, thorough, and frank expertise enabled me to dig deeper and go further; Regina Brooks of SerendipityLit.com, the best agent I never had, for
a critique that was like good medicine—hard to take but effective; Kathleen Bernetich, for lovingly igniting my writing career; Mayumi Rindflesch, for sharing Haru Jenkins's story; Haru Jenkins, for living, remembering, and telling the history that became Natsuko's memories (although Haru dresses up more than Natsuko, and her hair isn't orange, she
does
look like a girl when she smiles); Linda Johnson, for the “never be defeated” encouragement that gave rise to Evella; the staff of the Cleveland Clinic's Huron Hospital Lennon Diabetes Center in East Cleveland, for patiently answering my medical questions; my family members and friends, for endless love and support; and Daisaku Ikeda, for being my Sensei.