New Boy, Page 4

  Their second year in New York, when she turned fifteen, Sisi mutated into someone even more distant, to the point where he had to remind himself she was his sister. First she began dropping white friends she had in school, which left her with no friends at all since her school was all white. Then she began hanging out with black kids she’d met somewhere, and adopted an American accent sprinkled with slang. “Solid,” she began to say. “Your mama,” she said to insult someone. The day she referred to white people as “honkies”—though not in front of their parents—Osei knew their paths had truly diverged.

  This angry black girl performance only lasted a month or two before segueing into something more sophisticated, and equally baffling to Osei. Dropping the American slang, she stepped up the singsong Ghanaian accent she and Osei had had as small children. She began wearing bright tunics made of kente cloth—to her mother’s delight. Mrs. Kokote wasn’t so pleased, however, when Sisi grew her hair out into an Afro so long it bowed under its own weight. When she chided her daughter, Sisi laughed and put an arm around her mother. “But Maame, you should be pleased that I am letting my hair go natural, the way God intended African hair to be.”

  She began to go out more after school and on weekends. Osei eavesdropped outside her door and learned she was lying to her parents about where she was and whom she was with. One day he secretly followed her to Central Park, where she sat with a group of other young black teenagers he didn’t recognize. They were dressed similarly to Sisi, in dashikis or other tops made of kente cloth, and had big Afros. From a distance he could not hear what they were saying, but could guess from the phone calls he had listened in on: they were American but would have neo-African names they’d taken on like Wakuna, Malaika, or Ashanti, and they would sprinkle their conversation with references to Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, the Black Panthers, slogans like Black Power and Black Is Beautiful, and terms he didn’t understand like “white supremacy,” “pan-Africanism,” and “internalized racism.” Osei watched Sisi raise her fist in the black power salute whenever anyone arrived or left—a gesture he recognized from the poster she had put up in her room of the athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising their fists at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico. It made him uneasy. She was fifteen years old; wasn’t that too young to become a radical? He missed their earlier ease with each other, when they used to play gin rummy or try to learn dances from Soul Train. He even missed her sullen teenage silence. He didn’t want to hear her talking about the oppressor and the oppressed.

  O snuck away from Central Park that day without revealing himself. He did not say anything to Sisi later. Nor did he tell his parents what their daughter was doing. The Kokotes seemed blissfully unaware of Sisi’s new activities.

  On the other hand, just before they left for Washington, his mother made him get a haircut, so that he lost his own big Afro. He’d been proud of it, carrying a pick in his back pocket everywhere he went, to comb his bush and keep it even and tidy. Osei did not normally fight with his parents, but he argued hard against getting a haircut. “Why?” he kept asking.

  “There is too much emphasis on hair in this household,” his mother insisted obliquely. “It is better for a fresh start.”

  When O continued to complain, his father cut in. “Son, you will do what your mother asks, and you will not question her judgment. She knows what she is talking about.”

  That was the end of the argument and the Afro. “Sorry, little brother,” Sisi said when she saw him post-cut. She chuckled. “You look like a sheep when it has been shorn!”

  He noticed her own Afro was still intact.

  Now as Osei entered the classroom alongside Dee, his new teacher had another student move so that they could sit together at a cluster of desks, which were grouped in fours, facing each other so they made rectangles. This was clearly an unusual decision, as O could hear murmurs ripple through the classroom until the teacher cleared his throat and all went quiet.

  “Do you have pencils and pens and a ruler and eraser?” he demanded of his new student.

  Osei froze, not wanting to pull out the strawberry case, for he could predict the teasing that would follow, but he was not sure what else to do. Dee knew, though. Reaching into her desk, she drew her own case onto her lap, then slid it over into his without anyone seeing.

  “Yes…”

  “Mr. Brabant,” Dee whispered.

  “Mr. Brabant.” O held up the case. It was white, which was not a color he would have chosen, but at least it wasn’t pink. It had Snoopy on it, the dog from the Charlie Brown comic strip, sitting on his red doghouse, hunched over a typewriter. Snoopy was all right; O preferred him to miserable Charlie Brown or bossy Lucy. Reasonable Linus would have been acceptable too, or Schroeder playing his piano. Snoopy, though, had one advantage over all of them: he did not have white skin, but black and white fur.

  Across the room one of the girls—a pretty one made ugly by trying too hard with her clothes—openly gasped, clearly recognizing Dee’s case.

  Mr. Brabant, however, was not the sort of teacher who would get to know every student’s pencil case. He merely nodded and began to call the roll. Dee’s last name was Benedetti. O had been right—Italian. Many of the others were the common American last names like Cooper, Brown, Smith, Taylor. But there were plenty of immigrant names as well: Fernandez, Korewski, Hansen, O’Connor. Despite the eclecticism of those names, his own name, Osei Kokote, which Mr. Brabant wrote in at the end of the roster, still stuck out.

  When the teacher’s back was turned, O handed back the Snoopy case. Then he took everything out of the strawberry case. “You have it,” he whispered, and set it in her lap.

  “Ohhh,” Dee breathed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you!” She smiled and began transferring her pencils to the strawberry case. Then she held out the empty Snoopy to him. “Let’s trade.”

  “You do not have to do that,” O whispered.

  “I want to. I love it.” Dee squeezed his sister’s case and continued to hold out hers. “I want you to have mine.”

  O took the Snoopy case. The girl sitting across from Dee—straight mousy-brown hair, with carefully trimmed bangs crossing her forehead, and wearing a plaid pinafore dress—was watching their transaction with fascination, unable to hide her disgust. O widened his eyes at her, and she dropped her own and reddened.

  “That’s Patty,” Dee said. “And Duncan.” She nodded at the stocky boy across from him, who was catching the eyes of friends in other clusters around the room and trying not to laugh. O fixed his gaze on him, and when at last they made eye contact, Duncan stopped smiling.

  Osei packed his things into Dee’s case, though now that they had made the swap he felt a little regretful about giving away something of his sister’s. The strawberry case had accompanied them to so many places, and had been a familiar sight on whatever kitchen table Sisi had done her homework on. During summer vacations she had even taken it to Ghana, where it was coveted by the cook’s daughters she played with. Really it should go to them, though perhaps they were too old to care about such a thing now. Still, it felt like losing a little piece of family history.

  Now Dee was running her fingers around each strawberry, just the way Sisi had. O liked to see her doing that. And when she smiled at him with her welcoming face, the fire he had felt when he first saw her flared up again.

  O and Dee, sittin’ in a tree

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  First comes love, then comes marriage

  Then comes Dee with a baby carriage!

  Blanca made a beeline for Mimi as she came onto the playground at recess. Mimi’s head was still reeling from the Xs and Ys Miss Lode had introduced them to that morning. “Technically you don’t start algebra until eighth grade,” she’d announced. “But seventh-grade math will include some elements of algebra, and I don’t want my students from this school looking blank when your future teachers begin to teach it. Besides, Mr. Brabant has already begun h
aving his students work on equations. You don’t want to be left behind.”

  Miss Lode was sensitive to the perception that the other sixth grade class, with its more experienced teacher and bright students like Patty and Casper and Dee, was more advanced than hers. Mimi could have told her, though, that for every Patty in Mr. Brabant’s class, there was also a Blanca: Blanca with her tight top and her lips stained red from the Now and Later candy she’d been sneaking during class. Her breath smelled of synthetic cherry as she grabbed Mimi and cried, “Dee gave her pencil case to the new boy—I saw him with it!”

  “What—Snoopy?” Like many girls, Mimi could itemize her friends’ wardrobes and possessions, especially the things she coveted: Blanca’s polka-dot flamenco shoes, Dee’s owl necklace, her older sister’s shiny red raincoat. She knew who had the Partridge Family lunch box, the pencils with tiny troll erasers on top, the smiley-face pin. Of course she knew what Dee’s pencil case looked like, just as Dee would know hers was made of old jeans and had a pocket on the outside where Mimi kept an emergency wintergreen Life Saver.

  “I couldn’t believe it!” Blanca rested her arm on Mimi’s shoulders as if they were best friends. She always assumed an intimacy that the other girls did not feel.

  Mimi moved out from under Blanca’s arm. “So what’s Dee going to use instead for a pencil case?”

  Blanca shrugged. “No idea. And they were sitting together, and talking the whole time! I bet they held hands under the desk.”

  “Did you bring the ropes?”

  “Dee’ll bring them. Let’s go wait on the ship.”

  The pirate ship was made of wood, with a cabin to wriggle through and a deck tilted as if it were sailing through a stiff wind. There was a tall mast and a crow’s nest at the top, which you could climb up to on rigging or using a rope ladder. It had been built in honor of Mrs. Hunter, the school principal for twenty-five years, who had retired a few years before. The girls liked to lie in a row on the sloping deck, propping their feet up on the cabin and seeing who could blow the biggest bubbles with their gum. They weren’t allowed to chew gum in class, so they waited till they got to the ship to cram their mouths with pieces of Big Buddy bubble gum, in pink and red and purple. Only Mimi couldn’t, as gum got stuck in her braces.

  Two fourth grade boys were climbing on the rigging, but took one look at Mimi and Blanca and jumped off. Mimi sighed as she settled on the deck. “We’ll be the youngest in the playground next year,” she said, closing her eyes and turning her face toward the sun. “There isn’t even anything to play on in the junior high playground. No swings, no slide, no ship. I bet they don’t jump rope either.”

  “True. But I’m ready.” Blanca snapped her gum and drummed her long bare legs against the deck. “I’m sick of this school. I wanna meet new people.”

  Mimi smiled, her eyes still closed. “New boys, you mean.”

  “It’s Dee who’s got the new boy. I’m not sure I’d want him.” Blanca made it sound as if she could’ve had him if she chose to.

  “Why not? You don’t even know what he’s like.”

  “I know, but…it would be strange.”

  Mimi opened her eyes and looked at Blanca. “What would be strange?” She enjoyed watching Blanca squirm.

  “Well, like, what would it be like touching his hair? Isn’t it—greasy or something?”

  Mimi shrugged. “Does it matter? Do you touch Casper’s hair?” Blanca had been going with Casper on and off all year; Mimi wasn’t sure if they were on or off now. It usually depended on how irritated Casper got with Blanca’s attention—though when they were on they seemed to be more genuine than any of the other “couples” who had tried going together. They certainly seemed more real than she and Ian did.

  “It would still be weird.” Blanca blew a pink bubble and let it collapse over her generous lips.

  “Maybe he’d think you’re weird.”

  “I’m not weird! You’re the one who’s weird!”

  Their bickering could have escalated, but Dee joined them then and they directed their attention to her. “Where are the ropes?” Blanca demanded.

  “Oh. I forgot.” Dee looked dazed, as if she had just been asleep.

  Blanca began to laugh. “I can’t believe you forgot! Somebody’s in loooooove.”

  Mimi glanced over at the jump rope area, where the pavement was smooth. It was already full, with two single ropes and a Double Dutch squeezed in. Two of the groups were fifth graders that they could kick off if they wanted to. But Dee was settling down next to them, and neither she nor Blanca looked eager to go back inside and get the ropes. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I was showing Osei where the boys’ bathroom is.”

  “Osei?” Mimi repeated.

  “The new boy. He said we can call him O. I’ve been looking after him this morning. Though he doesn’t really need it—he’s used to new schools. He’s been to three other schools in the last six years.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Really nice. Really. And smart. He’s from Ghana, by the way. I got that wrong before. Did you hear his accent? It’s so cute. I could listen to him all day.”

  She’s got it bad, Mimi thought. “Why’s he in DC?”

  “His father is a diplomat and got posted to the embassy downtown.”

  “But why now? The school year will be over in a month. It doesn’t seem worth it to go through being a new boy for so little time when he’ll just have to start all over again at a new school in September.”

  “He said his parents thought he should meet kids here, at a smaller school, even for a few weeks, so that he’ll know a few people when he starts junior high.”

  “That’s crazy,” Blanca interjected. “Who’d want to be the new boy twice?” But she was already losing interest, her eyes on Casper, who was passing the ship holding a big red rubber ball. “Casper, you want to join us?”

  Casper smiled at them; his easy grin, combined with his wavy shoulder-length blond hair and sky-blue eyes, made him by far the best-looking boy on the playground. “Can’t—we’re playing kickball. See you later.”

  “I hope your team wins!”

  Mimi glanced at Dee so they could roll their eyes at how stupid Blanca sounded. But Dee had her eyes fixed on the entrance. “I hope Osei didn’t get lost. Otherwise he’ll be too late to play kickball.”

  Mimi grimaced. Everything Dee did and said would now be related back to the new boy; she would mention him whenever she could, eager to say his name aloud, savoring its special meaning while all around her remained ignorant of the effect. That too was part of the deliciousness, that it was a secret. Even Mimi had briefly fallen for it, using Ian’s name more than she normally would after their moment together by the flagpole.

  Here came O now, passing the ship as if in slow motion, turning his head and smiling at Dee as if she were the only girl on the playground. Mimi had a strong sense of being excluded, like standing on the outside of a beautiful walled garden. It made her want to growl like a cat. I should try to be nice about him, she scolded herself. Dee’s my friend, even if she’s going to spend all her time with him now.

  She looked over at the boys, swarming like bees around Ian and Casper in the corner of the playground. Kickball was one of the few games boys and girls played together, but there were unwritten rules about it that no one questioned. At morning recess only the boys played; in the afternoon girls could as well.

  “I bet Ian will choose O for his team,” she offered. But saying Ian’s name now did not make her glow, as Dee clearly did saying the new boy’s. Mimi and Ian had only been going together for three days, but already she knew she should get out of it. Her stomach hurt when she thought about her plan to dump him at the end of the school day. He was one of those boys who never forgot if he was slighted, who would await his opportunity for revenge, even if it took years. She wasn’t sure now that she could break up with him. She might have to wait for him to get tired of her, and she had no idea how long that would t
ake.

  Only one good thing had come out of going with him. Mimi still revisited the sensation of flying around the flagpole at the end of the rope. Whatever else Ian made her feel now, at least he had given her that moment of freedom.

  “Casper might choose Osei for his team instead,” Dee said.

  “We’re not gonna sit here and watch the boys play, are we?” Blanca complained. “So boring! I’d rather watch the Double Dutch.” She hopped off the ship and headed toward the jump rope area. Blanca was always good at worming her way in; eventually she would get a turn. Mimi’s eyes followed her, tempted.

  “Doesn’t O have the most beautifully shaped head?” Dee announced. “And his eyes—when he looks at you he’s really looking at you, you know?”

  “I didn’t notice.” Actually Mimi had noticed. “Blanca told me you gave him Snoopy.”

  “Yes, we swapped. He gave me a pink case with strawberries on it. It’s so sweet, you’d love it. And so generous of him.”

  Mimi considered pointing out that trading was not necessarily that generous since he was getting something too, but thought the better of it. She started to get to her feet. Watching Double Dutch was definitely preferable to listening to Dee talking about the new boy.

  “Don’t go.” Dee put her hand on Mimi’s arm. “I really think you’ll like O. When we had geography this morning we were filling out maps of the world with capital cities, and I got to do it with him. He did it so fast, and got them all right. Do you know he’s lived in Rome? And London. And Accra in Ghana, and now here. That’s four capitals he’s lived in! Plus New York.”

  “Does he speak Italian?” Mimi was interested despite herself.

  “I didn’t ask, but I will if you want. I’m so glad he’s here. I like him more than I’ve ever liked a boy before.”

  “Dee, he’s black.” In her irritation Mimi was more blunt than she’d intended, but she wanted to shake up her friend—and punish her, a little, for abandoning her for a boy.

  Dee snorted. “So?”