LITMIR.BIZ

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me get the class I want.

      “Jayd, I’m sorry for not saying I’m sorry about what’s going on with your friends earlier.” Jeremy’s blue eyes look mournful as he gently caresses my hand with his fingers. I know he’s sorry, but I don’t know if that’s enough. I need someone to feel me right about now and I just don’t think he can.

      “I appreciate that,” I say, gathering my books and papers before getting up from my desk. “I’ll holla later.” My phone vibrates in my purse and I look down at it, hoping and praying that it’s Rah, but it isn’t. It’s my calendar, reminding me to call and schedule a doctor’s appointment. Mama must’ve had Bryan program it after I went back to sleep this morning, because I know she didn’t do it. She’s not funny. What do I need to go to the doctor for?

      “I don’t know, but it must be serious if Mama’s telling you to go. You know if she can’t figure out what’s wrong with you she’ll find someone who can. You’d better listen to her, Jayd,” my mom says, committing a mental drive-by of her own before I can comment back. As if I need another thing to think about this morning.

      When I reach the main office, there’s a long line in front of most of the counselors’ offices, including Mr. Adelizi’s. Rather than join the procession of anxious students who either forgot to request changes in their schedule before the deadline or students—like me—who did, but still got screwed up in one way or another, I look at the available class list posted outside of his open door.

      “Miss Jackson, come on in and have a seat. The rest of the students don’t have a pass,” Mr. Adelizi says. The pensive student seated across from him looks up from his schedule to give me a once-over and then back down like he’s about to cry. He reminds me of a disgruntled postal worker, so I’d better make this visit quick just in case he decides to go off. I sit in the other chair across from Mr. Adelizi’s desk in the cramped office, and explain my situation.

      “Mr. Adelizi, I don’t know what happened, but somehow my fourth period journalism class got bumped for speech and debate, and it’s not even on the Advanced Placement track. There must be some mistake.”

      “Well, good morning to you, too,” he says, trying to make me smile, but I’m not in the mood this morning. “So serious so early?”

      “This is serious business. I can’t afford to get off track.” Mr. Adelizi looks at me over his thin-framed glasses and sees I’m in no mood for small talk.

      “Miss Jackson, your schedule won’t work if you choose to take the journalism class, which was moved to fifth period.” He’s right. I’d have to give up drama and that’s never going to happen.

      “Well, can’t I have a study period or something instead?” I really don’t like the idea of being in a speech class open to all tracks. It leaves the door open for too many unknown variables, like having Misty and KJ as classmates, and that just won’t work.

      “Sorry, Jayd, but study periods are for seniors only. The only classes available that will fit into your Advanced Placement schedule are speech and debate, or home economics: it’s your choice.”

      “Fine, speech and debate it is,” I say, signing my schedule before getting up to leave.

      “Debate class starts tomorrow, so you’ll have a free fourth period for today.” A free period means we have to check in at the library and spend our time studying, which is just fine with me. Normally, I wouldn’t mind being in a debate class, but being outside of the AP track is always tricky, because the environment is less controlled than it would normally be. But I have to enroll in another elective, and home economics ain’t it. I get enough of that subject living with Mama.

      “You know, Jayd, you can talk to me about other things. I’m not just an academic counselor,” Mr. Adelizi says. I look down at the schedule printout and notice there’s no teacher listed for the debate class. Damn, another unknown variable. I can’t stand it when that happens. “We heard about the shooting and I know all about your friend Mickey being transferred to the continuation school. You must be having a tough time adjusting to all of this change.”

      “The only constant in the world is change,” I say, borrowing lyrics from India. Arie, leaving Mr. Adelizi to ponder how a little black girl could be so insightful when I know the thought is far from original. If I know anything to be true, it’s that statement and, like all the members of our tribe, we keep moving through the change, no matter how painful the move may be.

      Driving back to Compton from my high school in Redondo Beach is a pretty straight shot. You never know how many unnecessary stops there are on a bus route until you take an alternate path. I’m also looking for the roads less travelled when it comes to me learning this clutch. Mazda never lied when they made zoom-zoom their motto: this little Protégé’s got spunk. The last thing I want to do is accidently hit someone while trying to balance the gas and the clutch like I did this morning before my mom intervened.

      There are several ways to get from school to home without taking the freeway, and all of them involve getting caught up in mall traffic. There are two major malls between here and Compton and some people are still taking advantage of the after-Christmas sales. If I had some money, I’d be right in there with them. I haven’t braided any heads since the shooting, and don’t anticipate hustling this weekend either. Mama says I can’t touch anyone else’s head until I get mine straight. I’m pretty sure her and Netta will hook a sistah up tomorrow, whether I’m ready or not.

      When I get home, I know the first thing Mama’s going to ask me is if I made the appointment with our family physician, Dr. Whitmore, yet. I have insurance through my mom’s job with Kaiser, but Mama doesn’t trust them with shit like my sleepwalking. I don’t blame her, because the last time something like this happened to me and my mom took me to my pediatrician, they tried to give me antipsychotic drugs, as well as send me to a shrink. When Mama found out she wanted to crucify my mom, and I was right there with Mama.

      Walking up the driveway and up the porch, I look over my shoulder to make sure the alarm lights come on, indicating my mom’s ride is somewhat safe parked in front of the house. I doubt anyone will jack it because we protect our own on our block, even if Gunlock Avenue is notorious for being the spot to take jacked cars to get money for the parts. So a sistah still has to be cautious.

      As soon as I walk through the front door, Mama walks into the living room from the kitchen. She looks ready to harass me about my sleepwalking incident this morning.

      “Hi, baby. You didn’t forget any of the details from your dream last night, did you?” she asks, wiping her wet hands with a kitchen towel before giving me a hug.

      “No, ma’am,” I say, returning the hug. It feels good, embracing my grandmother, whose vanilla scent is comforting.

      “Good. And did you call Dr. Whitmore to make an appointment? I had Bryan put a reminder in that fancy phone of yours.”

      “Mama, I just got home,” I say, putting my pile of school-books down on the dining room table before taking off my shoes. It’s been a long day and I’m in no mood to get drilled.

      “Don’t you sass me, young lady. Tomorrow afternoon we’re at Netta’s, but you tell him that Wednesday works for me. And now that you’re driving your mama’s car, it should be good for you, too. Now, get on that little pink phone of yours and make the call.” Damn, Mama can be harsh sometimes. You’d think she was the one sleepwalking instead of me.

      “Yes, ma’am,” I say, near tears. Mama looks up from her spirit book, also on the dining room table, and sees the emotion written all over my face. She pats my hand with hers, letting me know she’s here for me.

      “Look, Jayd, I know it’s hard right now, but it won’t always be this way. We need to immediately get to the bottom of why you’re sleepwalking, and Dr. Whitmore will be able to help me see what I can’t right now. And more importantly, he’ll be able to help you get some solid sleep. The sooner we take care of this, the better.” I couldn’t agree more with her final statement. The last thing I want to

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