LITMIR.BIZ

      After Monday’s eventful day, I opted to hide out all day yesterday, and with it being a usual short Tuesday because of the weekly staff meetings, it went by pretty quickly. Mama, Netta, and I also had a quiet afternoon at the shop. But even with Netta’s rogacion de cabeza and Mama there to assist with the head cleansing, I still didn’t sleep well last night. It seems like as soon as I close my eyes, it’s time to get up. There’s no dreaming, no hard sleep, nothing. Just lying down and getting up. That’s what usually leads to more sleepwalking episodes and no one wants to tune in for that show, least of all me.

      There was still no teacher for the debate class scheduled to start yesterday, so I had another free period in the library. According to Mr. Adelizi, today we will definitely start speech and debate.

      I haven’t seen Mr. Adewale this week and I miss his presence. I’ve become accustomed to seeing our AP substitute teacher on a regular basis. I hope they find some work for him to do soon.

      Walking down the main hall gives me the same familiar feeling I had when I walked down these same halls during the weeks before Christmas break. It’s only the third day of the new semester and ASB has already moved on to the next holiday. Valentine’s Day is over a month away and they’ve already got fliers up advertising the annual dance and secret valentine telegrams. Who knew a holiday supposedly about love could provide so many different fundraising ideas?

      As with all holidays, the true meaning is hidden behind the commercial bull. The original Valentine’s Day is based off of bloodshed, just like Thanksgiving. It seems that no matter the celebration, there has to be a sacrifice of some sort, and usually the person with her ass on the line has no idea she’s about to be butchered.

      “Ah, look who it is, baby. The bitch who death follows,” Misty says. I don’t know why, but her words give me the chills, and not like when a cold breeze blows across my face. I feel like she just invited someone—or something—into our space, and whatever it is doesn’t feel good.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Misty’s eyes look cold and empty as she thinks of a response to my question. I never thought I’d see the day Misty reminds me of Esmeralda, but today she does. Our evil next-door neighbor has been incognito ever since Misty and her mom became Esmeralda’s godchildren in the religion. Mama says that some twisted voodoo priests use their godchildren like vampires, and this newfound family they’ve concocted is a prime example of that type of sick relationship.

      “It means that wherever you go, someone gets hurt. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone cursed you.” Misty, KJ, and his crew laugh at her joke, but it’s anything but funny to me. Those sound like fighting words, but I’m too tired to front her physically, so my words will have to serve as fists today.

      “So, KJ, I see you have a thing for voodoo girls.” He looks at me like he wants to eat me up, but he knows better than to try to get with me again. That’ll never happen.

      “Not anymore,” he says, playing off his obvious attraction to me while adding to their morning comedy routine.

      “Oh, Misty did tell you she’s in the same religion as I am, didn’t she? Or did you forget to mention that little fact?” I say, wiping the smiles right off all their faces. The last thing KJ or his hella Christian parents want is to be associated with any hoodoo mess, as they call it. But all priests know that hoodoo is simply the work. Voodoo, Santeria, Ifa, or whatever branch of the religion we choose to refer to ourselves as, is a whole other world KJ and his folks want no part of.

      “Don’t pay her any mind, KJ. She’s a very troubled girl,” Misty says, rolling her neck and hips at me. Misty’s eyes aren’t the only thing that’s different about her. She’s also lost a lot of weight over the break. When I saw her at Tre’s house after the shooting, I could tell she was shedding the pounds, but now she looks like she’s been starving herself.

      “Whatever, Misty. You and I know the truth, and whenever you’re ready to come with it, bring it on,” I say to Misty’s back as they exit the main hall, heading in the same direction I’m going. KJ looks back at me and I nod my head to confirm my words. If Misty’s going to call me out on my shit—which I’m not ashamed of—then I’m calling her on hers. One of the rules of our religion is to not out other practitioners, but Misty’s far from being a true devotee of the Orisha, our West African Gods. And because she’s a fake, I think it’s my duty to out her wannabe ass for the trick she really is, in as many ways as I possibly can.

      I take my class schedule out of my purse to check the room number for my new fourth-period class. It’s in the language arts hall at the opposite end of the building from my English class. At least it’s not far from my third period government class. Jeremy conveniently ditched third period today, starting out his second semester the right way, as far as he’s concerned. Lucky for him the absences start over again at the beginning of each semester, which means he’s working with a clean slate now.

      “Lost?” I hear a familiar voice ask. As if my prayers were answered, Mr. Adewale comes walking down the main hall looking as fine as ever. Damn, why does he have to be my teacher and too old for me to date?

      “Hey, Mr. A. Fancy meeting you here.” Mr. Adewale looks down and smiles at me, falling into step with my quick stride. As we walk down the long corridor, we notice the crowd of students waiting at the other end of the hall. Among the masses are KJ, Misty, and their crew. Please tell me they’re not in class with me.

      “Not really. Seems they had another opening for this semester and I’ll still be subbing for Mrs. Peterson when she needs me, as well as the other teachers, just like I did last semester.”

      “So what do you do when you’re not teaching here?” I ask, all up in his business this morning. We never have a lot of time to talk so I have to get in the important questions whenever I get the chance.

      “I study. I still have to pass my exams at the University of West Los Angeles in the spring, before they award me my master’s degree in conjunction with my bachelor’s.”

      “Wow, that must take a lot of time out of your day.” I feel him though. “Between my schoolwork and my work at home, I always have my head in a book.”

      “Is there a better place for your head to be?” Yeah, resting on a pillow in a deep sleep that keeps me still, but he doesn’t need to know all that. Ending our brief conversation, Mr. Adewale stops in front of my fourth-period classroom and unlocks the door. Yes! He’s my teacher after all. There is a God.

      “Oh hell, no, she’s not in our class,” Misty says, following Mr. A and me into the cold, dark classroom. If I recall correctly, this room wasn’t used last semester. It smells stale in here and has a strange feeling, like it’s vacant, but not really. If I didn’t know any better I’d say there were ghosts up in here, but I think that’s my sleep deprivation talking.

      “Now, this should be interesting,” Jeremy says, talking over KJ and Misty’s heads while looking down at me from behind. I look up at Mr. Adewale, who shakes his head before turning on the lights.

      “Please take your seats,” Mr. A says over the loud crowd. Most of the students from my government class are in here, as well as other displaced AP students. But there are a few new faces as well. One dude in particular catches my eye because he seems to be staring at me. I quickly swoop up the seat closest to Mr. Adewale’s dusty desk, and Jeremy’s right next to me, as usual. Misty, KJ, and the rest of their crew, including Shae and Tony—her mute man, who never speaks unless spoken to—take the seats

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