LITMIR.BIZ

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Wicca beliefs. Voodoo is African, and we are priests and priestesses, not sorcerers, witches, or any other name you might want to call us by.” I know Jeremy loves a good debate, but he can save it for our fourth period class tomorrow afternoon. This is not a conversation I want to have with him right now.

      “We? Us? Is there something you’re not telling me, Jayd?” Some things he’ll never understand and I’m not in the mood to teach him.

      “Yes, there is, and I’m going to continue not telling you as long as you have an attitude about it.” I look at the wall clock and realize I’ve gone over by one minute on my conditioner. “I have to rinse my hair. I’ll be right back,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin before rising to head back into the bathroom where I’ve set up hair shop.

      “Whatever, Jayd. Call me when you’re ready to be straight with me, without the attitude.” Jeremy gets up from the table and walks out of the apartment. What the hell just happened here? And why is he accusing me of having an attitude when he’s the one acting like a three year-old? Whatever the reason, it can wait until tomorrow, unlike my hair. I should’ve never answered the door. Maybe I can rinse away some of his negativity with my conditioner and start fresh tomorrow—no drama included.

      1

      Black Girls

      “Light skin, dark skin, my Asian persuasion/

       I got them all, that’s why these girls out here hatin’.”

      —JANET JACKSON

      For once, it’s good to be back at school. Stepping out of my car, I notice the air feels new this morning. I guess it’s because all of the bad things Misty did were undone when I took back my dreams, including me snatching her weaved head up, which resulted in me going to counseling even though it won’t go on my school record because no one remembers. It’s nice to have received the benefits of the mandatory week of anger management counseling I had to endure without suffering the consequences. It’s also nice that Nellie, Mickey, and I are speaking again. I need my girls to make it through the long days at South Bay High.

      “What’s up, bitch?” Nellie asks as I approach my girls in the main hall. Now that I’m driving myself instead of taking the bus, I’m managing mornings better, so I don’t arrive on campus so early. And Nellie’s back to getting a ride with Mickey, as it should be.

      “Who you calling a bitch?” I ask, looking around for someone else. I know she’s not talking to me or Mickey, because those are definitely fighting words where we come from.

      “You, bitch.” If it weren’t for the smile on Nellie’s face I would think she was serious.

      “We don’t do that,” Mickey says, correcting our girl. She rolls her eyes at me and smiles, knowing how bougie Nellie can be.

      “But Laura and her girls say that to each other all the time.” I wish we could have stopped Nellie from associating with the ASB clique, but that happened before Misty lost her damn mind. “It’s a term of endearment.”

      “Not for us it’s not,” I say, walking with my girls from Mickey’s locker to mine. The warning bell for first period rings in the buzzing hall, putting the fear of detention in everyone present, especially me. With Mr. Adewale as my new first period teacher, my days of excused tardies from my former Spanish teacher/football coach are over. Mr. A is serious about his shit, and I’m serious about staying on his good side.

      “What’s so bad about calling your homegirl a bitch if it’s said with the utmost love and respect?” Nellie asks. Mickey and I look at our girl and shake our heads in disbelief. Nellie’s clueless on certain subjects, and the black girl code of etiquette is one of them.

      “Look at Laura and her girls and then look at us,” I say, gesturing to the bitch crew entering the hall from the main office. “Now you tell me what’s the difference.” I open my backpack and switch out my books. I need to clean my locker, but I’m afraid of throwing anything away, especially after what happened last time. Misty went through my trash and found a note, trying to help incriminate me for forging an excuse for Mickey and Nigel when they ditched school, which is what got us into trouble in the first place. I’m glad that’s all behind us, but I’m not putting anything past Misty after what we just went through.

      “They’re rich and we’re not. Well, y’all aren’t, but you feel me,” Nellie says, flipping her straight hair over her right shoulder.

      “You ain’t balling either, Miss Thang,” Mickey says, checking Nellie. I’m so glad we’re back to “us” I don’t know what to do. Dealing with them one-on-one was too much for a sistah to handle.

      “We’re black, Nellie, and they are not. We don’t go around calling each other bitches, hoes, or any other derogatory term, because of the history attached to the words for us and our ancestors.” I slam my locker door shut and begin speed-walking toward my first period, with my girls in tow. They can afford to stroll into their class late, unlike me.

      “Jayd, you really should let go of all of that negativity. History’s in the past. Leave it there.” I stop in my tracks and stare at my girl. Mickey laughs at my reaction, but I know she feels part of what I’m saying. My ancestors are probably crying right now, they’re so mad.

      “Nellie, have you ever heard us refer to each other as bitches and then hug afterwards?” I’m liable to smack a female instead of embrace her if she calls me out of my name.

      “Hell to the no,” Mickey says, taking a pack of Skittles out of her purse and eating them. Mickey looks at Nellie with a dare in her eyes and Nellie returns the stare. My girls are crazy. I’m just glad we’re all on the same side again. As small as the black population is on this campus, we can’t afford to be at odds with each other. It’s bad enough the three of us don’t get along with the South Central clique, where the other twenty-plus black students chill. Without each other, Nellie, Mickey, and I would truly be lost. I remember that feeling, even if my girls don’t, and it was a lonely existence.

      “Y’all are too sensitive. It’s not that big a deal,” Nellie says as we exit the main hall. The morning air feels different with spring approaching. I love this time of year and not just because my birthday’s next month. Something about warm seasons makes school—and life in general—more pleasant.

      “Good morning, ladies,” Nigel says, greeting us all as we walk across the courtyard. He puts his arm across Mickey’s shoulders and falls in step with us.

      “Good morning,” we say in unison. Even with the semester change, the three of them still share most of the same classes. At first I wasn’t sure about having a general ed class, but it hasn’t been that bad, with the exception of having to deal with Misty and KJ. Now that our crew is solid, I know it’ll be live in fourth period for the remainder of the semester.

      “What up, dog?” Chance says, greeting Nigel before saying hi to us. He kisses Nellie on the lips and then big ups Mickey and me. “Good session this weekend, man.”

      “Yes, it was,” Nigel says, reminding me of the last conversation I had with Rah on Saturday. I haven’t talked to him since I found out his baby-mama is his new roommate. He’s called and texted me a million times since then, and he can keep on blowing my cell up. Mama says if I don’t have anything nice to say I shouldn’t say anything at all. And whatever comes out of my mouth won’t be good for Rah, so I’m going to avoid cussing him out for as long as I possibly can.

      “Bye, bitches,” Nellie says, running toward their first period class ahead of Mickey and Nigel, with Chance right behind her. She thinks she’s funny but she’s not. Calling one another bitches is something Nellie needs to reserve for her white friends. We black girls are not feeling that shit in the least.

      “That’s your friend,” Mickey says. Nigel laughs at his girl, and I can’t help but do the same.

      “But you’ve known her longer,” I add. We make it to my Spanish class, where the door is wide open. Mr. Adewale doesn’t

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