LITMIR.BIZ

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she’s right to some degree, my mom says telepathically, reasoning for the wrong side. Shouldn’t she be kicking it with her own man instead of worrying about me and mine?

      Mom, not now. Please. I can’t tell, but I think my mom’s laughing at my plea to get her out of my mind. Like I have any control over that. Maybe I can work on that part of my vision, too. Now that I possess her sight, there has to be a way to control it.

      “Sandy, you need to relax. You’re not my wife and I don’t have to answer to you—we already established that the last time you tried to pull this shit. We’re not a family, Sandy,” Rah says. His phone rings again and he goes back into the living room to answer it. Sandy looks at me like she wants to slit my throat with one of the knives by the stove. If I could fly over there I’d move them out of her reach, but no such luck.

      “I’ve got to make a run real quick,” Rah says, coming back into the foyer where I’m posted. “Jayd, you want to come with me?” I look from Sandy to Rah and then at the clock on the kitchen stove. Jeremy should be on his way soon and I don’t want to keep him waiting. “Ten minutes, Jayd, I promise.”

      “All right,” I agree. Anywhere is better than being here with Sandy, and I want to make it clear to Rah that he can’t kiss me like that anymore. Jeremy and I are definitely one-on-one these days, and he needs to respect that. Rah reaches for his keys on the kitchen counter and Sandy promptly snatches them up, now holding them and their daughter hostage.

      “Y’all ain’t going nowhere,” she says, throwing the keys out of the open kitchen window. If Rah’s mom kept up with the house maintenance like a good homeowner, there would be a screen there, preventing at least that part of Sandy’s erratic behavior.

      “What the hell did you do that for?” Rah yells at a smiling Sandy. Rahima leaps from her mother’s arms and runs to her father, who picks her up, holding her tight.

      “I’ve got to go,” I say, opening the door behind me and heading away from the ugly scene. I can holla at Rah later. He puts Rahima down and heads out of the front door behind me. I wave ’bye to Rahima, who’s now back in her mother’s arms. Poor baby. She doesn’t know which way to go, and I feel her. But unlike Rahima, I can drive away from the scene of the crime. Sandy runs out of the kitchen and through the back door. Rah and I stare at each other as we hear his car door slam and the engine start.

      “’Bye, bitches!” Sandy yells, pulling away from the curb and speeding down the street with Rahima in the backseat. She must’ve found the keys to Rah’s ride in the bushes. I told Nellie black girls don’t call another sistah a bitch without meaning it in the worst way possible. I thought Rah learned his lesson the last time she stole his grandfather’s car, but I guess not. If my dream about her driving fast and ultimately getting into a near-fatal accident was any indication of what’s ahead, I need to warn Rah.

      “We have to stop her,” I say to him, but Rah just looks after his red car speeding down the street, completely dazed. “Come on,” I say, running over to my mom’s car parked in the driveway, but he doesn’t move.

      “Man, I’m done chasing that trick. Let her parole officer catch her,” Rah says, not realizing how serious the situation is. He looks down at his ringing cell and silences it for the moment. What the hell?

      “Rah, Sandy’s out of control and with your daughter in the back. Don’t you care about Rahima’s well-being?” I open the car door and get in, starting the engine. If we leave now we may be able to catch Sandy at the light.

      “That’s what I’m saying,” he says, sending a text to God-only-knows who. “When she gets busted for being out past her curfew, she’ll be in violation of her parole and back in jail, and I’ll have Rahima once and for all. Besides, I’ve got something to handle real quick. Can you drive, baby?” What the hell did this fool just say to me? And is Rah seriously putting his hustle over his daughter’s safety in the hopes that Sandy will get busted? Really?

      “Rah, I’m telling you that Sandy driving with Rahima is a bad idea. I had a dream about her getting into an accident where they both get seriously hurt.” Rah gets into the passenger’s seat and looks at me, stroking my cheek with his left hand.

      “Jayd, Rahima’s in the car with her mother every day, and nothing that bad has ever happened. Maybe your dream meant something else,” he says, patronizing me. Rah’s never going to take me seriously when it come to what’s best for Rahima because I’m not her mother, and I see that clearly now. “Now can we go, please? That girl’s already got me running late and I need to get my money.”

      “Find another way to get there. I’m going home,” I say, pushing Rah out of my mom’s ride and shutting the door behind him. I already know where this road leads and I refuse to go down it with him anymore. I’ve been way too nice about this entire situation, and however their mess ends, I want no part of it.

      By the time Jeremy and I finally managed to fall asleep last night, it was too late for me to get a good night’s rest. Rah always manages to get my head too hot for my own good. There has to be some way I can permanently protect myself from his advances, because Lord knows I’ve tried stopping Rah before, and each time I finally give in to his undeniable charm. Even if Rah is an arrogant and bold fool at times, I have to admit I love his taste in jewelry. I’ve been at school all day sporting my belated birthday gift and managing to hide it from Jeremy at the same time. I took the necklace off last night because I didn’t want to explain to Jeremy where it came from, but that discussion is inevitable if I plan on keeping the gift. The solid gold feels good around my neck. Now I know how Chance feels, sporting all of his rapper-like bling: It just feels good wearing a little weight.

      “Good morning, class,” Mrs. Sinclair, says, her frizzy red hair officially entering the room before she does. “Quiet down, quiet down,” she says as we all file into the miniature rehearsal room that doubles as our main classroom. As we all settle into fifth period, Mrs. Sinclair looks overly excited to announce our final play of the school year. I didn’t support the spring musical because, as usual, there were no leading roles for a sistah—let them tell it. But in order to maintain my A average, I have to participate in the last production of the year in some capacity. And to continue as an active thespian—or honors drama club member—I have to try out. Every club has its rules of engagement.

      “What gives, Mrs. S?” Chance asks, making his favorite teacher’s cheeks the same color as her hair.

      “The spring play will be Wait until Dark by Frederick Knott. I am so thrilled! I love this script,” she says, passing out xeroxed copies to half of the class and playbooks to the other half. She only has enough original scripts for the cast members. I snatch up a book and Chance grabs a copy. Everyone’s already visualizing who he or she’ll be, including me. Hopefully I’ll have a good chance at the lead.

      “Shit,” I say under my breath, but it doesn’t escape Chance’s ears.

      “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking through his packet. “I’m definitely trying out as one of the bad guys in the opening scene,” he says, already absorbed in the dialogue.

      “The lead is a blind woman,” I say, looking through the cast description. “And the only other female role is a little girl. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Being blind is a taboo for the women in my lineage—even while pretending, I assume.

      “Of course you will need to prepare a dialogue and a monologue for auditions, which will begin next week. Get busy, young people.” Mrs. Sinclair leaves us to our reading and heads back to the theater.

      “So, which scene are we going to perform, my blind lady?” Chance says, not realizing that his playful comment gives me the chills. I never want to be blind again—for real or fiction. My sleepwalking incident a few months ago, where I lost my sight temporarily, was enough for me.

      “Chance, that’s not funny. And I’m not trying out for the lead. I’m going for the little girl,” I say, skimming through the ancient playbook. I’ve always liked the play, and Mama loved the movie with one

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