1
Not Like Anyone Else
Mama gets home from work earlier than usual, and even though I shut my laptop quick and slide it under a couch cushion, it’s too late.
“Hi, Mama,” I say innocently, raising my voice so she can hear me over my grandpa Gee’s blaring television. A rickety fan in the corner of the living room is blowing a steady breeze at me, but I’m still hot and my legs stick to the leather couch.
Mama clanks her purse and keys down on the small table by the front door. “Oh, don’t even try it, Jenae,” she says, and points at the cushion. “Move that before someone sits on it.”
Guiltily, I pull my computer out. Mama isn’t a fan of my shiny silver laptop. Mostly because my dad bought it. Anything that makes her think of him is never going to be good. She’s always talking about what he should or shouldn’t do, but she never says it would be better if he came by more. I guess I’m the only one who thinks that.
I try not to care too much. He’s an actor and travels all over the place making movies, so he’s really busy. And in interviews he always says he has a daughter, so it’s not as if he has forgotten about me.
Mama walks over to Gee. “Hey, Daddy,” she says, and gives him a kiss on the top of his head, then reaches over, grabs the remote, and turns down the volume.
“Hey, yourself,” Gee says, not turning his head away from the old Western movie he’s watching. As soon as Mama leaves the room, he’ll crank the volume right back up. Gee’s hearing isn’t great, but he refuses to get hearing aids, so when he’s home, we all have to suffer with the TV volume set to ear-piercing loud.
Mama frowns at me, which is not so unusual. Sometimes when Mama looks at me, I can tell she does not like what she sees. She doesn’t understand how her daughter could turn out so different from her. But I’m not like anyone. And I’m all right with that. Being unique should be a good thing, but the world is full of people like Mama who think fitting in is more important than being yourself.
“I told your father buying you that thing was a bad idea,” Mama says. “Just plain ridiculous, encouraging you—”
“Do you not see me trying to watch my program?” Gee hollers, cutting off Mama and gesturing at the TV. “If y’all want to be chatty, get on out of here.”
Mama knows better than to argue with her father, so she raises her perfectly threaded eyebrows and beckons for me to follow her into the kitchen. She likes to complain that Gee still treats her like a baby, but it’s his house, so he makes the rules. We live here because the house is huge, and with Nana June gone, he’d get lonely.
My grandmother didn’t die, she just decided she was tired of Gee—of all men actually—and moved to Florida to live with her best friend. She sends me neon T-shirts all the time that say things like Live Your Best Life! and Nothing’s Impossible! I don’t think Nana June gets how hard it is to live your own life when you’re only eleven. People steady want to tell you what to do.
Mama clicks across the hardwood floor in her high heels, and I peel myself off the couch. As soon as I get in the kitchen, she starts up.
“Your father gave you that computer so you could do your homework, not watch that foolishness.”
That foolishness is what Mama calls Astrid Dane, my favorite YouTube show. “It’s summer, Mama. I don’t have any homework.” I don’t bother arguing that Astrid Dane is not foolishness, because Mama has her mind made up about that. Mama likes “real” things, nothing make-believe. Astrid Dane is a twelve-year-old immortal girl who has all sorts of ghosts living inside her, and they take over her personality sometimes, and that is just about as far from real as you can get—according to Mama.
But I love Astrid Dane.
Mama crosses her arms tight against her chest and stares at me. “What exactly are you wearing?” Her tone implies I am wearing my panties on my head.
I look down at myself as if I don’t remember what I have on. “Just . . . a v-vest I made?” I can’t help my voice going up at the end. Nana June taught me how to sew. I can’t do a whole bunch, but a vest is pretty easy. And this one is great. It’s an exact copy of what Astrid Dane wore in the “Corruption” episode. I paid attention to every detail, even getting the elephant buttons right.
“Lord, girl,” Mama starts, and I know nothing good is going to come after that. “How’re you going to have any friends if you walk around in crazy costumes?”
I don’t answer. And not because I don’t want friends. But I don’t need them the way some people do. Especially if what I wear is going to matter to them. Mama acts as if that means there is something wrong with me.
The kitchen door gets pushed open, and my brother, Malcolm, crutches in. He’s been on crutches since his surgery a few weeks ago. “You really need to come home and start hollering like that?” he asks Mama. Malcolm’s not afraid to talk back to Mama like I am. Maybe because he’s older, but probably even when I’m grown and not living with Mama anymore, I’ll still be scared to speak my mind.
Mama puts her hands on her hips. “How come you didn’t start dinner?” she asks Malcolm, and I feel guilty right away. Even though it’s Malcolm’s turn to cook, I should’ve done it. Especially since his injury is all my fault.
2
A Plan
Mama glares at Malcolm. “You can’t just sit up in your room all day, listening to music and not doing nothing else,” she says. “Tonight is your turn. You know that.”
“It’s too hard,” Malcolm says. “Standing up that long hurts.” He moves the leg with the big black brace out in front of him, as if Mama might’ve forgotten about his injury.
Mama doesn’t even look at Malcolm’s leg; she just leans against the island and puts her hands on her hips. “The doctors cleared you for regular activity. Seems to me if they said you could drive, you sure enough can stand up and cook some dinner. I’ve told you, you need to help out here. I’m sure not going to just watch you turn out like these supposed-to-be men.”
She’s dragging both Malcolm’s dad and mine with that comment. Malcolm’s dad is Mama’s first husband, and mine is her second. After two marriages and two divorces, Mama has sworn off men forever. Maybe when your heart gets broken twice, it doesn’t ever fit right back together.
“I’m not going to, Mama. Can you please give me a break?” Malcolm asks.
“I’ll give you a break when you explain your plan to me,” Mama says. “You got one yet?”
She’s been asking Malcolm this question since his surgery.
Malcolm shrugs. “I don’t know.” He sounds so sad when he says it that I have to look away. Ever since he was my age, Malcolm had such a clear plan. A total slam dunk. Be the best point guard in his high school league, get recruited by a Division I college, get drafted into the NBA, make millions and buy Mama a mansion. (Mama always laughed at that part of Malcolm’s plan and said she had no use for a house that big.) But that was before. Before he tore his ACL and meniscus. And had to have surgery.
“That’s not good enough, Malcolm,” Mama says.