“She never said it was a guy.”
“Oh, true.” Mo sat down on the floor and rearranged clothes. “Your clique from Saint Baptist happy they have you to their self this summer?”
First, Sheeda corrected in her head, deflating at the reminder that she was stuck alone. “They hardly my clique.”
“They are your church clique, though,” Mo said.
Sheeda rolled her eyes. “You sound like my aunt.”
“Hey, let me hit you back later. My father is calling me,” Mila said.
“All right,” Mo called out from the floor. “See you.”
With Mo to herself, Sheeda was anxious to talk about something other than dance. “Can you still go to the youth retreat with me when you get back from dance camp?”
“Summer intensive,” Mo corrected. For an instant her head cocked to the left, like she was going to say one thing before she said, “Yeah, my mother said I could.”
Sheeda’s brows crinkled. “You still want to go, don’t you?”
“For real, I was surprised I had a good time last year. Shoot, clowning on basket boy was the best part.” Mo laughed. “Your church friends act like they don’t know how to talk to nobody who don’t go church with ’em.” She rubbed the neat stacks of clothes in her suitcase, then patted them. “But, yeah, I’m still going.”
Sheeda couldn’t dispute a word Mo had said. Sometimes she felt like the only person at Baptist that had friends outside of the church walls. She couldn’t lie; it made her feel above them that she’d brought a friend along to the retreat. Having Mo there was the only thing she had to look forward to this summer.
“This year, they’re letting us go to the go-kart place and skating,” Sheeda said, hopeful that it didn’t sound weak.
“Oh, speaking of that.” Mo jumped up and grabbed a glossy brochure. She thrust it at Sheeda. “Look at the field trips we’re going on during intensive. I can’t wait to go to Smash Time Park. They have this roller coaster that goes backward.”
“I thought all you did was dance?” Sheeda asked, looking at the photos of kids splashing at a water park, squealing on a roller coaster, and playing volleyball on a beach.
“Basically, yeah. We only off on Sundays. That’s when we do field trips.”
Sheeda let Mo chatter on. The retreat wouldn’t be as much fun as the intensive. They would be staying in a building that looked like a log cabin, eating in a big dining hall with other churches at the site, and having revival every night, which was basically a church service that they pumped with extra songs from the choir to hide that there would be a sermon. The best part was usually being at the pool, when the adults sat back and let the lifeguards babysit them.
When Sheeda’s phone dinged twice in a row, she slid it under the pointe shoes so the screen wouldn’t show, but the noise caught Mo’s attention.
“Somebody blowing you up.”
Sheeda blurted, “It’s Lennie.”
When Mo’s forehead creased in confusion, Sheeda pumped the words out fast, her hands nervously folding shorts into too-small squares. “I commented on one of his pictures a few weeks ago, and we started following each other. So he be hitting me up sometimes.”
Mo put her hands up, took on a tone Sheeda knew well, the all-knowing teacher to Sheeda’s constantly confused student that couldn’t be taught. “Girl, Lennie be racking up likes and friends like it’s a game of round ball. You was probably part of some stupid contest him and his boys had to get their eight-hundredth girl to follow them.”
Hallelujah. Mo wasn’t mad.
Sheeda laughed along as Mo teased her brother’s weak game. She was genuinely relieved that Mo hadn’t gone off. Except, did it have to be that she was just another thumbs-up Lennie had schemed on? Sheeda wanted to show Mo some of his messages. They didn’t feel like part of a bet to her.
And if it was just that, wouldn’t a bet be over by now? He’d gotten her to follow him back. End of bet.
“Tell him don’t be hitting your phone, like some lame, while you just up the stairs,” Mo said.
“I don’t want no parts of that,” Sheeda said.
Mo clipped her phone out of her hand. “I do it.”
Mo typed the message so fast all Sheeda could do was force a laugh at Lennie’s response.
Oh Imma lame?
Sheeda groaned. “Now he gonna think I’m tripping.”
Mo’s eyes rolled. “Girl, so what.” She tossed the phone back, then sat within the clothes scattered on the floor, hugging her knees. “You and Tai making any plans while we gone?”
“Not really,” Sheeda said.
“You sure?” Mo frowned. “You didn’t see the last message in the chat?”
“Oh goodness. No.” Sheeda scrolled and found it.
I can’t believe y’all bit’cis leaving us for the whole summer. First Mila was ghost last year Now both of y’all going? My bad and Chrissy too. The ish is played out. But me and @RahRah be alright. Zoo. Carnival. Cove Days. So we good out here.
Bye wenches.
“The heart was a nice touch.” Mo howled at her own sarcasm.
Sheeda pleaded, “Y’all can’t leave me.”
“I mean, it sounds fun . . . ish.”
“You got so many jokes.” Sheeda read over the roster of activities. Tai had every week covered. “The thing is, I probably can’t do any of them.”
“Why?” Mo had gone back to packing and only half paying attention.
Sheeda talked it out anyway.
“Vacation Bible School is the same week as Cove Days.”
“True. You never do go with us, do you?”
Sheeda nodded. “And unless Ms. Nona plan on going to the carnival with us, Auntie D probably not down for that, either.”
“Tai gonna be hot,” Mo said, chuckling.
“No probably in it,” Sheeda said, not seeing the humor.
“Facts,” Mo said.
“Any advice?” Sheeda asked, but Mo was packing and muttering to herself. All Sheeda caught were the words “trash bag pants.” She had no idea what those were and didn’t care to ask. Mo was already half a world away.
Sheeda was now, apparently, officially Tai’s babysitter.
Fact was, they all had a role. Even if nobody admitted it. Mila was the one who kept the peace. Sheeda was wishy-washy (Tai’s words for it). She wasn’t; she just hated picking sides in an argument.
Mo and Tai were in a forever battle to be the leader. Chrissy had only been there a year. She always let things play out. But Sheeda secretly believed Chrissy was Team Mila and would swing whatever way Mila went.
Sheeda could take Tai in small doses, and that was with Mila and Mo along. Three weeks with her alone was too much. She didn’t need to experience it to know that. Now Tai had their lives planned out and Sheeda had nowhere to hide from her bossiness except church.
Tai or church.
Now it was gonna be the lonely and depressing summer.
Monique
Mo loved spaghetti night. The smell of the fat from the ground beef mixed with the sweetness of the tomato sauce made her stomach happy. In honor of her last meal at home, she was going to have two pieces of toast with a big pat of butter. Who knew what the food tasted like at Ballet America. Something told her it probably wouldn’t be anything like how her and Lennie cooked—lots of sugar, plenty of salt, enough butter for her mother to fuss that butter didn’t grow on trees and no, she wasn’t going to stop on her way home to pick some up because they’d run out.