A new song came on, one she didn’t know, and like water swirling down the tub the emotions slowly drained away as she stood in front of her small closet packed with neatly hung dresses. She put her hand on one she’d been dying to wear. Every time she tried, something else was happening at church that required a specific outfit. Praise dance uniform or the red polo and khaki pants for the choir, which she hated because the elastic in the pants made her look like an oversized ten-year-old.
It was a burgundy fit and flare dress with three-quarter length sleeves. It came slightly above her knees—mid thigh, really, but she didn’t like to describe it that way. Auntie D had thought it was too short, but the dark color made up for its length enough that she’d given in. Sheeda went to pull it down from the hanger. Finally.
Her aunt’s voice came from the hallway. “Rasheeda, don’t forget today is women’s and children’s day. The color is navy.”
Ugh. Of course.
She patted the dress, as if consoling it instead of herself and hurriedly grabbed a navy blue, short-sleeved dress with a white Peter Pan collar. It was so boring compared to the burgundy one. It was bad enough having a whole closet full of dresses that Auntie D had basically hand selected as GFC—good for church. But it was women’s and children’s day so the church would be awash in navy, making her disappear in their sameness.
It ended up worse than that. She walked into church and Yola and Kita had on dresses nearly the same as hers. Only Yola’s was much shorter—Sheeda couldn’t believe Sister Carla let her wear it—and Kita’s had a white stripe going around the bottom of hers that, unfortunately, made her hips look bigger than Sheeda’s.
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen after,” her aunt said. Before turning she stopped, gave Sheeda a raised eyebrow. Sheeda recited in her head as her aunt added, “Don’t be acting up in service.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheeda said.
Yola giggled. “Like clockwork she make sure she say that, huh?”
Sheeda wanted to roll her eyes but was too afraid one of the elders would see and report back. Instead, she snorted her frustration.
It was the same lecture each Sunday. For no reason. Sheeda had never acted up in church. But her aunt felt the need to say it anyway.
And it wasn’t like her aunt wasn’t going to be there, too. She was the kitchen manager and always spent the first twenty minutes of service in the back making sure things were good for any after-service refreshments. But once she was done, she’d take her seat on the left side of the church, fourth row. Which was only two rows in front of where Sheeda, Yola, and Kita sat every Sunday when they weren’t part of the service.
They made their way to their seats. Yola always made it a point to sit between Sheeda and Kita—needing to be the one in the middle of any conversation at all times. There wasn’t a children’s section, but most of the young people sat in the sixth and seventh pews stuck with the ushers behind them—to ensure they didn’t get too rowdy—and their parents spread out in front of them.
Sister Butler banged on the organ’s keys and everybody stood as the men’s and women’s choir strolled in. The women were sharp in their navy blue dresses, the men in white shirts and navy blue slacks. They took their time, making sure they were seen doing a new two-step down the aisle—right foot, left foot, right step back. Right foot, left foot, right step back.
It was going to take them a while to reach the loft.
Sister Butler went HAM on the organ. She always seemed to play harder when the men’s and women’s choir sang, like everybody was hard of hearing or something. Sheeda guessed most of them weren’t much older than Auntie D—in their late thirties. Still, the organ was turned up to a thousand.
While the congregation sang, Yola started talking like they weren’t standing in the middle of pounding music and offkey voices. “Y’all down for going to the Park Heights carnival with me?”
Sheeda leaned in, head ducked into her hymnal, pretending she was trying to sing along. Yola’s voice was a loud murmur among the singing.
“My mother said she’ll take us. Y’all can sleep over, and then she’ll drop us at rehearsal the next evening.”
“Funnel caaaaaake,” Kita said. She pumped her hand. No one would ever know she was praising sugary confections instead of the Lord. “Is Jalen going?”
Yola frowned. “I don’t know.”
Kita laughed. “Lies. I already saw his post on FriendMe—’bout to go down at the PHC this year.”
Yola cheesed. “Umph. Busted, one hundred percent.”
“It sound like he bringing some friends.” Kita leaned in and locked eyes with Sheeda. “They better be cute, right, Sheeda?”
Sheeda could only nod. She wasn’t trying to yell like they did. No one had ever told them to be quiet, but she didn’t need somebody snitching: “Your niece was talking the whole time in service.”
Yola raised her hymnal in front of her face as she fussed. “He can’t help how his friends look, so don’t trip.”
Makita rolled her eyes and repeated, “They better be cute.”
Yola turned her head to Sheeda. “Are you gonna come with us?”
The choir finally made it to the loft. Their voices raised for the grand finale, then it was quiet. The church burst into applause. Pastor Weems beamed, then signaled for the congregation to sit. As he spoke, the sanctuary was too quiet for Sheeda to answer.
They each brought their phone out, laying them discreetly on their laps so they could keep the conversation going in the Bap Girls Do chat.
Sheeda hated the chat’s name. It had been Yola’s idea of a joke. “Just because we go to church all the time don’t mean we wack,” she’d said, looking up at Sheeda, then Makita, for confirmation. Confirmation of what Sheeda didn’t know. Maybe to the other kids at Baptist the three of them were cool, but real talk—not to anyone else in the world. She’d gone along, of course, and spent most days trying to keep the chat near the bottom of her screen. Because, if Auntie D ever caught wind of that name, she’d flip.
Sheeda could already hear it: Baptist girls do what? What do they do, Rasheeda? You better not be messing around with these little boys out here. I’m not about to be taking care of you and a baby—from the Book of Auntie D, first chapter, second verse.
The lectures were so annoying. She wasn’t even out here checking for no dudes like that. Lennie didn’t count. That was just a crush.
The chat rolled on without her input. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go to the carnival. She just didn’t know how to say it, but didn’t want to boldface lie in church, on Sunday.
Yo-La:
You in @RahRah?
CutieKita:
It’s fun. Last year Gerard and Los went.
Yo-La:
And almost got us kicked out
Sheeda finally dropped in with her go-to jewel:
I need to ask my aunt.
Yo-La:
It’s us. I know she’ll say yes. She loves us
Rah-Rah:
No lies told. Still gotta ask tho
She didn’t want to go. For a lot of reasons.
Hanging in church or at church functions with Yola and Kita was fine. That’s really where she wanted to keep it. Also, everybody from the Cove went to the Lake Hill carnival. Park Heights was closer to her church, which was twenty minutes away. Something about going to another community’s carnival felt wrong. Like she wouldn’t be able to come back to her own, if she did. She knew that was stupid. Still, it didn’t feel right.