Muggy was a bully, plain and simple. Angel understood bullies. At least Muggy held a discernible title, but Isaiah was a disciple to the bully, and that she could not abide. Now, it seemed, Isaiah was the one doing the bullying, and to sweet Miss Ferris no less.
As he sat there with Miss Ferris, watching her with his large, unassuming eyes, she knew what was behind them—a hanger-on with no mind of his own taking advantage of the weak.
“Are you all right?” Angel asked her teacher while eyeing Isaiah, daring him to say a hateful word.
Angel detested confrontation, but she was put on this earth to help people and poor Miss Ferris, in that moment, needed her to be strong, to take a stand. Isaiah looked away, breaking her gaze. Coward, she thought. So big and bad when it’s just Miss Ferris, but can’t take on two at a time, can you?
“I’m fine,” Miss Ferris replied, still wiping jumbo tears from her shiny, rose-colored cheeks. “Better than fine.”
Denial, Angel thought, that’s the first sign.
“Uh,” Isaiah uttered, seemingly unable to spit out his harsh words under the weight of her gaze. “I mean, uhh.”
Miss Ferris laughed, an unexpected type of snort that made her nose run. “I brought you two here to ask if you’re interested in a summer job?”
“Together?” Isaiah shook his head to gather himself. “Both of us, together? Uh.”
“What kind of job?” asked Angel.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s what I was trying to—Never mind.”
“I’m building a mobile library of sorts,” their teacher said, smiling, but still teary. “Well, really, it’s a three-wheeled bike pulling a wooden cart behind it. I’ll need someone to pedal and a rider to hand out the books. There are a few challenging blocks within Greenwood. Those without formal education. I believe we can reach them through the written word, and you two love words more than any students I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching. I can pay five dollars a week to each of you, equal pay of course. It is, after all, the twenties.” She winked.
Five dollars a week was a generous amount. Very generous. Angel looked over at Isaiah and could tell by his wide eyes that he was thinking the same. But working together? That was a blaring problem. Angel had no desire to be in such close quarters with him, alone in thick, uncomfortable silence, without joy and goodness. Then, she remembered, Miss Ferris had mentioned that Isaiah loved words. Strange, Angel had no knowledge of this.
“I’d love to!” Isaiah said with more excitement than Angel expected. He was practically bouncing as he looked at her. “If you do, of course.”
Angel wanted to tell them no. Isaiah would make fun of her once they started their shifts. It was no wonder he was so excited. He wanted a punching bag, a dumb Dora, a pushover to make him feel bigger than he actually was. Someone to direct his pent-up meanness to throughout the heat of summer. Just that day, Deacon Yancey told her to keep her distance, and he wouldn’t have said it without good reason. And Isaiah and Muggy proved the deacon’s point by pointing and laughing at her while she sat on his porch. What, did Isaiah think she hadn’t seen them?
But then, five whole dollars a week. She could save every bit of that for her family. And, she’d be handing out books. Helping people fall in love with them in the same way she had so many years ago. That sounded like pure joy. She felt a tug happening on the inside, but neither side was winning.
“I’d like to think about it,” Angel said. “Thank you, Miss Ferris, for the opportunity. Can I let you know tomorrow?”
* * *
Angel decided it would be a good idea to take the long way home. She needed time to think about what she was going to do. The seesaw of emotion at the thought of dealing with Isaiah confused her. She thought she had everyone in Greenwood pretty well figured out. She had observed and categorized those she should and should not share her audience with. Isaiah was undoubtedly trouble.
Then again, was that the right thing to do? Funnel folks into columns marked good and bad without taking nuance into consideration? Did everyone do that, or was it just her? This was one of the moments she longed for a friend or a sister—someone to run her thoughts by. But there was only her—independent to her own detriment. And she couldn’t bother her father with every confusing philosophical thought as she had in the past. He was barely hanging on as it was. So she did the one thing within her power; she prayed for answers. She didn’t ask for anything too profound or specific, just signs and answers.
As she turned the corner leading to her house, she heard baby Michael yelling and quickened her step to get to him.
“Amen,” she said to herself, and then called out, “Mrs. Nichelle?”
Angel pushed in the screen to find her neighbor on the couch holding Michael with one exhausted arm. “Go to bed,” Angel told her. “I’ve got the baby until you wake up.”
Mrs. Nichelle looked too tired to smile. She lifted her tiny body like it was weighted down by a thousand pounds and went into her bedroom.
“I’ll take him next door.”
Angel went into her own home through the back as not to disturb her father, who was typically dozing on the couch by that time of day. Her mother greeted her with a kiss on the cheek as soon as she entered.
“Sweet of you to keep him,” her mother said. “Little demon child won’t stop his screaming.”
Angel quickly covered the baby’s ears. “Mama!”
“What?” she replied, grinning. “It’s the truth.”
Her mother cleared a place on the dining room table and lined up a variety of hair greases. “Better get him quiet quick,” she told Angel. “I’ve got to do three whole heads of braids by midnight, and I’ll need you to help.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Angel replied. “The Barney sisters?”
“That’s right,” said her mother with a strong sigh. “I hope you’re ready for a dramatic evening filled with unnecessary hooping and hollering.”
“But we just did their hair Saturday.”
“Their mama said they got to rolling in mud,” her mother said. “They need a wash and deep condition.”
“Angel!” her dad called out. “Get in here.”
Her mother paused to look at her daughter with pity. Angel could tell her mother didn’t want so much responsibility on her shoulders. Angel nodded as if encouraging her mother to carry on.
“How about a dollar fifteen this time?” her mother asked, and when Angel smiled, she went back to laying out long ribbons and wide-toothed combs. “Best go in there to see what he wants,” she said with a wink.
ISAIAH
Muggy demanded to walk Isaiah home that afternoon. He wanted to tell Isaiah about a girl he’d kissed after school behind the wooden bleachers, and how she’d wanted to do much more but Muggy was playing with her. This was a broken record that Isaiah listened to on frequent repeat. There was always a new girl to kiss, and a new game to win, and a new story to tell, and a new heart to shatter. Isaiah stopped listening altogether as they walked past Angel’s house. He slyly tried to catch a glimpse of her through one of the windows without Muggy noticing. He certainly couldn’t know that Isaiah hadn’t stopped thinking of her and the way she danced. He would laugh, or worse, tell her, or worse, tell all of Greenwood.