“Hey, where are you?”
“At work,” I say.
And then I hear Imani’s voice. “You mean, at Grandma’s?”
“What?” I ask. And then I turn the corner and see Tye and Imani standing at the front desk. Ms. Sharon is there too, and they are all looking at me with contempt in their eyes. I hang up the phone. “I can explain,” I say.
Tye turns around and walks out the door.
“You lied about working here?” Imani says. She says more, but I run after Tye so I don’t hear her full rebuke.
“Tye, please. Let me explain.”
Tye stops and turns around slow. “Do you work here or not?”
“No.”
Tye starts to walk away again.
“Wait. Just—just let me explain.”
Tye stops walking, but he doesn’t face me. People bump into him because he is standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. He doesn’t move. “You give me updates all the time about how things are going at work; we’ve been shopping for the photo project . . . I don’t understand why you’re playing games with me. All this talk about you wanting to get to know each other, and the whole time you’ve been lying to me? Has everything between us been a lie?”
“Everything? No. Not my feelings for you. No.”
“How can I believe you?” Tye walks away.
“Tye!”
He keeps walking.
“Tye!”
He turns the corner, gone.
I didn’t cry yesterday when we argued, and I didn’t cry when I turned around and saw he wasn’t coming back to Harlem with me. I didn’t cry on the subway on the long ride uptown, or in bed that night when I replayed every moment we’ve ever spent over and over. I haven’t cried at all until right now. No words will come out of me, just tears. And I can’t stop them.
20
WORST PLACES TO CRY
1.At the park in front of all the kids who just watched the neighborhood bully push you off the swing.
2.In the nurse’s office when you are in the sixth grade and realize your period has started and everyone, including the cute guy you have a crush on, knows.
3.On a New York City subway when you thought you were grown enough to take the train by yourself but missed your stop and panicked because you realized your mom was right, you weren’t ready. And she knew this, so she was on the train, just a few seats away waiting for you to need her.
4.On a sidewalk, standing alone, watching your boyfriend walk away.
When I step back into the lobby, Ms. Sharon is waiting there with her arms folded looking like she is about to scold me. And Imani must’ve called for Grandma because she’s here too and so are all her friends and JT. “What is this Imani is telling me about you pretending to work here?” Grandma asks.
I roll my eyes at Imani.
“Grandma, she did all of this to get a guy to like her—”
“I can talk for myself, Imani. And what did you do, go and tell Tye I wasn’t woke enough so you could hook him up with Toya?”
“What? No. Tye came by the house looking for you, and when I told him you weren’t home, he asked me if you were at work. I thought he was confused or something because you definitely don’t have a job, but it turns out not only is she jobless, she’s also a liar and a fraud.”
Ms. Norma and Ms. Mabel are looking at me with disappointed eyes. JT too.
Grandma stands between us. “All right, enough. We’re making a scene,” Grandma says. “Let’s talk about this in private.” She walks away, and Imani and I follow her.
Ms. Mabel looks at me, and I know that this means she’s already known the truth. I wonder why she hasn’t said anything. Not even to me. She isn’t frowning or looking disappointed, she’s actually looking kind and warm, like she wants to reach out and give me a hug, but I keep walking, following Grandma and Imani down the hall.
As soon as we get into Grandma’s, Imani starts up again. “I don’t understand you, Nala. Do you just need attention or something? What’s been going on with you lately?”
I don’t feel like I owe Imani an explanation at all. But Grandma sits down in her rocking chair and says, “Well, answer her.”
“No, I didn’t do it to get attention. I actually, I—at first I was just, yeah, I was trying to impress Tye. I like him and he’s so involved in the community, I wanted him to like me.”
“So you pretended to care about me? My friends?” Grandma’s voice has never sounded this disappointed, not at me anyway.
“No—I care about you, Grandma. I love spending time here. And yes, at first I exaggerated the truth about me being here, but the photo project . . . I—I really do want to do that. I do.”
Grandma just sighs a deep sigh. Then Imani says, “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s the truth.”
“No, Nala. The truth is, you’re jealous of me. It’s not enough that you moved into my house, claiming my mother as your own. You have to have my friends too.”
And the way she says my makes me wonder if there will ever be a we again—no more Imani and Nala, cousin-sister-friends.
“Imani, watch yourself,” Grandma says.
But Imani keeps talking. “Grandma, she’s been rude to my friend Toya, and she’s got Sadie braiding her hair, and she’s tricked Tye into—”
“The fact that you are saying this just shows how selfish you really are, Imani.” I am yelling, and so I lower my voice, calm myself. “I get it now. You’re mad because your friends actually like me. You didn’t think I was good enough to fit with your friends, but I am. And you don’t know what to do with that. I mean, who are you if you’re not the cousin who does everything better than Nala?” I say. “Well, sorry to burst your I’m-Woke-I’m-an-Ally-I’m-Socially-Conscious-I’m-Better-Than-You bubble . . . people actually like me. You’re not the only one in this family who can have friends or have attention from a hot guy.”
“Everything is always about you, Nala. For once, just once, I want to have a life outside of the two of us. My own friends, time to do what I want to do. I have always had to look out for you. Always consider Nala’s feelings.” Imani’s voice is trembling like she is on the verge of tears, like a glass teetering on the edge. She breaks, crashes down into shattered tears. “You keep wondering why I don’t spend time at home . . . it’s because my own mother gives you more attention than she does me.”
I stand up, put my shoes back on. “I never, never tried to take Aunt Ebony away from you. If you didn’t want me living with you—”
“All right, enough! Enough, I said.” Grandma never yells at us. Never. “Nala, where do you think you’re going?”
“Anywhere but here,” I say. And Grandma gives me a look like I better sit myself down and fix my attitude. I don’t test her. I take my shoes back off. Sit down. But instead of sitting on the sofa, anywhere near them, I sit at the dining room table. I can still see them, hear them.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into the two of you, but you both have got to figure it out. We don’t do this.”