Almost Zero (3 page)

Naturally,
the first person Dyamonde saw when she arrived at school was Tameeka in her pink high-top sneakers.

“Hey, Dyamonde,” she said. “You get your red high-tops yet?”

Dyamonde wished her eyes were balls of fire. That way, she could burn Tameeka to the ground.

“No, I didn’t get my red high-tops,” snapped Dyamonde.

She turned to walk away just as Tameeka said, “Hey, didn’t you wear that same shirt yesterday?”

Dyamonde fumed. She wanted to say, “You know how many clothes I have in my closet now, thanks to you? Almost zero!” But instead, Dyamonde turned on her heel and walked away.

Dyamonde avoided Tameeka for the rest of the day.

At lunch, she found a table all to herself. Everything was fine until some boy goofing off behind
her knocked her elbow as she was about to take a sip of her milk. She ended up with more than a mouthful. Half the container spilled down her front.

“Rats!” said Dyamonde. Now her T-shirt was stained
and
sticky. She mopped up the milk with her napkin, which didn’t help much. Her eyes filled with water, but Dyamonde refused to cry.

“Sorry,” said the boy. Dyamonde glared at him. “Sorry,” he said a second time, carrying his tray to a table as far away from Dyamonde as possible.

It’s only milk,
Dyamonde told herself.
It’ll dry soon.
And it did.

Luckily, nobody besides Tameeka seemed to notice that she was wearing yesterday’s outfit. At least, nobody else mentioned it.

By the end of the day, Dyamonde relaxed.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,
she thought.

But who was she kidding? The last thing Dyamonde wanted was a repeat of this day.

Walking home alone that afternoon, Dyamonde put that big brain of hers to work to figure a
way out of her problem.
There has to be a way to get my clothes back,
thought Dyamonde. By the time she reached her front door, she had a plan.

Dyamonde was careful to be quiet as a mouse that evening. She did all her homework without complaining even once. When she was finished, she cleared her books away without being told and set the table for dinner. She put extra ice in her mom’s glass and poured Mrs. Daniel’s favorite diet soda. For herself she poured milk, like she was supposed to, instead of whining
about wanting soda too, which is what she usually did.

After dinner, she cleared the dishes and scrubbed them until they were squeaky clean.

When Mrs. Daniel went to the living room to watch TV, Dyamonde ran ahead, grabbed the remote control and put it in her mother’s hand. The minute her mom seemed settled comfortably, Dyamonde cleared her throat.

“Mommy,” said Dyamonde—she never called her mother “Mommy” unless she wanted something—“Mommy, I was wondering.
Could I have my clothes back now, please?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” said her mom, pressing the channel changer on the remote. “What did you say?”

Dyamonde took a deep breath and tried again, using a voice sweeter than corn bread.

“I was wondering if I could have my clothes back now,” said Dyamonde.

“Oh!” said Mrs. Daniel. “But I thought you understood. You already have all the clothes you need.”

Dyamonde’s smile slid sideways, melting quicker than a snowflake.

“But the clothes I have are all
dirty,
” said Dyamonde, beginning to whine.

“Well, then,” said her mom, looking up from the television, “I guess you’d better wash them. But you should do it soon, because it’s almost your bedtime.”

Dyamonde ground her teeth and made a sound halfway between a growl and a scream.

Her mom turned back to the television, and Dyamonde stomped off to the bathroom.

“Don’t pour too much detergent in the sink,” warned her
mother. “I don’t want bubbles all over my bathroom floor.”

Dyamonde slammed the door, ripped off her clothes and filled the sink to the brim. She poured in half a cup of soap powder and stuffed her shirt, panties and socks into the water to soak.

While Dyamonde waited for the soap to do its job, she stomped into the living room, stark naked, and stood there in the middle of the floor, daring her mom to say something.

“Sit down,” said Mrs. Daniel. “You’re blocking my view.”

“Uhhhhh!”
What’s the use?
thought Dyamonde. She glared at her mother and marched right back into the bathroom.

Dyamonde scrubbed her clothes until she thought they must be clean. Then she rinsed them out and hung them on a dryer rack in the bathtub. If they were still damp in the morning, she could always go to the basement laundry and toss them in the dryer.

She found herself yawning, more tired than she’d felt in a long time. She padded to the closet, got her pajamas and slipped them on.
Her mom switched off the television and went to her bedroom.

“Good night, Dyamonde,” she said. But Dyamonde didn’t answer. She just pulled out the sofa bed and crawled under the covers.

In class
on Thursday, Dyamonde slumped down in her seat, trying her best to be invisible. She sat up straight, though, when the principal ducked into the room and handed Mrs. Cordell a piece of paper.

The teacher’s eyes raced across the note in her hand. When she
reached the bottom of the page, she gave a little gasp and shook her head from side to side.

What is it?
Dyamonde wondered.

“Class,” said Mrs. Cordell, looking up now. “Some of you may have noticed that Isabel isn’t here today. Last night, there was a terrible fire in the apartment house where her family lives, and their apartment was destroyed. Everyone got out safely, thank God, but the family lost everything they owned. When Isabel comes back to school next week, I want you all to be especially kind to her. And if you see her wearing the
same clothes several days in a row, don’t tease her or make a big deal out of it. Those are probably the only clothes she has.” She looked straight at Tameeka when she said it.

Tameeka squirmed in her seat. “What?” said Tameeka. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I am asking you all to be thoughtful,” added Mrs. Cordell, looking around at the entire class. “Just imagine how you’d feel if it were you.”

The teacher’s words gave Dyamonde a twinge. She suddenly felt very small inside, making such
a fuss about her mother packing up all her clothes. At least they hadn’t burned up in a fire. Plus, Dyamonde believed that, sooner or later, she’d get them back. But what about Isabel?

“Is there gonna be a clothes drive or something?” asked Dyamonde. She forgot to raise her hand first, but Mrs. Cordell didn’t seem to mind this one time.

“What do you mean?” asked the teacher.

“Are we gonna collect money or clothes or something?” That was the first thing Dyamonde thought of because that’s what they did at her
church when something bad like this happened to someone they knew.

“Well, Dyamonde, the school can’t do anything officially. There are lots of people in the world who need things, and if the school chose one family to help, it wouldn’t be fair to all the others.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” said Dyamonde without thinking. “Fair has got nothing to do with it.”

“Excuse me?” The teacher’s voice rose.

“Oooooh!” said one kid. “You must be itchin’ to get sent to the principal’s office!”

Dyamonde ignored him. “I mean, if we know somebody who needs help, we should help them, right?”

“I don’t disagree, Dyamonde, but fund-raisers and clothing drives for individuals are not school policy. Of course, you’re always free to do something on your own, if you like.”

What can I do?
Dyamonde asked herself.
I don’t have any money.
Then it hit her.
But I do have clothes! Somewhere. Mom did a good job of hiding them. I just hope they’re somewhere close by.

The minute
her mother walked in the door that night, Dyamonde ran to her.

“Mom! I need to go through my clothes—not for me this time, though. A girl in my school got burned out of her apartment and she doesn’t have anything left.”

“Slow down, Dyamonde. Let me get in the door first.”

“Sorry.” Dyamonde hopped from one foot to the other, impatient for her mother to set down her purse, kick off her shoes and settle into the recliner.

“That’s better,” Mrs. Daniel said, sighing. “Now, what were you saying?”

Dyamonde told her all about the announcement her teacher made in class and all about the crazy school policy about taking up collections.

“Mrs. Cordell said I could do something myself, if I wanted to. And I want to give Isabel some of my clothes because she doesn’t have any at all, and we’re the same size. So can I have my clothes back, just for a little while? You can take them away again. I just want to pick out a few for Isabel,” said Dyamonde.

Dyamonde waited for her mother to say something. Instead, her mom just smiled.

“Why are you smiling?”

Mrs. Daniel ignored the question.
“Let’s get dinner going, then I’ll see if I can remember what I did with all your clothes.”

Dyamonde knew her mother was kidding about remembering where the clothes were, because she gave Dyamonde a wink when she said it.

“Tell me about this girl,” said Mrs. Daniel, over dinner.

Dyamonde shrugged. “She’s a girl in my class I talk to sometimes. She’s got this great white streak in her hair, and she’s nice. I don’t really know her as much as I know Free and Damaris, though.”

“I see.”

“You don’t have to know somebody to help them. Right?”

Dyamonde’s mother flashed that slow smile again, saying nothing.

After the dishes were washed and put away, Mrs. Daniel slipped out of the apartment. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Mom forgot her keys. Again.”

When Dyamonde opened the front door, she found her mother and their neighbor, Mrs. King, both juggling armloads of boxes.

“Say hello to Mrs. King,” said Mrs. Daniel.

“Good evening, Mrs. King,” said Dyamonde.

“Mrs. King was kind enough to store these boxes in her extra bedroom closet.”

So that’s where they were,
thought Dyamonde.

“Well, come on! Give us a hand,” said her mom.

Dyamonde was happy to grab one of the boxes.

Once all of the cartons were neatly stacked in front of
Dyamonde’s closet, Mrs. King said good night and left.

“Whew!” said Mrs. Daniel. “Glad that’s done. I’m off duty for the rest of the night, but you can go ahead and put away whatever clothes you’ve decided to keep for yourself.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dyamonde turned to her mother. “But I thought—”

“You thought I’d take your things away again, after you set aside clothes for Isabel?”

Dyamonde nodded.