Belle Teal (7 page)

 

When our third day of school begins, the only parent hanging around in front of the school is Big Boss in his truck. And today, he will not leave. An hour goes by and he is still sitting there, staring at the school building and smoking. Another hour goes by, then a third. I can tell he's making Little Boss nervous. And Miss Casey, she keeps glancing out the window at him. Eventually, she excuses herself from our room. A few minutes after she comes back, I see our principal, Mr. Walter, stride along the front walk to the truck and have a chat with Big Boss. (Little Boss looks like the squirrel that accidentally got into our house last spring, and all it wanted was a good hiding place.) I am sure Big Boss will leave then. But he doesn't. He sticks around for another hour or so, to make his point. Then he leaves. He comes back at the end of the day, though, for his yelling and banging and all.

 

By the last day of the week, the only parent who bothers to show up is Big Boss and this time he drops Little Boss off, then drives away in a hurry.

“Got himself a job with the road crew,” Little Boss tells me as we stand on the school steps.

I have a feeling Big Boss will be scarce from now on, and I am feeling happy. Until the sad thing that happens a few minutes later.

That morning HRH waltzes up to Miss Casey's desk and hands her a note. There is this smug look on HRH's face that I don't like.

Miss Casey, she reads that note and her lips tighten. The next thing I know, Vanessa and Clarice are switching seats. Now Clarice is in the front row again, next to Darryl, and Vanessa is in the third row. I wait for an explanation, but Miss Casey just takes attendance and milk orders and gets on with our day.

On the playground, me and Clarice overhear Vanessa talking to Mae.

“Well,
my
daddy just would not stand for it,” HRH is saying. “Of all things. Next to a colored boy. He called Miss Casey at home last night. Said she
had
to change my seat. He wrote her a note too, to make sure.

”I look at Clarice. Then I look across the playground at Darryl. He is huddled with the two other colored kids. By now I know their names. They are Winnie and Terrence. The three of them still have to stick with a teacher for protection. Seeing that, thinking of HRH and Big Boss and the parents and their signs, all I feel is plain sad.

 

That is what I put in my journal that night. About Darryl and HRH and my sadness. Then I put in about Little Boss's bruise, just to get my mind on something else. Lordy, he came into school with a big one this morning. On his arm. He told me he fell off his porch. Little Boss must be the clumsiest person in the county. He fell off his porch in fourth grade too, and twice he got black eyes by walking into doors.

I feel the need for adding something happier to my journal, so I write that Gran is already thinking ahead to our Christmas fruitcakes, which we make every year on the day after Thanksgiving. This gets me to thinking about the holidays, starting with Halloween. I look outside and see a V of geese silhouetted against a full moon. I hear them honking as they make their way south for the winter. And I feel a little chill, like all of a sudden autumn has come upon us.

I
am putting my milk money in my purse necklace, and Gran, she is at the sink with the breakfast dishes. Under her breath she is singing something about “coming in on a wing and a prayer.”

Mama bustles into the kitchen in her spanking clean Adele uniform. She gives Gran a quick peck on the cheek. “I'm off,” she says. She gulps some coffee.

“You do your homework, Mama?” I ask. 

“Yeah, precious. You?”

“All done.”

I like that Mama and I both have homework to do. The two of us have been in school for a month now, and Mama has not missed a class
or
a day of work. She has done every one of her secretarial assignments too. (She is showing me how to make her shorthand squiggles.) From time to time she fills in at the Lantern. All in all, I think the money from the school account is being well spent.

I have done every one of my homework assignments too, but then, I always do. Besides, I would not want to disappoint Miss Casey. An A or a star or a
Well done!
from her makes my insides feel glorious.

Gran holds a plate of eggs and fried potatoes toward Mama, who waves it away. “I don't have time,” she says. “I'll be late. And I have a perfect work record so far.” She wipes the coffee from her lips and flies out the door. “School tonight,” she calls. “I'll be home late.”

I stand up. “I better go too, Gran. The bus'll be here any minute.” I give her a hug.

“You keep an eye on Lyman,” Gran murmurs as I gather up my books.

I don't bother with an answer. I can hear the school bus. I tear across our yard and reach the road just as Bernette crests the top of our hill.

Autumn is getting into full swing. Here and there I see bright spots of color in the trees. Today is misty with a raw wind. I huff out my breath, but the air isn't cold enough to make a frosty puff yet. Still, I am a bit chilly. I look down at my boots. I should have worn socks with them. I can feel the wind blowing under my cotton skirt. I am not worried, though. Today, Gran is going to set to work on a plaid flannel dress for me.

Bernette opens the door of the bus with a
whoosh.

“Good morning,” I call to her.

“Morning, honey.”

I clomp up the steps and try to ignore HRH, who's wearing what looks like a brand-new cream-colored woolen dress. I can't ignore the dress, though. It looks so toasty warm. HRH's mother, she might have bought it in Paris. I wonder again what Mrs. Mathers is like. I still have not seen Vanessa's house or anything. Mrs. Mathers is probably all lovely and goodsmelling, like Miss Casey. And will never have to wear a uniform with her name stitched on the pocket.

I scan the back of the bus for Clarice.

“She's not in attendance,” HRH says to me, all uppity-like.

I pretend I don't know what she's talking about. “To who are you referring?” I reply, grabbing onto the back of a seat as Bernette wheels the bus around.

“The person to
whom
I am referring is your friend Clarice.”

I shrug my shoulders. “So?” I head for the back of the bus. I don't mind sitting alone. I have a fresh Nancy Drew book from the school library.

As I pass by HRH Vanessa, she starts to whistle a tune. It takes me just a moment to realize what words go with that tune. I heard them over at Clarice's. “Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed . . .”

HRH is whistling the song from this new TV show,
The Beverly Hillbillies.
I think of the Clampetts, chugging around in their hillbilly car, making fools of themselves.

I pretend I don't get her joke. “Oh, did you watch the show too?” I say, all sweet-like to HRH.

I walk toward the back and slide into a seat in front of Chas and Vernon. “Hey,” we all say to each other, and then I get busy with my book. I take little peeks up at the front of the bus, though, and I see that HRH keeps turning around to look at me. I just ignore her, which nearly drives her crazy. One thing, I am sure she doesn't want anyone to think she watched
The Beverly Hillbillies,
which thanks to me now they probably do.

I am a master at not giving HRH Vanessa Mathers the time of day.

The bus pulls up in front of Coker Creek Elementary. I hold my breath, like Clarice and I have done the last several mornings. I crane my neck to see if the pickup truck is in front of school. It isn't. I let out a big sigh of relief. Just a few cars, and a couple of mothers who walk their kindergartners to school.

This makes six whole school days in a row that Big Boss hasn't shown up at Coker Creek to curse and shout. Even after he got the job with the road crew he would show up once a week or so. But I think he has given up for good now.

It appears that I am not the only one who thinks so. Lordy, I wish Clarice was here so I could share this particular piece of news with her: I am looking out the bus window and I am not seeing Big Boss, but I
am
seeing Darryl and Winnie and Terrence, who are walking along the path to the front door of our school. They are in a tight group with their arms linked together. And their parents are not with them. They have walked to school by themselves. They look terrified, and I wonder if I could be as brave as they are.

Bernette opens the bus door and I make my way down the aisle. HRH, she is still sitting in her seat at the front. Why isn't she getting off the bus? I wonder. She turns around and sees me heading toward her.

“Oink, oink,” she snorts as I pass.

Now, I don't especially like being oinked at, but it doesn't bother me all that much. Not the oinking itself. What bothers me is that HRH feels the
need
to oink at me. I step out of the aisle and wait in the seat across from Vanessa's. When everyone has left the bus, I sit there and stare at HRH.

“What are you looking at?” she asks.

“What do you think? I'm looking at you.”

HRH makes a face. “Why?”

“Because I thought maybe you didn't have enough time to finish oinking at me. You oink nearly every time we're on the bus. So why don't you just go ahead and finish the job? Oh. Maybe you need an audience.” I lean out of the bus. “Hey, Chas! Vernon! Come back here.” I turn to Bernette. “This'll just take a minute,” I tell her.

When Chas and Vernon have stuck their heads in the bus, I say to HRH, “Okay. Go on.” I look back at the boys. “Vanessa didn't finish oinking at me,” I tell them. “And she wanted you to hear her. Go ahead, Vanessa.”

Well, Vanessa, now she doesn't say a word. And the boys are smirking at her.

“Come on. We're going to be late,” I say to HRH. “Oink, oink. Snort, snort. Come
on.
”

One small part of me thinks HRH might start to cry. She doesn't. She rolls her eyes, pushes her way past Chas and Vernon, and flounces off the bus.

Maybe the oinking will stop. Maybe it won't. But I think I've gotten under HRH's skin.

 

In the cafeteria that day I buy my milk and sit down at the table where me and Clarice always sit. Occasionally we sit with Chas and Vernon and Little Boss, once in a while with Kayla, who stopped sitting with HRH after the first day of school. But the boys are with other boys today, and Kayla, I don't even see her. So I am settling down at the table all by myself when I see Darryl. I guess he's on his way to sit with Winnie and Terrence. As he passes by me I smile at him and say, “Hey, Darryl.”

At first, Darryl, he looks alarmed. But then he smiles back. “Hey, Belle Teal,” he answers.

I've got that glorious feeling inside me.

 

The next day turns out to be something, all right. One thing, HRH didn't oink at me on the bus the previous afternoon, and she doesn't oink this morning either. She makes quite a face, though. When she does I give her one of my big grins. Another thing, Clarice is absent again, and I notice Chas isn't on the bus either. A huge cold is going around, which I haven't caught yet.

When we get to Coker Creek Elementary it turns out that half the school is absent. Including Winnie and Terrence. Darryl walks to school all by himself and I feel bad for him. He comes hurrying along so fast, it's like a Halloween monster is after him. He hightails it into our classroom in record time.

At lunch that day I am by myself again. And so is Darryl. Well, this is just silly, I think. So I pick up my milk carton and my lunch bag and I walk to Darryl's table and I just sit down across from him.

“Hey,” I say. Darryl nearly chokes on his sandwich and I don't blame him. “Clarice is absent,” I tell him.

Darryl, he coughs and nods.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Darryl shakes his head. “No.”

Darryl's lunch and mine are about the same. Sandwich, apple, cookie, school milk. Except my cookie is oatmeal and Darryl's is chocolate chip.

I break my cookie in two pieces. “Want half?” I ask. I hold one piece out to Darryl.

Darryl breaks his cookie in two and holds one piece out to me. “I'll trade you,” he answers.

Darryl's cookie is so good, they should make TV commercials about it. I tell him so.

“Thanks,” he says. “My mother made it. Yours is good too.”

“My gran made it.”

After that we eat our sandwiches without talking. Some kids have turned around at other tables and are staring at us, but I won't look back at them. I concentrate on my lunch.

Finally I say, “I live with my mom and my gran. Gran, she's a really good cook. She does all our cooking. Every year she makes our Thanksgiving dinner. And then on the day after Thanksgiving, she and Mama and me make Christmas fruitcakes.” I pause. “But my mama is a horrible cook.”

Darryl grins. “My mother's not so good either. Except for cookies. She burns everything. But my aunt is really good.”