Miami Jackson Gets It Straight (3 page)

Yes!

I let it all soak in. Destinee can’t go to the mall! I start jumping up and down and all around. I’m going to pick Ms. Rollins a gift all by myself. Wow! Then something else comes to mind.

Daddy is out of town with his car. And Mama has promised to let Leesie use hers. How will I get to the mall? Too far to ride
my bike. Man! This is seriously whacked!

I go straight to Mama. She’s at her desk fumbling with papers—the way she does when she doesn’t want to work.

I tell her what’s going on.

“I’ve got to go by Destinee Tate’s house to get the money the class raised. Then I’ve got to buy Ms. Rollins a gift—all by myself.”

“All by yourself, huh? Big responsibility. How do you feel about that? Need help?”

“No way. I’m good to go,” I say. “Except I need a ride to the mall.”

Mama’s eyes look like they’re laughing. “Oh, I see,” she says. “Hummm! Sorry. But the car is
Leesie’s
all afternoon. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Ask me what?” Leesie comes bouncing into the den. She’s in her show rags—pressed and dressed. Ready to be discovered.

I pretend I don’t notice.

“Ask me what?” Leesie is real curious now.

Mama gives me a little nudge. “Miami has a favor to ask.”

Mama is enjoying herself.

Here goes nothing. I decide to do a Band-Aid—say it fast. The way you yank a Band-Aid off. “I’m supposed to buy a going-away present for our teacher. Will you drive me to the mall?”

Leesie is like a block of ice. I wish she would say something—anything.

Finally the Frost Queen speaks. “If I take him and bring him back,” she asks,
not even looking at me, “may I go out again?”

“Yes, providing it’s not too late,” Mama answers.

Leesie’s got some serious drama on her face. She knows I’m at her mercy. But I’ll beg if I have to.

“Okay,” she says, looking right at me now. “I’ll help you, but you’ve got to say you’re sorry—sorry for giving me such a hard time about my driving.”

Is that it? I mean, Leesie could have asked me for my whole allowance. She could have made me do her chores for a month. I would have done anything. “Hey! Done. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

“No. No. No. Say you’re sorry with more … more soul. Or stay home, Miami.”

Mama can’t hide the smile. She’s pretending
to read something.

I straighten up. “Leesie. I shouldn’t have teased you about … when I said …”

You know how things get funny when they shouldn’t? Like in church or when you’re giving a report out loud? Well, the more I talk, the funnier it’s getting to me.

“I’m sor … sor …” I burst out laughing.

Mama’s shoulders are shaking. I know she’s laughing. That makes me laugh harder. But I keep trying.

“Leesie! I really am … sor … sor … honest …”

“Just shut up, goofy,” she says. Now I can see her trying hard not to laugh. But she chokes it down.

“Go wash your face,” she says. “I can’t be discovered with a dirtbag.”

In Leesie’s mind, she’s hauling me to the mall. In my mind, she’s chauffeuring me. But first, we have to go by Destinee’s house. She lives in Long Acres subdivision about four blocks from our house.

We find number 17. I’m out of the car like a flash. Before I can knock, the door swings open. Destinee is standing there on a crutch. Her ankle is bandaged.

“What did you do?”

She doesn’t want to tell me. “I fell,” she answers.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“Here’s the money.” She shoves an envelope filled with dollar bills at me. “Don’t you lose it, either. And you’d better buy something good—like what’s on this list.” She gives me a folded sheet of paper with gift suggestions the class has made.

Leesie blows the horn. I have to go.

“You coming to school tomorrow?” I ask, stuffing the money and the note in my coat pocket.

“If I have to crawl,” Destinee answers.

Leesie pulls into a parking space. Before we get out, she morphs into Leesie-the-Con-Artist. “Mama told me to stay with you,” she says. “Help pick your teacher’s
gift. But I could let you go on your own.”

Leesie doesn’t want to be bothered with me, really. That’s fine. “Sure,” I say, being very agreeable. “Go ahead. Mama doesn’t need to know.”

“You’re gonna get to go a lot of places. Just keep that good attitude, little brother,” says Leesie.

We go inside. It’s crowded. “Make sure you meet me at the center fountain at six o’clock sharp,” Leesie says. “That’s when the little hand is on six, and the big hand is on twelve.”

“A joke. Ha! Ha!” I say, walking away. She goes in the opposite direction.

I’ve got a bounce in my step. I’ve got money in both pockets. See, I’ve brought my birthday money along. Just in case I find a good deal.

It feels great. For once, the class president is not in charge. The vice-president is taking over.

First, I look over the list of gift suggestions the class made. Some of the ones I like are the pen set, a book, a sun hat, a sweatshirt, a pair of sunglasses, a set of earrings.

I wander through the bookstore. So many choices. Chocolates are always a nice gift. So are candles. None of those will impress the girls.

I look at a globe. I find Ghana in West Africa. Way to go, Ms. Rollins! She likes geography. But a globe doesn’t do it for me. Not enough money anyway.

At the jewelry store, I find the perfect set of earrings. If I come back with these, that would sure blow the girls’ minds. But the earrings cost over $70.

There’s so much to see and smell in the mall. Time for a break.

I come to my favorite place—Frison’s Coin Shop. Daddy and I come here all the time. On the door there’s a sign that says
Rare Egyptian Friendship Tokens.

Man! I’m supposed to be shopping for Ms. Rollins. But I’ve got to go inside.

Mr. Frison is behind the counter. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer, Miami. Come to see the tokens, I bet.”

Mr. Frison explains that the tokens are copies of real ones. “They were found in a mummy’s tomb.”

Wow! He places one in my hand. Then he gives me a write-up about it:
Long ago, Egyptians gave these little tokens to special
friends and family. The same way we send greeting cards to one another today.

I rub the design. “That is a hieroglyph—a word picture—for friendship,” Mr. Frison explains. “The hieroglyph on the other side means priceless.
Friendship is priceless.
”

Hey! I got to have this. It’s a coin. It’s about words. My thing. “How much?” I ask.

“For you, twenty-five dollars.”

All my birthday money. That’s ah-right. I’m going with it.

I pay for the coin. “Remember,” Mr. Frison says, giving me the small bag, “these tokens should be given away to someone special.”

Right. Outside the shop, I tuck the token in my jeans. I’m not giving this coin away. I can’t wait to show Daddy.

Now if only I can find Ms. Rollins a gift.

Wow! Time is moving fast.

I’m standing at the Big Cookie counter when somebody says, “What’s up?” I don’t even have to look around. It’s String.

“Hey, man. Where’d you come from?”

We high-five.

“My mom’s getting her nails done. I came along. I was hoping I’d find you. You hear ’bout Destinee?”

He treats me to a juice. We split a cookie. We sit on a bench. “Yeah,” I say. “She fell and hurt her ankle. Probably tripped over her long nose.”

String bites into his half of the chocolate chip hazelnut cookie. He closes his eyes and listens to the taste. “Ummm. Did she tell you how she fell?” String asks.

“Who cares?” I say. “All I know is that she couldn’t come. So I get to buy Ms. Rollins a gift by myself. Great, huh?”

“You need to know how Destinee hurt her ankle,” String is saying, all the time slurping his drink.

“What, then?” I’m getting impatient.

“She was playing baseball, man!” String says. “And she hurt herself sliding into home plate.”

Destinee Tate? Baseball? “When did she start playing baseball?”

String shrugged. “She just started playing this spring. She’s learning. Getting good, though.”

“Was she safe?”

“Scored the winning run.”

No way, I’m thinking. The one thing I love to do—and what? Destinee Tate is trying to do it, too. “I hate that girl. You knew about this! And you didn’t tell me? How can you stand her?” I ask without taking a breath.

“She asks me the same thing ’bout you all the time.”

He goes back to munching on his cookie.

“Have you bought the gift yet?” Cookie crumbs fall out the side of his mouth.

“It’s hard to find something the girls won’t make fun of.”

“Ms. Rollins like pretty things,” he says.

“Whatever I choose, I want it to make those girls’ eyes bug out.”

String looks at me real funny. I wonder why.

Then I think of Destinee. “Hey, String?” I say.

“Yo.”

“Did Destinee slide feet first? Or did she dive?”

String shrugs. “Randy was straddling the base. Destinee was rounding third. Denny threw long and high from center field. Destinee saw the ball and dove for home plate. Safe!”

Man!

Hey! I got to go. Time is running out.

String can’t shop with me. He has to meet his mother. I head for Bemiston’s department store.

Who do I see coming down the escalators? Ms. Rollins with Mrs. O’Shay, one of the fourth-grade teachers. She’ll probably be our teacher next year.

They are laughing and talking to each other. Acting like real people—not teachers at all.

Suddenly I get an idea. I duck behind a big potted plant. From there I can see Ms. Rollins shop. I’m thinking, that way I can get an idea of what she likes.

She goes to a perfume counter. She sniffs a couple of samples.

“This is the good stuff,” she says. “The kind you can’t buy on a teacher’s salary.” The two of them laugh. I like seeing them this way. They seem younger.

Next they go to the scarf counter. Ms. Rollins picks out a bright blue one.
“This would be nice with my white suit,” she says. She ties it around her neck. “But the cloth is so beautiful in Ghana. I’ll buy a scarf there.”

“You must be so excited about your future,” says Mrs. O’Shay.

“I am,” says Ms. Rollins. “But I will never forget this year at Turner Elementary. It’s been great.”

Then Ms. Rollins moves to the handbag section. I have to move to the other side of the plant to keep from being seen. She stops at a display.

“Ohhh. This is a really nice package,” says Ms. Rollins. She seems excited about it. So I pay attention.

“It has a diary, an address book, and a wallet, all three for one price,” says Mrs. O’Shay.

“I would love to have something like this to take with me.”

“Why don’t you buy it?” asks Mrs. O’Shay.