November Blues (6 page)

JERICHO WALKED INTO HIS HOUSE, FEELING
glum. His stepmother, Geneva, was busy with dinner, stirring the potatoes and adding sauce to the green beans. She smiled at him. “Did you have a good day?” she asked.

Jericho shrugged. “Same as usual, I guess. Dinner smells good.”

“Roast beef,” she said as she opened the refrigerator door. Then she added, “Brock called today.”

“From the karate dojo again?”

“I know he's gone a little overboard with that karate stuff. I guess everyone has their own way of dealing with tragedy. I don't know how I would cope if something ever happened to you or Rory or Todd,” she told Jericho. She took out two onions and began to chop them furiously.

Jericho was surprised and pleased that she'd mentioned him with her two sons, but he only said, “Yeah. Deep. What did Uncle Brock say?”

“He wanted to talk to your dad. It seems your aunt is not doing well. She needs something to get her back into the world. She's dug herself into a hole and she either won't or can't get out.”

“I wish I could help her,” Jericho replied hopelessly.

“We all do. She's seeing a doctor, and I think he's put her on some kind of medication, but nothing seems to make a difference. She's not functioning well without her boy.”

“Neither am I,” Jericho said quietly.

“I know, Jericho. Really, I do.”

“Thanks, Geneva,” Jericho said earnestly. He opened the refrigerator and got out a gallon of milk.

“Mr. Tambori called also. He's concerned about you—not just about your music, but about your spirit, I think,” Geneva added.

“Tambori is cool, and he thinks he knows me, but he doesn't. I'm through with the trumpet. Forever.”

“That's a very long time,” Geneva told him gently.

“That's how long Josh will be gone.”

Geneva didn't reply all at once. Finally she sighed and told Jericho, “Call the boys down and tell them dinner is ready. Your father called and said he'd be late. They're short a couple of cops down at the precinct and he took an extra shift.”

After dinner, Jericho trudged upstairs to do his homework—a couple of hours of math, he knew for sure. Ordinarily he would have begun the evening with his trumpet, letting the music carry him away from the stresses of the day. Then he'd call Arielle and let her soothe him in ways the trumpet never could.

But Arielle spent her time these days soothing Logan, and the trumpet lay under Jericho's bed collecting dust. The back door slammed downstairs. He flopped down on his bed and balled up his pillow under his head. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of dark window ledges, boy-birds in flight, and muddy, bloody landings.

GENEVA KNOCKED ON JERICHO'S DOOR A
few minutes later, startling him. He was surprised to realize that he'd dozed off, and as he turned over on his pillow he mumbled, “I'm sleepy, Geneva. Can it wait?”

“November is here. She says you've got her class notes for the chemistry project.”

Jericho sat up immediately. He knew there was no such project. “Yeah, that's right, I do. Tell her to come on up.” He looked around his room, which was a disaster, and moved some dirty clothes off his desk chair so she could at least sit down.

“What's up, Jericho?” November said as she walked in. She wore a Douglass sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants to match.

“Nothin' happenin'. What's up with you? I know I'm dim sometimes, but I would have remembered a chemistry project.” He waited. He hadn't seen November much, except at school. They used to hang together every weekend, but since
Josh had been gone, and Arielle had dumped him, there seemed to be less and less to talk about.

November glanced at the mess on Jericho's desk—several empty CD cases, soda cans, lots of wrinkled food wrappers, scribbled-on school notebooks, a few books, and several copies of
Sports Illustrated
, including the swimsuit issue. “You need one of those extreme makeover shows to come in here with a bulldozer,” she declared.

“I tried. They turned me down,” he told her, and they both laughed.

November was quiet for a moment, then moved aside two empty boxes of cornflakes, revealing a framed photo of Josh that was sitting on Jericho's desk. It had been taken at last year's school picnic, at the end of the junior-senior footrace. Josh's face glowed with sweat, and his feet barely touched the ground as he lunged for the finish line. Arms upraised and waving, wide grin signaling victory, the photo captured him so completely that it seemed he might burst out of the frame. She picked it up, almost expecting it to feel warm. “He looks so…alive in this picture,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I know. It's hard to look at.” Jericho glanced away.

“I want him back, jumping on the bed like Todd and Rory, acting a fool and making me laugh,” she said.

“I can't believe all the little molecules that made up Josh have simply disappeared, like…” He paused, searching for an analogy. “Like kids' soap bubbles when they pop. Just gone. I never did like science,” he added, suddenly kicking his pillow with fury. They both watched it sail through the air and land on a pile of dirty clothes.

Then November said quietly, “Not all of Josh's atoms are gone, Jericho.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe a little piece of Josh will stick around for a while.”

“You talkin' crazy,” Jericho said.

She leaned forward. “I got something to tell you.”

“About chemistry class?”

“More about biology.”

“I'm not followin'. We don't even take biology this year.”

November took a deep breath. “I'm going to have a baby, Jericho. Josh's baby.”

Jericho inhaled sharply, as if he'd been punched in the gut, then fell back on the bed. “Are you sure?”

“How come every movie I see, that's always the first question dudes ask? Like I'd come over here and tell you this unless I was absolutely, positively sure.”

“I'm sorry. It's just…that's the last thing I'd expect you to say.” He paused, his head swimming. “I would have been less surprised if you had said you were running away to join the circus!”

“I still might have to do that,” she said ruefully, “if my mother doesn't stop crying herself to sleep at night.”

“I guess she didn't take it so good, huh?”

“Well, I was my mom's perfect princess, and I screwed that up big-time.”

“Does Aunt Marlene know?”

“No! Only my mom, the doctor, and a couple of girls from school.”

“News like that's gonna travel fast. You told Dana and Arielle?”

“Dana, yes. Arielle, no way. I hate the way she dumped you,” November said with feeling.

“Thanks for lookin' out,” said Jericho, avoiding her eyes. Needing to move, he got up and began to toss the cereal boxes and food wrappers into the trash can.
November's pregnant?
he thought, trying to get his head around the idea. Then his heart lurched.
Josh will never know!

“I told a girl I didn't know very well,” November continued. “I needed to talk and she had a good ear. Her name is Olivia. She won't tell anyone.”

“Olivia from band?”

“Yeah.”

“I like her. She's solid.”

“What do you mean by that?” November asked, bristling a little.

“Nothing. Look, as big as I am, I have no right to talk about anybody but myself. Olivia is cool with me.” He looked at November closely. “So what are you gonna do?”

“Swell up. Get huge. Miss the prom. Buy flip-flops. I don't really know.”

“I wonder what the kid will look like,” Jericho mused as he sat back down on the bed. “Josh had that odd straw-colored hair.”

“And crooked teeth,” November added.

“Don't forget his skinny legs and his stick-out ears!”

“And his bushy eyebrows!” November laughed a little.

“Sounds like a really ugly baby, November!” Jericho looked at her closely to make sure he hadn't hurt her feelings, but she was gazing at Josh's picture, her hand on her stomach.

“It'll also have Josh's smile—that stupid grin of his was so bright you needed shades,” she said softly. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “Yeah, it will be a beautiful baby. But it's stuck with a stupid mother,” she added.

“How you figure?”

“I don't know anything about kids. I don't even
like
babies that much. They poop all the time and they cry all night and how am I gonna go to school like everybody else if I have a baby in my backpack?” Tears of frustration ran down her face.

Jericho got up and walked over to where she sat. For the first time in months, he felt he knew exactly what he needed to do. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I'll help you, November. I'm the uncle—sort of. I'll be like the stand-in daddy. Whatever you need me to do, I'm here for you.”

She wiped her eyes on a napkin from Pizza Hut. “That's sweet of you, Jericho. But there's no need for you to mess up your senior year because of me.”

“No, for real. I want to do this. Honest. I want to help.”

November stood up suddenly and ran out of Jericho's room to the bathroom across the hall. She didn't have time to close the door, and her vomiting echoed in the hallway. Jericho headed for the door in alarm.

When she walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, she looked pale and unsteady. “Are you sure you want to help?” she asked, a wan grin on her face.

“I'm with you all the way,” he answered, and wondered what that really meant.

NOVEMBER AND DANA SAT TOGETHER IN
the back of the cafeteria, each sipping a box of the fruit juice that the school had installed in the vending machines to replace the sodas the kids preferred.

Dana rummaged through her large leather Louis Vuitton knockoff bag she'd bought on eBay and pulled out her lip gloss. November glanced at her friend's lavender leather vest with matching boots. She felt like a cow in her University of Kentucky sweatshirt and faded jeans.

“You talk to Arielle lately?” Dana asked.

November shook her head. “Not much. Seems like she's changed since she broke up with Jericho. She started hanging with Logan, and all of a sudden she's got this major attitude.”

“Logan makes me itch. He comes across as slimy or something.”

“I hear ya.” November nibbled on a carrot stick and
thought about what Olivia had told her about Logan. “It was fun last fall when me and you and Arielle would sit together every day at lunch and just dominate.”

“Sharing shoes!”

“And clothes!”

“And gossip!”

“But never boyfriends!” November added. Both girls laughed.

“Dudes trippin' all over their shoelaces just to talk to us,” Dana said with a smirk. “And the rest of the girls be hatin' because of it!”

“Well, they don't have to worry about me anymore. I can't believe how fast I'm gaining weight. I feel like a whale.”

“You're still skinny. Wait a couple of months, then I'll listen to your whale tales,” Dana said.

November sighed. “I gotta remember not to stand too close to Miss Size Two Arielle. Not that she stops to give me the time of day anymore. It's like she changed the station and moved to a different TV channel.”

“Tell me about it. When I pass her in the hall, she acts like she doesn't know me. You know, to be perfectly honest, I don't think her elevator went too deep underground anyway. You know what I'm sayin'?” said Dana as she sucked down the rest of her drink.

“That's my girl Arielle. Fluttering around like a little butterfly to whatever makes her look good,” November said decidedly.

“She hurt Jericho real bad.” Dana squashed her juice box.

“Yeah, I know I felt bad enough when Josh died. But
Jericho and Josh were tight like brothers. He needed his girl to be there for him.”

“And she dissed him. Like somebody steppin' on a roach.”

November nodded. “She'll get what's coming to her one day.”

“Maybe not. Girls like Arielle always get over,” Dana said with a shrug. “So, have you thought any more about what you're going to do?”

It was November's turn to shrug. “I don't know. Get fat. Get talked about. Get a job, I guess. I just hope I can graduate next year with the rest of you.” She scraped at the red fingernail polish on her thumb.

“You seem to have a handle on things, sort of.”

“Not hardly! My life is one huge, red-glowing question mark sitting in front of me like a neon sign. What am I supposed to do with a
baby
?”

“I feel for you, girl. I've got your back, but I gotta tell you—I'm glad it's not me.”

“You know, it's like I've lost control of my whole body. One minute I'm laughing like a crazy bird, not even aware I'm peeing in my pants, and the next minute I'm on my knees in tears. So is my mother, and she's not even pregnant!”

Dana hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you ever think about, you know, like, getting rid of the baby?”

November scraped the polish off another nail before she answered. “When I first figured out I'd got myself knocked up, I gotta admit, the thought crossed my mind. I was stupid
scared, and I'd never felt so alone in my life. I got to thinking maybe I could just delete this mess-up in my life like I delete a computer file. It sure woulda made everything easier.”

“So why didn't you?”

“Well, I was terrified of going to one of those places where protesters picket out front with pictures of dead babies on posters. And the thought of somebody digging inside my body to scrape a human being out scared me even more. I just couldn't do it.” She blew the fragments of red polish onto the floor.

Dana started to answer, but the rattle of a food tray crashing to the floor, a huge thud, and someone screaming, “Quit it!” caught her attention. Sudden silence followed in the noisy lunchroom.

Only one teacher was monitoring the cafeteria—a short, thin, first-year teacher named Mr. Price, who seemed to be scared of the kids. Once they'd all figured that out, it was over. Kofi and Jericho used to run up behind him and shout, “Hey, Mr. Price! Hey, Mr. Price!” The little man would jump every single time. They all predicted he wouldn't be back next year.

November watched Mr. Price scurry out of the lunchroom, and then she and Dana rushed to the far side of the cafeteria. Arielle and Logan were there, laughing and pointing at Olivia Thigpen, who sat in the middle of the floor. The school lunch special, which today had been spaghetti and meatballs, decorated her hair. A few students started to join in the laughter but stopped when they saw Dana stomping toward them, and the fire in November's eyes.

November marched over to where Olivia sat and reached out to help her up, but Olivia shook her off.

“I got this under control,” she said, her voice tight.

“You ought to try to keep that waistline under control,” Arielle snipped, hands on hips.

“What are you doing, Arielle?” Dana asked her furiously. “Are you crazy? Leave her alone!”

“Logan told me all about her—the tramp!” Arielle replied angrily.

November glanced over at Arielle with amazement. Could Arielle actually be
jealous
of Olivia?

Finally Olivia stood up with amazing dignity, even though chocolate milk ran down her arms and spaghetti sauce dripped down the back of her red-striped T-shirt. “I can fight my own battles, Dana,” she said with quiet menace.

Arielle scooted over to Logan. “I'm not scared of a pigpen like you,” she told Olivia. “If you weren't so big and clumsy, you wouldn't have spilled your food.”

Olivia took a deep breath and stepped toward Arielle, who seemed to shrink as Olivia got closer. Olivia was like an approaching electrical storm—thunder and lightning and extreme danger. November figured she had a hundred pounds on Arielle. No one spoke.

Olivia stopped only when her face was inches away from Arielle's. As her face grew darker with fury, Arielle's grew paler. Then she spoke, loudly and clearly. “I'm here to warn you. I
never
forget anything! Never. For now, just run, little salt shaker, run! Because if I hit you, I swear I will hurt you.”

Arielle ran. She grabbed Logan's hand and darted out a side door.

Everybody in the cafeteria cheered as they left. November looked at Olivia with new respect. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Olivia gathered her belongings and answered, “Just leave me alone.” She stormed out the cafeteria door and onto the sidewalk.

“Should we go after her?” Dana asked.

“No. Leave her some dignity.”

“I can't believe Arielle did that,” said Dana with disbelief.

“She was dizzy before, but not mean. Logan sure brings out the worst in her.”

By that time Mr. Price, who had first peeked in the door to make sure all was quiet, walked over to the area where bits of brown milk and red sauce remained on the floor. “Anybody see what happened?” he asked.

“Yeah, I saw it,” a boy replied. “One of the little ninth-grade boys spilled his lunch.”

“That's right, man. Clumsy little kids,” another girl added.

Mr. Price looked down at the food, then directed his question to November and Dana. “Was there a problem here, girls?”

“No, sir,” they answered together.

“I think the boy ran into the bathroom over there,” November told the teacher.

Mr. Price seemed to be relieved that he didn't have to deal with a major altercation. He thanked November and hurried out into the hall to find the boy who would not be there.