The Other Half of My Heart (22 page)

Brown-skinned girls with their brown-skinned mothers chatted in groups around the room. There were at least eighty people there. The range of hues was broad, but no one had skin as pale as Minni’s, or hair as molten-lava red. She felt like Pippi Longstocking.

And she stood out
.

She had told Mama last year how much she hated standing out.

“Why do you think you stand out?”

“I’m taller than all the boys. I’ve got hair the color of a pumpkin. And my shoe size is the same as my age, which is not good when you’re ten.”

“Your life sounds hard.” Mama was being sarcastic.

Minni had wanted to knock the palette from her hand and watch the colors go flying. She raised her voice instead. “Can’t you try to understand—even for one minute—what it’s like to be me?”

Mama tucked her lips around her teeth and looked at Minni through squinted eyes. She looked and looked, quiet, serious, the way she looked at a flower when she was getting ready to paint it. She blinked—once, twice, three times—and Minni was starting to think Mama might just sit there staring at her forever, when she said, “You’re right. I didn’t like standing out when I was your age, either.”

She put down the palette and wrapped her fingers around Minni’s wrist, which stuck out from her too-short sleeves because she was always growing faster than they could get to the store to buy her new clothes. Minni felt her pulse beating against Mama’s fingertips. “But you know what I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older?”

Minni shook her head.

“It’s not a bad thing to stand out. It can actually be quite good—so long as you’re being yourself.”

Being yourself
, Minni had thought at the time. Even if she
was
good with animals and a good speller and she cared about the environment, if being Minni King meant being the things she’d listed to Mama, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be herself.

Grandmother Johnson tugged on Minni’s elbow, pulling her forward in the registration line. “Quit your daydreaming, child. It’s time to get serious now.”

Two girls called out and ran to hug each other. Minni
noticed the woman from church who had said her granddaughter was coming for the competition. Next to her stood a tall, ballerina-like girl—slender, not skinny—wearing a crisp white sleeveless shirt tied at the waist and a black A-line skirt. She wore black slip-on sandals with a slight heel. Very stylish. Even Keira would have to agree. The girl surveyed the room as if she were taking stock of the competition, which she probably was. Her gaze turned in their direction. Minni became suddenly interested in the nubby carpet.

Soon after this, they reached the front of the line. The “meddlesome” lady was checking girls in.

“King,” Grandmother Johnson said, as if she were announcing royalty. “Minerva and Keira.”

Minni glanced around, wondering how many people had heard The Name.

“Of course,” the woman said. “Sisters like you would be hard to forget.”

Minni’s cheeks got warm.

The woman started to hand two folders to Minni. “Here you go.”

Grandmother Johnson intervened. “Thank you.” She waved the folders toward the center of the room. “Go start meeting other girls. It’s good to mingle.” She nudged Minni forward, then went and found a seat in the front row.

Minni felt vulnerable and exposed without Keira, like a turtle without its shell. The church lady’s granddaughter sauntered up. She was as tall as Minni. Her hair was straight, pulled into a high ponytail that flipped up at the ends.
Her eyelashes were as long and dark as spider legs. She was almost as pretty as Keira.

“You know this is a pageant for black girls, right?”

“Yes.”

“So what are you doing here?”

Minni swallowed. “My grandma entered me.”

“But you have to be black.”

Minni wanted to run, but her feet felt glued to the floor.

“I know.”

“You’re not black.”

It was happening exactly as she had feared.

Keira walked up just in time. “Who are you? The president of the Who Can Be Black Club?”

“I’m Alisha Walker from Kansas City. Who are you?”

“Keira King from Washington State.”

“They got black people out there?”

“A few.” Keira linked arms with Minni. “And this is my sister, Minni.”

Minni fought to keep the girl’s words outside her heart, but she was losing the battle quickly. She began to tremble, starting from her stomach, then outward to her arms, legs and knees.

Alisha looked them over. “Too bad. Judges don’t look favorably on sisters with different daddies. I would know—I’ve been competing in pageants since I was five.”

“We don’t have different daddies,” Keira said. “We’re twins.”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “Uh-
uhhh
. You came out of the
same
mama at the same time?”

“Not exactly the same time. Minni went first and I came out seven minutes later.” Keira’s mouth stretched into a thin, close-lipped smile.

“Hey!” Alisha motioned to a girl walking by. “Check this out. These girls are twins!”

Minni wished she could make herself disappear.

“So?” The girl clasped her arms in front of her slightly rounded middle and stared at Alisha, looking very unimpressed. She had dimples the size of sinkholes.

“One’s black and the other’s white.”

“One’s dark and the other’s light,” the girl corrected. She had a slight accent—sort of Southern, but not deep-down South.

“We’re both black,” Keira said. “Like
President
Barack Obama, except our dad is white instead of our mom.”

“How you gonna try and be black when you got white skin?” Alisha cocked her head and crossed her arms.

Minni’s thick tongue felt stuck. She swallowed, trying desperately to think of some defense for herself and her skin.

“How you gonna compete in this pageant with a broken arm?” Keira squared herself in front of the girl. Alisha towered over her.

The girl with dimples put her hands on her hips. “Y’all need to chill. Or you’re both gonna get yourselves kicked out.”

Alisha’s eyes narrowed at Keira. “If you think you’ve got a chance at winning this competition, you can forget it. The best thing you can do for yourself is to stay on my good side, so you can be my friend when I’m crowned Miss Black Pearl.”

Keira took Minni by the hand and led her away. When they were out of hearing distance, Keira stopped. “Ignore her. And anyone else who tries to tell you you’re not black.”

“But—”

“But what?”

Minni searched Keira’s face, desperately wanting her to understand. People went by what they saw on the outside. Didn’t she know this from her own experience?

Maybe so, but that didn’t mean she could understand Minni’s experience. Being dark-skinned might at times be difficult in Port Townsend, Washington, but at least no one would ever question whether Keira was black.

“Nothing.”

They went and sat next to Grandmother Johnson. Minni fidgeted in her seat, unable to quiet Alisha’s voice in her head.
How you gonna try and be black when you got white skin?

Keira didn’t seem to have any questions about what Minni was. If only Minni were as sure.

T
hey waited for the orientation to begin. Minni tried to calm herself after the run-in with Alisha by reciting her personal introduction in her head, but she kept getting stuck at the first line. She didn’t realize she was pulling on the skin of her neck until Grandmother Johnson reached across Keira and prodded her. “Stop your fidgeting, child. You’re making me nervous.”

The dimpled girl and a woman who looked just like her but bigger sat next to Minni. The girl introduced herself as Donyelle from “Lua-vull.” Minni asked her where that was.

Donyelle looked shocked. “You’ve never heard of Lua-vull, Kentucky?”

“Oh, you mean
Louisville,”
Minni said.

“Right. Lua-vull.” Donyelle grabbed Minni’s forearm.
“So, what’s it like to be a twin? Is it great? I’ve always thought it would be so great.”

“It is,” Minni said.

“Can you, like, read each other’s minds?”

“All the time,” Keira said, peering around Minni.

“Really?” Donyelle was wide-eyed.

“No. Not really.” Keira laughed. “I’m just playing.”

Donyelle smiled at them. A real smile. She was nice. Minni let her shoulders relax. Donyelle had called her light, not white. Apparently she could see that Minni was black, too. Just a different shade of black.

A minute later, Dr. Billie Hogg-Graff appeared onstage. She tapped the microphone on the podium and cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, ladies—and gentlemen.” She nodded her head toward a man sitting behind them. “It’s always good to see the fathers. We are so glad all of you are here.”

She went on to describe the rehearsal and performance schedule. The more she said, the heavier Minni’s chest felt, until she could barely breathe from the weight of all she would be expected to do over the next two days, especially the number of things she would have to do in front of others: performing a choreographed group dance, reciting their personal introductions, doing their talents, and walking across the stage in their silly, frilly, long gowns.

Minni looked around at the other girls, their faces glowing with excitement about what they had to look forward to, smiling up at Dr. Hogg-Graff as if they were already being judged—the more teeth, the higher their score. Keira smiled just as big as the rest of them. How was it that Keira, her
twin
sister, was so excited about this, while she sat there shaking inside like a washing machine on the spin cycle?

“Now I have the pleasure of introducing you to the program judges. These three ladies and two gentlemen are outstanding individuals who serve as tremendous role models for our young people.”

Dr. Hogg-Graff introduced the judges one at a time, describing their work and their community involvements. “Our last judge has made a difference for black people not only in this city and state but throughout the South—although she would never say that about herself.” She glanced toward the side of the room, where each of the judges had stood after being introduced. “She is a poet, a prophet, a pillar of the black community…”

The woman rose to her feet. Her face was thin and pale. Gray braids sat atop her head like a crown.

Minni sucked in her breath.

“Dr. Laverna Oliphant,” Dr. Hogg-Graff announced.

Grandmother Johnson gasped so loudly that people around them turned and looked.

Minni glanced at Keira, and in that moment she was pretty sure they actually
were
reading each other’s minds.

Grandmother Johnson is going to have a fit!

“A
judge! They made
her
a judge? She’s practically blind in one eye!” Grandmother Johnson fumed.

Minni and Keira sat in the backseat of the car holding the participation certificates they’d received at the orientation.
Minni would be discarding hers as soon as she got a chance. They had filled it out with The Name.

“Which social organizations does she belong to? Which charitable clubs? I’ve been involved with the Historic Oakwood Preservation Society from the day I moved in; she’s never attended even
one
public meeting. They’ve obviously never been to her house. I’ve peered inside—only once, mind you—making an attempt to be civil the week she arrived.”

Civil?
She had probably been snooping.

“Her house is full of
junk.”

Minni and Keira cut their eyes at each other. She was one to talk! She had junky stuff all over her house, like the bag of wigs they had found in her closet the afternoon she went to her garden club meeting. And the bin of dusty pantyhose in her bathroom. And the kitchen cabinet stuffed full of hundreds of plastic grocery bags.

“And do they know she dabbles in the dark arts? Not that I believe in any of that hocus-pocus, but still…”

Was Grandmother Johnson mad they had chosen Miss Oliphant and not her?

“I just can’t believe they would ask that woman, and they’ve never
once
asked me.”

Bin-go.

“I’ve got half a mind to challenge her credentials. How can she judge effectively if she can’t see?”

For all Grandmother Johnson’s recent emphasis on character, she sure seemed caught up in appearances.

*   *   *

T
hat night, Grandmother Johnson insisted on reading with Keira. They stayed downstairs while Minni went to the attic.

As soon as Minni rolled into bed, her phone rang. Mama. Minni answered.

“How’d the orientation go?” Mama asked.

“Grandmother Johnson’s neighbor is one of the judges.”

“Mr. Henry?” Mama practically yelled. Minni pulled the phone away before her eardrum burst.

They’d seen Mr. Henry on his porch several times. He wore a straw hat like the men in those barbershop quartets, and he constantly snorted and spit into his grass. It was such a disgusting sound that as soon as they saw him out there they’d turn around and go back inside. He’d lived next door to Grandmother Johnson since before Mama was born.