“Wait, that white lady sold candy in Barnaby Terrace?” she asked.
“That’s not my mother. That’s my auntie.”
Krystal was quiet. For once. Probably trying to swallow down all that “loud-and-wrong” she’d just spat.
Brit-Brat stepped in. “Okay, so what Iyanla would say, now that we’ve broken the ice, is, ‘Patty, what did Krystal say to offend you?’?” Then she changed her mind. “You know what, scratch that question. I think we know what you both said. Yeesh. How about this. Patty, what’s one thing you want Krystal to know about you?”
Brit-Brat had her hands clasped and was leaning in like she really knew what she was doing. Like she was for real. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to do this, but seeing how serious Brit was, I felt like I had to.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass her.”
“Say it to her, not to me,” Brit-Brat nudged, her voice over-the-top calm. Seriously?
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” I said, feeling totally ridiculous. But also feeling like Krystal needed to know that, because it was true. “And I’m sorry for not adjusting like we learned when we were doing the waltz. But I’m still figuring everything out.”
“Yes. Yes, we all are. We’re trying to figure out this relay race . . . of life,” Brit-Brat said, her eyes now shut. Now we all shot looks at her, like really? And when she opened hers and realized we were staring her down, she said, “What? That’s what Iyanla would say.” She turned to Krystal. “Your turn.”
Krystal sighed. “Look, even though I talk a lot of trash, I’m serious about this team too,” she assured me. “But . . . it’s real that I’m . . . I’m not as fast as you.”
“Shoot, neither am I,” Brit-Brat seconded. “But that don’t mean we can’t win if we stay connected.”
“Exactly,” Deja chimed.
I looked at Krystal. She looked at me. But for the first time today, neither of us were sizing each other up. You know how you can tell if a person is looking at you, or looking at you? Yeah, there was none of that extra sting in her eyes. She was just . . . looking at me. Like she was trying to see me.
“We good?” I asked, still holding on to the stupid baton. Krystal bit down on her bottom lip, nodded.
“Yeah, we good.”
“Good, because I’m done with Iyanla Van-CANT over here.” Deja smirked.
Brit-Brat palmed both of Deja’s shoulders and looked in her eyes all serious. “Oh, please. You know you want me to fix your life.” Deja rolled her eyes, like tuh. “Okay. But just know, denial is the first step to defeat, Deja.”
A few minutes later we called Whit over. We would’ve called Coach, but he was so mad at us that it just didn’t seem like a good idea.
“Can we drop the baton?” I asked.
“Can you what?” Whit sparked up like I had asked her for twenty bucks. “You can never, ever drop the baton.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But it is. Subconsciously.” Everybody was Iyanla all of a sudden. “But if y’all are done fighting, you can release it. Krystal, you keep it, and we can get back to practice.”
“We’re straight,” I said.
“You sure?”
I looked at Krystal. Saw her. Saw all of us, and knew we now had each other’s backs. “Yeah, Whit. We good.”
TO DO: Think about aliens and rap music (and Dad)
“HOW WAS PRACTICE?” Momly asked as usual, turning the radio down as I closed the car door.
“Fine,” I said, right on script, as Momly drove away from MLK Park. Even though I felt like I looked normal, apparently I didn’t.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Maddy, who had been kicking the back of my seat, suddenly stopped. Listened closely for my answer.
“Nothing. Why?” The only thing I could guess was that even though all the drama at practice was over, some of it must’ve been lingering in me. On me. You know how you clear your throat? How you force an almost-cough to get the crackly stuff out? Well, I tried to clear my face. Tried to open my eyes wider and loosen my jaw a little to wipe it back to regular.
“You just seem off, that’s all.”
“Nah, I’m cool,” I insisted, then changed the subject. “Maddy, you need me to help you with your homework?”
“No. We already did it. Momly helped me,” she said, then started kicking the seat again.
Momly turned the radio up. No music. Just talk. People talking about people talking about animals like they people. Which Momly thought was hilarious, Maddy thought it was fascinating because of her upcoming field trip to the farm, and I thought was bang-your-head boring.
“My mother used to take her dog to the spa. Like, the spa . . . for humans. Used to get the ugly mutt massages and facials as if her Chihuahua was living some kind of stressful life. It was unbelievable. That money could’ve gone to her grandchildren for college, for goodness’ sake. But since the dog couldn’t get a degree, it was like she didn’t care. I mean, can you imagine?” a lady on the radio went on and on. Yes, I can imagine, I thought, T-N-T and Becca instantly replacing the Krystal track drama in my head (and apparently on my face), reminding me to tell Momly about my group project “after-school meet-up” thingy I had to do the next day. I bet Becca had one of those little dogs. Probably dressed it up like her twin. Oh boy.
“Hey, so tomorrow after practice, can you take me back over by the school to this girl in my class’s house?” I asked. “It’s for the Frida project.”
“After practice?” Momly turned the radio down again. “Will her parents be there?”
“Her grandmother,” I explained.
Momly nodded. “And who is this young lady?”
“Her name is Becca Broward. She’s okay. I mean, I just want to get it over with so I can get a good number on this project, y’know, to keep Ma off my back.” And not to mention, my feet on the track. Momly could definitely understand that.
“Okay.” There was some hesitation in her voice. “Well, you want me to bring you a change of clothes?” I hadn’t even thought about that. The last thing I needed was to show up at Becca’s house smelling like sweat gravy. Before I could even answer, Momly added, “I’ll just pack a little bag for you.”