“Yeah, come in,” I said, combing my fingers through the patch of hair left on the back of my neck. Maddy opened the door, and her eyes went wide. My hair was braided up just like hers. “You like it?” I asked.
Maddy grinned. “Yeah.” She came over to me, pinched the ends of a few of my plaits, then patted my edges as if she was touching up my baby hair. “You did a good job.”
“Well, I’m glad you approve.” I shook my head.
“But you missed a spot.” Maddy noticed the unbraided bit in the back. “Unless that’s the way you want it.” She shrugged.
My face went flat.
“What? It might be a new style.”
“It’s not.” I grabbed the comb off the desk and used the corner of it to pick through my kitchen—the back of my neck—again. “And I need you to braid it up for me.”
“I can’t braid.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, calling her bluff. I knew Maddy could braid because I taught her, and plus, she braided her dolls’ hair all the time. Now, she wasn’t very good, but she could get the job done.
“But not as good as you,” she argued.
“Yeah, well, maybe I want a Maddy braid. Maybe that’s my new style.”
Maddy didn’t look convinced. “You sure?” she asked, now running her own fingers through it.
“Waffle, if you don’t braid my hair—”
“Okay, okay!” she said, focusing in. I watched her through the mirror, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth, concentrating, weaving the hair slowly, trying her best not to mess up. Ten minutes later, “Finished.”
I ran my hand back there. Three of the fattest, loosest braids I’d ever had.
“They’re perfect,” I said. Maddy crossed her arms across her chest, all cocky. All that. I laughed. “Now it’s time for beads.” I opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out the can.
“You putting beads on ’em?”
“Yep.”
“What color?”
“Hmm.” I pretended to be thinking. “I think I’m gonna go with red.”
“Good choice.”
“But I’m only gonna put thirty on there. That’s it,” I said, popping the top off the can.
“Only thirty?”
“Yeah, only thirty. Thirty red, good luck, magic beads. Just like you got.”
TO DO: Nothing (but win)
I HADN’T REALLY thought about the fact that I wasn’t going to have a parent at the track meet until the doorbell rang, and it was time to go. Before that, I was just focused on getting myself together. But now that Skunk had arrived, it hit me that when I looked out into the stands, Momly wouldn’t be there. Uncle Tony wouldn’t be there either.
But Maddy would. And when I opened the door, I found out Cotton surprised me by coming too! Cotton! I thought she was coming home from her cruise the next day, but she showed up a day early.
“I got so much tea to spill!” I said, throwing my arms around her. And instead of us immediately going in about everything, she whispered, “We’ll talk later. There’s somebody else here to see you.”
I looked past Cotton, and there was a head full of tight curls poking out the passenger side window, a sly grin on her face. “You ready, Pancake?”
“Ma? What are you . . .” I was so surprised I could barely speak. I mean, she never came to my meets. Not because she didn’t want to but because she was always so drained from the blood cleaning and Saturday was her only real recuperating day, and she needed to save up her energy for church on Sunday.
“Yeah, you ready, Pancake?” Cotton repeated.
“Shut up,” I said, giving Cotton another hug. Then I ran over to give Ma a kiss on the cheek.
Uncle Tony came to the door with Maddy. Peered over at me standing at the passenger side of Skunk’s car, my mother’s face still out the window. “Bev? What a surprise!” he exclaimed. I shot my eyes at him: that goofy look on his face was a dead giveaway that he set this whole thing up. “What?” he said to me, his shoulders lifted to his ears. Then he waved me over so he could give me one. With his arms around me, he whispered in my ear, “I hope you’ve been practicing the Running Man, like I showed you.” Then he released me and did a quick two-second dance that looked like he was being electrocuted.
I told him I hadn’t been practicing that—how to look ridiculous—and as he walked me and Maddy (and Cotton) to the car, he assured me that we could work on it some more later that evening when Momly got back. Then Ma told Uncle Tony that even though she had to tell Skunk to turn his music down because “ain’t nobody trying to go deaf with all that boom, boom, boom,” at least his car was clean.
“And cleanliness is next to godliness,” she plucked at Uncle Tony as he closed the back door after Maddy and me climbed in. Maddy had to sit on the hump, between me and Cotton, my duffel bag on my lap. These people. They were my constellation, or however Becca was saying it. The dots all connected.
“I know, Bev. I know.” Uncle Tony bent down and looked through the passenger-side window, past Ma over to Skunk in the driver’s seat. “You remember what I told you yesterday on the phone?”
“Yeah, I got it, Mr. Tony,” Skunk said with that same annoyed voice that all of us get around naggy oldheads. “The speed limit.”
“Not. One. Mile. Over it.”
On the way to the park, Ma (who was sipping from a big cup of coffee) and Skunk talked about how Skunk was having a hard time finding a job, while Cotton and Maddy were doing their Maddy fo-faddy game. They were also yapping about how nice my hair looked, especially those three braids in the back.
“She looks so chic, like a throwback Serena Williams,” Cotton said, trying to be funny, but Maddy didn’t get the joke, and loves Serena Williams (who doesn’t?), so she just whipped toward me and blurted out, “Yeah! You do look like a throwback Serena, Patty.” Skunk and Ma paused their conversation and had a good laugh at that. But I ain’t have time for all this jokey-jokey. I needed to get focused. Especially since Ma—Ma!—was going to see me run.
The park was teeming with parents and friends, runners and coaches. But I was going to do my best to block out all the noise on the outside, and all the noise on the inside. I was here for one reason. To win.
And so was Cotton.
“You think if I wink at Lu on the track, he’ll wink back?” Cotton asked.
“What? Are you serious? I can’t do this right now, Cotton.” I said that, but of course I still did it. “You think Lu is gonna be able to see you wink?” I pulled Ma’s wheelchair out of Skunk’s trunk. Unfolded it. Maddy held my duffel bag and looked out at the track.
“Uh, Patty, have you seen these lashes? Yeah, I think he’ll be able to see me wink.”
“He won’t. Trust me. When you’re on the track, the only thing you’re looking at are the runners around you, and the finish line. I mean, sometimes I can see family, but still. He might not even look up in your direction.” I wheeled the chair to the side, while Ma balanced herself and slowly slid onto the seat.
“Well, even if he don’t see it, he’ll feel it and it’ll still be good luck,” Cotton said low so my mother wouldn’t hear.