But when word finally came, it wasn’t good. Birdwine sent an email, no title. Not even “Here is the information,” because there wasn’t any. I could tell he was ashamed, because he didn’t even sign it:
I traced their route through four states before I lost the trail. There’s nothing. It’s dead cold, Paula, and I can’t do any more from here. I’m coming home.
CHAPTER 8
Joya is sitting sideways on my bed. The rooms here are small, just enough space for two twin beds, a shared dresser, and a closet. There’s a common room downstairs with desks for doing homework, an old navy-blue sofa and loveseat, and some big donated beanbag chairs, but Shar, Karice, and Kim have practically peed in a circle around that territory. Joya rooms with Kim, so we default to my room. We can kick Candace out and lean on the wall, shoulder to shoulder, feet hanging off into space. After a year and a half, my place on this bed is so established I can feel a faint, butt-shaped dent in the mattress where I fit.
I’m out of place today. I have moved up, much closer to the scratched headboard, and put some space between our shoulders. Joya either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She’s so happy she’s having a hard time sitting still. I look down at our bare feet, my two, then a space, and then her two. She has doll feet, very small with round toes. She flexes them, back and forth, like they are waving. Happy feet, waving good-bye.
“You’re bouncing the whole bed,” I say. My feet are bonier and longer and very, very still.
“Well, you’re bitching up the whole room,” Joya fires back, but she’s smiling and I’m not.
Our voices sound so loud in all the quiet air. We are truly alone, with the whole cabin to ourselves. It’s rare to be the only two people in a building here, but everyone else has gone to the dining hall in the center building. Mrs. Mack said she’d bring me a sandwich if I wanted to skip the meal and hang with Joya. Joya’s going to a real restaurant with her mama. They will have a celebration meal of fried steak and mashed potatoes and pie, because Joya is not coming back. Everything she owns is packed up, sitting in two bags in our cabin’s common room.
The longer we wait, the more bitter and dark-hearted I become. It’s like I am steeping in something awful. I should have given her a quick squeeze, said bye, and gone to dinner.
But that would have meant sitting alone in the dining hall. At meals, the black kids and the two white boys who talk and dress black have the tables near the windows. The white kids, including Candace, have the tables by the door. There are only four Hispanic kids. They keep to themselves, sitting on one end of the eight-top nearest the kitchen, talking Spanish. We Gotmamas own the other end of their table. We’ve been a tiny nation to ourselves for over a year, but the problem of being a Gotmama is now clear to me: Someone’s mama is coming. It isn’t mine.
Sitting alone in the dining hall, I would at least have hot garlic toast. Here, my guts twist, hungry in all kinds of ways, watching Joya get what I want most.
“I’m missing spaghetti night,” I say, mean enough to spark her back.
“Can’t you be happy for me?”
“I am,” I say. I wish I were.
“The way they’ve worked my mama over, it could have been you leaving first just as easy.”
“I know.”
Her mom got out of rehab months ago, but they made her move into a halfway house. All Joya got was supervised visitation. Her mama had to get a job, keep it, pass her weekly pee tests, save a certain amount of money. Every time she hit a goal, it felt like they’d add on another. But now she has her own apartment down south of the city with a dedicated space for Joya. Last month she got Joya for an overnight, and then for two weekends. Now, tonight, she’s finally taking Joya home for good.
“So stop being a piss,” Joya says.
“I’m not,” I say, pissy. Kai still has three months to serve, and who knows how long we’ll get jerked around when she gets out. “Or if I am, maybe it’s because you’re leaving me with such a pile of shit.”
“What does that mean?” Joya says. She’s too deep-down happy to get snippy fast, but I keep pushing.
“I mean Shar and Karice. You’re the one who beat them down, but Shar never got you back. When you go, they’ll come at me.”
She dismisses that with a wave of her small hand. “Bitch, please, like you can’t take them?”
I could take the two of them, actually. I’m pretty sure. Joya did, and I’m taller and stronger and almost as mean. But they aren’t two anymore. “They have Kim now, too.”
“Kim’s not so tough. Just take your earrings out. Don’t wear even studs until you settle with them.” She sits up and curls her legs under her, getting into it. Joya likes tactics. “You have to hit Shar first, right off, hard as you can. Go for the face, she likes being pretty. You get her down, the other two will scatter off like bugs.”
“I can handle myself,” I mutter.