Ola Shakes It Up Read online

  Sixth of all… I peeked up at the ceiling again.

  Dad had got the stars all wrong. Ursa Minor was supposed to be over in the corner, with Orion right over my head. I couldn't even tell which constellation Dad had put up there. That wasn't like Dad. Hadn't he used the star chart that came with the box? Didn't he think I would be able to tell the difference?

  I figured I had six good reasons to get out of bed now, so I did.

  I walked slowly to the door and opened it a crack. I could see lights under Khatib's and Aeisha's doors, and I could hear the water running downstairs, so I knew that Mama and Dad were still downstairs unpacking. I walked to the top of the stairs and sat down.

  Mama sure could hold a grudge. She hadn't even come to my room to wish me good night. Maybe she was right. Maybe everybody would miss the old neighborhood as much as I would. And maybe Aeisha was right, too. Maybe I had been a little bit of a brat all week. Mama and Dad didn't even know about Operation Obstruction of Justice, but they didn't like my attitude.

  And nothing had gone right that day, either. The moving truck got lost and didn't find our house until after dark. We got a flat tire right after we left the house and we had to unload the whole car in the middle of a parking lot so Dad could get to the spare tire, which turned out to be flat, too. When we finally got to the new house, our neighbors just stared at us through the windows. I must have said “I told you so” a million times, and I guess it was one too many times, 'cause Mama blew up at me.

  “Tell me why you think you're the only person in this family with feelings, Ola,” Mama snapped when I complained about how high the kitchen cabinets were. “You think none of us is sad to be leaving the old neighborhood, too? Well, we are. But here we are all trying to make the best of it, and so busy trying to keep you happy that we can't show our own sadness. Watch out, Ola, because you are working my last good nerve.”

  Now, sitting in the dark at the top of the stairs, I listened to the clinking noises she was making as she unpacked the plates downstairs. I knew I wouldn't be able to go to sleep until I made up with her.

  “Ola, what are you doing?” Khatib's voice made me jump. He was standing behind me in his blue pajamas. Half of his face was shadowed, making him look scary.

  “I'm contemplating,” I whispered, using one of Aeisha's words.

  I heard a giggle. Aeisha was standing behind Khatib.

  “Contemplating what?” Aeisha asked, moving down to sit on the stair below me. She had on her favorite red bathrobe. “Your atrocious behavior? Your insensitivity? The fact that Mama had to—”

  “Thanks, Aeisha,” I cut her off. “I feel bad enough already.”

  Khatib sat down beside me and stretched his legs. They were so long they stretched down five steps, while mine only stretched past two and a half. One good thing about this move was that it had made Khatib spend more time with the family. I would never admit it to him, but I'd missed having him around since he started high school. “Just apologize, Ola,” he said.

  I nodded and stared into the carpet. It was light green and thick. Aeisha wouldn't have to worry about getting her feet dirty. Another change. I missed our old house so bad it hurt.

  “So what do you think?” Aeisha whispered. She started playing with the belt of her bathrobe.

  “Think about what?”

  Aeisha pushed her glasses up her nose and squinted at us intently. “About the neighborhood … you know.”

  “Know what?” I asked.

  Khatib was nodding like he knew what Aeisha was talking about.

  “It looks boring,” I said. “And this whole cooperative thing sounds stupid. Some kid across the street left his bike outside again, and I checked from my window twice and it's still there. I guess you don't have to worry about thieves here —”

  “No welcome committee,” Aeisha interrupted me. Her brown eyes were serious.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  Aeisha sighed impatiently. “If it had been anybody else, there would have been a welcome committee. You know— somebody with a pie or a cake to welcome us into the neighborhood.”

  “Maybe they don't have a welcome committee,” I suggested. I had been right about this place being unfriendly.

  “Places like this always have a welcome committee,” Aeisha said. “Don't you watch TV?”

  “Maybe they don't come on Saturdays.” I shrugged.

  “It's 'cause we're black, Ola,” Khatib said, elbowing me. He had his usual bored-with-the-world look on his face, but this time I could tell he was faking it.

  “Oh, that,” I said, leaning my head on my hands and feeling depressed. Number two on my list. The thing I didn't want to think about. We'd been in the new house for over ten hours already and made two trips to the supermarket, one to the hardware store and another to a restaurant for dinner. And everyplace we went, people stared at us. It felt weird not seeing any other black people — anywhere. Just us. It was one thing to know that before we moved in, but it was another thing to actually experience it. “Maybe the welcome committee will come tomorrow.”

  “Maybe it won't,” said Aeisha.

  “Doesn't matter if it does or doesn't.” Dad's voice came from the bottom of the stairs, making Khatib, Aeisha and me look down. Dad was standing behind Mama with his hands on her shoulders. Grady was standing behind them, looking up at all of us, too. Dad had gone to pick him up from the pound that afternoon.

  “Is this a Benson kids' meeting, or can any Benson join?”

  Khatib and Aeisha rolled their eyes. Dad sounded so lame. We'd had three meetings that week already (most of which I'd boycotted). Dad was very big on sitting us all down to discuss our concerns as a family unit.

  “Any Benson can join,” I said cheerfully. Maybe what we needed was a family meeting. After all, Khatib, Aeisha and I had some serious concerns here. Maybe discussing it as a family unit would help. Best of all, maybe Mama would see that I was trying to cooperate and stop being mad at me. I looked at her hopefully.

  “Glad to see you're participating, Ola.” Mama arched one of her long eyebrows and looked back at me. It wasn't going to be that easy. Mama can be a tough nut to crack, boy.

  Grady climbed up the stairs and nuzzled me with his nose before going to sit between Aeisha and Khatib. So far, he was the only good thing about this move.

  “First order of business?” Dad asked, after he and Mama had settled on the stairs below us.

  “We really are the only black people in this neighborhood?” Aeisha always gets right to the point.

  “Yes.”

  Khatib and Aeisha were quiet for a few seconds, and I moved down one step.

  “And we're really gonna be the only black people at our schools?”

  “Yes.”

  I moved down another step. We were all quiet now, and I knew what everybody was thinking. Living in Boston, you know that there are rules. Everybody lives in their own neighborhoods. Everybody goes to their own schools. People break those rules all the time, but if they do, they usually end up on the six o'clock news. Were we gonna get in any trouble for living here? I moved down another step until I was squeezed in tight between Dad and Mama.

  “So we're the only black people in this town?” Khatib asked slowly. “How are people gonna feel about us?”

  “Everyone was staring at us all day” I muttered. Now that we were talking about it, I realized how much that had bothered me.

  “How did you kids feel about the white students in your old school?” Dad asked quietly.

  I hadn't thought about that before. Our old school was mostly black and Hispanic, but there were a few white kids who went there, too. It was true that they stood out, but after a while you got used to them. Most of them lived in the same neighborhoods as the rest of us, anyway, and they acted just like us. But we didn't come from here. I didn't know how to explain it to Dad, but this was different, and I knew that Khatib and Aeisha felt the same way.

  “How are they supposed to feel about us?” Dad as
ked, changing the question.

  “Well, we came from a bad neighborhood,” Khatib said, frowning. He was plucking at strands in the carpet nervously. “The news calls it a bad neighborhood, anyway.”

  “We came from a community,” Mama corrected huffily. All of us looked at her with relief. Dad usually does the talking when there's really something to worry about and he wants to prepare us for it — like when Aunt Josephine, Uncle Louis's wife, died last year from cancer or when he and Mama both had to work on Christmas last year and we had to spend Christmas day with old Aunt Mary. But when Mama does the talking, it means nothing is gettin' in our way, 'cause she won't let it, and Mama always has her way. “And this is a community, too. Might be a different one, but all that means is that it'll take time for us to adjust to it. You were right, Ola. There is no welcome committee. But you were right, too, Aeisha. It's strange and shameful that none of these neighbors has come by to say hello. Guess it'll take time for them to adjust to us, too. You'll see. Soon people will stop staring and we won't be such a novelty.”

  I leaned my head against Mama's arm. “I'm sorry I've been a pain.”

  Mama put her arm around me. “You all have school tomorrow. I want everybody in bed soon.”

  Khatib, Aeisha and I nodded, but none of us moved. Somehow the thought of a new school where we didn't know anybody was worse than moving into this new house. At least here we had each other. I noticed Khatib was frowning, and I wondered if he was worried about his tryout for the basketball team the next day. Aeisha didn't have too much to worry about. She was being placed in an advanced sixth-grade class that had a bunch of other brainy kids, so she would fit right in. But what about me? I didn't have a team or a class to fit into. What if no one wanted to be friends with me? What if this school and this neighborhood couldn't handle someone as unusual as me?

  “Did you hear that?” Khatib asked. His eyes were wide.

  “What?” I asked. Mama, Dad and Aeisha were sitting very still. Grady had his head perked. “Did the faucet explode?” Mama had tried to fix a leaky faucet in the kitchen that afternoon, and there's always trouble whenever Mama tries to fix anything. One time she tried to change the oil in the car and Dad ended up having to rebuild practically the whole engine.

  “Shhh, Ola. Listen.” Aeisha kicked my shoulder with her foot.

  “Hey—” I started to turn around and yell at Aeisha when I heard a faint knocking sound coming from downstairs. It was so soft, I could barely hear it. Then Grady started barking.

  “What now?” Mama sighed, standing up and starting down the stairs. Dad followed her. “Quiet, Grady.”

  “Someone's at the door,” Aeisha whispered, standing up to look over the railing. She had her hand on Grady's collar.

  “We don't know anybody here,” Khatib said, leaning over to peer through the balusters.

  “Maybe it's the neighbors.” I stood up and leaned over the banister, too.

  “Maybe it's some maniac,” Aeisha whispered.

  Mama and Dad were looking through the peephole.

  “Maybe somebody stole that kid's bike and he wants to know if we saw anything,” I said, trying not to show how nervous I was. “If he thinks we did it, you should kick his butt, Khatib.”

  “No way. These hands are my secret weapons for tomorrow.” Khatib nudged me with his elbow. “Why don't you kick his butt?”

  I didn't answer 'cause just then Dad opened the door and a tall girl wearing the strangest clothes walked in and kissed Dad right on the cheek.

  “Lillian,” Aeisha guessed first, and Khatib and I nodded. We all remembered from Marie-Thèrése's house that Haitians kiss each other hello and goodbye on the cheek. Sure enough, the tall girl kissed Mama's cheek too, then just stood looking down at the floor. Mama started talking to her, but she was speaking so softly we couldn't hear what she was saying.

  “What's she wearing?” Khatib whispered, trying not to laugh.

  “Clothes.” Aeisha frowned at Khatib.

  I didn't say anything. We couldn't see the girl's face very well from the top of the stairs, but we could see her bunchy yellow turtleneck that was too short in the arms and her long purple and black flowered skirt that was too big. She also had on knee-high gray sweat socks, like Khatib wears for basketball practice, and black patent leather shoes with the strap across the middle, like the ones little girls wear. The only thing she had with her was a crumpled brown paper bag, which she was holding tight against her stomach.

  Mama turned around and motioned all of us to come down. “Come and say hello to Lillian before you go to bed.”

  I headed down first 'cause I wanted to get a good look at this person who would be living with us and especially taking care of me after school. It would be hard for anybody to live up to Mrs. Gransby, and I intended to let Mama and Dad and this new girl know that. As I walked down the hallway I looked at her more closely. Everything about this girl was tall and bony. She had long, bony arms and legs, and a long, skinny neck. Her skin was deep reddish brown, and her hair was curled in tight rolls around her head. I couldn't see her face very well 'cause she still had her head bowed.

  Dad put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me forward. “Lillian, this is Ayeola, the youngest.”

  “Just Ola,” I said. I heard her whisper “Bonswa,” but she didn't lift her head.

  “Hi,” I said, before Dad pulled me away and nodded for Khatib to come up. It's hard to size up somebody who won't look at you. Lillian whispered the same thing to them, and I wondered what it meant, but from the look Mama was giving me I could tell she was telling me not to bother Lillian that night. As soon as Aeisha finished introducing herself, Mama looked at the three of us and said, “Bed.”

  We nodded and turned around to go up the stairs. I looked back to see if Lillian was watching us, but she had her eyes on the floor. I started to think about how strange it must be to leave your country and come someplace new, and I realized that we had something in common with Lillian. All of us had moved to a new place, and none of us had any idea what to expect. At least me and Khatib and Aeisha had Mama and Dad, though. Lillian had left everybody she knew behind in another country.

  hen I came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, Lillian wasn't there. Dad said she needed her rest and that we would have time to get to know her later, but I was disappointed. I wanted to know more about her and why she wore such strange clothes.

  “What time does the school bus come?” I asked, climbing up on one of the stools. Mama had gone all out for our first day of school. There were eggs, bacon, grits and toast piled up on our plates.

  “Your dad's going to drive you to school,” Mama said. She touched my shoulder as she passed behind me to the other side of the counter.

  “How come?” Aeisha asked. She was slathering three pieces of toast with margarine.

  “Just for this first day,” Mama said. She sat down on one of the stools and ate a big spoonful of grits without saying anything else.

  I pushed the food around my plate with my fork. Mama hadn't answered the question, but I knew they thought it would be easier on us if they drove us to school. I didn't feel much like eating.

  Mama looked at me and sighed. “Ola—”

  Before she could say anything else, Grady started barking and ran out of the kitchen. In between his barks, we could hear someone knocking at the front door. Again.

  “What now?” Mama asked, standing up. “When it rains, it pours around here.”

  Aeisha and I followed Mama to the door. We'd only been in the house one day and we'd already had two visitors. Mama looked through the peephole and frowned. She looked back at us. “It's a woman standing in her bathrobe.”

  “Her bathrobe?” I repeated. Two visitors and both of them dressed wrong.

  Mama opened the door, and Aeisha and I peeked around her. A woman about Mama's age was standing on our front steps in a blue terry-cloth bathrobe. The lady was white, with long blond hair straggling around her face. Her face was
long and thin and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood.” The woman pushed out her hands. She was holding a homemade pie. “It's pumpkin. Made from Walcott's world-famous pumpkins. I tried to get over yesterday, but the baby cried so.”

  Mama took the pie. “Well, thank you, Mrs… ?”

  “Adele. Adele Spunklemeyer, from across the street.” The woman blinked tiredly

  “We're very grateful, Mrs. Spunklemeyer.” Mama smiled kindly at the woman. “I'm Fatima Benson and these are my daughters, Aeisha and Ayeola.”

  “I would have made a cake, but I was afraid the baby's crying would make it fall.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer sighed and looked very sorry.

  “I know how much work new babies can be.” Mama nodded in sympathy.

  “He's not new. He's eight months old, but he cries so.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer gazed at me and Aeisha and sighed again. “Girls. Maybe if I'd had a girl, she wouldn't cry so.”

  Aeisha and I looked at each other and tried not to laugh. All Mrs. Spunklemeyer could talk about was her crying baby.

  “Sorry to come over in my robe and all, but he cries so.” Mrs. Spunklemeyer turned around. “Goodbye. I must get back.”

  “Goodbye,” Mama called out after her. We watched as Mrs. Spunklemeyer shuffled back across the street and into her house. As she opened the door, we could hear the sound of a baby wailing from somewhere inside. “That poor woman.”

  “She's our Welcome Wagon?” Aeisha said, raising her eyebrows. She started laughing, and Mama and I joined her. Mrs. Spunklemeyer was going to be a funny neighbor.

  We told Dad and Khatib about Mrs. Spunklemeyer when they came down for breakfast, and they laughed, too. It made all of us feel better about the day ahead—for a little while. While Dad was driving us to school, Khatib, Aeisha and I stared out the window. Our dead neighborhood had been transformed. Kids ran out of their houses or walked along the street, and parents were getting into their cars to drive to work. There were old lady crossing guards everywhere. Dad was frustrated because he couldn't drive more than fifteen miles an hour in a school zone. When we pulled up in front of the high school, Khatib jumped out of the car without even saying goodbye or looking back. Soon we couldn't see the back of his blue jacket as he blended into the other students entering the building. The high school was huge. It had three long brick buildings that stretched around the block, and WALCOTT HIGH SCHOOL was spelled out in blue and yellow paint on the walkway. Aeisha and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing. Our old school had been big, but not this big. If our school was as big as Khatib s, we'd never find our way to our classrooms.