The True Definition of Neva Beane Read online

  I’m looking down at the cracks in the sidewalk trying to figure this all out. It’s true I should have let Nana know where I was when I left Jamila’s house, but I was only at the swim club for, what, an hour? And it’s not like I left the city. I was over at the pool where I’m allowed to go.

  Nana comes out on the porch but she doesn’t come down the steps to the sidewalk. She leans on the banister and calls to us. “There you are. I was so worried.” She sits down in the dark green rattan love seat and waits for us to come to her. “You told me you were going over to Jamila’s but then I saw her out here weeding.”

  “Jamila was weeding?” I ask. “I thought she was just going to take some mint.”

  “So she left Jamila to hang out?” Why’s Granddad talking about me like I’m not standing right here? “She left her friend working in our garden to go mess around with some boys. How long’s this been going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.” I say it a little louder than I mean to but Granddad’s trying to build a case against me. A case that’s not true at all. “I don’t know any boys.” That’s not true either but you know what I mean.

  “Well, they sure looked like they knew your buddy from across the street.”

  “Who are you talking about, Dexter?” Nana looks at me with her eyebrows drawn together. “Who—”

  “Some riffraff—”

  “She doesn’t know them,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t know what riffraff is but it doesn’t sound good. Why is Granddad making this up? “I never saw those boys before.” I’m twisting my hair again now. “Didn’t Jamila tell you where I was, Nana?”

  “Don’t get smart,” Granddad snaps. “I’ll go over to that pool and check with Mrs. Giles.”

  “I’m not getting smart. I’m just trying to tell you what happened. Me and Jamila were at the swim club—”

  “Jamila and I,” says Nana.

  “Before you left her to hang with your think-she-grown friend,” Granddad adds.

  “She left me,” I say. “Jamila left me.”

  “Who is this new friend?” Nana asks again. “Who are you talking about?”

  “That girl Clay’s been talking to,” Granddad says.

  So Clay and Michelle are …

  Nana sighs again. “That fast girl?”

  “She’s not fast,” I say. “She’s nice … and we were talking about books—”

  “What kind of books?” Granddad’s eyes bulge all out of his head. “Better not be no Thirty-Six Shades …”

  What are they talking about? I can’t stand it anymore. This is double harassment. First from those random fools on the street and now from Granddad. I snatch the screen door open almost as hard as Anton did and run through the vestibule, but I can still hear my grandfather.

  “Next thing you know she’ll be dressing like her too.” I have one foot on the bottom stair when he opens the screen and yells into the house, “That’s right, young lady. Go to your room.”

  I run to my room for the second time today, but this time I slam the door behind me. I lie down on my bed next to my backpack, curl up in a tight little ball, and cry.

  adj. 1. affected with a depressing feeling of being without company: Lonely people who have no family. 2. destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship

  It’s still light when I wake up. You’d think it’d be dark by now after everything that’s happened. I look at my cell. Not even five o’clock. I listen hard but there are still no signs of Clay.

  I retrieve from my desk the faded red leather-bound dictionary Mama gave me and sit on my bed with it in my lap. Its pages have yellow edges, but I swear I can see the imprint of Mama’s index finger on some of them. I look up that word Granddad used earlier.

  Riffraff: disreputable or undesirable people

  That’s a good word for those guys who hit on me and Michelle. I say it out loud a few times. I don’t like the sound of it.

  I close the dictionary but still hold it close. Hmmm. Isn’t it funny how that word close has two different meanings in one sentence? I’m trying to think of other words like that when my phone buzzes.

  “Mama?”

  “Tonight’s crowd was gezellig,” she says, giggling a little. “That’s the Dutch word for ‘cozy.’ The only thing missing was you and Clay.”

  What? She’s speaking another language now? I ignore that for the moment.

  “Can I meet you over there? I promise I won’t get in the way.”

  Mama doesn’t respond right away. “I wish you could, sweetie, but this is exhausting work. It wouldn’t be a good scene for you.”

  “I could just stay in the hotel room and read.”

  “Baby, that wouldn’t work. You’d be all alone all the time.”

  “But I’m all alone here.”

  “Alone? You have Granddad, and Nana, and Clay right there with you.”

  “They’re not with me, Mama—”

  “Neva, hold on a second …”

  Mama’s talking to somebody else. Has she forgotten what she promised at the airport? I said I’d give the summer a try and she promised to come home if things weren’t working out.

  I’m still on hold so I look up what she said wouldn’t be good for me.

  Scene: a place, with the people, objects, and events in it, regarded as having a particular character or making a particular impression

  In other words how you represent.

  I cradle my phone to my ear but all I hear is the sound of somebody coming up the stairs in our house. It’s not Clay because they’re not taking the stairs two at a time. Sounds like they have to rest after every few steps.

  “Neva,” Mama finally says. “Ms. G’s expecting me at an after-party so I have to go, but we’ll talk again tomorrow. Okay? Love you.”

  And she’s gone.

  My stomach feels like it did at the airport when she and Daddy left. All cinched up like it’s caught in one of Nana’s clothespins.

  I remember exactly what Mama said at the Delta/KLM gate: We can fly home for a weekend if need be. Why did she say that if she didn’t mean it? I don’t know what else to do so I kick my backpack hard. It falls off the bed and lands on the floor with a loud thud.

  “Neva,” Nana calls. She knocks on my door and waits for me to answer. “Are you awake?”

  She knocks again but this time opens the door slowly. I’m not mad at her, but first Granddad and now Mama. It’s not right.

  “Hungry?” she asks.

  I shake my head no but don’t say anything else.

  “Did something happen between you and Jamila today?”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Is it too late for me to go to camp?”

  Nana cocks her head to the side.

  “Oh,” I say. “I forgot I’m not allowed to go.”

  “Neva …” Nana says, reaching for my hand.

  She grasps my fingers and I ask why I’ve been accused of something I didn’t do.

  “Granddad?” she says. “He’s … he’s just worried about you. And I am too. What happened today? Why didn’t you call when you left Jamila’s house?”

  “We just went to the swim club to look for Clay.”

  “Clay?” she says, shaking her head. “You’re about to worry me to death about Clay.”

  “Well, do you know where he is?”

  Nana’s head snaps back. It takes a lot to get her mad but I can tell she doesn’t like my tone. “What is this obsession with Clay?”

  “If anybody’s obsessed it’s Granddad. Why’s he making up stories about me?”

  “He’s afraid for you … and how you’re growing up.”

  “I’ve been growing up for twelve years.”

  “Neva, watch yourself, now.”

  “Sorry,” I say, lowering my eyes. “Nothing happened between me and Jamila.”

  “Well you know we’re comfortable when you’re moving around the neighborhood with her, but not with people we don’t know.”

  “Michelle lives ri
ght across the street. You see her all the time.”

  Nana sighs. “Yes, I see her. How could I not?” Her voice has changed but I know better than to say I don’t like it.

  “She’s already friends with Clay. Why can’t I hang with her too?”

  “Neva, Granddad told me about those young men in the car—”

  “We were just walking down the street. Granddad wants to lock me up because other people are stupid.”

  “We’ve talked about this before.” Nana holds her right hand up. “You have to let us know where you are and who you’re—”

  “It’s not like Michelle’s hanging out at after-parties or anything.”

  Nana shakes her head. “I don’t know where that came from,” she says, “but I’d much rather have you spend your time with Jamila than with Michelle.”

  “Even though you don’t know her.”

  Nana shakes her head. “I know trouble when I see it.”

  n. an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sublime, supremely powerful: She gazed in awe at the beauty of nature.

  I should have defended Michelle better. That’s what I think after Nana leaves. I should have said that wearing makeup and your bathing suit top without a T-shirt doesn’t make you a bad person. Except I’m confused about how I feel about Michelle. It’s a weird sort of jealous feeling even though I like how I look and I don’t really want to look exactly like her.

  It’s not that I don’t compare myself to her every time I see her. I do. But I know I’m just as pretty. Just like I know I’m smart. Nobody can tell me I’m not both of those things. It just feels like Michelle’s claimed something that I didn’t know existed until now. Jamila’s right. I didn’t used to be like this.

  That feeling of falling down into a deep, deep hole starts to creep up again. I felt it when those guys were hitting on me and Michelle out on the street, but I didn’t know what to do about it. That was the worst part. If Mama were here she’d know what to do. I wouldn’t have to figure everything out all by myself.

  I think about some of the signs posted in our neighborhood. Women have a right to walk in peace. Maybe we should paint that message on our front steps or stretch a banner across the whole street. Would that make Granddad feel better?

  I conjure an image of his face from earlier today and reopen my dictionary to search for just the right word to describe how he looked.

  Livid: furiously angry

  That’s it. I doubt if a banner would make him any less mad. But why’s he taking it out on me?

  I call Jamila to tell her I now have two people I don’t want to see at dinner, Granddad and Clay.

  “I’m going to eat dinner in my room,” I say. “Off a bed tray.”

  “Why? Is your head hurting?”

  “No, but my granddad accused me of leaving you to go hang out with some boys. Can you believe that?”

  “Not at the swim club,” she says.

  What does that mean, Not at the swim club? Does she think I was hanging out with some strange dudes who go around harassing girls or can she just not imagine that happening at our pool? I fill in the details hoping that will clear up the confusion.

  “I would’ve told your grandmother where you were if I had seen her,” says Jamila.

  “You didn’t see her when you were in our garden?”

  “Nope. I didn’t think anybody was at home.”

  “That’s strange,” I say. “She’s usually buzzing around the house humming along to the radio.” It’s no wonder Mama has such a great voice. She got it from Nana.

  “I know,” says Jamila. “I expected to see her, but then, I expected my paapa to be home for dinner tonight but that’s not going to happen either …”

  “Your mama must really be upset.”

  “That’s the funny part,” says Jamila. “She doesn’t seem that upset about it. I just wish she’d tell me what’s going on.”

  n. a cancellation or postponement of an unpleasant situation or punishment: The students who faced suspension were given a reprieve.

  It must be time for dinner by now. It’s been over an hour since I hung up with Jamila and I’m tired of moping around up here in my room. Mama and Daddy had their best performance tonight and now they’re out partying. I told them I’d try to make the summer work so I put on the peach V-neck cotton sweater Mama knit for me, secretly hoping that’ll make her leave wherever she is, jump on a plane, and magically appear here at home.

  That V doesn’t need to be too deep, now, Tracey. That’s what Granddad said to Mama when he saw the pattern. Like it’s a plunging neckline or something. You know, like décolletage, a low neckline.

  I open my bedroom door in the way I know how to do without making any noise and listen. Still no sign of Clay. I’m not looking forward to seeing him but I know what to do if he starts laughing when he sees me. I have my ammunition. But hopefully I’ll see him before my grandparents do and we can just call a truce.

  Truce: an agreement between enemies or opponents to stop fighting or arguing for a certain time

  We’re not really fighting but my idea is we’ll agree that Clay won’t talk about me and the mirror and I won’t ask what he does on Mondays. At least not in front of my grandparents.

  I head down the front stairs and hear somebody setting the table. That’s usually my job.

  “It’s not Sunday, Dexter,” Nana calls out from the kitchen. “Don’t bother with the good dishes.”

  Granddad lets out a long sigh. I hear him open the china cabinet and put whatever he took out back in. Granddad setting the table? That’s a new one. His footsteps retreat into the kitchen and I hear him opening the cabinets above the sink.

  I make my way through the living room and hit the dining room just as he’s entering from the kitchen. I always feel like I should stand up straight in our dining room, the most elegant room in our house. Nana and Granddad are so proud of this room—the parquet floors, the mahogany table, the draperies. I’ve looked it all up.

  Parquet: flooring composed of wooden blocks arranged in a geometric pattern

  Mahogany: hard reddish-brown timber from a tropical tree, used for high-quality furniture

  This room is my grandparents but it’s definitely not me. What kind of a room would I be if I had to choose? I don’t know. Probably something lighter and airier. With big windows. Yeah, with really big windows.

  Granddad’s carrying the everyday dishes and has a yellow dish towel tossed over his shoulder. Not the look of someone who wants to continue a fight.

  “I don’t know how you girls do this every day,” he says, putting the dishes down on the table. “So much back and forth …”

  I start to say Nana isn’t a girl but this isn’t the time for that conversation. He’s trying to make up for this afternoon. There are many different ways of saying you’re sorry.

  “You look nice,” he continues, with a little hitch in his voice. “Your mama knew what she was doing when she bought that yarn.” He smiles and his eyes tell me he really means it. I smile back even though I’m still mad at him. “Food smells good, doesn’t it?” He turns toward the kitchen and yells, “Cecily, what time are we eating?”

  “As soon as Clay gets home.” Nana peeks out from the kitchen. “He should have been here already.”

  Granddad finishes setting the table and rubs at the brown stains on his shirt. Don’t ask me how they got there. I mean, he only set the table. Nana does all the cooking.

  “I’m going to change my shirt,” he says, heading for the back stairs.

  The table’s set so there’s nothing else to do but wait. I sit in a corner of the living room and leaf through one of Nana’s magazines. I don’t understand all the words but they talk about interesting stuff like male and female body image. Boys worrying about how they look? Those guys who bothered me and Michelle should have been worried about it. They looked like fools. Who’d want to go out with them?

  I gaze over
at Clay’s photo on the mantel above the fireplace. The one where he’s dressed in a toga like a citizen of ancient Rome. It was taken when he got a part in one of Shakespeare’s plays. He was the nicest rebellious citizen anybody’s ever seen. It was a play but he still had a hard time even acting mean. But you can be a rebel without being mean, right?

  Ten minutes go by. No Clay. Granddad comes back downstairs. No Clay. Nana starts to fret about the fish drying out. No Clay. I go outside to get some mint for the lemonade. No Clay. Granddad calls Clay on his cell. No answer.

  Is this a reprieve? I don’t know how long it’s going to last so I stay in the corner.

  Granddad calls Clay again. No answer. Nana calls over to the swim club and leaves a message for Mrs. Giles.

  “I hope that boy doesn’t spoil this evening,” says Granddad.

  Is that all Granddad’s got to worry about? This evening? I’m worried about the whole summer.

  I walk over to the dining table and take my usual seat but Nana and Granddad just stand on either side of the room like they’re paralyzed.

  “Everything looks beautiful, Nana.”

  Granddad pauses. “Neva’s right,” he finally says. “Let’s start. Clay’ll catch up when he gets here.”

  All the vegetables came from our garden so they should taste really, really good. Except they don’t. Where’s Clay? He usually lets somebody know if he’s going to be late. Nobody’s seen or heard from him since he ran out of the house this morning. Nana’s worried. Granddad’s worried and mad. I’m worried but sort of glad and I don’t know what to do with those feelings.

  n. 1. continuous physical force exerted on or against an object by something in contact with it: The slight extra pressure she applied to his hand. 2. the use of persuasion, influence, or intimidation to make someone do something: The many pressures on girls to worry about their looks. 3. slang for high blood pressure, the force of blood pushing against artery walls as it goes through the body

  We finish dinner and dessert and still no Clay. Where is he?