The True Definition of Neva Beane Read online

  Now, this is another one of the things I’ve noticed about old people. They come up with these names nobody’s ever heard of. Mayor Chump? Did she say that because we’re sitting here in front of city hall? I have no idea, but the hurt in her eyes tells me she’s just told me something she’d probably never say to anybody else.

  n. 1. a surprising and previously unknown fact, especially one that is made known in a dramatic way: Revelations about his personal life. 2. a remarkable quality of someone or something: Seeing them play at the international level was a revelation.

  Clay’s home right on time so there’s no trouble. He usually comes in the back door, stops in the kitchen, grabs something to eat like a box of graham crackers or a whole pack of Fig Newtons, and washes it down with half a carton of milk, which he drinks straight out of the carton. You know what that means.

  Backwash: the liquid that flows back into a bottle, glass, etc. after someone has taken a drink, assumed to contain that person’s saliva

  I hate it.

  But a spooky silence has settled over our house. Clay comes in the front door to avoid Nana in the kitchen and goes straight up to his room. He doesn’t come back down until I go up to tell him it’s time to eat.

  “I’m not hungry,” he says.

  I’m leaning against the upstairs banister and that lump in my throat that I have so much trouble pushing down tries to rise up again. But of course he can’t see it. He’s all tied up with his own problems. I wasn’t making it up when I told Mama I was all alone.

  “You are too hungry.” That’s what comes out.

  Clay opens his mouth to come back at me but I cut him off by telling him about Jamila’s family trip.

  “Wow,” he says. “A lot of folks traveling this summer, huh?” He doesn’t say more than that but his pursed lips tell me he’s just as jealous as I am.

  “Did Anton tell you about the march?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, “but I already knew about it.”

  I wait to see if Clay’s pissed off ’cause Nana put the word out about his grounding, but I don’t think he knows she did that. So, Anton didn’t tell anybody? Does that mean Anton doesn’t have any friends or is he just cool like that?

  “Michelle told me about it,” he says.

  My fingers go to the shoulders of my yellow top and I adjust my bra straps although they don’t really need it. Michelle. She’s a trigger that makes people in my family lose all sense.

  “Food’s getting cold,” Granddad yells up two flights of stairs. “Next thing I know you’ll be telling folks I don’t feed you right.”

  Clay looks at me and shakes his head. “Granddad needs a cause. Holding those babies over at the hospital isn’t enough.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know about his volunteering?”

  “’Course I do.”

  “But you don’t know what he actually does.” Clay lets me hang for a few seconds before going on. “Granddad and Mr. Charles hold babies that don’t have parents to take care of them. You know, babies that have been abandoned and whatnot.”

  Whatnot has a bad sound to it. I don’t want to think about what else goes along with abandonment.

  What babies need is love, but the idea of Granddad and Mr. Charles taking care of newborns, that’s wild. You have to be quiet around babies. No acting out or saying weird stuff. I can’t imagine Granddad being mellow unless, maybe, he has another side? Another side that’s hard to see especially at times like now.

  “I’m not going to ask y’all to come down here again …” he bellows.

  Bellow: to emit a deep, loud roar, typically in pain or anger

  Trust me, that’s the only word to describe his yelling.

  “Come on,” says Clay, leaving his room and walking over to the top of the stairs. “I do not want a repeat of last night.”

  v. 1. prepared a preliminary version of (a text): He drafted a letter of resignation. 2. selected (a person or group of people) for a certain purpose such as military service or a sports team: She was drafted to help with the new task force.

  Dinner is pretty much like breakfast. Not Nana’s crab cakes, but the mood. Nana keeps asking—no, telling—Clay to do lots of stuff she usually does herself or gets me to do. Like, Go get more rolls or Take the ice cream out of the freezer. And she doesn’t even say please. Now, I’m not saying he shouldn’t help out more around the house, but it’s just funny how she’s heaping every single thing on him.

  Granddad looks at Nana every time she gives Clay an order but he doesn’t say anything. And I’m looking at Granddad trying to picture a baby in his arms. Not an easy thing to do although he must have done it when my mama was born.

  I get up to clear the table but Nana stops me. “It’s Clay’s turn,” she says.

  Granddad’s eyes widen but he’s smart enough to keep quiet. What he does is he gets up and starts helping Clay.

  “Fine,” says Nana. “Neva and I can relax for a change.”

  I fix my eyes on the light blue embroidered place mat that’s sitting in front of me. Its little red flowers are pretty, but what’s going on here is the exact opposite. Nana is making a point. Constantly. She’s putting Clay in his place big-time. And nobody’s challenging her either.

  I think about what Nana said to me before. You know, when I asked if Clay could go to the march. Clay totally disrespected me. She is not having that.

  I don’t know how far this is all going to go but our beautiful dining room feels like a battlefield and I’ve been pulled to her side. I sit there fingering the place mat for a little longer because I don’t want to leave her alone, but it’s weird because we’re not talking or anything.

  Granddad and Clay stay in the kitchen after they clear the table, but I can hear them arguing about how to stack the dishwasher. Nana still hasn’t said anything to me so I just sit there frozen until I get up the nerve to excuse myself from the table.

  Up in my room, I pick up the mystery series I started last week, but I have to read each sentence three times over to understand anything. That’s not really reading. I don’t know what to even call it so I close my book and go back to rerunning everything that’s happened over and over in my head. Ruminating. That’s what it’s called when you think very, very deeply about something.

  I reach for my dictionary and run my fingers down its worn spine. It’s a little wobbly in places but it’s still strong enough to hold all the pages together.

  My phone rings and I grab it.

  “Hey, girl,” says Michelle. She sounds real friendly like we’ve known each other for a million years. “I’m so tired. I just spent the whole day at the community center with my dad and some teachers talking about ways to disrupt the school-to-prison pipeline.”

  She says it like I should know what she’s talking about. I don’t respond and she calls me on it.

  “You know what that is, right?”

  “No … not really.”

  “Okay, quick definition.” She pauses for a few seconds and I try to look it up real fast while she’s thinking. “It refers to how kids get suspended or expelled from school unnecessarily and then end up in the criminal justice system. You know, jail.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I don’t really know about that.”

  “Yes, you do,” she says. “Just think about Anton’s brother. You know about this.”

  “I do?” I say slowly.

  There’s a silence that tells me I’ve said the wrong thing again.

  “You should ask your brother about that sometime,” she says.

  What does that mean? Why can’t she tell me herself?

  Michelle goes on. “I was just calling to see if you want to hang out tomorrow morning,” she says. “I need a break from all of this.”

  I’m not really sure what all this is but I don’t say no to hanging out with her again. She was cool at the swim club, and besides, Jamila’s going away on her trip so she’s not going to be spending every morning with me anymore.
Might as well get used to that now.

  That’s what I tell myself but it feels like the strands of my friendship with Jamila are coming loose. Like our friendship, another thing that’s been important to me for so long, is no longer there. Me and Jamila on our porch every morning. Is that just going to slip away like the peace in our house? I don’t want it to, but how come I feel hot every time I think about how quickly Jamila dismissed me? The bra-thing. How could she say that?

  “Let’s meet at the library,” I say before hanging up with Michelle. I may be confused about everything she’s talking about, but I’m not simple enough to open up the Michelle Overton box with my grandparents by having her come over here in the morning.

  I go back to looking up the school-to-prison pipeline and see there’s more to it than what Michelle said. A lot more. It sounds like it’s really hard for kids who’ve been in jail to get back into a good situation in school. Is that why Anton tries so hard to send books to his brother? I don’t know, but there’s running on the stairs so I open my door, hoping to flag Clay down to ask him about it.

  What? He totally plays me off like I’m not even standing here. Now he’s really got an attitude. He can’t be afraid I’m going to tease him about cleaning up the kitchen or something dumb like that. I want to ask him about how kids end up in jail, but he doesn’t even look at me.

  I hear Granddad and Nana downstairs arguing. Something about doing the right thing and they don’t want Mama and Daddy mad at them.

  I sit down in the hallway and rest my head on my bent knees. The only thing I see is my stomach rising and falling every time I take a breath, and that reminds me of Mama’s advice. What does she always say? Try to breathe deeply especially when you sing. I take a few more slow, deep breaths to calm myself down.

  “Clay-ay,” I call up to his room in a friendly voice. I helped him out with Nana and Granddad yesterday. That has to count for something.

  Clay doesn’t answer but the music coming out of his room gets louder. He’s mad because he had to do the dishes? I help Nana clean up the kitchen all the time. I don’t really like it but I don’t complain about it.

  I go back into my room and look across the street to Michelle Overton’s house. She’s probably sitting on the couch with her daddy right now. I’ll bet they’re not arguing either. They’re probably talking about their meetings with teachers and all that other stuff. I’ll ask her to explain it again tomorrow since my brother’s not talking to me tonight.

  I sit down at my desk and text Jamila that I’ll be busy in the morning. I’m not the one cutting the cord. She’s done that already.

  n. the action of intimidating someone or the state of being made timid or filled with fear through the force of personality or by superior display of wealth, talent, beauty, etc: Ineffective teachers sometimes rely on intimidation to keep the students quiet.

  The library. That word has a special ring for everybody in my family. I like the library because it has a limitless supply of books. And Granddad and Nana, well, they’re so proud of how much I like to read that they never question going to the library. I could probably ask to go there at twelve midnight or six in the morning and they’d say yes. So it’s no problem to tell them I have to return a book today or it’ll be late.

  How do you spell late fees? A-L-L-O-W-A-N-C-E. I don’t have to tell you who said that. Granddad’s in a foul mood this morning so he doesn’t press me about Jamila not being here.

  “She’s getting ready for her trip,” I say, and that’s that.

  I walk Spruce Street’s long, hot blocks down past the Penn Alexander School to the library, hoping nobody bothers me. I never used to worry about being harassed, but now I worry about running into those loud guys again. Is this what it’s going to be like from now on? I miss the days of just being silly and loose and free when I’m outside.

  I cut over to Locust when I get to Forty-Second Street because I like the redbrick sidewalks. They’re pretty and they go with the old stone houses. I’ve seen girls having a hard time walking this stretch of sidewalk in high heels, though. They have to go real slow and keep looking down to avoid getting their heels caught in the cracks. Spoils their look if you ask me.

  I get to the library but I don’t see Michelle on the ground floor so I go upstairs to the big room with the tall beamed ceiling. Every computer is taken, as usual, but I see Michelle sitting at one of them. I walk over and there’s Anton sitting at the next little computer cubicle.

  “Hey,” Michelle says. “Look who I ran into.”

  So, she didn’t invite him? He just happened to be here? I feel my face getting warm but that’s stupid, right? I mean this is the public library. Public means it’s open to everybody.

  “Hey,” says Anton. “We were just reading about DOC’s reversing their book ban.”

  He smiles at me but I look straight at the computer screen. What’s DOC? Already I feel out of my league.

  “You have to break it down for her,” says Michelle. “She’s not up on how this state treats incarcerated folk.”

  “I know what’s going on,” I say, looking directly at her. “Anton collects books to send to people in jail.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “That was before the Department of Corrections changed their mail and visitation policies.”

  “Why would they—”

  “Excuse me,” says the librarian, putting her right index finger to her lips. “You’re going to have to continue your conversation outside.”

  “Sorry,” says Anton. “I was just leaving.” He logs out of the computer and whispers under his breath, “I know you just got here but are you staying inside?”

  I shake my head no, ignoring Michelle’s stare.

  We get outside and Anton starts talking again before the doors have even fully closed. He doesn’t wait for us to decide where to go or anything.

  “See, Neva, folks used to be able to mail books to people in prison, but then the DOC, Department of Corrections, changed their policy so folks caught up in the system could only buy preapproved books from the prison system itself.”

  I knew that part from the poster I saw in Clay’s closet but I didn’t know the law was different now.

  “But now there’s a change?” I ask.

  Anton nods. “Big-time reversal. The community protested and got the state to reverse their policy so I can send books to my brother again.”

  Anton’s voice goes down when he mentions his brother and I see a darkness in his light eyes. It must be a hard thing to talk about.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” I say, “but the law switching back is good news. Right?”

  “It is,” says Anton, “but some of DOC’s other policies are wrong—”

  “You guys,” Michelle says. “I asked Neva to hang because I needed a break, okay? I thought we’d check out some clothes or do something else like that.”

  Anton frowns and his eyes narrow for a second. “You got me,” he finally says, throwing up his hands. “Once I get started on this stuff there’s no stopping me. But I’m not into clothes so … I’m out.”

  He smiles when he says I’m out so I know he’s not mad.

  “See you at tomorrow’s meeting,” Michelle says as Anton takes a swig from his water bottle and walks toward Walnut Street.

  Michelle sighs. “Clay’ll be there tomorrow, right?”

  “Be where?” I ask.

  Michelle looks at me hard.

  “Didn’t Clay tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About the march. The March for Justice.”

  “Oh, yeah. Clay knows about it.”

  “Knows about it?” Michelle’s voice rises. “He’s one of the youth organizers.”

  So, okay, Clay hasn’t told Michelle that he can’t go. She doesn’t know he’s grounded and I definitely don’t think I’m the one to tell her.

  “Well,” she says, “I’ve been calling him but he’s not answering. Tell him there’s another planning meeting
tomorrow. He needs to be there and you … you should think about coming too. We need all the help we can get.”

  Me? I never said I wanted to be a part of this.

  “I … I have to … I have to ask my grandparents,” I stammer, “about the meeting, I mean.”

  “Oh,” says Michelle. “That means no.”

  All the friendliness goes out of her voice. It’s like a big gust of wind came down the street and blew all the good feelings between us away. I don’t know what to say. She said she needed a break so why the attitude?

  I suggest hanging out on Locust Walk, but she shakes her head no. We stand outside the library for a few more awkward minutes but it’s no good. She’s talking about all this stuff that I don’t know anything about.

  “You heard what Anton said,” she says, turning toward the nail salon across the street. “Now is not the time for lightweights.”

  That’s not what Anton said at all, but I don’t challenge Michelle. Why do I let her get away with that? I thought she didn’t want to talk about that kind of stuff today. I know my own mind and I know I’ve got something great going on deep inside me. So why can’t I bring it up to the light? It’s like my brain is hiding behind dark clouds, like the ones gathering overhead.

  I trudge back into the library and climb the stairs up to the children’s department. The librarian looks up and smiles, but I don’t smile back. My problem is I’m too proud to call Jamila and too intimidated by Michelle to call her out so I sit here all by myself. I told Mama I was all alone. Why wouldn’t she believe me?

  It’s raining hard by the time I leave the library and that’s just fine. No one can see my long face under my umbrella.

  I slip into our house and go straight to my room. I call Mama’s number but I only get her message with one of her songs playing in the background. Her voice usually soothes me but now it only churns up more bad feelings.

  n. behaving in a way that is intended to impress or mislead others: A masking of fear with macho posturing.