Piecing Me Together(7)

I laugh.

We walk outside and stop at the corner.

“At least someone notices you need someone to talk to. It could be worse. You could be me. No one ever thinks I need anything,” Sam says.

The light changes. She walks away so fast, I can’t ask her what she means by that. Can’t ask her what it is she needs.

When I get to the library, groups of women are huddled in circles, mingling and making small talk. The woman at the front desk checks me in and hands me a name tag. I print my name in green marker and stick the tag to the left side of my chest.

The woman scrolls her finger down the list. “Jade Butler? Let’s see—your mentor hasn’t arrived yet,” she tells me. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Her name is Maxine.”

“Okay.”

The woman hands me a folder. “This is all you need to know about Woman to Woman. It has our schedule for mentor-mentee outings, a handbook that goes over expectations, and lots of resources for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Help yourself to the refreshments,” the woman says. She points to two long tables that have been pushed together to hold fruit and cheese trays, chips and dip, cookies, and drinks.

Before heading to the snack table, I walk to the back of the library and claim my seat. Two rows from the last. I put my jacket on the back of a folding chair and set the folder down. I walk over to the table and put five cookies in a napkin, looking around to make sure no one is watching. I fold the napkin and go back to my seat, where I slip the cookies into my backpack. I do this two more times, taking chips, grapes, strawberries, and more cookies, and sneak them into my bag. This is something I learned from Mom. Whenever we go out to eat, we usually have dinner at an all-you-can-eat place, like Izzy’s or Old Country Buffet. Once we’re full and ready to go, Mom takes foil out of her bag and discreetly wraps up food for us to take.

On my last trip to the table, I make a plate to eat for now. When I get back to my seat, a girl is sitting next to my chair. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Jasmine.”

“Jade,” I tell her. I notice no one is sitting next to her. “Have you met your mentor?” I ask.

“She’s not here yet,” Jasmine tells me.

“Mine either.” At least I’m not the only one.

A woman stands at the front of the room and calls everyone’s attention. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Sabrina. I am so honored to kick off another cohort of mentors and mentees,” she says. “I am the founder and executive director of Woman to Woman, and I started this program because I believe in the power of sisterhood. We girls are often overlooked as if our needs are not important. And, well, I got tired of complaining, and wanted to do something about it,” Sabrina says. She has a small high-pitched voice. She’s tall and thin and the darkest shade of black. Her hair is braided in tiny singles and pinned up in a bun.

As Sabrina is talking, a woman walks in quietly, closing the heavy door behind her so it doesn’t make too much noise. She stops at the table to sign in and write her name on a name tag. She looks regal and carries herself in a way that makes me sit up in my seat. Our eyes meet and she smiles. The greeter at the table looks over my way too, and points. I can’t tell if she’s pointing at me or Jasmine. Once the woman gets closer, I see her name tag says, BRENDA. She whispers something to Jasmine and sits next to her.

Am I really going to be the loser girl whose mentor stood her up?

Sabrina continues her welcome speech. “There is an old adage that says, ‘You can give a man a fish and feed him for a day. You can teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime.’” She pauses and lets the meaning sink in. “Well, I like what Pedro Noguera had to add. He says, ‘Don’t stop there.’ He says, ‘Help her to understand why the river is polluted so that she and her friends can organize to get the river clean and make it possible for the entire community to eat too,’” Sabrina says. She pauses again for a moment, and then a wide compassionate smile stretches across her face. “Young women, this is what this mentorship program is about. We will have fun, yes. But we will also discuss some of the distractions and barriers to success and hopefully gain strategies for overcoming them.” Then she smiles. “But first, the fun.” Sabrina asks everyone to stand. “Let’s all make a big circle, please. Mentees, please stand next to your mentors.”

I look around the room one more time and watch each pair join together, laughing and talking and getting to know one another. Maxine still isn’t here. Some mentor.

Sabrina says, “First, we’ll have everyone go around and say their names. But to add a little twist to it, say your name with a word that describes you and that begins with the letter of your first name.” Sabrina steps forward. “Okay, I’ll go first—Silly Sabrina,” she announces.

Then the next person says, “Hilarious Hillary,” and the woman next to her, “Bookworm Brenda.”

I think of names for my mentor: Missing Maxine, Mediocre Maxine, Mean Maxine.

This is stupid.

I’m ready to go. I look back at the table—the greeter woman isn’t there anymore. I take my jacket off the back of the chair I was saving, grab my backpack, and sneak out before anyone notices that no one came for me.

I walk to the bus stop, thinking about the fish and the river Sabrina was telling us about. I don’t really want to learn about the polluted river. I want to move where the water is clean. And I don’t want to play childish getting-to-know-you games. If I’m going to do this program, I want to get something out of it.