Grown(3)

In your heart, it’s a start.

And we can’t grow when we’re this far apart.

Let’s take it to another level

I’ll be a sunrise in your meadow . . .

Two honks snap me out of a groove. Beep! Beep!

“Heyyyy, Chanty!” Mom says, still in her hospital scrubs, her brown locs tied up into a neat bun. “Sorry I’m late. Where’s your sister?”

“Here I am,” Shea says, skipping behind me as we climb into the truck. “Bye, Becky. Bye, Anna. Bye, Lindsey!”

“Bye, Shea Shea,” a group of her fellow freshmen sing with a wave.

Shea bounces into the middle of the back seat, her little chocolate face nudging Mom’s forearm. “Mom, can I go over Lindsey Gray’s house this weekend?”

“Chores first, white girls second. Buckle up!”

“Mom,” she groans. “The window is open. People can hear you.”

Mom rolls up the window as we drive off, Shea babbling about her day. She’s adjusted well to high school, easier to do with an established group of friends from middle school rather than as a transfer student like me, fitting in like a little brown chameleon in every circle. I’m the blowfish out of water next to my little sister.

“Don’t forget to fold the laundry. And take the salmon out the freezer,” Mom says as we drop Shea off at home.

“I won’t! Geez!”

“Don’t let the twins pick all the veggies off their slices,” I remind her. “And Destiny likes her pizza cut into squares or she won’t eat it. Also new Love and Hip Hop tonight!”

“I know, Chanty, I know,” she laughs. “Becky and I are gonna watch it together on FaceTime.”

Mom backs out the driveway. “OK, you got the address to this swim meet?”

“Yup,” I say, nervously typing it into the GPS.

Mom frowns. “Oh. It’s in Manhattan?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Dang. Didn’t think it was going to be all the way in the city. And so late on a school night!”

“Bigger pool, I guess.” I try to make my lies sound believable, smooth as untouched water.

“OK. But text Daddy and tell him we’ll be home late.”

On the way, Mom conducts the home orchestra from her speakerphone.

“Shea, what temp is that oven on? You put it up too high and the pizza’s gonna burn. And did you take out fish like I told you?”

“Yes, Mom!” Shea sighs. “Geez!”

It’s rare that Shea watches the Littles alone. I still consider her one of them.

“Daddy’s picking up baby girl from day care before his shift. Where’s the twins?”

“They’re Kung Fu Panda-ing in the living room.”

“Hi, Mommy!” they scream in the background.

“Hi, babies! How are my munchkins? What’s the best thing that happened to you today?”

Mom is always multitasking, her mind working like several browser tabs opened at once. She gives Shea her last set of directions before hanging up.

“So what is this? A special meet or something?”

“Um, yes. Coach recommended me. College recruiters are going to be there and everything.”

“Really?” She brightens, a grin growing across her face, and presses the gas a little harder. I turn up the volume on 107.5 WBLS, an oldies R&B station. Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love for You” plays, and I hum along.

It’s good practice.

“I don’t understand how she got the times mixed up.” Mom huffs as we scuffle across campus.

“Honest mistake,” I say, checking the time just as a text from Gab pops up.

What up! How’s it going?

Not there yet.

Girl! The line closes in thirty minutes. Move ur ass!

“A whole week early, though?” Mom carries on. “Doesn’t she know some of us have jobs? Why are you walking so fast? Slow down!”

As she drags behind me, digging in her giant purse for her keys, I casually stroke into the next phase of my plan.

“Hey, Mom. Since we have some time, I mean, while we’re here . . . can we stop at another tryout?”

“What kind of swim meet would be this late?”

“Well, it’s actually a singing competition. A friend told me about it . . . today. It’s just a little thing.”

Mom’s head pops up, eyes narrow. “Oh, really now?”

Torn between coming clean and pressing on, I dive deeper.

“Please! It’ll be real quick. It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

“Oh, and how would you know that?”

“I, uh, googled it on the way. I thought maybe if we finished up early, we could stop by. Not that I expected to, just, you know, being . . . proactive. Like you always tell me, right? Looks good for college recommendations.”

Mom blows out some air. “Chanty, we talked about this. School, then activities, then homework, then housework, and then singing. That’s what’s going to get you into college!”

She’s been beating this horse to death for years.

“I know! And we did, see? School, check. Activities, check. I did my homework during lunch. Shea has us covered at home, so . . .”