On the Come Up(15)

Ms. Clark picks up her phone and dials. After a couple of seconds, she goes, “Hi, this is Midtown School of the Arts. May I speak to Mrs. Jayda Jackson, please?”

Jay answers the phones at Christ Temple, so I expect Ms. Clark to go right into explaining the situation to her. But she frowns. “Oh. I see. Thank you.”

She hangs up.

Weird. “What did my mom say?”

“I was told that your mother doesn’t work there anymore. Is there another way to reach her?”

I sit up as best as I can. “What?”

“Should I try her cell phone or her home phone?”

“Are you sure you called Christ Temple Church?”

“Positive,” Ms. Clark says. “Cell phone or home phone?”

My heart stops.

The Popkenchurch.

Jay only gets it when something bad happens.

Did she . . . did she lose her job?

She couldn’t have. Ms. Clark’s got it wrong somehow. She probably called the wrong place and just doesn’t realize it.

Yeah. That’s it.

I tell Ms. Clark to try Jay’s cell phone. About fifteen minutes later, the office door flies open, and Jay storms in. She’s in her work clothes, so she must’ve left the church.

“Brianna, what in the world happened?”

She kneels in front of me and looks me over, almost like she did when she came back from rehab. Her eyes couldn’t get enough of me. Now they examine every inch of me . . . except my hands. She whirls around on the secretary. “Why the hell is my daughter handcuffed?”

Dr. Rhodes appears in her doorway. Her glasses take up most of her face, and her curly red hair is in a bun. She was the principal back when Trey went here, too. I met her at his Freshman Welcome Night. She gave me this sugary-sweet smile and said, “Hopefully in a few years, you’ll join us too.”

She didn’t say there would be a security guard ranting in her office about “those kids” bringing “that stuff” into “this school.” The door was closed, but I heard him.

Those kids. This school. Like one doesn’t belong with the other.

“Mrs. Jackson,” Dr. Rhodes says, “may we please have a word in my office?”

“Not until my daughter is released.”

Dr. Rhodes looks back over her shoulder. “Mr. Long, would you please release Brianna?”

He lumbers out and removes the little scissors hanging from a clip on his waist. He grumbles, “Stand up.”

I do, and with one little snip my hands are uncuffed.

Jay immediately cups my cheeks. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Mrs. Jackson, my office, please?” Dr. Rhodes says. “You too, Brianna.”

We follow her in. The look she gives Long tells him to stay outside.

My backpack sits on top of her desk. It’s unzipped, revealing every pack of candy I had.

Dr. Rhodes points at the two chairs in front of her. “Please, have a seat.”

We do. “Are you going to tell me why my daughter was handcuffed?” Jay asks.

“There was an incident—”

“Obviously.”

“I will be the first to admit that the guards used excessive force. They put Brianna on the floor.”

“Threw,” I mumble. “They threw me on the floor.”

Jay’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve had issues with students bringing illegal drugs—”

“That doesn’t explain why they manhandled my child!” says Jay.

“Brianna was not cooperative at first.”

“It still doesn’t explain it!” Jay says.

Dr. Rhodes takes a deep breath. “It will not happen again, Mrs. Jackson. I assure you that there will be an investigation and disciplinary action will take place if the administration sees fit. However, Brianna may have to face disciplinary action as well.” She turns to me. “Brianna, have you been selling candy on campus?”

I fold my arms. I’m not answering that shit. And let her turn this around on me? Hell no.

“Answer her,” Jay tells me.

“It’s only candy,” I mumble.

“Maybe so,” says Dr. Rhodes, “but it’s against school policy to sell contraband on campus.”

Contraband? “The only reason y’all found out about it is because Long and Tate like to go after the black and Latinx kids!”

“Brianna,” Jay says. It’s not a warning. It’s an “I got this.” She turns to Rhodes. “Since when is candy contraband? Why did they come after my daughter in the first place?”

“The security guards have the right to conduct random searches. I can assure you that Brianna was not ‘targeted.’”

“Bullshit!” I don’t even bite my tongue. “They always harass us.”

“It may seem that way—”

“It is that way!”

“Brianna,” Jay says. That’s a warning. She turns to the principal. “Dr. Rhodes, my son told me that the guards picked on certain kids more than others when he was here. I don’t think my children are making this up. I’d hate to think you’re saying that.”

“There will be an investigation,” Dr. Rhodes says so calmly, it pisses me off. “But I stand by what I said, Mrs. Jackson. The guards treat all of the students the same.”