With the Fire on High(24)

I almost suck my teeth. I love Ms. Fuentes, but sometimes she says real stupid shit. “I think there are lots of ways to ‘make something’ of yourself and still support your family. College isn’t the only way.”

She nods. “Of course. I’m sorry if what I said came across wrong; I just want you to apply to college so, come April, at least you have the option of deciding to do something else. At least then you’ll have choices. And who knows? Your mind-set about school might change in a few months.”

I look at Ms. Fuentes. She’s young, maybe early thirties, not like a lot of the teachers at the school. And she’s hip to most things like fashion and music, but she doesn’t have a kid. She doesn’t have a grandmother who’s spent the last thirty-five years raising a son and then her son’s kid and now her son’s kid’s kid. No, Ms. Fuentes has a job that she seems to like, and she can afford nice perfume, and cute outfits, and pretty manicures, and to give out advice nobody asked for.

I don’t tell Ms. Fuentes that I just don’t think more school is for me. That I’d rather save my money for my daughter’s college tuition instead of my own. That when I think of my hopes and dreams I don’t think I can follow them from a classroom. That my hopes and dreams seem so far out of reach I have to squint to see them, so how could I possibly pursue them?





Going Places


“Angelica, this is amazing.” I look at the mock-up album cover she created for a rapper who graduated last year. He has a mixtape coming out in a month and everybody who’s gone to Schomburg knows if you need artwork done for a project, Angelica is your girl. She’s had this side hustle for years and it’s one of the ways she’s able to keep herself dressed like she’s in her own reality TV show. Angelica has her peanut-butter sandwich halfway to her mouth.

“You like it? It was something light. He didn’t have much of a budget to work with.”

I shake my head. Angelica’s “something light” is something most people would frame. The cover shows a hand-drawn version of the rapper; the skyline behind him etched in pencil ends in an elegant loop that spells out the album’s name. This is too good for just a mixtape. And for a moment I get a lump in my throat. Angelica is going to be something big one day. She’s going to be the go-to person for famous people’s art. And I’m so, so hype for her. And I’m also going to still be here, left behind.

I force myself to smile.

“If you don’t get a full scholarship, I’ll fight the admissions officers myself. Your portfolio must be a hundred times better than other applicants’.”

She shrugs and takes a bite of her sandwich. “Let’s hope so, girl.”

I mix soy sauce, ketchup, and a packet of sugar and try and make a mock Korean BBQ sauce for my chicken nuggets.

Angelica puts her hand on mine. “Stop playing with your food, Emoni. You only play with your food when you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

And now it’s my turn to shrug. “I guess it’s a lot of things. My father called last night, and although we had a long conversation, I just don’t know; I’m still mad at him. ’Buela has been having all these doctor appointments and she says it’s nothing but I don’t believe her; she won’t meet my eyes when she says it. And I don’t know what to do about college.” I don’t mention the mixed-up feelings I’ve been having about Malachi.

“Mmm, you got a lot going on. I hope Abuela Gloria is okay. Maybe her doctor’s appointments are just checkups or something? What was Ms. Fuentes saying about college? Mr. Goldberg was going on and on about the college applications and how we’re going to have to start turning those in. Jesus, it’s not even November yet.”

“Yeah, but it’s the middle of October next week. And before you know it it’ll be December, when everything is due to the guidance counselor for review,” I say. The deadlines are all engraved into my mental calendar; I just don’t know what I’m going to do about them.

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” Angelica asks, finishing off her sandwich.

“Huh?” I laugh. She’s always been that way. Able to jump around from subject to subject and know exactly when to switch it up on me. But I know that she’s also trying to take my mind off problems that I can’t fix and she can’t either. “What day of the week is it this year?”

“A Thursday,” Angelica says, checking her phone calendar.

I shake my head. “I usually work Thursdays. But maybe I need to start thinking about what I’ll dress Babygirl as in case ’Buela wants to take her out.”

Angelica’s eyes widen and I glance around to see what she’s looking at. “We should make her a costume! It’ll be so cute.”

I laugh again and eat another chicken nugget as Angelica sketches costumes on a napkin. The laughter helps ease the weight on my chest. And the sauce tastes just a little bit sweeter.





Basura


The next day, I set my plate in front of Chef Ayden and he turns it round and round. I wait for him to pick up his fork and knife.

“Trash it,” he says without looking up at me.

“Ex-excuse me?” I stutter out. Is he kidding? I look around the room but none of the other students meets my eyes. They are all standing, waiting to present their dishes, but our usually noisy class is suddenly very quiet. Malachi is the only person not pretending he’s not all in my business, and his eyebrows quirk in confusion, as if he’s stuck on Chef’s command as well.