With the Fire on High(69)

“Emoni, you should try to eat something.”

I don’t look at her. She got into every school she applied to except for Pratt. They wait-listed her and she anxiously checks her email every time the security guards have their backs turned. “I’m fine. I’m not really hungry.”

A shadow falls over me and I look up at smooth brown skin, bright brown eyes. Malachi. This isn’t his lunch period.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

He straddles the cafeteria table bench and leans toward me until our foreheads touch. He doesn’t smile. “You been ducking me and you won’t talk to anyone and you seem sad. I figured maybe I could get an answer from you here.”

I nod at him and then look down at my lunch tray.

I begin to push back from the table but then arms are around me. Malachi hugs me from behind and Angelica stands up and hugs me from the front. And I take long, deep breaths with the both of them holding me close.

Malachi tells me it’s going to be okay. Angelica probably would say the same if she had a sensitive soul in her body, but she doesn’t, so instead she says, “Girl, it’s time to step into your own light and stop being afraid.”

Both statements are helpful.

The last day before the deposit has to be postmarked, ’Buela leaves a blank check by my bedside with a note.

Follow your dreams, nena. The rest will figure itself out.

And so I complete the forms and I mail my decision.





Accepted


“I got in!” Angelica screams into the phone. “I’m coming over right now! I want you to read the email to me. I need a witness to make sure this is real!”

And I know she doesn’t say Pratt Institute, but there’s no other school she’d be this excited about and they were the only school to wait-list her. She must have gotten off the list. My girl is going to be heading out to New York.

I shake myself when I realize the silence has gone on a moment too long. “Angelica, I’m so excited for you! Come over. I can’t wait to read the email.”

I put the phone down. ’Buela is napping on the couch after a big breakfast.

I close the novel I was reading for English. I don’t know why I’m even doing homework anymore. The end of the year is in four weeks and teachers don’t even care about schoolwork these days. It’s not like they’re going to fail us. A couple of them have been really “sick” lately. I’ve seen more subs this month than in the whole year.

There are three hard knocks on the front door and I open it without looking through the peephole.

“Angelica, ’Buela is sleeping, so—” But it’s not Angelica.

It’s Tyrone. Good-cologne-wearing-ass Tyrone with a puppy-dog look on his face. “Can we speak? I was hoping we could talk about something.”

I step onto the stoop and pull the door closed behind me. “Tyrone, you’re here”—I check my phone—“two hours early. I don’t have Babygirl ready yet.” Unfortunately, it’s his weekend.

“I wanted to talk about that,” Tyrone says. “I have an update.”

“Yeah. I got an update of my own. I got into college. And I’m dating someone.”

His lips tighten and he shakes his head. “Dating someone? I had heard something but I hoped it wasn’t true. I don’t like that.”

I take a deep breath. “I know, Tyrone. I know. And for a long time, I wanted to do what everyone liked. I just need you to be there for your daughter. I’ll respect you and I won’t introduce her to someone unless I’m sure of who they are and that they’ll be a good influence, but I’m not going to hide myself from the world. I’m not going to stop living. I’m not going to resent my kid. That’s not how you care for a person.”

He hasn’t stopped shaking his head. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone to Spain. You came back with all these crazy ideas. My mother always said you were easily influenced.” I smile, because when his mother wanted to pay for my abortion, “easily influenced” was not what she’d called me.

Tyrone shoves his hands in his pockets and clears the frown off his face. I take him in. He looks more mature; his collared shirt is ironed, his hair is nicely trimmed. There’s an air of confidence around him that seems less reliant on how quick he can turn a phrase and like he’s actually comfortable in his own skin. I don’t know when that happened but I must have missed the transformation.

“Listen, actually, that’s not why I’m here. That’s your business. You’ve taken care of Emma well so far and although I don’t like it . . . I’m just not going to think about other dudes around my baby-moms and my kid.

“But I am here about Emma. I want you to know that I got a job recently, and my own apartment. So I want to help you out more with money; my mother tells me all the time babies are expensive, and I know I could be doing better by you and Emma. Even if I can’t offer a lot just yet.”

My heart stops for a second. Army tank Mrs. Palmer was advocating for giving me some money for Babygirl? Everything in this life really does change. But Tyrone isn’t finished, and he holds up a hand as if what he has to say next isn’t something I’m going to want to hear.

“Emoni, I want to extend my visitations. Friday night to Monday morning. I think I deserve the whole weekend. Emma is always well taken care of, I pick her up and drop her off on time, and you always know how to reach me. And I’d like a full week in the summer to take her on vacation with my family.”