OSCI Braille Program. - Planet Middle School

NIKKI GRIMES For my young friend and surrogate daughter,
Sheila Northcutt,
whose middle name should be Joy.The emergency-room doorscrack openand I feel my heart split.The hospital smellleaves me dizzy,or maybe its just my fear.What if I got here too late?What if my friends eyesnever open?What if I missed the chanceto say Im sorry?Our fights seem silly now.But then,so do the last few months.I guess the joke is on me.Too bad I dont feellike laughing. Joylin was my mothers idea. She says she swelled with joy the moment she knew I lay curled up inside her. While she waited for my arrival, she dreamed in pink, imagined frilly dresses and sweet tea parties. Sorry, Mom. Jockette is what Caden calls me. Hes so lame.

If he werent my brother, Id strangle him. Just kidding. So whats the big deal, anyway? So Im not a girly girl. So what? Is there some law? I dont think so.

What does that even mean? And where did it come from? And if theres a Tom Boy, how come theres no Jane Girl? Im just sayin. I go to my closet grab a T-shirt and jeans.

Which pair will I wear? Long jeans, cropped jeans, just so they are baggy jeans. Dad keeps asking Mom, Wheres the girl you promised me? Like he doesnt love our games of one on one. Please.

Mom bugs me about sitting with my legs wide open. But I dont get what shes so worried about. Im covered up in blue jeans.

Its not like anyone can see anything. Ive told her this a million times. For some reason, she just keeps shaking her head.

My friend KeeLee teases me for always being dressed head to toe in navy. I just roll my eyes and tell her its my signature color. KeeLee would swallow the rainbow if she could. KeeLee would swallow the rainbow if she could.

She loves every single color. God made each one, says KeeLee. He doesnt pick favorites, so why should I? KeeLees a preachers kid, so shes got a different way of looking at things.

She chose me when we were nine. At school, a bunch of girls were making fun of me for dressing like a boy. I tried to act like I didnt care, but KeeLee caught me balling my fists and shoving them inside my pockets.

She pushed through the group and came straight to my side. Youre just jealous, she told those girls, cause the boys dont want to play with you. Then she slipped her arm through mine and said, Lets get out of here.

KeeLee dresses frilly, but shes tougher than me. One day, a girl called her Goody Two-shoes, and KeeLee said, Well, you got the shoe part right! and walked away. You think being a Tom Boy is hard? Try being a PK, says KeeLee.

Everyone expects me to be perfect. Like thats even possible. KeeLee may not be an angel, but shes practically perfect to me.

Jake thinks KeeLee is a little weird. She was watching Jake and me play ball one day when he was off his game. He kept putting God and damn in the same sentence every time he missed the hoop.

I cleared my throat to get his attention, nodded in KeeLees direction and whispered, Pastors kid, remember? Jake turned red, told KeeLee he was sorry. For what? she asked. For taking Gods name in vain. But you didnt, said KeeLee. Yes, I did. Yes. Yes.

I did. No, KeeLee said again. You didnt. Jake looked too confused to spit and I wasnt much better. My father says, God is who he is, but thats not his name. And you cant take his name in vain if you dont even know what it is.

So, whats his name, then? asked Jake. KeeLee smiled. Im not telling. If you want to know, youll have to ask him yourself. Jake just shook his head and threw his hands up.

Monday afternoon I meet Jake for our weekly game of one on one. Monday afternoon I meet Jake for our weekly game of one on one.

He takes the ball out and I do my best to block him, but hes too tall and solid for me to break his play. Didnt used to be that way. Back in second grade when we first met, I was the one with all the size. Not sure when that changed. But so what? Hes still one of my best friends, him and KeeLee. We play for an hour or so.

When its time to find our way home, he play-punches me in the arm, like always, only harder than I remember. I must be getting soft. Later, dude, says Jake. Yeah, later, I say, grinning through the pain.

Jake moved to the neighborhood right after his dad walked out and left his mom a mess. One December day, at recess I found him all by himself, clinging to a swing, crying in the cold.

I plopped down on the swing next to him, pushed myself off the ground, and kept him quiet company. When I could see he was done crying, I said, Hi. My names Joy. And he said, between sniffles, Im Jake. And thats all it took to make us friends forever.

These days, were mostly basketball buddies. These days, were mostly basketball buddies.

Jake doesnt talk much, but the silences between us are filled with friendship. I dont know what Id do without him.

Up till now, the math of my life has been pretty simple: friends plus family plus sports. What more could I ask for, right? But lately, my outside has been changing and my inside keeps telling me more is on the way. Trouble is, Im not sure Im ready. Ridges, thats all they are.

Two weird mounds ruining the perfect flatness of my chest. I do the best I can to hide them, wearing too-tight undershirts stolen from my baby brothers dresser. (Okay, so Cadens not technically a baby, but hes two years younger than me, so that qualifies.) God, forgive me, but I need those shirts. I just cant have those things on my chest bouncing around every time I charge down the basketball court. I want all eyes on the swish as my perfect layup shot clears the net.

The minute Dad walks in the door he starts grilling me: So? How did the basketball tryouts go? What did the coach say? I bite back a smile and pretend annoyance.

What about it, sport? Did you make the team? Probably, I hedge, wanting to watch his excitement build. Dad pats me on the back. Okay. Its your decision. I think youd be good, though. Hey, Dad. Hey, Dad.

Look at this! He holds up his drawing of a pitcher on the mound. My teacher says its one of the best drawings shes ever seen. Thats nice, Dad whispers and turns away, letting all the air out of Cadens balloon and mine.

Back from a killer game at the neighborhood b-ball court, I dribble through the living room like I dont know better till Mom tells me to stop, then I cut to the kitchen where water waits. Im two glasses down and working on a third when Mom makes me sputter up water like a busted faucet. Thats it, she says.

No more training bras. Time to take you shopping for the real thing. Where is a parallel universe when you need one?

No, Mom. You cannot come into the dressing room with me! I face the torture on my own, fumble with assorted A cups, plain and padded, turn myself into a human pretzel trying to fasten the stupid little hooks across my back. Im sure theres some trick to it. It was embarrassing, I told KeeLee. It was embarrassing, I told KeeLee.

Im trying on all these strange contraptions, and my moms right outside the dressing room, dying for a peek! KeeLee shrugged. Youre growing up, she said. That always weirds out parents. Still. I know. Thank God for KeeLee.