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  Daddy Mitch said Mama Shell's nerves was coming unraveled. Said she were getting paranoid about everything and troubling trouble when there weren't no cause. Daddy Mitch said for Mama Shell to take these pills he dug out of the sports bag he were always carrying round with him. He gave her tiny red pills—tiny red pills that made her stupid.

  Chapter Nine

  EVEN WITH DADDY MITCH talkin' to me nice and singin' with me, times was always better when he were gone and Mama Shell and me could be on our own, just shoppin' and paintin' our toenails. Mama Shell would act forgetful and sleep past the time to pick me up at school sometimes, and I'd have to ride home in a taxi and wake her up so she could pay the driver. But I were happier when it were just us. Times was just always calmer with Daddy Mitch gone.

  I turned eight, then nine, and my memories of Harmon and Doris and Patsy and Pete faded, but my Mama Linda memories stayed sharp. I knew she were round somewhere, 'cause once in a while I got a whiff of those flower oils she liked to wear. I could smell them on Daddy Mitch's clothes sometimes when he come to pick me up at school. I could smell it in his car like she were just sittin' where I were sittin', not more 'n five minutes earlier.

  I asked Daddy Mitch once if he been with Mama Linda, 'cause I could smell her in the car, and he acted like he gonna choke.

  "Why you asking me a thing like that?" he said, coughing, his deep-set eyes tearing up and his nostrils sucking in. "Ain't seen your mama in years."

  I knew it weren't true, but Daddy Mitch had a temper, so I didn't say nothin' more 'bout it. Every once in a while, though, those oils was all over him and I knew she been comin' round, maybe asking 'bout me, maybe wanting to see me. But she couldn't see me no more 'cause she made a deal, and Daddy Mitch and Mama Shell were gonna raise me.

  I tried calling Mama Linda from the mall once when Mama Shell was off tryin' on too many clothes and said I could go get me a ice-cream cone to eat I called her just to tell her how I be okay and how I know she been comin' round and maybe wonyin' 'bout me, but like usual, she weren't home. I let the phone ring sixteen times and she never did pick up.

  Mama Shell noticed the flower oils smell on Daddy Mitch, too, and once she said right in front of me, "You've been going round with Linda. I can smell her on you. She's been touching you."

  Daddy Mitch said, "Them pills is makin' you stupid." He looked at me. "Don't talk in front of Leshaya. Leshaya, you run on and get your bath like you was plannin' to do."

  I left the room and hid out in the closet just round the corner. They didn't notice no bathwater were running in the pipes, 'cause they was fightin'.

  "Baby, you know Linda's got to pick up her junk," I heard Daddy Mitch say. "Of course you smell her on me. What's got into you, anyway? You gettin' stupider and stupider."

  "Linda doesn't need to be touching you for that. You reek. You reek of Linda. You don't think Leshaya knows? You don't think I know? You're the one who's stupid if you think we don't notice."

  Daddy Mitch smacked Mama Shell and tore out the house. I heard him speed off in his car, and we didn't see him for a good long while after that.

  Mama Shell took more pills. She took pink pills to help her sleep, white ones to make her not so stupid from the red pills she were still taking to keep her happy. I didn't think none of them worked too well.

  I turned ten and February come, and as usual in my school in February, the music teacher had us singin' civil rights songs and Negro spirituals and gospel songs. Most times in music I did like everybody else and I either sung kinda quiet and like I were bored, or I shouted. I knew if I sung out in my real voice I'd get too much attention, so I never sung much. But for some reason that year I were tired of the same old songs and the same old stupid kids singin' their same old stupid way, so I didn't sing at all and Mrs. Ringold noticed. Tuesday after Tuesday she noticed me not singin', and finally she said if I weren't gonna participate I could march myself right on down to the principal's office. I didn't know why, but I weren't feeling too good that day. My stomach were grippin' me tight, kinda pulling down between my hip bones, making me cranky. When Mrs. Ringold got after me this time I didn't stay quiet like usual. I said, "Ain't nobody singin' it right, anyway."

  "What's that?" Mrs. Ringold asked.

  I sat up in my seat, feeling even crankier, the pain in my side real sharp. "Ain't nobody in this whole school know how to sing these songs. Everybody sing like they babies."

  "Well, Miss Leshaya, maybe you can teach the class how to sing. Why don't you come on up front and sing this song the way you think it's supposed to be sung."

  Mrs. Ringold had on a face like she thought she got me good, so I sashayed on up to the front, ignoring my side pain, and turned myself round to face the class. Then I belted out "My Lord, What a Mornin'" loud enough for the whole school to hear me.

  When I got done singin', nobody did nothin'. It stayed quiet for a whole minute at least, and I felt proud of myself, but sick, too. It felt like my insides wanted to drop right out between my legs.

  Then the class clapped for me and they did that for a while and then Mrs. Ringold held her hands up for them to stop.

  When Mrs. Ringold finally spoke, her voice sounded puffed up and breathless, and she said, "Why, Miss Leshaya, I have never in my life heard such a beautiful, strong, voice, coming from such—"

  "Scuse me," I said. I hated to miss out on my chance for glory, but I knew something were about to happen that I needed to find a toilet for, so I ran out the room and down the hall to the bathroom. I didn't know if I should sit down on the toilet or stand over it, 'cause I didn't know where the sick was gonna come out. Finally I sat down and I found bloodstains in my underpants.

  I were ten years old when I got my first period. I had tits bigger than Mama Shell's and I were almost as tall as her, too. I got to thinkin' with my grown-up voice and my grown-up looks that maybe Mama Linda got my age mixed up and I were really fifteen and not ten. But Mama Shell said, no, that were just the way girls do. "Some grow faster than others," she said, looking me over, her face pinched up with disappointment.

  I changed after that day in music class with Mrs. Ringold. I got sassy and loud and spoke my mind, and I didn't hide my voice. Mama Shell said when girls get their periods they get cranky and unreasonable every now and then 'cause of hormones shifting in their bodies. Seemed like I were always cranky, though.

  Everybody in school had heard what I done that day. Mrs. Ringold came by the school early the next morning and pulled me out of my regular class to talk to me 'bout it.

  She sat me down in the principal's office and she sat across from me at his desk. I looked round the room, wondering where the principal had got to.

  "How come you never sang like that before?" she asked me.

  I leaned forward so my arms could rest on the desk I felt like I was her age, 'cause sittin' down we was the same height and 'cause I had my period and Mama Shell said that made me a woman.

  I said to her, "I were just trying to fit in, but I be tired of that. You got to teach them kids how to sing, not just teach the songs. We singin' our songs like we just screamin' or bored. Every song be different. Every song got its own feelin', but nobody know but two feelings in this school: screamin' and bored. You got to get us better songs, too. We tired of your old songs. We been singin' them same songs for three years now."

  Mrs. Ringold didn't look like she appreciated my advice, but didn't matter. I were already sittin' in the principal's office and weren't nothin' else she could do.

  She asked me where I learned to sing. She wanted to know who my voice teacher be. I said, "Etta James be my voice teacher."

  "Well, I'd like to meet Miss James. She's done a wonderful job."

  "Yes, ma'am, she has, but you cain't meet her 'cause she dead or famous or something. I learned her off my tapes."

  I dug into my backpack, which were sittin' at my feet. I pulled out my Etta James tape and handed it to her. I didn't listen to the tape much anymore, just carried
it round for company. I could hear her voice and her songs in my head without the tapes. Still, when Mrs. Ringold asked if she could take it home and listen to it, I couldn't let her do it. I popped up outta my seat and grabbed the tape back. "You can buy your own at the music store," I said. I was just as sassy as could be, and Mrs. Ringold didn't do nothin' 'bout it.

  I felt powerful from what I said to her. I felt powerful standin' over her with my Etta James tape held up in my hand, away from her. I stared at her hungry-looking face and I thought, Cain't nobody kidnap me, or take from me what I love most in the world ever again if I be powerful like this all the time. And that's how it happened. I seen what I got to do to get what I want. See, in a instant I grown up. In a instant I took hold of my own life.

  Chapter Ten

  OVER THE NEXT two years, I got famous in my town for my singin'. I sung solos at every chorus concert and Mrs. Ringold always saved me for last on the programs. She said she liked to build anticipation. People in the audience cheered when I stepped down off the bleachers to sing my songs, and they even stood sometimes when I sang. They was always show tunes and not what I liked to sing, but Mrs. Ringold said parents come to hear show tunes. I sang anyway 'cause I loved the attention it brung me. I loved hearing the audience clapping, and seeing them standing up for me. A couple of different times I sang at some teachers' weddings, and I were real popular at them, too. All the teachers was proud of me. It were like the whole school were famous and special 'cause of my singin'.

  The only person who didn't like all the attention I got were Mama Shell. She got upset with me 'cause my picture were in the papers all the time. Once a news sta tion come to the school and did a story 'bout me, braggin' how I be just eleven years old and singin' like I were Aretha Franklin. Mama Shell were sure someone would find out she stole me. She didn't like how they said my age on the TV, and that they asked me questions and taped a bit of me singin'.

  I told Mama Shell to stop worrying, 'cause I didn't even look like my old self no more. Since turning eleven I wore my hair in tiny braids all over my head. Mama Shell would take the braids out every couple of weeks and do them over and it felt like she were running tiny iron rods into my skull every time she took apart a braid. It just hurt to move my hair round after it were twisted for so long, but I loved the braids, and even though Mama Shell were always wanting to do me other hairstyles, I wouldn't let her. I just liked the bitty braids.

  When I turned twelve I went to the middle school, and weren't just my hair I wore different; I made Mama Shell get me different clothes, too. I wanted to show off how I got tits and how I got a nice round ass like the other black girls in my school. I weren't like Mama Linda, all skinny and flat-chested, and I were proud of how I looked. But Mama Shell said I looked just like Mama Linda, dressin' the way I did, which just goes to show how stupid them pills of hers was making her.

  I wore shoes that made me taller than most all my teachers and taller than Mama Shell, and she didn't like that one bit, neither. I wore eyeliner and eye shadow and mascara and hp gloss, and my lips was full and shiny, and glossin' them up always made me feel I were black. Dressing and looking the way I did, I felt my whole body were black. Were the first time in my life I felt right in my body.

  Mama Shell wouldn't stop fussin' at me 'bout the way I were lookin' and behavin'. She sat me down at the kitchen table one rainy afternoon and said, glaring at me hard, "We got to do something, Leshaya." Her brows were drawn together like she were fierce angry, but she looked so shrunken and pale without her pink makeup and no eyebrow pencil to darken up them blond brows of hers, so I didn't think her anger carried much weight to it.

  "What you mean?" I said. "Do something 'bout what?"

  "I want my little girl back," she said, still looking hard at me. "I didn't bargain for this. You weren't supposed to look like this for a long time yet." She pointed at my chest.

  I shrugged and sat back in my chair. "Cain't help how I change, Mama Shell."

  "If you were my real daughter you wouldn't look like this."

  I lifted my chin. "How would I look, then?"

  "My little girl—my little girl..."

  Tears ran down her face. They just squirted out in a instant and ran down her face. Her face got red, too, and it didn't look healthy. I wondered if she needed one of her nervous pills.

  "Where you got your pills, Mama Shell? Let me get you a pill."

  Mama Shell's hand shot out and smacked my face good. "I don't need those damn pills! You keep away from me with those pills!"

  I jumped up from my chair, my hand on my hot cheek, and Mama Shell dove for me, catching my other hand and pulling me toward her.

  Her voice whined. "I want to tell you about my girl, my little girl. I had a little girl once."

  "What you mean? You mean beside me?" I sat myself back into my chair but sat back far enough that she couldn't grab at me.

  Mama Shell nodded. "She had dark hair and eyes like Mitch, but she had freckles on her nose and little Kewpie-doll lips like me, and she was the sweetest, happiest child there ever was." Mama Shell closed her eyes and pinched herself at the bridge of her nose, like that would hold back her tears. She shook her head. "She was so precious. She loved playing Barbies." She opened her eyes and, looking cross, said, "You never loved doing that! All you ever loved was that Doris doll. You never loved me. You never once said you loved me!"

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest and said nothing.

  Were true what she said. Never did say I loved her, 'cause 'cept for the ladies and Harmon, I didn't have lovin' feelings for nobody. I tried not to think about it much, but sometimes, when I did, I found weren't nothin' inside me no more. Seemed the only true feelings I had left were angry feelings.

  I watched Mama Shell stand up from the table, holding on to it, case she fall. "Where's the damn tissue?" she asked. She stepped away from the table with her bony arms reaching out for the counter like she blind, and I saw her hands shook as they was movin' over the countertops and opening cabinets. The lady was strung out bad. She found her some tissue in the bread box and came wobbling back to the table, with the tissues shakin' in her hands.

  "What color were your little girl, then?" I asked.

  I weren't sure this child were for real, but I asked, anyway, to keep her mind off me not loving her and 'cause I wanted to know.

  Mama Shell honked her nose into the tissues and sat back down.

  "She was like café au lait," she said, her eyes fillin' back up with tears. "She had beautiful skin, real soft skin. She didn't have any hair on her arms."

  My body got all tense with her telling me this. I leaned forward toward Mama Shell, forgetting I were trying to stay out of reach. "Where she be now?" I asked.

  "She's dead." Mama Shell pinched at the bridge of her nose again. "She had a heart attack. My baby had a heart attack"

  "A heart attack? How old were she then?"

  "Seven. She was just seven years old. You're not supposed to die of a heart attack at seven years old, are you?" Mama Shell looked at me, waiting like she wanted a answer from me.

  I didn't have one. I sat back again and let go my breath. Didn't know why, but I were glad she died. Guess I didn't want to see no café au lait daughter of Daddy Mitch.

  Mama Shell put her head down on her arms, so she were talking to the floor, and said, "I want my little girl back I just want my little girl."

  I didn't know if she were talking 'bout me or her own child, but I didn't think it mattered to her. She just wanted a little girl, any little girl, but I couldn't be little no more. I knew too much.

  Chapter Eleven

  I HAD ME SOME new friends in middle school but they wasn't close like Harmon been. Never could keep a friend longer than a couple of weeks, anyway. Anytime I got me a new friend, I'd feel all singsongy inside thinking this time it gonna last and we gonna be best friends forever. But we always ended up fighting soon enough, and it weren't never my fault, neither. Weren't my fault their toy
s and stuff were made cheap and broke easy, and I just give Lizzy a little push and she falls and breaks her wrist like I pushed her hard, when I didn't. It were always something like that, where I got the blame for it all. Didn't matter, anyway, 'cause didn't need no friends; I had my Etta and Odetta and Aretha.

  The new friends in the middle school be different. They like little puppies trottin' after me, wantin' to be round me 'cause I looked grown and 'cause I got this voice and 'cause I just as sassy-assed as they come. They thought I were acting cool. Weren't just the girls yappin' at me, neither. Boys was wanting to be round me and touch me all the time, especially the seventh graders. They was always telling me how pretty I be, that I got pretty eyes and pretty hair, but they wasn't looking at my face or head when they sayin' it—they looking at my tits.

  I felt funny with them looking at me, so I smacked their faces when they got their eyes where they didn't belong. They come on after me, anyway. Acting sassy like that, and singin' the way I could sing, got me more friends and attention than I ever got before.

  Then Mama Shell got it into her mind that she wanted to move. She told Daddy Mitch she be desperate to move.

  "We've got to get out of here," she said, crawling up to Daddy Mitch, who were sitting on the couch. "I don't know what I'll do if we don't move. We've got to go soon, Mitch. Things are getting too hot around here. You said so yourself. Come on, Mitch, let's go." She whined and tugged at his shirtsleeve. "Let's get out of here."

  Daddy Mitch pushed her off him and said, "Shell, I can't just leave. I got business here, good business."

  "But you said the cops were sniffing around. They're sniffing around! We've got to move, Mitch."

  Any time Daddy Mitch come home, Mama Shell would get on him 'bout movin', so Daddy Mitch didn't come home. Mama Shell said one day that we was just gonna have to move without him, but we never did. I agreed with Mama Shell, though. I didn't see no cops sniffin' round, but I seen how dangerous Mama Shell been acting at the mall. She weren't careful 'bout stealing stuff no more, and a couple of times some salespeople caught her, but she managed to sweet-talk her way out of it. I got nervous going into the stores with her. I were sure some mall guard were gonna haul her off to jail one day.