Vanessa put her hands on her hips. “Fair? You want to talk about what’s fair and what’s not fair? What’s not fair is having your own school closed down and being forced to go to the cracker school.”
“What do you mean? I thought the black kids wanted to go to the white schools. I thought that was the whole point.”
“Why would we want to go to the white school when we had our own school?” At Nelson they had their own football team, Vanessa said, their own cheerleading squad and pep squad, their own school colors, their own homecoming king and queen. Nelson families took pride in the school, and on weekends, they would come in to mop and polish the place. Some of the families even painted their cars in the school’s purple and silver colors. But now the Nelson kids had to give up those colors. And the former Nelson students knew none of them would ever be elected class president at Byler, or named homecoming king or queen, or be declared “Most Likely to Succeed.” Byler would never be their school.
“If that’s how you feel, why did you join the pep squad?”
“I didn’t make JV cheerleader, even though I was better than the white girls who did,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to just sit in the bleachers.” Her sister, Leticia, she explained, was one of the two Nelson cheerleaders chosen for the Byler squad. Vanessa said she would be at every game, cheering on Leticia and rooting for the Nelson boys on the Byler team. Then she looked me squarely in the eye. “And I ain’t giving up. I’m going to make cheerleader myself next year.”
I held up the sheet. “Then I guess we should get cracking on this banner.”
“The cracker wants to get cracking,” she said, and for the first time, she smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The following Saturday, I was down in the basement of the Maddoxes’ house, folding laundry, when Mr. Maddox appeared at the top of the stairs. He clambered down the steps and came over, moving in that strangely light-footed way he had for such a large man.
“Keeping busy,” he said. “I like that. You work for me, you keep busy.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I folded the big stuff, and now I’m matching the socks.”
Mr. Maddox stretched his arm out and propped himself against the basement wall. He was towering over me, and I felt a little boxed in. He had come so near that I could feel his breath on my face. I could also smell him. He didn’t stink, but I wasn’t used to being so close to a grown man, and his smell made me think of sweat and work, muscle and meat. I didn’t dislike it, but it was a little unsettling.
“Another thing I like about you,” he said, “is that you’re not scared of me. I’m a big guy, and I know some people get nervous when I’m standing next to them like this.”
“Nope,” I said. “Not me.”
“No,” he said. “You’re not afraid.” He’d had his right arm cocked on his hip, and now he reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. It was a hot September day, and I was wearing a sleeveless shirt. His enormous hand was so rough and calloused that I thought I could feel the individual ridges of his fingerprints.
“You take your responsibilities seriously,” he went on, “and you don’t make a big deal out of little things. Unlike Doris. She’s always making a huge deal over dumb little things. You’ve got a good sense of humor; you’re fun to be around. You’ve got spunk, and you’re mature for your age. How old are you again?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve? That’s all? That’s hard to believe. You look and act much older than that.” Mr. Maddox suddenly slipped his thick thumb into my armpit and stroked it. “And you’ve already got your peach fuzz coming in.”
I jerked back. “Cut it out!”
Mr. Maddox held my shoulder with his thumb still in my armpit for just a moment longer, then dropped his hand and laughed. “Now, don’t go getting all stupid on me,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just commenting on your coming-of-age. I got a wife and daughter, I grew up with sisters, and I know all about women and their cycles and when they start developing. This is just nature. I’m an adult, and you’re on the way to becoming one. If we’re going to have a working relationship, the way grown-ups do, we need to be able to talk about things like this. For example, maybe someday you won’t be able to come to work for me because you started your cycle and got cramps, and you’ll need to tell me that. Happens all the time at the mill.”
I looked down at the pile of unfolded socks. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t want to get all stupid and blow it out of proportion. Even though Mr. Maddox sticking his thumb in my armpit felt completely wrong, I couldn’t disagree with a single thing he said.