Turning Point, page 21
“Was wrong,” Sheeda said, flat. She didn’t want to fight. “I know.”
“Good.” Her aunt continued, a little less sure. “You don’t need to be around people like that.”
People like that. If Auntie D had her way, Sheeda wouldn’t have a single friend, since eventually everybody was going to do or say something to be put on the list.
She stayed looking at her feet, unable to look at her aunt as the anger burned her cheeks. “All I wanted to do was tell him that me and Tai would come by later. That was it. Why is that so wrong? Why was me talking to him so bad?”
“Because you knew better.” The certainty was back. A Bible quote, probably about obedience, was not far away. “Since when have I given you permission to go to a boy’s house at all? Much less with no adult there?”
Sheeda didn’t have the strength to quibble and remind her that Ms. Linda had been home. Didn’t know if that would make it better or worse.
She closed her eyes. Quan’s face and smell were burned into her brain. She wished they weren’t. His face made her stomach churn and made her teeth grind. She realized she was angry at him, for sure. At herself, for going to Lennie’s alone.
And, yes, she was mad at Lennie, too. It still hurt that he hadn’t stepped in and stopped Quan before he clamped his sweaty body around her. But she’d seen his messages and knew he was sorry. Sheeda wanted to forgive him. She didn’t know what that meant, yet. But she was going to. And that’s why she was so angry with her aunt. Because, of course, her aunt who could probably tick off no less than half a dozen Scriptures about forgiveness was telling her not to forgive. Was telling her she might have to cut off the best friend she had.
Now even forgiveness was wrong?
Her eyes popped open, and the words came out before she could think to stop them.
“I never do anything right, anyway. So—” She began ugly crying, tears so hard that her words were a garbled mess. “No matter what I do, you’re mad. All I did was talk to Lennie. Talk. But if I told you we talked, you would have taken my phone. The night I spent at Yola’s was the worst. She spent the whole night on the phone with Jalen. But if I had told you I didn’t want to hang out with her and Kita, you would have got mad about that. Then I asked could I hang with Tai, and you said no. I don’t know what I’m allowed to do anymore.” The words were stuck in her windpipe. She wheezed, pushing them out of her throat. “You say I knew better, but I don’t know anything anymore. I get tired of being at church all the time. But I know I’m wrong for saying that. I don’t want to feel so guilty all the time.”
“Guilty about what?” her aunt asked quietly.
“Everything,” Sheeda said, spent. It was out there, and she’d probably be punished for life.
“Look at me, please,” Auntie D said. She held her palms out and Sheeda turned to her, laying her hands on top. “People feel guilt for doing something wrong. Why would you need to feel guilty?”
“Everything I do is wrong,” Sheeda said, unable to meet her aunt’s eyes. “Going to Lennie’s was wrong. I guess that’s why what happened happened.”
“God doesn’t work like that, Luvvie.” Her aunt sighed. “Do you really believe that He punished you because you made a bad decision?” She pulled Sheeda’s nodding head onto her chest. “Going to Lennie’s was wrong because you didn’t have permission. But what happened wasn’t your fault, and it definitely wasn’t a punishment from above. Do you understand?”
Auntie D stroked her forehead, letting her cry tears of relief. Sheeda had expected the sermon of all times; instead, her aunt waited while her body shook. When there were no more tears left, her temples pounded. Her eyes felt like someone had poured sand in them. Auntie D pulled Sheeda away, holding her at arm’s length.
“You shouldn’t feel guilty for speaking your mind. And I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling that way.”
Sheeda forced herself to look her aunt in the eye. “I’m sorry for sneaking behind your back to talk to Lennie.”
“I accept your apology. I want you to be honest with me, Rasheeda. I thought maybe having rules and a schedule would make it easier for both of us. But I guess what they say is true—too much of anything makes you an addict.”
Sheeda squinted, not understanding. Her aunt laughed. “It’s an old saying. I’m trying to say that the rules and schedule made me comfortable, and I got carried away making more rules and schedules.” Her smile matched Sheeda’s. She squeezed her shoulders, as if sealing a deal. “Maybe we can try to have more balance going forward. Pick the ministries you love most and let’s see how we can make it work so you’re doing the things you really enjoy at church and at home. Sound like a plan?”
“Yes,” Sheeda said. “Thank you.”
Her aunt kissed her forehead. “Be patient with me. I’m still figuring out this Aunt Mom stuff.”
She went to leave when Sheeda called out to her.
“Yes?”
“I want to forgive Lennie.” Sheeda’s eyes fell at her aunt’s withering gaze. She took a breath. “I’m going to forgive him.”
Auntie D’s lips pressed together. Sheeda counted to stop herself from taking it back. When Sheeda reached seven, her aunt’s face relaxed. “Forgiveness is good.” She took a few steps down the hall, then came back, hands on her hips. “Forgiveness is not dating, though. Am I understood?”
Sheeda’s twists jiggled as she shook her head in agreement.
She texted Lennie back.
Rah-Rah:
Mo said you gotta get a job.
DatBoyEll:
Already got it. Working at the hospital gift shop. IIWI
Rah-Rah:
Yup
DatBoyEll:
look I really ain’t think Quan wuz gonna trip like that. he always playing around but I ain’t mean for him disrespect u like that
Rah-Rah:
I thought u liked me
DatBoyEll:
I do like u. Thas my word!
Rah-Rah:
You didn’t tell him to stop or anything, Lennie. I was scared.
DatBoyEll:
I woulda never let him hurt u tho. I know u don’t believe me but I’m for real.
Rah-Rah:
TBH it doesn’t matter. I’ll be boyfriendless a looooonnng time.
DatBoyEll:
I messed you up huh?
Rah-Rah:
I messed me up. Not trying to be corny or anything but I wanted you to know that I forgive you. We’re good.
DatBoyEll:
Thas solid.
Rah-Rah:
ttyl probably
DatBoyEll:
Be good shawty
Rah-Rah:
Like I have a choice
There. It was done. She’d forgiven him. Not because she was worried he’d be mad with her if she didn’t. Because the anger made her feel like she was walking underwater. Because, if she didn’t forgive herself (for agreeing to meet him, for going alone, for keeping secrets), she’d drown in it.
Her eye went back to Lennie’s message: “I woulda never let him hurt u tho.”
“He did hurt me, though,” she whispered aloud.
More than anything, she wished that day had never happened. It was like going from having your eyes squeezed shut to not being able to close them at all. She’d wanted to tell Lennie that’s how she was hurt, but didn’t know how to explain it. All she knew for sure was, she didn’t want to walk around holding on to the hurt. Forgiveness wasn’t for Lennie. It was for herself.
Epilogue: Monique’s Fall
Mo knew exactly when things had changed.
When Mila’s dad agreed to let her attend BA year-round.
Mo had assumed there was no way Mila’s dad could ever afford the BA tuition. Wrong or not, it had brought her comfort knowing that for one reason or another, they’d both be locked out of BA’s world. For different reasons. But, still.
Then BA had given Mila a scholarship and La May had done fundraisers in the community to raise more money. Mo had even worked one of the fundraisers, helping to sell T-shirts of Mila en pointe hugging herself, looking away from the camera, and the hashtag on the back, #CoveBallerina. When people found out what they were for, they sold out fast. Mo had never been that happy and sad at the same time.
When enough had been raised, officially, she cried like her soul hurt. It had been one thing that Mila had gotten accepted. It was another that she was going to go.
Her mother let her cry, then called her on how she felt. “Right now, you’re upset because you’re focused on her path and not your own.”
Mo had tried arguing. But nothing she said threw her mother off course. It had been like being a book that her mother knew word for word. She pointed out that Mo had never heard of a ballet school before spring (facts), still thought most classical ballets were boring (big facts), and was acting like BA was the only place she could ever dance.
Now that, Mo had never thought about. Not really. The rejection was raw for weeks. Mo had thought about giving up dance. Didn’t feel like putting her body through all that. For what?
Ms. Sharon asking her to consider contemporary ballet had felt like second prize, like a slick way of saying Mo wasn’t cut out to do the classic ballets. And Mo still wasn’t entirely convinced that not being accepted at BA wasn’t about race. She tried to tell herself that if ballet didn’t want her, then she didn’t want it.
But when her mother hit her with real talk, she couldn’t hide from the facts. She wanted to be accepted at BA so badly that she never admitted that it wasn’t the place for her. From the start it hadn’t been.
The food. Not having many Black people nearby. Explaining everything she did or said. Even the way it seemed like every White dancer stomped their way down the hall, in the dorm, were things she figured she would just have to get used to if she wanted to attend a school like BA.
Until weeks later, when her mother dropped a thick packet of paper on her bed. On top was a note that read: “Your path is your path for a reason. You just have to stay on it.” And beneath it were pages and pages of photos of Black and Brown dancers. Some of them were in pointe shoes but many were barefoot or had on flat skin-toned ballet slippers. Instead of tutus, many had on unitards or flowy slip dresses. Their bodies were chocolate or tan and muscular, like they could leap off the page if they wanted. Had they ever been asked to tuck their bottoms, she wondered?
She had been mesmerized, turning the pages slowly as if she were looking at a picture book. When the pictures ended, the last few pages were information about summer intensives at Alvin Ailey and Dance Theatre of Harlem. And on a blank page, in her mother’s handwriting, was: Can you see yourself? Then take a leap. . . .
It was time.
Epilogue: Sheeda’s Fall
Things had changed a lot.
For her ministries, Sheeda picked praise dance and helping Auntie D with Sunday church school and Vacation Bible School. She’d purposely picked ministries where she wouldn’t have to do a lot of interacting with the First Bap Pack, which at this point was Jalen and Yola.
Yola had worked hard during the retreat to separate herself from them. Jalen had brought two friends and Yola had brought her cousin. The five of them had knighted themselves the alpha squad. Mo only enjoyed the retreat because she spent the whole time tripping off how they laughed the loudest, mobbed the dining hall when it was time to eat to make sure they sat together, and generally did the most to make it seem like they were having the best time, better than anybody else there.
Sheeda hadn’t cared about any of it except the time Yola came over to ask if Mo wanted to play a game of chicken with them in the pool. Then when Mo said no, Yola had gotten really loud and looked over at Sister Butler as she said, “Oh, well, I asked,” like she had been trying to get them to kick it all along. Even though it had been the first time she’d said a word to them.
Sheeda didn’t want Sister Butler to go back and tell Auntie D that Sheeda hadn’t talked to anybody except Kita and Mo the whole time, since the retreat was about fellowship and all that. Luckily, Auntie D (and apparently the other chaperones) were so scandalized by Yola and Jalen’s growing relationship that by the time Sheeda got home, the only gossip going around was about how close they were.
Mo’s merciless clowning of the alpha squad and how extra they were being had lifted Kita’s spirits and stopped Sheeda from worrying the whole time. She was glad Mo had come.
She hadn’t been sure how things would turn out. She’d forgiven Lennie, but couldn’t help feeling like her and Mo’s friendship wasn’t the same. It wasn’t until the second day of the retreat when they were doing a Blessing Circle—where everyone had to write down one blessing they were grateful for then show it at the same time. Sheeda had written “my aunt” partly because she meant it but, also, she knew Sister Butler went back and told the adults not on the trip everything. She wasn’t above trying to get a few extra brownie points from Auntie D. Then she’d looked across the circle and saw that Mo had written, “my best friend,” and felt bad for ever doubting their friendship.
She needed to cherish their friendship more than ever. Mo was looking at dance schools again. Black ones this time. And knowing Mo, once she set her mind to it, nothing could stop her. Thinking about Mo going away made Sheeda sad, but not as much as it had earlier that summer. Her worst nightmare had been losing Mo to dance. Instead, she’d almost lost her because she’d kept a secret. She never wanted to do that again.
Didn’t have to. Now that they weren’t in church all the time, she and her aunt talked more. While they ate dinner or played games, they talked about almost everything. Like how Sheeda was nervous about starting high school and how she liked church more now that she wasn’t there as much. Her aunt’s advice had been peppered with lots of “Luvvie’s,” stories about when she was fourteen, and encouraging her to create a drama piece for the church, maybe even start a theater ministry.
It was the first time she’d ever talked about using Sheeda’s TAG skills in church.
Then, one day, Lennie showed up at their stoop in a polo shirt tucked into his pants. Except for liking a few things on his page, Sheeda hadn’t talked to him in weeks. So, when he asked Auntie D if it was okay if he could come by and hang out sometimes, Sheeda had immediately texted Mo.
Rah-Rah:
Umm Lennie is up here like asking for my hand in marriage or something
Mo’Betta:
Not the hand in marriage tho. What ur aunt say?
Rah-Rah:
Right now they talking about how this isn’t dating and I’m not allowed to date. I think she used the word date a hundred times already. .
Mo’Betta:
Do u wanna hang out with him?
Rah-Rah:
If she lets me, yes. Is that okay?.
Mo’Betta:
Rah-Rah:
.
Turned out, her Auntie D had a competitive streak a mile long. More shouting and noise came out of their row house on the nights that Lennie and Mo came over to play games or trivia on their phones than they’d made the whole time Sheeda lived there. No games with dice or playing cards were allowed because her aunt saw that as gambling. Sheeda had pretended not to see the side-eye that Lennie and Mo had given each other when she’d explained that.
One step at a time.
Auntie D was fun when she wasn’t quoting the Bible. And if she was letting Lennie come over to play games, why couldn’t buying a board game, with dice, be next?
Anything was possible.
That’s why Sheeda was tempted to start calling her aunt “Mommy.” Had even slipped and tried it. She wanted to show her aunt that she appreciated everything she did for her. Wanted her to know that she understood that the Auntie D she was now probably wasn’t the Auntie D she’d always wanted to be. And also, that even though she had a mother six hundred miles away, Auntie D was the only mother she really knew. She was learning to be okay with that.
But Auntie D had wrinkled her nose and said, “Umm, no.” She’d pulled Sheeda into a hug and pecked her forehead. “I don’t need a title to love you. Besides, I’m honored to be your auntie.”
It was what Sheeda needed. All she’d ever needed.
About the Author
Photo credit CAPTURE THE SEEN PHOTOGRAPHY
PAULA CHASE is the mother of a ballerina and the co-founder of The Brown Bookshelf, an award-winning website designed to increase awareness of African American voices writing for young readers. She is the author of the acclaimed novels So Done and Dough Boys. Paula Chase lives in Maryland.
www.paulachasehyman.com
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
TURNING POINT. Copyright © 2020 by Paula Chase. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2020 by Joelle Murray
Cover design by Sylvie Le Floc’h
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Chase, Paula, author.
