Messenger Read online

  A chill ran down my arms.

  “What’s all this for?” Momma stretched again and smiled.

  JimDaddy’s side of the bed was empty. He has to drive into Orlando, where he’s doing some building. He leaves every morning by five forty-five. Always gets the coffee going for Momma.

  “One of the things that made me love him,” Momma has said. “He might not sleep long at night, but he makes sure to get the coffee percolating.”

  Momma also says JimDaddy is the best builder this side of the Mississippi. I don’t know if that’s true or not.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the tray. “I won’t be here today. Not to help you. I thought this would be a nice way for you to start the school year.”

  Momma smiled so big her eyes went squinty. “Thank you, Evie. You are so thoughtful. Though shouldn’t I be doing that for you?”

  I handed the food over to Momma. She ate, taking big bites. I nibbled at my own food. My stomach was nervous.

  “You know, Evie,” she said. “You got Aunt Odie’s gift for cooking, that’s for sure.” She sopped at an egg with a buttered roll.

  “Think so?”

  I thought of Aunt Odie getting recipes from her dreams and ghostly hands. “She’s teaching me everything she knows,” I said. “To pass on the business, I think.”

  “That something you want to do? Carry on the Aunt Carolina tradition?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I love to cook.”

  “She always did like you best,” Momma said, nodding. “And I do too.”

  Momma says this to Baby Lucy, too.

  32

  I was halfway down the street (I saw no hint of Tommie. Where had she got to?) when Buddy pulled up alongside me in his family’s car.

  “You need a ride, Evie?” he said.

  The morning was beautiful. The air not too humid. The smell of the ocean rolling into this side of town. A mockingbird cried out from across the street. Here, periwinkles were tucked under the oak trees. They nodded as I passed.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Buddy,” I said, making sure I didn’t look him in the eye. That would be my undoing. “I told my momma I wanted to walk. It’s too pretty a day to be in a”—I glanced at the vehicle—“van.”

  “You want I should park this thing and walk with you?” Buddy hung out the window, almost not looking at the way he was going. “I will,” he said. “I’ll put this thing in park and leave it right here. If you want.”

  The school bus zoomed past, riffling my clothes. Someone hollered out the window and a 7-Eleven cup exploded a few feet up the road from me. I patted at my braid. Smoothed down the new shirt Momma had given me after breakfast. No sprinkles after all.

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  But Buddy wasn’t listening. He pulled the van over, parking not too far from the fire station.

  “My uncle works there,” I heard him say as the driver’s-­side window went up.

  Buddy popped out of the car. Slammed the door behind him.

  Now the sun painted streaks of yellow across the sky. In fact, the whole morning reminded me of that yolk Momma had eaten, the way she swirled it over her plate.

  Buddy slid up next to me.

  “I shaved,” he said.

  My mouth went dry.

  “That’s an odd thing to say,” I said. His skin did look smooth. For a moment I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and put my nose in his neck.

  “I knew someone who liked it when—”

  Nope. Didn’t want to hear about it. “I see.”

  We walked the rest of the way to school, quiet, his fingers brushing against mine every once in a while, making my heart thrum like the whirring of a hand mixer.

  33

  So high school.

  Tenth grade.

  Lots of kids.

  Too many fluorescent lights. Too many slamming lockers. Not enough privacy.

  Stinky people. Teeth too white. And no one with hair as big as mine. (Thank goodness most of it was tied into submission.)

  I didn’t have one class with Pearl because she went to the school on the other side of town (boo!). I didn’t see Vera or Julius, either. But this place crawled with people. All sizes. All colors. All temperaments.

  Gosh, I felt lonely. And in this crowd.

  “Rather be at home,” I said to myself as I sat in my first class, trying to get used to taking notes again. Tears blurred my eyes. I sniffed and waited for the hours to pass so I could get on home.

  When I hurried out of algebra, three people running into me with not so much as a pardon me, though, there stood Buddy.

  “Hey, Evie,” he said.

  The walls echoed with noise, but I couldn’t help but smile. “Hey.” I dabbed at my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “Walk you to your next class?”

  “Sure. Yes. Thank you.”

  Going down the hallway—the too-bright, too-loud, too-lonely hallway—with someone, I didn’t feel so neglected.

  A girl I didn’t know ran up to Buddy and threw herself into his arms. She kissed his face.

  “Kelly,” Buddy said, looking down at her. “Have a good summer?”

  “Yes.” She pouted at him. I noticed her hair was perfect, both calm and silky. “Didn’t see you, though.” She poked him in the chest. I couldn’t see any Bundt cake ingredients under her nails. Not that I had any. I’d showered, after all. Several times since the Bundt cake incident.

  “Busy,” Buddy said. He looked over at me.

  She did too. Then she raised her chin and faced him again.

  “A sophomore, Buddy?” she asked. Then, “See you after school.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  We hurried on. The second bell rang as we got to my classroom. The next one would be the late bell.

  “She isn’t anyone to me now,” Buddy said. “That girl. She was a rebound. You know?”

  “No.” I shrugged. I did feel a little steamed. “This sophomore doesn’t really care,” I said. But I did care.

  “I’ll walk you to your desk,” Buddy said. “Where you want to sit?”

  I pointed to a chair next to a window, three back to the left. Now, if I needed to, I could look out at the sky and the palm trees. If we opened a window, maybe the smell of magnolias would float through on a mellow breeze.

  Me and Buddy went across the room, winding between chairs. Until at last he said, “See ya, Evie. You know I can walk you to class anytime.”

  I settled my backpack on the floor next to my desk. When I looked up, Buddy had moved closer to me.

  Kissing in school?

  “Thank you,” I said, and stuck my hand out.

  He pulled back, gave me a solemn look, then shook my hand.

  “Hey, McKay!” A guy at the back of the room gallumped to where we stood. “I thought they kicked you outta school for good.”

  Buddy slapped hands with this guy, who wore basketball shorts and untied Nikes.

  “Finished my parole,” Buddy said. He turned to me. “Don’t tell your aunt I said that.”

  I sat down. “Okay.”

  Looked to the window.

  So. My love life with Buddy was over before it began. Parole wouldn’t sit well with anyone in my family.

  The teacher walked in just as Buddy and Nikes Guy bumped shoulders and slapped hands again. It was like watching a sitcom.

  A breeze moved the palm tree branches. Maybe a typhoon would hit and interrupt . . .

  The late bell rang and the teacher said, “All y’all take a seat.”

  Buddy leaned over me. “See ya later, Evie.” He left the room, running into two desks as he went out.

  Well, maybe the romance was back on. If I could forgive the rebound with the great hair.

  34

 
No baby snuggles.

  No eating in front of the television.

  No mixing and laughing and just being.

  No Messengers.

  35

  What about me?

  36

  Buddy met me at the end of school.

  I felt as worn out as an old rag used to scrub one of Aunt Odie’s six-burner gas ranges (she has two).

  “Rough day?” he said.

  “Long.” I let out a sigh.

  “Think you can make it all the way back home? It’s a good mile plus.” Buddy took my backpack from me and slung it over his shoulder. “Or I could ask Hall to drive us. He’s the guy in your class.”

  Which one? I could hardly remember the day. Too much stimulation.

  I shook my head no. I could feel the hair escaping from the braid. Even it was tired and wanted to be free. Who was it that came up with public schooling anyway? A momma with ten kids who needed free time?

  “I’ll get better as soon as we get away from here,” I said. “But I need to stop at a restroom.”

  “Sure.”

  All around us lockers slammed. The floor, clean when I arrived this morning, was gritty like everyone had come in from the beach. There were black scrape marks, and papers littered the tiles. A math book had fallen open to chapter 46 right near a class.

  Someone whistled far too loud just as I slipped into the bathroom. I would have taken a deep breath, out of plain exhaustion, but who wants to do that in a bathroom used by too many girls?

  As I washed my hands, Tommie stepped out of a stall.

  “Oh,” she said, sniffing. “It’s you.”

  I stared at her in the mirror. Her hair was smooth and as tired-looking as my hair felt.

  “Hello?” I said. Miss Tommie sure was acting high-and-mighty. “That’s what real Southern people say when they meet in the restroom.”

  “Whatever.”

  I dried off under the hot-air dryer and rolled my eyes. This was the girl who let herself into my bedroom and house, and she spoke to me like I had done something wrong. Sheesh.

  Tommie waved a hand under the automatic water spigot. Nothing happened. “I can never get this to work,” she said.

  Probably ’cause you’re acting ugly, I wanted to say, but Tommie sounded near to weeping, and seeing how I knew how I felt at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Even if she was a crybaby.

  I waved at the faucet, turning the water on for her.

  “Why are you mad at me?” I said.

  But Tommie didn’t answer. Just rubbed her palms together until the water turned off.

  She stepped up next to me, drying her hands with me.

  “I can’t talk about it, really,” she said. She looked me right in the eye.

  I almost gasped when I saw the pain there. I swallowed.

  Tommie swallowed too. Then she said, “I feel like you’re taking over my life.”

  And without another word she walked from the bathroom with three other girls, who had stared at me as though I was the weirdo.

  “What?” I said, but no one answered.

  37

  Buddy was just too good-looking for words.

  The high school was on the edge of town, and that meant walking down a few roads where there were no sidewalks, just bull anthills and palmetto bushes and lots of sand, too.

  “You tired yet, Evie?” he asked every few feet.

  “Naw,” I said. “I’m good.”

  Fresh air really did help. Sorta kept me from thinking about Tommie and classes and dumb homework (already!).

  The almost last of late August can be an okay time of year to take a hike down the road with a pretty boy, even if school preceded the event.

  Buddy carried my bag, talked about guys who are on the baseball team with him, and even said his favorite books were The Book Thief and Feed.

  “Those are awful different,” I said.

  “Both classics,” he said. “Anyway, reading’s good for you. Especially if you’re a guy.” He hesitated. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  “I won’t,” I said, slipping a little over the crush line.

  Not only was he nice. And a reader. But he was also a gentleman. A true Southerner. Something Momma said about JimDaddy, and how there didn’t seem to be men like this anymore. Buddy walked closest to the road, held my hand every time we started to cross a street, and insisted I walk in whatever shade there was.

  At last we arrived to his van.

  “Wanna keep walking, or should we get the AC cranked up?” he asked. The sun was frying-pan hot. Too bright. One car passed and then another. The air smelled of the ocean mixed with exhaust.

  “We can drive,” I said. “If you want.”

  Buddy drove me home, jumped out of his side of the car and ran to mine, threw open my door, and there, in broad daylight, kissed me. Right on the mouth.

  I forgot all about the humidity and a few other things I can’t remember.

  “I been thinking about that. . . .”

  “Yoo-hoo!” It was Aunt Odie, calling from down the street. “Bring that boy down here to talk to me again.” No answer from me or Buddy. “I see you two,” Aunt Odie hollered, like she needed information.

  Buddy kissed me again.

  I touched his face. His skin was hot. He tasted like Double­mint gum. Still smelled of soap.

  Watson Steinbeck, who lives in the brick house three places down from us, on the same side of the road as me and Aunt Odie, hollered out, “Well, Odie, that there is Buddy McKay.”

  “I know who it is,” Aunt Odie said. “I need to finish my interview with that young man.” Her voice sounded screechy.

  No, they both did.

  I expected Aunt Odie to drive her way down to us. Or maybe even walk to where we kissed. Whew! That would be a miracle. And frightening.

  I didn’t end my kiss just ’cause of that, though. And neither did Buddy. We had another three good smooches.

  “Oh, Evie,” Buddy said, when he finally pulled away. Then, “We better get down to see what Miss Odie wants. She’s gonna tan my hide if we don’t.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t talk. Just touch my lips with my fingertips.

  We walked down the street, Buddy saying the whole way, “Sure wish you would let me hold your hand.”

  And me not allowing it because I knew how strong Aunt Odie is. Haven’t I seen her working a rolling pin?

  “I’d be a whole lot less nervous,” Buddy said, leaning over me.

  When I looked up at him, the sun winked at me and I was blind for a moment.

  You are taking over my life. That Tommie. That Tommie. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  What was she doing in my thoughts right now?

  Five hundred feet away I saw that Aunt Odie had her arms folded across her bosom. She wore an apron (she almost always does), which she flapped as we got closer. Flour rose in the air around her, and I wondered if maybe, maybe she’d disappear.

  She didn’t.

  “Hello there, young man,” Aunt Odie said. She nodded at me. “Evie.” Then she stepped out to meet us, letting the door to her screened-in porch slam shut behind her. Aunt Odie reached for Buddy’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Buddy.”

  She smelled like cloves.

  Buddy grabbed for me as he reached for Aunt Odie, and I dodged him. No way would I seal his fate.

  Not till I had kissed him another few times. Was that selfish?

  “Feel like staying for an afternoon snack, young man?”

  I saw the words roll through Buddy’s head.

  More interrogation.

  Something delicious to eat.

  Buddy walked up the steps. Aunt Odie opened the door wide, where the smell of cloves and cinnamon seemed like a comforter and
maybe, maybe we were lured into her house against our will, like children in a fairy tale.

  38

  We ate raspberry beignets drowned in a vanilla sauce sweet enough to set your teeth on edge. Aunt Odie poured us each two glasses of milk that were so cold I coughed.

  Then the timer went off and Aunt Odie brought in plates piled high with . . .

  “What is this?” I asked as she handed me a fork and my dish.

  “I’m planning on expanding from dry ingredient products that might use eggs, butter, and water.” My aunt raised an eyebrow at me. “Thinking of expanding into the freezer section.”

  I blinked. “You kidding me?”

  Aunt Odie smiled. “Didn’t sleep so good last night,” she said. She settled in her chair.

  A ghostly appearance of another recipe! Well, well, well.

  “This one has chicken and veggies added. What do you two think?”

  Buddy gave Aunt Odie a thumbs-up, and we ate till I thought I might pop. It was so tasty I almost forgot about kissing the cutest boy in the neighborhood. Maybe the cutest boy in the school.

  I said I almost forgot.

  39

  Tommie was in my room when I got home.

  “Look,” she said, when I threw my backpack on the bed. She came at me from behind my open door, surprising me. “We gotta talk.”

  I clutched at my chest.

  Swallowed a scream.

  My heart hammered at my ribs, knocking to get free. “Does my momma know you’re in here?” I asked. “Did she let you in?”

  “I told you,” Tommie said, and she settled on the bed, making herself comfortable. “I told you the back latch can be jiggled this way and that and I can get in here on my own.”

  I shut the bedroom door so Momma, who was putting Baby Lucy down for a nap, wouldn’t hear me. “You can’t do that.”

  “It’s easy,” Tommie said.

  “No,” I said. My blood was just-like-that at full boil. “It’s wrong. Against the law.”

  “How do you figure?” Tommie’s hair was not mussed at all. I patted at my own head, felt the tangles and craziness, then dropped my hand.