Genesis Begins Again: Chapters 1–6

Regina beelines toward a cluster of furniture that had clearly been in my bedroom.

Regina glowers back, maybe waiting for her to leave so they can pummel the living daylights out of me.

And the third time we got evicted—five months ago—we stayed in Dad’s friend’s basement.

But after the second time, Mama griped: “Who’s drinking up all the milk? Ain’t nobody that thirsty!”

“Sometimes I think you only married him to spite me—”

“Dear Father God, thank you for this breakfast of fine oats and the water to boil them. Thank you for the sugar to sweeten them, the cows that made the milk, and the farmer that churns the milk to make the butter. And finally, bless Grandma for preparing it. Amen.”

“And, my cough tonic. It helps with my bronchitis. You know, lemons are God’s healing food.”

I’m wishing the lemons suddenly did their magic and Dad’ll rave about how pretty I’ve gotten since Thursday.

Dad curls his fingers in Mama’s hair and croons the guy part of the song.

Dad suddenly swerves around a pothole, but hits another one instead. “Gon’ knock my wheels outta alignment again!”

Forty-five minutes later, dead brown grass, overgrown foliage, and litter-lined streets are replaced by perfectly manicured lawns, sun-sheltering trees, and green recycle bins.

A million diamonds dangle from it; I’m not bragging, but if we had company, we could sit under it drinking swanky tea, holding our pinkies in the air.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, we must stock Grey Poupon,” he says snootily.

The house is stuffy like it’s been shut up for a while, so Mama’s opening all the windows.

But just when I think she’s done, Mama continues, “Monday I’ll have to get a copy of your latest school transcript and request a transfer.”

For another hour, we do a bit more cleaning, distracting ourselves from speculating where he might be.

“I’ve tried to help you. For the last five years! I thought if I could just love you enough, then you could kick it. But you need help, help I can’t give you.” Mama now sounds real stern.

She looks around warily. She, too, notices the newness, the foreignness of this place.

It seems like forty kids shuffle past before I finally find some kids who look like me. I smile. They look at me weird.
So much for solidarity.

I can’t be sure who, but I glance over in time to see the smug look on the face of a red-haired girl.

Ms. Luctenburg makes him stop and start about five more times, urging him to speak up and articulate for the sake of public speaking.

She strides over to the half-court line and blows her whistle as the last few girls straggle out from the locker room.

“Inside joke,” Troy says dismissively. “Anyway, what’s your next class?”

I venture a little farther into the room.

“Take a few minutes to warm up your voices, and then sing ‘The Drinking Gourd’ three times in its entirety. Let’s go, sopranos, altos, tenors....”

“Take a few minutes to warm up your voices, and then sing ‘The Drinking Gourd’ three times in its entirety. Let’s go, sopranos, altos, tenors....”

“Let me guess. You’re like slow jazz from Miles Davis. Observant, endearing, yet complex.” She points to a poster of a man blowing real hard on a horn. “Have you heard of him?”

“Jason, I need you to enunciate, please,” she suddenly calls out.

Having people gawk and talk about me every time I start a new school is bad enough, but singing in front of everybody?

I drape the shirt over my head, pull it back into a ponytail, and tie it with a ribbon. It sways to the right and left, cascading down my back just like Rihanna’s.

He discreetly lays the assessment facedown on my desk.

“Before you start groaning and moaning, my friends, let me explain. Math is like a chess game, or...or a puzzle. Even the Rubik’s Cube can be solved by using algorithms.”

“But that’s not fair,” another girl protests. “It’s freezing out there!”
“Life’s not fair,” answers Coach. “And yes, it’s a little brisk. Just remember to pace yourselves. Don’t want you on the sidelines upchucking.”

While the boys grab mats, we girls grudgingly follow Coach Singletary.

Just as Coach is about to have a conniption, she stands up and says, “You know what’s the worst?”