Someone to Love Me Page 3

  “I can’t stand the sight of him ever since I found out what he did to you,” said Amberlynn, rolling her eyes disgustedly. “I see the way he sweet-talks girls in front of their lockers all the time, like he’s so smooth. ”

  “Well, he is smooth all right, I’ll give him that,” Jamee said. “But if they knew what I know, they’d stay far away from him. ”

  “He looks different. I hardly recognize him,” Cindy said, pretending not to notice him. Bobby continued to stare at her, and Cindy wasn’t sure, but it looked as if he was smiling.

  Amberlynn chuckled. “You been away from school so much, I’m surprised you remember what Bluford looks like. But all that’s gonna change now that you’re a big newspaper artist, right?”

  “That’s right, Amberlynn,” Cindy said, laughing. “Soon you’ll have to call my secretary if you want to see me. ” Cindy enjoyed the idea that at last she had something in her life that other people thought was cool. She wondered what her mother would say when she told her the news. She hoped Mom would be excited. Maybe, for once, she’d be proud. Maybe she would even skip a night with Raffie to spend time at home.

  After school, Cindy went to Ms. Abbott’s classroom. She was a pretty, dark-skinned woman who taught English and speech. She was also the advisor for the Bluford Bugler. Cindy liked her immediately because she seemed warm and enthusiastic.

  “Remember, Cindy, you’re on the newspaper staff now. Don’t let me down,” she said.

  “No way, Ms. Abbott. I’m really excited about this,” Cindy responded. “I wouldn’t do anything to mess it up. ”

  Ms. Abbott and Cindy discussed several ideas for upcoming issues of the paper. “Your first assignment,” Ms. Abbott said, “is to draft a sketch to accompany an article on the cafeteria food. ” Cindy had ideas for the cartoon immediately, and she shared them with Ms. Abbott.

  “They sound great! I can’t wait to see what you come up with. ” Ms. Abbott smiled. “I can see why Mr. Mitchell recommended you. ”

  Cindy was beaming when she left Ms. Abbott. School had been over for nearly a half hour, so most students had cleared out, except for those involved in after-school activities. As Cindy rounded the corner of a long corridor, she bumped into a student coming from the opposite direction. It was Pedro Ortiz, a six-foot-tall senior that everyone recognized. Even when she was in middle school, Cindy had heard many rumors that he was involved with gangs.

  “Watch where you walkin’, girl,” he said as she bounced off his wide chest.

  “Sorry,” Cindy replied, turning away quickly. She did not know him at all, but something about him gave her the creeps. He seemed to lurk around Bluford, rarely speaking to anybody. She wondered what he was doing hanging around so late after school.

  Cindy rushed outside to get away from Pedro. As she reached the Bluford parking lot, she heard a horn honking. She looked up to see a red Nissan not far away. Behind the wheel was Bobby Wallace. “Hey, baby, want a ride home?” he shouted.

  Cindy looked around. Surely he wasn’t talking to her! Guys didn’t talk to her that way. No one other than Mom had ever called her “baby” before. She started to walk home, but then the horn sounded again. “Your name is Cindy, right?” Bobby asked.

  “Yeah,” Cindy said warily, remembering how Bobby had hit Jamee. Cindy did not trust any guy who could hit his girlfriend. “I think I’ll walk home, thanks. ”

  “You mean to tell me that you’d rather walk than ride?” Bobby said with a sly smile.

  “I’d rather walk than ride with you,” Cindy replied, picking up her pace.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Bobby Wallace, I ain’t new at this school,” Cindy retorted. “I know about what happened with you and Jamee Wills last year. ”

  Bobby parked his car and jumped out. “Hey, Cindy, I know where you’re comin’ from, and I don’t blame you for wantin’ nothin’ to do with me. Jamee Wills has been dissin’ me, but what she says ain’t necessarily so, Cindy. We were both messed up last year. Me and Jamee both were doin’ some crazy stuff. She’s movin’ on now, and so am I. Give a brotha a chance. ”

  “Why should I?” Cindy asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Why should I give you a chance?”

  “Because I want to get to know you better,” Bobby replied, sounding sincere. “And I think you want to get to know me better, too. Just give me a chance. ”

  Cindy hesitated. Bobby was very handsome, with dark eyes and broad shoulders. Cindy was flattered by his attention. “Come on,” he urged.

  Cindy was torn. She knew her friends would disapprove if she went with him, but they had all taken rides with boys before. No boy had ever talked to her like Bobby did. And he seemed so sincere. “I guess it’d be okay to ride home with you,” Cindy said. “But you have to take me straight home. ”

  “Deal,” said Bobby. He smiled as they walked to his Nissan. And as they got into the car, he said with a wink, “You are looking good, girl. ”

  Cindy blushed, embarrassed by his attention. She was glad she was wearing the blue-ribbed tank top and close-fitting jeans. She smiled back at him, her heart pounding with excitement.

  “I was real tight with Jamee last year, real tight,” Bobby said. “She was old for her age. I mean, she didn’t act like no middle schooler. She had a grudge against the world, and she was out to prove something. Well, we did drugs, both of us, and they messed with my mind real bad. Yeah, I got rough with her, but it was the drugs doin’ the violence, Cindy. I swear it was the drugs, and now I’m clean. I ain’t no fool. I wouldn’t mess with no drugs again for no reason, and I wouldn’t hit no girl. Never,” Bobby said solemnly, pulling out of the school lot.

  “She was really crazy about you, Bobby,” Cindy said. “She cut out pictures of you playing football. She even made a scrapbook just to look at you when you weren’t there. ”

  “Well, I don’t know about that, but I do know that she was crazy,” Bobby said. “She was into shoplifting, and she ran away from home. Like I said, I give her credit for movin’ on now. I give her a lot of credit for that. ”

  Cindy enjoyed listening to Bobby. He seemed friendly and respectful, nothing like the violent person Jamee had described. She felt flattered to be with him, riding in his car.

  Bobby pulled up in front of Scoops, an ice cream shop not far from Cindy’s apartment. “Whatever you want, it’s yours,” Bobby said, reaching over and running his hand along Cindy’s cheek. She was speechless. “I know you said straight home, but you ain’t gonna stop a brotha from buyin’ you some ice cream, are you?”

  “Well . . . okay,” Cindy said, smiling. His hand seemed strong but gentle. It was impossible to imagine him ever being violent. Cindy believed what he said. The drugs had made him a dangerous person, but he was different now.

  “You just gotta try this mint cookie swirl,” Bobby said. “I’ll order us both one. ”

  “Okay,” Cindy said, going along with his suggestion.

  Sitting in Bobby’s car, Cindy felt touched by magic. She had not felt that way since she was five and played a fairy princess at a school play, wearing a sparkling tiara and silver slippers.

  “This is really good,” Cindy said, tasting the ice cream.

  “What’d I tell you? I know all the cool spots. If you trust me, Cindy, we can have a real good time together. ”

  As soon as they finished eating, Bobby dropped Cindy off at her apartment, and she went running up the stairs to bring her mother the good news. What a day it had been! Cindy could hardly believe all she would have missed if she had not gone to school. In one day, she had become a cartoonist for the school newspaper, and she had a handsome boy show interest in her. For once, she had something that might make her mother proud. She burst into the apartment eager to share the day’s news.

  “Mom,” Cindy yelled as she pushed open the door. “I’m gonna be drawing cartoons for the school newspaper, and some guy . . . Mom?”

  Her mother usually called to Cin
dy that she was in the kitchen or in the bedroom, but there was only silence now. It was 4:00. Mom was always home by 3:30 on Fridays.

  “The laundry room,” Cindy said to herself, snapping her fingers. She remembered that Mom always did laundry on Fridays after she got home from work. Cindy raced downstairs, yelling “Mom” as she approached the laundry room. But when she got there, the only person she saw was Harold, feeding change into one of the machines.

  “Oh . . . hi,” Cindy said, disappointed. “I was looking for my mom. ”

  Harold looked shy and uncomfortable. In class when a teacher called on him, he often looked frightened. Cindy had never known someone who seemed more shy.

  “I been down here for a half hour, and I haven’t seen her,” Harold said softly, not looking at Cindy when he talked.

  “Are you sure?” Cindy asked.

  “Yeah, I know your mom. She looks like you. She hasn’t been down here since I got home from school,” Harold said.

  “Thanks,” Cindy said bleakly. Heading back to the apartment, Cindy figured her mother must have gone to the store. She could not wait for her to return so she could tell her everything. Cindy decided to feed Theo and Cleo while she waited. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed a note taped to the refrigerator door. Cindy instantly recognized her mother’s fancy handwriting. It read:

  Cindy,

  Raffie won a free trip for two to Vegas and he just sprung it on me today. We had to leave right away. I’ll be home Sunday morning. Plenty of TV dinners in the fridge. Baby, I think my man is gonna pop the question! Wish me luck!

  Love and kisses,

  Mom

  Cindy stared at the note, disbelief and rage building within her.

  “No!” she yelled aloud, yanking the piece of paper off the refrigerator. Mom never did anything like this before, she thought, crumpling the note. How could she do this? There had been some all-nighters where her mother snuck back in at dawn. But a whole weekend? Never. Cindy quickly grabbed a can of cat food and divided its contents between the two bowls on the floor. Then she sank into the recliner, her spirits crumbling.

  “I can’t believe she did this, Theo,” Cindy said. The cat started eating, and Cindy’s words were drowned by the silence of the apartment. All the exciting news she wanted to tell her mother instantly faded, leaving an aching emptiness in its place. She had to spend two more days alone in the dismal apartment. She would go to bed and wake up with nobody to even share cold cereal with, and the same would happen the next day. The silence in the apartment seemed to grow louder with each moment.

  “Moommm,” Cindy moaned, “how come you don’t care about me?” Hot tears welled in her eyes. “How come you don’t love me?” Suddenly the doorbell rang. Cindy quickly wiped her eyes and walked to the front door, peering through the tiny glass peephole to see who was there. Rose Davis was standing in the hallway.

  “It’s me, honey,” Rose said. Cindy opened the door and tried her best to smile.

  “I hate to be bothering you, but that grandson of mine is giving me fits. You have that Mr. Mitchell for English class like he does, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Cindy answered leadenly, hoping Mrs. Davis would not know she had been crying.

  “Well, Harold says that Mr. Mitchell is asking you to write one hundred pages for that report, and that don’t make no sense to me. What high school student would need to write a hundred pages? Will you come explain the assignment to Harold?” Mrs. Davis asked.

  “Okay,” Cindy said. “I’ll get my binder where I wrote down everything about the project. ”

  Cindy got her binder and followed Mrs. Davis to her apartment. It looked a lot shabbier inside than her own place. The furniture was old and beat-up. But a delicious smell was coming from the kitchen.

  “Gramma,” Harold complained softly when he saw Cindy. “What’d you bother her for?”

  “Well, child, ain’t you been going on and on about the teacher wanting a hundred pages? Goodness sakes, I needed to get at the truth,” Mrs. Davis said.

  “Mr. Mitchell said our paper has to be ten pages but that we gotta read a book at least a hundred pages long,” Cindy explained.

  “Oh,” Harold said. He did not look at Cindy. He stared at the paper in front of him as though he was trying to make a hole in it with his gaze.

  “Cindy, honey, Harold told me you were looking for your momma. I saw her rushing outta here like the whole building was on fire. If she don’t have time to make dinner, why don’t you and her come and join us for dinner tonight? I’m cooking a whole mess of Cajun pork chops and mashed potatoes,” Mrs. Davis said.

  “My mom . . . she’s gone . . . uh, I mean she’s working late,” Cindy replied, ashamed to admit her mother had run off to Vegas with her boyfriend. She especially did not want to tell that to Mrs. Davis, who sang in the church choir every Sunday.

  “Well, then, it’s settled,” Mrs. Davis said with a big grin that plumped out her cheeks. “You’re gonna eat with us tonight. Harold, go set an extra plate at the table. ”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” Cindy said. She was grateful for the invitation, not only because of the heavenly smells of pork chops, but mostly because she would not be eating a TV dinner by herself. “That’s real nice of you,” she added.

  Mrs. Davis smiled. “Sit down and make yourself at home,” she said. “If you want anything, ask Harold and he’ll get it for you. I’m gonna finish dinner. ” Mrs. Davis turned and moved towards the stove.

  Cindy walked over to the small kitchen table where Harold was setting a third place. He worked with his head down, as if his chin was stuck to the top of his chest.

  Despite being in the Davises’ warm apartment, Cindy couldn’t stop thinking of her mother and the two lonely days ahead of her. She wondered if Mom even missed her. Probably not, she concluded.

  Pushing back thoughts of her mother, she sat down and looked over at Harold. He was sitting across from her in complete silence.

  Chapter 4

  “Harold, who do you hang around with at school?” Cindy asked, trying to break the tension. Except in classes, she rarely saw Harold at Bluford.

  “Hang around with?” Harold responded, staring at the table. “Nobody, I guess. I hang by myself mostly. ”

  “How come?” Cindy asked.

  Harold shrugged. “Guess I just haven’t found the right people. ”

  “I know what you mean,” Cindy said. With the exception of Jamee and Amberlynn, Cindy did not hang out with anyone else. Again, the uncomfortable silence descended. Cindy tried to think of something to ask Harold, when he suddenly spoke up.

  “Have you been sick?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in school as much, and I was wondering if you’re okay. ”

  “I’m fine,” Cindy said, surprised that he noticed her absences. “I was sick for a few days, but I’m better now,” Cindy lied. She did not want to tell Harold her problems, especially not with Mrs. Davis so close by.

  Harold smiled. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “Feeling better, I mean. ”

  Just then Mrs. Davis carried over a large plate of pork chops and an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes. “All right, I don’t want anyone leavin’ this table hungry,” she said, filling Cindy’s plate. It had been years since Cindy had eaten such wonderful homemade food.

  As they ate, Cindy spoke about her new job drawing cartoons for the Bluford Bugler.

  “Well, ain’t that amazing! You draw pictures that make folks laugh! Child, that’s a gift, a real gift,” Mrs. Davis cried.

  Harold was shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Uhmmm-mmm,” he said.

  “It’s just a high school paper,” Cindy explained, “but it’s kinda fun. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done that’s, you know, special. In middle school this one teacher saw me sketching a cartoon, and when he saw it he laughed, he really laughed. ”

  “You have got to show me your drawings, Cindy. I love to laugh,” Mrs. Davis said.
“First thing I do when the paper comes is look at the cartoons. The front of the paper is so full of bad news . . . people gettin’ shot, crime and drugs all over the place. Lord, we need some laughter in our lives. ”

  “I put my cartoons from middle school in a scrapbook, Mrs. Davis. I’ll show it to you one day,” Cindy promised.

  After dinner, Mrs. Davis embraced Cindy warmly. “I’m so glad you came over tonight,” Mrs. Davis said. Being hugged by the old woman was like being wrapped in a favorite warm blanket. It seemed like years since her mother had given her such a hug.

  As Cindy walked back to her dark apartment, her frustration with Mom returned. A mother ought to love her child more than her boyfriend, Cindy thought, especially if her boyfriend is a dog like Raffie Whitaker.

  Cindy wondered what she would do if Mom came home with an engagement ring. She liked the idea of running away. She could just jump on a bus and get as far from Raffie as possible. Then maybe her mother would feel guilty and miss her. But what if Mom let her run away and never bothered to find her? That was the scariest thought of all.

  Sitting in the quiet living room, Cindy noticed how different her apartment was from Harold’s. Where the Davis living room was warmly lit and comfortable, hers seemed stark and barren. And Mrs. Davis’s kitchen—neatly crowded with hanging pots and filled with the aroma of countless homemade meals—was nothing like Cindy’s, a spartan room used mainly to heat TV dinners.

  Recently, Mom had mentioned the need to decorate the apartment, but Cindy just rolled her eyes at the suggestion. She suspected the reason Mom even cared was because of Raffie. A few months ago he bought a gift for the apartment, a hideous clown sculpture that now stood on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Raffie said this gives the room character,” Mom said proudly as she positioned the sculpture on the table. Cindy thought it looked like something picked up for two dollars at a yard sale, but Mom treated it like a priceless object.