At-Risk by Amina Gautier Read Free Book Online Page B

into the rented hall as the ladies called her name. She would leave her father momentarily as she went forward to accept her certificate; then she would return to him and take his arm as he led her to her seat. Each girl but me. I felt sick, imagining how freakish I would look that day, all dressed up with no escort. Instead of a father, I had only the barest description.
    â€œWhat will our mothers do? Do they have a special role?” the girl with the bad skin asked.
    Miss Diane smiled as if it pained her and said, “Your mothers will be there to support and encourage. That’s an important enough role for them.”
    Another girl asked, “What if mine can’t make it? She works weekends.”
    This time the leader’s smile was genuine. “Then we’ll just have to make do.”
    Fathers, or male figures, were required. Mothers were optional.
    The girl with the bad skin looked at me, eyebrows raised. Neither of us was surprised. The Zeta Alpha Deltas had not been subtle in the least way about their desire to wean us from the women theydidn’t want us to become. They kept encouraging us to look beyond our immediate circle, to expand our definition of role model to include women who had made real contributions to the world at large. Women such as themselves.
    â€œAre there are any more questions?” Miss Diane asked.
    The girl on my left raised her hand. “Yeah. Why do you all wear blue and red all of the time?”
    Miss Diane flushed with pride. She was dressed in a blue pantsuit with a red silk scarf knotted at her throat. “That’s a good question, but I can’t tell you the answer.”
    â€œHow come?” she asked.
    â€œBecause only Zeta Alpha Deltas know the answer. These colors are symbolic to our sorority. Perhaps one day, when you’re older, you’ll join our organization.
Then
you can learn what the colors are all about.”
    The official invitation arrived a week later. My mother was in the kitchen making fried fish and festival when I dropped the stack of mail on the table.
    After she read the invitation, she got on the phone and called the mothers of some of my girlfriends. Nine of the original twenty-two girls had dropped the program, and my mother now called their mothers to gloat. She didn’t come right out and say that she had told them so. Instead, she predicted great things for me, of which this tea was only the first. The Zeta Alpha Deltas would take me under their wings and give me a scholarship when it was time to go to college. Once I got to college, I would pledge their sorority and be connected to all the right people for the rest of my life. Doors would open for me left and right. All because I gave them a few of my Saturdays and was willing to drink tea.
    When my mother got off the phone, she announced, “You’ll need a dress.”
    â€œLeave me the money, and I’ll go down to Pitkin Avenue and get one,” I said. I’d been picking out my clothes for the last year because she was usually too busy to go with me.
    She shook her head. “Not a dress from there. It has to be A&S or Macy’s.”
    â€œOkay.” I shrugged. “I’ll go downtown then.”
    â€œI’m going to go with you,” she said, surprising me.
    We took the three train downtown on a Sunday afternoon. Once inside A&S my mother passed by the Juniors section and took me straight to the dresses in Misses.
    She scrutinized rack upon rack of formal gowns. All the dresses were meant for evening wear and looked expensive and uncomfortable. My mother didn’t let me select any dresses, nor did she ask my preference on my choice for style, color, or length. She made her decisions silently, rubbing her thumb across one dress’s material only to frown and hang it back up. She pulled dresses off their racks and held them up against the side of my body—long dresses with satin tops and velvet skirts, sequined