Jumped by Rita Williams-Garcia Read Free Book Online

caught it at the wrong angle at the wrong time so it looked like something it wasn’t.”
    Â 
    Now, if Bea went for that, why’s she so sure I saw what I thought I saw? I could have been wrong. I could have been seeing it from the wrong angle. Just because Dominique looked like she was going to kick Trina’s ass doesn’t mean that’s exactly what I saw. And this is my point. Why would I get involved in Trina’s life when I don’t know for sure if I saw what I thought I saw? Who is to say that Dominique doesn’t mean something else? Who is to say I wasn’t seeing it from the wrong angle?

10
Think Cold War Russia
DOMINIQUE
    â€œC OME ALIVE , CLASS . C OME ALIVE .”
    Delmonico’s funny, man. Flapping his arms like a duck or a chicken.
    â€œCold War, remember? You read about it last night. Come on, folks. Get with it.”
    The class draws a collective blank. That doesn’t stop Delmonico. Those arms are flapping. If we believed he could fly we’d start talking about the Cold War.
    â€œJust because they fought a common foe doesn’t mean—” He scopes the room for a hand. “What?” Still scoping. “What?”
    I get it but I don’t answer. I don’t volunteer. My hands stay in my lap and I lean back in my chair. Getting it is enough. Enough for the surprise quiz. It’s never a surprise. Delmonico flips that comb-over, winks, and says, “Studyextrahard tonight.”
    He’s desperate. Throw me a rope. Anybody. Anything . Eyebrows on both sides of his head slant upward like praying hands.
    I couldn’t be him. Poor bastard. Beg when no one wants to be bothered. But that’s his job. Give a damn when we don’t. When we won’t show it. Keep coming up with the lesson, the plays. Keep talking it, writing it, quizzing it. And he does. Got to give it to him, poor bastard. He shows up. Suited. Ready. This is his game. His minutes. It’s gotta suck when you’re the only one ready on game day.
    So I call out, “Trust. It doesn’t mean they trust each other.”
    Delmonico’s so grateful for the full chest pass. “You’re on it, ’Nique,” he says, and he’s crazy excited. “You’re right on it.”
    Imagine this is your game. This is what you live for. He’s got the ball and now he wants to pass it. He’s looking out at the players. Who has the hot hand? Who’s open?
    â€œCome on, people. Come on. Why don’t they trust each other?”
    And there’s no one to pass it to. He’s dribbling, dribbling, keeping one eye on the ball.
    â€œLucia.”
    Lucia sucks her tongue in her mouth. A hard you-make-me-sick suck.
    â€œYou’re marrying Omar this Saturday,” Delmonico says.
    This has nowhere to go. Nowhere to go but silly. The guys all woof like big dogs to say Omar’s a lucky dude. Lucia says she’ll kill herself first. But look at her. She’s soaking it up.
    The ball’s about to drop out of Delmonico’s hands. He’s about to lose control but he pushes through. Like he doesn’t hear her begging him to choose a different guy to marry. He raises his voice, talking over her whining. “Your mother meets his mother to plan the wedding but it doesn’t go well. They can’t agree on anything.”
    She says of course they can’t agree. Her mother doesn’t speak whatever Omar’s mother speaks.
    â€œExactly! So how do they communicate?”
    â€œInterpreters.”
    â€œTelepathy.”
    â€œSmoke signals.”
    â€œThey IM each other.”
    â€œAnd send text messages.”
    â€œWedding’s off.”
    Delmonico doesn’t care how stupid it gets in here. As long as we’re with him. He can deal with stupid. He pushes through it.
    â€œLet’s go back to what Dominique said.” He winks my way. “Why don’t they trust each other to make the right plans