Jumped by Rita Williams-Garcia Read Free Book Online Page A

for the wedding?” Blanks all around. “Come on, folks. Look alive. Same reason why Lucia’s mother and Omar’s mother can’t agree.”
    I get it. I get Russia. I feed him another. “They don’t speak the same language, so they don’t understand each other.”
    He, like, has it near the basket and wants to sink two easy.
    â€œChances are, they have what in common?” He pivots. Anyone? Anyone?
    Another player steps up from the bench. “Nothing.”
    â€œBingo! They have what in common? They have nothing in common.” Delmonico’s wild for that one little “nothing.” He’s excited and has too much head action. That comb-over’s flipping like crazy. He’s writing out the players and the plays. Three Os and one giant X. The thirty-second clock is winding down and he can run away with this. “Now let’s look at the USSR, the U.S., France, and England. Starting with economies. How are they different?”
    More players step up from the bench. Delmonico’s hearing the crowd go wild for the buzzer beater. He’s teaching his teacher heart out. He’s funny as hell to watch but I get it. He just wants to play his full game.
    â€œAnd if we’re in class in Cold War Russia, what are you studying? Here’s a hint: it isn’t Shakespeare and it isn’t Music Appreciation. Come on, people. Think Cold War Russia.” And he’s winking on “War.”
    Then that simple flit Lucia says, “You mean that’s it? No more wedding?”
    Omar tells her it’s okay. Don’t cry. He still wants her. Lucia’s mouth is full of sucking sounds and “You wishes.”
    I don’t bother to throw her a look. She irritates me. Yeah. She’s an irritant. Irritating simple flit.
    Not everyone is meant to get along. Not everyone should be in each other’s faces. Fenster doesn’t say that in SI but it should be up there on her list. I don’t have nothing in common with girls like Lucia. Girls like that. It’s all an act: Pick me but don’t pick me. Get away from me but come here . A bitch should be clear, you know. She should say what she means and mean what she says.
    I’m clear.
    I’m not confused.
    I don’t act.
    I don’t play cute.
    I know what I want.
    I have my priorities. My rules.
    You can trust me to mean what I say, do what I say.
    I don’t give off crossed signals. No smoke signals.
    I don’t make confusion. I keep it clear.

11
Honking Like a Goose
LETICIA
    â€œN O, NO , L ETEESEEYA . Do not pronounce the s .
    â€œNo, no, Leteeseeya. Do not pronounce the t .
    â€œNo, no, Leteeseeya. Say aun , aun , aun . Feel it! Way back in the throat and out of the nose. Not anh . Aun!
    â€œRepeat after me, Leteeseeya: aun , aun , aun .”
    I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Madame LeCoeur has me honking like a goose in the middle of this classroom.
    â€œThese vowels are too hard, Madame LeCoeur.”
    She scrunches her nose, hating the way I say her name.
    â€œLeCoeur. Oer , like cour age. Not like liquor store.”
    â€œOkay,” I say. “Then I want Leticia, like Leticia, not like Leteeseeya. That’s three syllables—like, one, two, three—so we’re even.”
    I was hoping that was enough for her to be fed up and transfer me out of her class. Instead she goes back to the vowels and says, “We use everything for the French language: lungs, nose, lips, tongue, teeth, throat. Everything. You have to feel this deep, Leteeseeya. You have to work hard for this. Again. Aun , aun , aun .”
    Her bony hands are on my throat and I can’t believe this is happening. Minimum effort doesn’t work with Madame LeCoeur. Giving my one answer turns into another episode of “No, no, Leteeseeya.” Madame LeCoeur is supposed to say, “ Merci , Mademoiselle Leteeseeya. Sit back and take notes, Mademoiselle