Kizzy Ann Stamps by Jeri Watts Read Free Book Online

games, while the varsity hasn’t
won
any, the paper is just not mentioning the JV team at all.” He started pulling hard on Sassy’s teats, and she started bawling. He turned to look at me and said, “You stupid or something?”
    “But you said a lot of people, like Preacher Moore and even the Right Reverend Stanbridge, have gone to the paper to complain.”
    “So what?” James said. “The editor says he prints what he wants. And he doesn’t want stories about any black kids. There won’t be stories about me or anybody else on the JV team, not this week or any other week. There is no JV team as far as the
News and
Daily Advance
is concerned. There is
no
black football team. It is a white world.” He looked at me, looked hard. “You listen to ’em tomorrow — do like I told you before, just drift on close and listen up. They won’t notice you because they don’t really care about you, and you’ll find out what they really want. It’s not being your friend, I’ll bet you that, you little idiot.” He tapped me on the back of my leg with his boot and pulled harder on Sassy’s udder. She stomped her hooves, and Shag danced out of the way.
    I listened to my brother, Miss Anderson. I looked back through my writing. My entries are filled with my fears, my doubts, my worries about how I’ll be treated, how I’m different from the kids in your school. One day — one day where those kids play nice with Shag — and I had let myself believe everything is nice! I spent time thinking all kinds of thoughts about friendship surrounding us here in Bedford County and color not mattering when folks realize people are people, but then I was left wondering if James was right and I was wrong.
    I got the truth today.
    I eased my way near Laura and her friends, being careful not to put my interest out there for them to close the door on. I know that sometimes black folks are invisible to people like Laura Westover, and I was invisible to them today — today I was just listening. Because even though I kept telling myself good things all weekend, James’s voice kept saying it wasn’t right.
    Dog shows. That’s what they’re interested in. Dog shows. Not getting to know me. Not getting to be friends.
    You probably think that’s bad, me listening. Granny Bits says eavesdroppers are no good, that what they’re sneaking to hear will come back to bite them deep and hard. I was bothered by what they were saying, but I knew I would be even more bothered not to know.
    And it wasn’t right, that ideal notion of friendship and people being people.
    As for Laura Westover, well, like I said, dog shows are what she and the others care about. It seems Laura’s family has a prize boxer that just won second place in a dog show up in Richmond a while back. Her daddy showed him, whatever that means. I don’t know much about dog shows, to tell the truth. They were talking about judging and conformation and I don’t know what all. Guess I’ll ask Mama to take me to Miss Anne Spencer’s library soon as possible.
    I feel worse than I did on the first day of school, somehow. I was nervous before. I expected white folks to make it hard. But this is worse, Miss Anderson. I made a mistake and let down my guard. I let them in, and now I feel a fool. In just a manner of days, it seems like I’ve gone from careful to happy to stupid, and I don’t like being that. Not one bit.
    I reckon it’s because I’m sensitive to all of this — it seemed all special, I admit, folks liking my dog the way I like her. I got really excited. But this just hurts, Miss Anderson. And when I get hurt, I get hard. Granny Bits says it is the wrong way to get, but I can feel myself doing it all the same.
    It’s important to know what people who are against you are saying. And whether you or Mrs. Warren or my parents like it or not, being at a school together doesn’t change things. Those white kids aren’t my friends. I know it. Folks may be pretending to offer