Chapter 11
There was more to be done in that abandoned classroom—our sanctuary, where Jay, Zihan, and I had formed our trio.
No more wallowing! With the help of my friends, I’d hatch a plan to fight back against Charlie’s hatred and Artie’s gossip
column. But first, we had to shape our hideaway into something that was ours.
Jay and I worked together on it, mostly. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long when I witnessed his desire to help me in my
plight. He was determined to make our secret room more comfortable, so when we found a torn-up leather loveseat by the dumpster
out back of the White House dorm, we hauled it inside. The cushions sagged and the fabric had seen better days, but it made
the place ours!
Jay wiped his hands on his pants and took a step back to inspect our furniture. “Better than sitting at a desk, right?”
He took it upon himself to smuggle snacks for us too. A bag of donuts made its way from the White House all the way to our hideaway. He’d also grabbed a couple of dumbbells from the recreation center gym.
He said, “Now we’ve got somewhere to relax, and we can get strong!”
I glanced around the room, feeling a new surge of peace. I’d started reading more about stories of people who didn’t fit in
and their strange lives. My last visit to the Schomburg Library had introduced me to The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man and Tarzan of the Apes. I found comfort in knowing Jay and I weren’t the first to feel out of place.
We spent hours hashing out ideas for our first issue of The Sovereign, scribbling furiously and talking about all the things the West Egg Chronicle would never dare to print: the shabby housing, the way some boys got all the privileges in class while others barely scraped
by, and the divide between the ones who had it all and those of us left to make do with what we could.
Jay followed the Gatsby tradition of philanthropy and donated to the cause, which allowed us to expand. I made more flyers
with Zihan’s help and late one night we tacked them onto bulletin boards around campus. They made the rounds!
A week into what I’d dubbed The Sovereign Scheme, I was the last to arrive to our hideaway after school, holding a folder with four sheets of paper. They were submissions,
which had been slipped under my door as per the flyer’s instructions.
I laid them out on a table before Jay and Zihan. “We got some poetry, a story about the football team defeating East Shore, and an opinion piece on how the cafeteria should stop serving us food that still moves.”
Jay hopped off the couch and picked up the opinion piece to read a few lines. “This is headline material!” he sang.
“We’re doing it,” I said quietly, allowing myself to feel the comfort of support. “We’re really doing it!”
Jay examined me closely, and his eyes were soft and searching, as if he wanted to meet the depth of my excitement, to know
where it came from. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, Jay was inspired.
Two weeks into The Sovereign Scheme, he snatched the building keys from his father’s study to help me print my first issue in the Chronicle office after school, when the room was empty.
With him by my side, the problem of having money to fund the paper magically
faded away.
I printed ten copies, which I’d distributed around school when the storm cooled down and it was finally time to retaliate.
As we packed up to head back before dark, Jay asked me, “So, the coed dance is a definite yes?”
The question closed a fist around my chest. I did not want to be on a rollercoaster of meaning with him. I wanted to always
know how much he cared about our friendship, so I did not feel tugged here and there by the moments he wanted my attention
and the ones he shut me out.
I shrugged, trying to look like I didn’t care. “I don’t know still.”
Jay locked the office door and gave me a sideways look. “Why not? Afraid of a dance? Or are you upset with me about the other
night?”
“Not afraid,” I mumbled, though I kind of was. “Not upset, either.” Though I definitely was. “Why would I be? I just don’t see the point in a dance.”
“The point is to have fun!” He clapped me on the shoulder and guided me back to the hallway. “Think of it as research. You’ve
got to experience the school fully to write about it, right?”
“I reckon I do.” I tried to fight off a smile but failed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Good,” he said, smiling back. “Don’t leave me to fend off Charlie and Cannon by myself.”
I watched him, admiring his effortless way of taking on the world. Quietly, I hoped that a little bit of that energy could
rub off on me.
The coed dance came around that weekend, and I couldn’t find myself a date. Thankfully, Daisy didn’t have one either, so we
agreed to go together.
I got ready in the guest room of Daisy’s house where I used to live, fumbling with my tie, my hands clumsy with nerves. This
was the place that nursed me back to life when I felt like a hollow shell, and here I was, undoing the dust of my past, buttoning
things up, thinking on trivial things like what I might talk to Jay about later, what his behavior might be like.
“Young lady, what is that?” I heard Uncle say from upstairs.
I went to the door and stuck my head outside to listen in.
“You can’t wear that,” Uncle Beet continued. “Nuh uh. No way! Nope.”
“Dad, you are not serious!” Daisy returned.
“No way, no way, little girl!”
“It’s all I have!” Daisy protested, throwing a fit. “I’ve been planning this outfit for weeks. Mom!”
“Okay, okay,” Auntie Lorraine said to keep the peace. “She’ll wear a shawl. And that should do it.”
Daisy won her mother over. She could be very persuasive, more persuasive than I ever was.
I heard her coming downstairs so I tried to pull together the rest of my outfit from the contents of my closet. She knocked
on my open door and I spied what had made Uncle so mad. She was a vision in a sleeveless emerald dress! It hugged her form
and stopped just above the knee. She wore matching gloves up to her elbows and a pixie wig that made her look a few years
older.
Daisy did a twirl in the hallway when she saw me staring. She loved the attention but in a good-humored way. “Ready?” she
said, scanning me. “No pants is a choice, but I support it!”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at myself. I’d only managed to put jockey shorts and socks on the lower half so far.
“I suppose you can’t decide how much you want the world to see until you try showing it,” Daisy said, still treating my bare
legs as a fashion statement.
“I’ve only stressed about what to wear for the past three hours,” I said, going to the bed to sort through the suits lying
there.
“That one,” Daisy said, pointing at a black and white pinstriped number. “It complements me, and it’s bolder than what you usually wear. Hurry now—we’ll have to walk down to a taxi and the dance is starting in ten.”
So I dressed, and we rushed down the street to find a yellow cab. We entered our car on either side, and as it pulled off,
Daisy asked, “How are things going with Jay? I’ve noticed you been out more. Is it with him? Are you spying?”
Her question felt like being called on in class when I didn’t have the answer.
“Not spying—no. We’ve struck up a friendship,” I said quietly, as I looked out the window. The sidewalks were full of pedestrians—mostly
young couples out for the night. I studied their outfits endlessly and hoped I’d blend in without going invisible. “I went
to a UNIA meeting with him—not for Jordan. Just for fun. I find him easy to trust, but it’s only been a few months.”
“Did he say or do anything suspicious in the meeting?” Daisy asked.
“Not at all. I think Jay loves Harlem too much to hurt it. I’ve never met his father though.”
All I knew was something about Jay made me want to share my life with him, including things that I wouldn’t share with others.
“I’ve met Gatsby,” Daisy said. “He’s nice, in a rehearsed way. Hard to get a read on. I find that Jay has this desire to please
his dad and a competing desire to be his own man.”
I’d gotten a sense of that too.
The car slowed to a gradual stop. I turned to find Daisy watching me, as if she was curious about my thoughts. Meeting Jay
had changed me already—perhaps she saw it.
She reached forward to hand a tip to the driver and then said, “Well! Here we are!”
I slid out of the car and Daisy came around to loop her arm through mine. In front of us glowed a big Apollo Hotel sign—a
long rectangle whose letters flashed with little bulbs. A marquee shone brightly beneath it, reading Welcome West and East Egg Students.
We walked inside and entered the ballroom down a set of wide stairs, our presence making people look. Perhaps they were impressed
that a simpleton like myself was attached to such a lovely lady. The confident bounce in Daisy’s walk started to rub off on
me in the best way possible; this front could last for just a little while.
Chandeliers glittered over a large dance floor where Charlie was doing the Charleston, all by himself. Daisy observed him,
arms folded. “He’s an atrocious dancer, isn’t he?”
“Quite bad,” I said.
“I’m so glad I said no to his invitation for a date,” Daisy said before noticing someone approaching her. “Betty!”
They hugged and began chatting girl business, so I migrated to the table to leave them to their conversation. I devoured some
crackers and cheese and then downed a cup of punch.
Vinny was in attendance in a loose-fitting suit with his hair in braids now. He was holding his tuba and standing near a line
of girls in chairs, who swayed lightly to the music. He was hoping, it seemed, that a girl would talk to him, but they were
only talking to each other.
He approached me when he saw me. “You look very smart, Nick. Glad you made it.”
“Thank you, Vinny. You too.” I’d have complimented him in return but all I could think is how strange it was that he’d brought
his tuba with him to a dance.