Emako Blue Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Monterey

  Jamal

  Savannah

  Eddie

  Monterey

  Jamal

  Savannah

  Eddie

  Monterey

  Eddie

  Savannah

  Jamal

  Monterey

  Jamal

  Eddie

  Savannah

  Monterey

  Jamal

  Eddie

  Savannah

  Monterey

  Jamal

  Eddie

  Savannah

  Jamal

  Eddie

  Monterey

  SPEAK

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

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  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by G. P. Putnam’s Sons,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2004

  Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2005

  Copyright © Brenda Woods, 2004

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGUED THE PUTNAM EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Woods, Brenda (Brenda A.) Emako Blue / by Brenda Woods. p. cm.

  Summary: Monterey, Savannah, Jamal, and Eddie have never had much to do with

  each other until Emako Blue shows up at chorus practice, but just as the lives of the

  five Los Angeles high school students become intertwined, tragedy tears them apart.

  1. African Americans—Juvenile fiction. [1. African Americans—Fiction.

  2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction.

  5. Los Angeles—Fiction.]

  I. Title. PZ7.W86335Em 2004 [Fic]—dc22 2003016647

  eISBN : 978-1-101-09996-4

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Lori Gonzalez

  Acknowledgments

  I thank God, who led me to and through this story. I also thank

  Barbara Markowitz for her continued support and kindness. Thank you

  to John Rudolph for his editorial skill and for sharing my vision.

  Finally, thank you to Nancy Paulsen and everyone at Putnam for

  allowing me the freedom to write about a difficult subject.

  Life is precious.

  Monterey

  The parking lot at the church was full. A fat cop, parked on a motorcycle, waved us by with one hand while he wiped his forehead with the other. It was hot.

  The air-conditioning in our Chevy Blazer was broken and my daddy’s palms were so wet, he almost lost his grip on the steering wheel and cussed out loud. Mama dabbed at the back of her neck with a wrinkled white handkerchief. I was sweating too. No music played on the radio. Silence.

  A crowd was standing in front of the church, but I knew that if Emako hadn’t died the way she had, most of these people wouldn’t be here. As for me, I belonged here. Emako was my girl.

  Daddy found a parking space on the street and squeezed in between two cars. I slid out of the car and walked into the church, holding my mama and daddy’s hands. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see Emako’s family, but there was a human shield around them all dressed in black.

  I was wearing a short skirt, and when I sat down between my mama and daddy, the yellow wood of the pew felt cool against my bare brown legs.

  “Today is a day of great sorrow!” the preacher’s loud voice boomed, filling the church just as Eddie came and sat down in front of me. I touched him on the shoulder and he turned around. He looked into my eyes and squeezed my hand like he was trying to give me his strength. Tears started to roll down my cheeks and I let go of his hand and reached into my purse for a tissue.

  “A sweet innocent life has been taken before her time!” the preacher shouted.

  “Have mercy!” a woman in the front screamed.

  “Amen!” a man yelled from the back of the church.

  The choir director motioned to the choir with his hand and they stood up and began to hum and sway.

  All of a sudden, Emako’s mother, Verna, jumped up, stumbled over to the casket, and screamed, “Lord, no! Not my child!”

  The choir stopped humming.

  A man stood up, put his arm around her shoulders, and took her back to her seat. My body started to tremble. Daddy hugged me and Mama took my hands. Silver stars and moons dangled from the bracelet that Emako had given me for my birthday.

  “Who can comfort this mother? I ask, who?” the preacher shouted. “No one but the Lord!”

  People all around me whispered, “Amen.”

  “Praise Jesus!” the preacher said softly. “Yet we have all come here today to try to comfort this mother, and this family, and to celebrate the short life of this young woman child, Emako Blue. We have come here today to try to make some sense out of this and we have come here today to say good-bye. But I say to each and every one of you, this is not really a good-bye, because Emako has just gone on ahead of us to a better place. And I say to this mother, you will see your child again on the other side, in that place we call Paradise.”

  I wanted to tell him to stop, but the preacher was going on and on and his words were loud and hard, like cymbals banging.

  Tragedy! Outrage! Atrocity!

  Then softer words, like a violin.

  Sweetness. Innocence. Like a lamb.

  The choir stood and filled the church with a song called “Bringing in the Sheaves,” and I hesitated before I stood up to take my place in the procession of mourners at the front of the church, mostly because I wanted to remember Emako the way she was. My legs got weak and my daddy put his arms around me and held me up.

  I turned my head and saw Emako’s mama. I swallowed hard as I started to cry again, but I was careful not to let her see the tears as the beginning of another salty stream touched my upper lip.

  I walked slowly toward the coffin and stared. Emako. My girl. Emako Blue. She looked beautiful and her casket was baby pink.

  Daddy led me back to the pew and we sat down. The church was finally quiet.

  I put my head on my daddy’s shoulder.

  I remembered the first time I met Emako.

  My mind left the church.

  It was the beginning of the school year. I was a sophomore and I was trying out for the school chorus, waiting in the auditorium for my turn to sing. There were twenty of us trying out for twelve spots. Mr. Santos, the director of the chorus, sat at the piano, warming up, and everyone was tal
king, filling the room with noise.

  Mr. Santos stopped playing the piano, looked at a sheet of paper, and called a name. “Sage Hudson.”

  A white girl with pale pink skin and long curly red hair walked up the steps and I could tell she was scared. She had a high voice that made most people in the room shut up and I imagined her singing music like opera or something. I wondered if my voice was good enough and part of me wanted to get up and leave.

  Mr. Santos looked at his list again. “Savannah Parker.” This light-skinned black girl with a really big butt ran up the steps and almost tripped and fell. She was short but she was wearing shoes with four-inch heels. She had a good voice but she sang a little off-key. I took a deep breath and decided to stay. Maybe I had a chance.

  “Could we have some quiet?” Mr. Santos asked.

  We kept talking.

  Mr. Santos shook his head and looked at his list. “Emako Blue.”

  She stood up, and as she walked up the steps, she immediately had the attention of all of the fellas in the room.

  “Damn! She’s fine!” I heard one of them say.

  Then she opened her mouth and her voice poured out into the auditorium. It was like vanilla incense, smoky and sweet.

  She had a voice that could do tricks, go high, low, and anywhere in between: a voice that’s a gift from God. She was Jill Scott and Minnie Riperton, Lauryn Hill and India.Arie.

  She was way too pretty, with dark brown skin and black braids extended to her waist.

  She was wearing tight faded blue jeans, a red sleeveless T-shirt, and black platform shoes. She was kind of tall, with a tight body like a video freak. I could feel jealousy and lust creeping around the room, and when she finished singing, the room was as quiet as a library at midnight.

  Everyone in the audience clapped. Mr. Santos stood up and clapped too. He acted like he had found a star.

  Jamal, this fine brother who was sitting behind me, asked the guy who was sitting next to him, “Hey, Eddie, is she beautiful or what?”

  “She’s beautiful,” Eddie replied.

  “I’m gonna havta get with that,” Jamal said.

  Eddie just laughed. “Player, you crazy.”

  Emako walked down the steps and sat down in the empty seat next to me. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Her teeth were perfect and white. I ran my tongue over my braces. She wore silver rings on every finger, including her thumbs, and had a tattoo of a small red rose on her right shoulder. Confidence was all around her and I took some of it with me when Mr. Santos called my name next.

  I walked up the steps slowly, cleared my throat three times, and sang a song called “Santa Baby” that Eartha Kitt had made famous. It was a song my mama always played at Christmastime, a song I knew all the words to. When I finished, a few people clapped and Mr. Santos gave me a thumbs-up. I made it, I thought. I laughed out loud and returned to my seat.

  “You can sing,” Emako said.

  I thought she was just messing with me. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, for real. What’s your name?”

  “Monterey,” I replied.

  “My name’s Emako. Holler at you t’morrow,” she said as she walked out of the auditorium into the sun.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost four-thirty. I picked up my backpack and left like a deer, quietly.

  I went outside and sat down under a tree on a low brick wall in front of the school, waiting for my daddy to pick me up. Cars rolled by and a warm breeze blew. It was a perfect day in L.A. I put on my sunglasses to keep from squinting into the sun.

  I thought about Emako and wondered why I had never seen her before and why she would even talk to me. Girls like her hardly ever did. They usually acted like I wasn’t around, like I was invisible, like I was a nobody. My best friend, Simone, had moved away over the summer and I felt kind of lonely. I took a deep breath and looked at my watch.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said as I climbed into the car.

  “You’re always late,” I replied, and turned on the radio. “I could always take the bus, you know,” I added. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “You’re the only little girl I have and I don’t want you taking the bus. It’s not safe.”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen to me. You worry too much, Daddy.”

  “Monterey?”

  “Yes?”

  “Didn’t we just talk about this yesterday?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Let’s just say that I don’t want to talk about it again, okay?”

  “Okay,” I mumbled. “I made it into chorus,” I added.

  “That’s sensational. My little girl can sing,” he said with a smile.

  Little girl. Those words made me want to scream, but instead I just turned up the radio and looked out of the window, hoping I would get home in time to watch 106 & Park.

  We got home just as it started. I hurried to my room, locked the door, and turned on the TV.

  I had only been home for about five minutes when I heard my mama open the garage door to come into the house. She knocked on my door. “Monterey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How was school?” She asked the same question every day.

  I gave the same answer every day: “Fine.”

  She tried the doorknob. “Why’s the door locked? Haven’t I told you not to lock your door?”

  “I’m not a baby anymore. I’m fifteen and it’s my room.”

  “Monterey, are you tryin’ to get fresh with me? Open this door.”

  I opened the door partway and peeked. “I made it into chorus.”

  “My baby can sing! It’s what I tell everyone. I say, my baby can sing!” She hugged me tight.

  I squirmed. “Mama, it’s just the chorus.”

  “I know. But still. I’m so happy for you,” she said as she released me.

  “Thanks,” I said, and closed the door. I locked it quietly, waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t.

  I could hear one of her old-school CDs playing while she was cooking.

  Daddy was outside watering his grass.

  I stayed in my room until dinner was ready.

  I didn’t see Emako again until the first day of chorus practice.

  “Monterey?” Mr. Santos said. “I want you in the second row, next to Emako.”

  “Okay,” I responded. Great, I thought. Now no one will hear my voice.

  “Hey, Monterey,” Emako said as I squeezed in between her and that girl with the big butt, Savannah.

  “Hey, Emako.”

  I looked at Savannah. “Hey,” I said, but she turned her head and looked away. I started to feel invisible.

  Emako saw what Savannah did and whispered, “What’s up with bubble butt?”

  I giggled and shrugged my shoulders.

  “Question number one: Are we here to sing or to talk?” Mr. Santos asked.

  “We are here to sing,” a boy in the row behind me said loudly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Eddie Ortiz, star tenor,” Mr. Santos replied.

  “De nada,” Eddie said, and took a bow.

  I turned around and glanced at Eddie. He was Hispanic, with dark hair and green eyes. He smiled at me. I got nervous and started to bite my nails.

  “Hi,” he said.

  I couldn’t speak. I turned back to the front of the room. He is too cute, I thought.

  Mr. Santos sat down at the piano. “Middle C. The most important note in music. Who can give me a middle C? Jamal?”

  “Why you gotta pick on me the first day?” Jamal shook his head.

  “Would you prefer that I wait until next week?” Mr. Santos asked.

  “No,” Jamal responded, “I prefer that you wait until next year.”

  Eddie was standing next to Jamal. “You a crazy fool,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Why you wanna disrespect me like that, Eddie? You spozed to be my dawg.”

  “Okay, let’s settle down,” Mr. Santos said.

  Al
l we sang for one whole hour were scales and I started to wonder when this was going to start to be fun.

  Finally, practice was over.

  Jamal touched Emako on the shoulder and said, “Let me talk to you a minute.”

  “About what?” Emako replied.

  “About me and you.”

  Savannah whipped around to stare at Jamal.

  Jamal stared back. “You got somethin’ to say?”

  “Player!” Savannah said. “Gina is my best friend.”

  “Gina don’t own me!”

  “I don’t have time for no nonsense,” Emako said. “Y ’all ’bout to make me miss my bus.” Emako walked away and I trailed along after her. She walked fast.

  Emako saw her bus and started to run, but it left before she could get to it. “Now I gotta wait another hour, and my mama gotta get to work, and I’m spozed to be home by four-thirty cuz I gotta watch my little brother and sister, and now she’s gonna get all upset and try to make me quit the chorus.”

  “I could ask my mama to give you a ride if you want me to,” I said. “Usually my daddy picks me up, but he’s at home becuz he fell down the steps and twisted his ankle. It turned all black and blue and he’s walking with crutches, but he still can’t go to work or drive the car.” I checked my watch. It was three forty-five. “She should be here at four. She’s always on time. Not like my daddy. He’s always late.”

  Emako gave me a look like I was talking too much. “You sure? Cuz I don’t live around here.”

  “I’m sure.”

  We sat down together and waited.

  “Did you go here last year? Becuz I don’t remember you.”

  “No, I transferred from Truman.”

  “In South Central?”

  “Yeah.” She paused. “But I like it better here . . . on the Westside.”

  “You live in South Central?”

  “Always have. You live around here, huh?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I figured.”

  “Why you gotta say that?” I asked.

  “I mean you just seem like you live on a nice little street with trees and all that, where nuthin’ real bad ever happens and you probably got a collection of Barbie dolls, PlayStation One and Two, your own DVD player, and a little pink bedroom.”