Surviving The Blues

33

Not even in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that Glendale would have showed up to class. I could not even say anything. He even took charge with presenting and all I could do was blink and stare in disbelief. The class seemed enamored by him, giving he the kind of attention they wouldn't have given me. Their laughs fill the room every time he says something with hint of humor.

"How did I do?" He asks when we sit down.

"Mediocre."

"Awe, come on. I was amazing." If this were a movie, a bright light might just shine on him as he makes his vain statement.

"Yes, if you say so." I direct my attention to the front of the class where the next group have their presentation about liter.

When the class is over, there's a huge buzz. For one, no one's can believe Glendale number one attended class. It's like he comes to school just not to go to class. How he even made it to twelve grade is beyond me. Still, the chatter about his unexpected appearance is in no where compared to the latest. Before, I was the poor girl, from the dangerous, ghetto Bronx. Now, I am the daughter of the famous Josephine Blackman. If I didn't stand out before, I do now.

To think my father was such a strident man baffles me. How could he stick me with her? When was this ever okay to abandon the child you raised from birth to seventeen just to pass her off to an estranged parent.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" I clench my hand over my chest. I was so caught in the thought that I didn't expect him to be behind me.

"Huh?" I ask, dazed.

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

"No, you thank me."

"Bye." I slip into my class ending the conversation.

"You're welcome." He yells into the class.

I sigh, sitting in my designated spot. My daze lasted throughout the next classes. Before I know it, it's lunch.

"Why didn't you tell me?" An almost fuming Riley greets me.

"Well good afternoon, Ashton."

"Cut the shenanigans."

"Shenanigans? That would be very unlike me, wouldn't it?"

My comments exasperate her further.

"You!" She points her finger at me. "You are the most secretive, most sneaky... most restive person I know." It's like she can't find the words. "How could you?"

"That's quite the evocation."

"Oh come on," she whines.

"Yes, Riley, my mother is Josephine Blackman." I sigh.

"That wasn't even my first point, but oh my gosh? Thee Josephine Blackman is your mom. That's like having Beyoncé as your mother."

"No, having Beyoncé as your mother is like having Beyoncé as your mother."

"One in three girls in this school wear a piece from her line every day." She buzzes. "These shoes are Blackman." She points her foot out.

"Oh, how cool." I shake my head, not fazed by my mother's popularity. She pushes the lunchroom door open.

"You know what this means?" She asks.

"That I can't keep saying that I am the product of a surrogate. That was one of my personal collegiate essays."

"No. You automatically have the coolest parent."

"Uterine donor." I correct her.

"You will not refer to thee Josephine Blackman as a uterine donor. I will not accept that slander." I don't have a chance to respond to her. "Here in lies my first question." There they go, approaching from two different directions. I turn around. Riley grabs my backpack, stopping my avoidance technique. "Think of this as punishment for being CIA."