The White Fence

7. A Necessary Angle

Derek's girlfriend, the blonde at first, Carol Torcette, and I, had second period history together with Coach John Dewitt. Carol, who had barely spared me a glance before softball tryouts, suddenly started talking to me after she saw me walking to the pitch with Derek. And since he and I started working on Bridges together, she'd started sitting next to me, initiating conversations, probably hoping to glean some more information from me about her boyfriend. I guess she missed the grimaces and lukewarm reception that Derek and I gave each other whenever we saw each other, and she may have been crazy about him, but he was steadily working on becoming one of my least favorite people.  

Today, though, Frankie'd given me a good reason to sidestep Carol, since I also had that class with Cecilia, the new object of Frankie's desire. Although I honestly didn't care who Frankie went around with, I couldn't honestly say I was very fond of Cecilia, or her best friend, Vivian Johnson. The two were friends solely because they both thought they were better than everyone else. The pair of them had always been the wealthiest girls in our grade. Vie's father, Pastor Johnson, was the minister at First Missionary Baptist, the largest black church in the area. Cecilia's father was the undertaker, and owned a few businesses around town, too. Vie wasn't pretty at all, but she liked to think that she was better than everyone else -and wasn't afraid to let you know it either- because of how white-looking she was.  

Vie had tried to be friends with me when I'd first moved to Bakersfield, but when she found out that my parents were divorced, and we had no money, she stopped talking to me. Even before that falling out, though, I hadn't been really impressed with either of them, and Cecilia, though not actually stupid, was about as shallow as a crack in the concrete. When I marched to the back of the room to deliver Frankie's note, she gave me a disdainful glance, sizing up my homemade clothes, white patent leather shoes, and French-braid ponytail, before her eyes made it up to my face.  

"What's good, Tracy?" she questioned haughtily. Cecilia hadn't liked me from the moment we met, I guess because she thought I might steal her best friend from her. Any chance of us ever being friends ended in 7th grade when she and Patrice got into a fight, and my friend sent her home with a busted lip. For months afterwards, her daddy tried to find out who'd given it to her, but Cecilia wouldn't tell, and no one else had spoken up because they were either scared of Patrice, or hated Cecilia as much as we did. Back then, Frankie had been one of the ones who had been fueling the fight; he'd once been really sweet on Patrice.  

"Frankie wanted me to give you this," I remarked without preamble, holding out the folded sheet of paper.  

She looked at Vie, and smirked. "Frankie," she repeated stupidly, as if she didn't know who I was talking about, as if they and their mother's hadn't seen each other in Jack and Jill meetings since they were 2, or they hadn't gone to the same church, and didn't live more than a couple of blocks from each other, in the best neighborhood on our side of town. 

"Frankie Banks," I said in irritation. 

I could tell by the way her eyes unfocused that she was tallying up his stats. Apparently they were decent enough. "Oh, that Frankie!" she remarked, and I was suddenly irritated at Frankie for asking me to talk to Cecilia; it was like talking to a wall.  

"Yeah, that Frankie," I reiterated. I dropped the note on her desk, and went back to my own. On the way, I second-guessed my decision to act as mediator between them because Frankie deserved better. But if she was what he wanted, then he deserved exactly what he got.  

The bell rang, and Carol said good-bye to Derek. Derek sauntered off, late as usual to his 2nd period class. When he was gone, Carol looked over in my direction, with a look like she wanted to talk to me about the boyfriend she'd just said good-bye to, but thankfully Coach Dewitt didn't give her any chance to open her mouth. As soon as the bell rang, he started right in with his daily butchering of history.