Squeak

Play Nice with Others

Tucker

"Is there anything else I can assist you with, Tucker?" Jezebel sweetly asked, using that soft tone she always used.

"Okay. Forget the date for now. Can we just talk and clear the air?"

"You want to talk?" Jezebel asked inquisitively with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, let's talk."

"Okay. How is The Color Purple going?" I scratched the back of my neck uneasily. Truthfully, I hadn't even started the book. I could lie, but I knew Jezebel would ask specifics. "I guess we have nothing to discuss. Here's a bookmark," she said, sliding the black and red bookmark urging teens to say no to drugs towards me. I couldn't tell if it was a coincidence or if she was being a wise ass.

"Next time your boyfriend throws you out, give me a call," I said before leaving the library for practice.

Jezebel Holmes.

I had an undeniable crush on Jezebel since she was introduced to our sixth-grade English class. She was a transfer student who arrived in the middle of the semester. Our classmates immediately started making fun of her, teasing her about her larger-than-life afro puffs, church dress, and white stockings. I didn't see the issue. She resembled a real-life doll to me. She timidly stood behind the teacher until she was forced to the front of the class to introduce herself. She lowered her eyes to the floor and fiddled with the cross around her neck. Despite the jeering, she softly introduced herself as Jezebel Holmes—a transplant from Florida. When asked what she enjoyed doing in her free time, Jezebel expressed that she loved praying, reading her Bible, and singing in the church choir. I no longer considered her a doll—she was a real-life angel. She was wholesome, sweet, innocent—utterly unattainable to me. That fact alone was irksome. I couldn't have her for various reasons, mainly because my parents preached that we were supposed to 'stick with our own kind.' They didn't believe in interracial relationships—firmly against it to the point that I knew no matter how good and wholesome Jezebel was, they'd never give her the time of day.

As luck would have it, the only available seat was next to me. I remembered how her floral perfume that smelled like fresh cut flowers gave me a headache. Not because she wore too much but because I kept breathing through my nose like a Hoover vacuum cleaner trying to catch every note.

Jezebel was the topic of everyone's conversation by lunch—the weird new girl with the church dress and white stockings. She entered the cafeteria, eyes owlishly wide as all eyes were on her. One of my friends asked me what I thought about her. To everyone's surprise, I said that Jezebel seemed like a nice girl. Mouths dropped in shock.

Flashback

"She seems like a nice girl? Are you serious?" Nick asked.

"She looks so tragic. I would jump from a bridge and end it all if I looked like her," Ashlynn scoffed.

"She does look pretty sweet. I should give her a tour of the gym and see if she'll pray for me behind the bleachers," Sean said, sending the table into a mixture of scoffs from the girls and deviant snickering from the boys.

"She does have nice lips. I bet they're soft," Derrick mentioned.

I had to do something to protect her.

"I was joking. I wanted to see what you guys would say. Y'all are desperate losers if you try to mess with her. Jezebel would have to be the last girl on Earth, and even then, I wouldn't mess with her."

To bring the message home, I stood to my feet and launched my chocolate milk across the cafeteria. The carton exploded against her chest, drenching her in chocolate milk and shame. Even from a distance, I could see the tears well in her eyes before she skittered out of the cafeteria. I sat with my friends and pretended to laugh with them as they made fun of her and praised my aim. I was all smiles on the outside but felt like absolute shit on the inside.