Free Pieces of Why by K. L. Going Page A

whole package in my arms and it warmed me straight through.
    Every Monday night I slept over at Keisha’s while Ma worked the overnight shift. Ma walked me there before she went to work, and then on Tuesday morning, Ms. Evette walked me to my lesson with Ms. Marion before she caught the streetcar. It was a perfectly coordinated schedule that we’d kept every summer for years, but now all I could think about was dropping off that warm, crusty bread.
    â€œCan we bring it over right now?” I asked.
    Ma paused a moment too long.
    â€œThere isn’t time,” she said. “I’ll drop it off on my way home.”
    â€œBut couldn’t we just . . .”
    Ma’s eyes flashed. “No back-talk, young lady.”
    I wanted to argue that I hadn’t been back-talking, but we’d had a fun day baking, so I didn’t want to ruin things with a fight.
    â€œSorry,” I said at last. “It’s just . . . you won’t forget, will you?”
    Ma’s face relaxed. She took the bread off the counter and placed it inside the big canvas bag she carried to and from work. “I won’t forget.” Then she leaned over and kissed me on top of the head. “You did something real nice today, Tia girl. Now you’ve got to let the adults handle the rest, you hear?”
    I felt the warm rolls pressed up against my body. Slowly, I nodded.
    â€œPromise?”
    Could it be th
at easy?
    â€œI promise.”
    Ma let out a long, loud breath. Louder, I bet, than she’d intended.
    â€œGood,” she said. “That’s real good.”

    That night, me and Keisha, Ms. Evette, Dwayne, and Jerome ate fresh clover leaf rolls with our pork chops and greens. Jerome said, “Mo, mo, mo,” and pointed at the bread, and we cut into it even though Ms. Evette had said we were going to save the loaf for breakfast. Everyone mmmm’ed until I blushed, and Dwayne said I could cook for him anytime.
    After dinner me and Keisha watched
The Next
American Superstar.
We draped ourselves over the couch and plotted how we’d convince people that we were old enough toaudition when the show came back to New Orleans. Dwayne was giving Jerome his bath in the next room and I could hear the sound of splashing.
    Keisha was hanging upside down off the side of the couch, but she sat up when the commercials came on. “You know,” she said to her mother, “we need to enter all sorts of contests if we’re going to make it big. How else will we get discovered? Khalil and his friends are putting together a band and they’re going to audition when
The Next
American Superstar
comes back to town.”
    Ms. Evette was sitting in the beige easy chair, under the tall lamp, carving a baby bird for a necklace. She barely looked up. “Mmm-hmm.”
    Dwayne came out carrying a soaking wet Jerome, bundled in a thick towel, and Keisha and I both kissed his sopping brown curls.
    â€œNight-night,” we said, and Jerome waved.
    Dwayne handed him over to Ms. Evette, who reluctantly put down her whittling to get him into his pj’s and read him books before bed.
    â€œDad,” Keisha said when her mother was gone, “do you think Tia and I could enter some contests? We’ve got to become famous while we’re still young and cute.”
    Dwayne’s face went blank.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” he said. “You mean you’re not superstars already? Not a one of you is famous yet?”
    Keisha giggled and I grinned.
    Dwayne shook his head. “Because I thought you were. I mean, I hear you two doing your
top sec
ret
handshake all the time, and—”
    â€œDad!”
    â€œâ€”I hear you all singing away upstairs.”
    Dwayne twirled around with one hand in the air, jutting his hips from side to side. “Like a pyramid, oh, I’m a pyramid,” he sang in a crazy high falsetto. “Got my pretty bow in my hair,