Taneesha Never Disparaging

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Authors: M. LaVora Perry
when she said “M-Y-O-B!” Her booming voice filled every space in my brain like an endless lion’s roar. In my mind, I could see that ferocious beast—a big brown lion in a puffy red coat, tearing into me with her fangs. And, when she finished, leaving me on the ground—a heap of brown noodles with blood-red sauce.
    Â 
    A while after Mr. Flanagan had come by to drive Carli home, my parents and I sat at the dinner table.
    â€œTaneesha, I spoke to Marsha,” said Mama, all teeth. “My supervisor. She said you and Carli can start coming to the hospital on Friday afternoons to read to the children. How’s that sound?”
    â€œFine.”
    I stared at the food on my plate.
    â€œI called Carli’s father this afternoon and told him about it. You two can start this Friday.”
    I could hardly hear Mama. Only the sound of Sasquatch the Bigfoot’s lion’s roar: “ M-Y-O-B !” I knew that was two different creatures mixed
together—Sasquatch/Bigfoot and a lion—but I heard it anyway. I just knew I was fixing to be that ugly creature’s meal.
    â€œYou remember Shantay, right? The little girl? I told her, too. She’s all excited.”
    I didn’t move, blink, or speak.
    I wished Mama would stop talking. Her voice was scratching at my brain like sandpaper. Add that to the big beast howling in my head and it was enough to make a girl go crazy.
    â€œAre you all right?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, Mama. I’m fine.”
    â€œYou sure, honey? You’re mighty quiet today. I thought you’d be happy about this news. Last week you were so excited about Carli coming with you to the hospital.”
    â€œI said I’m okay, Mama. All right?”
    â€œTaneesha, watch your tone with your mother,” warned Daddy, mid-chew.
    â€œI’m done now anyway.”
    I scooted back, stood, and grabbed my plate off the table. The food looked gross.
    â€œWait, don’t throw that out—” began Mama.
    Too late.
    My uneaten dinner—a grilled salmon filet,
brown rice and steamed broccoli, carrots and cauliflower—slid into the garbage pail.
    â€œGirl, do you know how much salmon costs?!”
    You’d have thought I’d just thrown her into the garbage.
    I felt a twinge of guilt. I thought of the bony, starving kids that she always told me about when I threw away food. But the guilt passed. I just wanted to get out of there.
    â€œSorry,” I said, not meaning it. “I got to study.”
    I flounced out of the kitchen. I knew I’d flounced because I felt my parents’ eyes drilling into my back and looking at me all like “Why are you flouncing out on us?”
    I walked through the living room and caught sight of the altar. I stopped. I thought about the practice, about all the times I’d chanted with my parents but hadn’t really wanted to. I thought about how I’d only done it because they’d made me.
    I’d chanted at meetings but I was always glad when I could escape. The only times I’d practiced on my own were when I wanted something real bad—like not getting nominated for class president. Now that had worked out real well, hadn’t it?

    But sometimes Nam Myoho Renge Kyo came through. Like when I chanted at the hospital Friday. But then again, I could have done the same thing without chanting. All I had to do was read to some little kids. That was nothing when you got right down to it.
    But what about my bike? My magenta ten-speed from Summit Cycles? Mama and Daddy were all set to buy me a $35 used bike from Mr. Garrett, the bike man down the street. But I chanted for the ten-speed I’d seen in the window at Summit Cycles. And the bike shop ended up putting the last one, the floor model, on sale for exactly $35. I got it for my birthday. No getting around that, I chanted me up a new bike. A nice one, too.
    But even for stuff I’d really wanted, like my bike,

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