Free Maizon at Blue Hill by Jacqueline Woodson Page B

Sheila added. “There are too few of us.”
    â€œYou guys don’t hang with any of them?” I asked.
    All three shook their heads.
    â€œI mean,” Sheila said, “I speak to some and some of them are cool and everything. But I know I’m not going to make any of those tight friends you grow old with like I’ve made with Charli and Marie.”
    â€œBut you don’t even give it a chance,” I said.
    â€œWe gave it a chance, Maizon. We’ve all been here since we were twelve. I’ll be seventeen next May.”
    I looked at Sheila, but said nothing.
    Charli used her knife and fork to cut into her pork chop, then took a bite before she spoke. “The first friend I made here was Elizabeth—she’s not here anymore. But me and her were this tight,” Charli said, holding up her hand and crossing her middle finger over her index. “We did everything together. Then we went away for summer vacation and I called her. And I swear, the girl acted like she had never heard of me.” Charli pressed her hand against the side of her face, and tucked the corner of her lip in, trying to hide her dejection. “It was so messed up. And she wasn’t the only one. Lots of girls here are like that.”
    Sheila touched Charli’s shoulder, then looked at me. “When I was in school in Cherryville, people did it to me all the time. They’d be all chummy with me in class. But the minute school was over, it was like ‘see ya.’ When I heard that Blue Hill was predominantly white, I didn’t even want to come here.”
    â€œMe either,” Charli said.
    â€œBut,” Sheila continued, “it’s not like there are all-black boarding schools anywhere yet. So what’s left to do? We come here, find a few black people to hang with, and protect ourselves.”
    Marie nodded. “It’s not even a choice, Maizon. We want to protect you because we’ve seen what could happen to sisters here. It hurts. But you have to make a choice.”
    â€œWhat kind of choice?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. I felt like I was being told what to do—and as I’ve been told a hundred times, I don’t take well to authority.
    â€œPauli made a choice,” Marie said too casually, picking up her roll.
    â€œWell, I’m not Pauli,” I said loudly. Some girls turned toward our table. Some giggled.
    â€œDon’t embarrass us, Maizon!” Sheila hissed. “What’s wrong with you, anyway? We’re just saying we want to protect you.”
    â€œI don’t need your protection!” I whispered loudly. “I make my own decisions!”
    Charli, Marie, and Sheila exchanged looks. Then Marie nodded slightly. This conversation was the end of something. But I wasn’t sure what that was.
    We ate the rest of our meal in silence.

16
    T hree weeks later, I got another letter from Margaret. Dear Maizon,
    I just want to keep you posted on what’s going on here. You still haven’t written me. I was thinking maybe you just forgot to. Now I’m thinking you forgot all about me. That’s okay. Ms. Dell says you’re probably real busy, Maizon, with Blue Hill being such a hard school and all. If you’re real busy, don’t worry about writing. Best friends don’t have to write each other all the time, right? Your grandmother said she got a postcard from you. That was nice that you sent her one. Postcards are nice. I really like them. Li‘l Jay is all over the place now. Mama says she can’t keep him in one place. Sometimes I take him off her hands. Since Daddy died, Mama doesn’t have so much patience anymore. Ms. Dell . and Hattie and me, we all sit around and talk about you. Did you know that Hattie wrote poetry too? She keeps her poems inside her head. I think maybe you’re making a lot of new friends. I hope you don’t get a new best friend, Maizon, because I’m not gonna. I