The Only Black Girls in Town: Chapters 5–9

My bedroom has white furniture and a butter-yellow duvet on a bed with a nest of pillows.

“So he’s your real dad,” she says, pondering.

But all Edie says is “He’s cute.”
My mouth is gaping. “Elliott?”

“I think it’s, like, three or four hours away.” Which doesn’t seem super close to me. I get antsy if we have to drive any farther than San Luis Obispo.

I look down at my plate. I’m not embarrassed when they talk about the artists commune, but it’s like the family thing. Once the floodgates are open, people start asking so many questions it makes my head hurt.

Ms. Whitman takes a bite of soufflé and moans. “And you can cook, too! Is there gruyere in here?”
“Nice palate,” Dad says, smiling. “How is the B&B going?”

“Ojai isn’t very diverse, but the commune was. We heard Ewing Beach was starting to attract more families of color, so we thought we’d be okay helping pioneer that. But once we got here, it felt like someone had put the brakes on it and didn’t tell us. All those families of color who were supposed to be buying houses and having kids never showed up.”

People’s voices change when they say sixth graders, the same snooty way we used to talk about the kindergartners back in elementary school.

After dinner, Edie and I take our slices of blueberry pie out to the front porch (but only after Dad confirmed there was no lard in the piecrust).

“They just...Nicolette says stuff sometimes. That’s prejudiced. Or maybe...”
“Racist?” She says it so plainly, it startles me.

“Hey,” I say to Laramie. “This is Edie. Edie, this is my best friend, Laramie.”
“Cool name,” Edie says, and I feel a twinge of something when she says it.

Then he goes right back to building what is the tallest, fattest, drippiest sandwich I’ve ever seen in my life.
“What’s in it?” Edie asks, looking enthralled and disgusted at the same time.

Edie is sitting on her front porch with a mug nestled in her hands when we round the corner.

Ms. Whitman is kneeling next to the couch in the front room of the B&B, rummaging through a box.

“Yeah, I get to drink it one day a week.” She laughs at the face I’m making. “Mine is good, though. I put in tons of sugar and cream. Craig used to get so embarrassed when I ordered at his coffee shop. He’s a coffee purist.”

Edie refills her mug and pours me a glass of water before we go up to her room. She grins and pauses as I step on the last creaky stair. “Welcome back to my humble abode.”

Edie refills her mug and pours me a glass of water before we go up to her room. She grins and pauses as I step on the last creaky stair. “Welcome back to my humble abode.”

I overheard them talking, and I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but they weren’t trying to be quiet, either.

Mrs. Ogden said the Negroes have been getting uppity since they won the Supreme Court case to desegregate the schools.

Mrs. Ogden said the Negroes have been getting uppity since they won the Supreme Court case to desegregate the schools.

I’ve never heard Mrs. Graham speak so brusquely. “Marilyn, I’ve told you I don’t want that language in my home. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

Ewing Beach Middle School isn’t as big as the elementary, with its sprawling front lawn and play area for recess.

I think it looks majestic, sitting up on the hill like that. Almost like a castle at the top of a mountain.

Except it’s not mysterious like a big stone castle, since the foyer is an atrium made of glass that lets you see everything. And there’s certainly no royalty here.

Even the tall sixth graders can’t pass for older; they look petrified, like they don’t quite know where to stand.

And I was paired with Mikey Jameson in science lab; Mikey is nice enough, but he constantly smells like onions, even after the big hygiene talks we’ve gotten in school the last couple of years.

Next to Laramie, Fletcher Thomas straddles the bench, tossing a paper lunch sack on the table.

“Edie, see?” she says, making eye contact with each of them. “My name is Edie. After Edith Minturn Sedgwick: It Girl, actress, and muse to the late, great Andy Warhol. Stop calling me Wednesday Addams.”

“Yeah, we’ve got everything here,” Oliver chimes in. “The beach, the mountains, the desert, the best sports teams.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen people eat so fast. Not even them. I guess interrogating the new kid takes a lot of energy.

Edie is in my math and history classes, and we both chose art as our elective.

“Can I take a rain check?” I ask, suddenly wanting to sprint the rest of the way home.

Denise is wearing a flowing red caftan with white flowers that looks like it’s draped over a beach ball.

She lingers in the doorway for a few seconds, and I think maybe she’s waiting for me to officially invite her in.

I hear gentle scurrying around the house: sleepy toothbrushing, zipping bags, and whispered conversations.