The Revolution of Birdie Randolph Read online

  I have no idea if Booker likes basketball.

  I swallow and look down at my phone. I start typing.

  Want to go to a Bulls game with me?

  Front row seats

  “DO WE ALWAYS HAVE TO COME TO MONTROSE BEACH?” I GRUNT AT LAZ AS we lug our things across the sand.

  “What’s wrong with Montrose? We’ve been coming here forever,” he says. “Too good for it now?”

  “No, just lazy, now that our parents won’t drive us.” I stop. “How about here?”

  Laz glances around to make sure we’re not too close to anyone else, and far enough from the dog beach that he won’t be tempted to stare with longing. His terrier mix, Peaches, died a couple of years ago, and he was devastated. Ayanna won’t let him get another dog because she says she doesn’t want to be stuck taking care of it when he goes to college.

  “Fine with me,” he says, and drops the cooler next to him.

  We have been coming to Montrose Beach since we were kids, but this is the first time we’ve brought alcohol. Greg bought some booze with his fake ID and slipped Laz a bottle, so he made us drinks this morning. Vodka mixed with sparkling mineral water in his sports bottle, and vodka with cranberry juice in a plastic bottle for me. They give tickets if people are caught openly drinking on the beach, but Laz says we’ll be fine and I decide to let myself have fun and believe him.

  We spread out our towels and slather on sunblock, looking around. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, so it’s not as crowded as the weekend. But there are kids galore—building sandcastles, running circles around their parents, and screaming their heads off. Plenty of people are swimming and splashing in the lake, snapping pictures by the water, or sunbathing on the sand.

  Chicago’s winters are usually so long and horrific that we take whatever chance we can to get outside when the weather’s decent. There’s no way we’ll get hit with a freak snowstorm now, like in the spring, and it’s not unbearably hot and humid. Yet.

  “I am so glad to be here and not stuck in a classroom studying statistics with Jared,” I say, rubbing in a thick spot of sunblock on my ankle.

  Laz takes a couple of long swallows from his bottle. “Who’s Jared?”

  “My SAT prep instructor. But did I tell you Mitchell is in my class?” I sip my vodka juice.

  “And he hasn’t bored you to death yet?”

  “He actually…” I pause, not wanting Laz to make fun of me. But it will come out eventually, so I go on. “He seemed kind of cool for a minute.”

  Laz snorts. “Mitchell? Cool? You feeling okay, Dove?”

  “I mean, not cool cool, but… cool for Mitchell. He’s wearing T-shirts—”

  “Not T-shirts!” Laz fake-gasps and leans away before I can flick his shoulder.

  “That’s a big deal for him. He smokes weed now, too, and we had, like, a couple of normal conversations.”

  “And?”

  “And… I asked him why he never seemed attracted to me,” I say.

  Laz’s mouth drops open. “You just straight up asked him that?”

  “In different words, yeah.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing.” I sigh. “Except that it had nothing to do with me, whatever that means.”

  “Huh.” Laz scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe he’s gay.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, even though that thought crossed my mind, too. “I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get that vibe, either,” he says. We are quiet for a while, then Laz lies back on the towel, his brown skin gleaming with sunscreen as he stares out at the water. “Remember that time the lifeguard had to come get me?”

  “You mean save you? How could I forget?”

  He folds his arms behind his head. “How old were we?”

  “Nine.”

  We were fighting over whose turn it was to get buried in the sand when Laz got mad and said he was going in the water. We’d taken swimming lessons, but neither of us was good enough to go far without supervision. That didn’t stop Laz from jumping right into the lake. He said he wanted to swim around the bird sanctuary to the harbor, where the boats were docked. Which was silly, because the harbor is only a short walk from the beach on the other side—but he was determined.

  He was so confident when he started out that I thought he might actually do it. But then I watched him slow down, and suddenly it looked like he was barely holding himself up at all. I ran down the sand and screamed for Ayanna, who screamed for a lifeguard. A teenage girl with a long red ponytail rescued Laz. He looked sheepish as she paddled them in, but relieved when Ayanna squeezed him tight in her arms.

  My stomach was twisted in knots the rest of the day. It was the first time I realized bad things could actually happen to us—the first time I understood Laz and I weren’t utterly invincible.

  “My mom yelled at me so much that night,” he groans, sitting up to take another drink. “I was grounded from playing video games for two weeks.”

  I match him, taking bigger sips from my juice bottle. I think I’m starting to feel the vodka, which seems to be even stronger combined with the heat beating down from the sun. “It was kind of dumb. You could barely swim.”

  “Yeah, but if that hadn’t happened, I might not have taken lessons again, and then I wouldn’t be the bomb water polo player I am today.” He shrugs. Pauses. “You know, that was right after my dad left.”

  “I remember.”

  Ayanna normally would have been watching us, but she was a shell of herself after Mr. Ramos left. She always looked empty; confused when one of us spoke to her. One night I overheard Mom telling my father that she’d asked Ayanna if she wanted to take a leave from the salon, but Ayanna said no, that she needed to keep her mind busy. She’s not sad all the time now, but I don’t know if she ever got back to her old self or if the new Ayanna became our normal.

  Laz turns his head toward me. “I looked him up the other day.”

  “What did you find?” I ask, trailing my fingers through the warm sand.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.” He shrugs. “He’s married to some guy named Javier. I think he’s Cuban.”

  “Does your dad look the same?”

  “Mostly. He’s kind of got a stomach now.” Laz takes a breath. “I know he did everything right. He was honest with my mom and divorced her, but… I don’t know, Dove. It feels shitty to see that he’s moved on so easily. Shouldn’t he still be upset about leaving us? About leaving me?”

  “Just because he’s smiling in pictures doesn’t mean he’s not upset,” I say. Then: “He called you every week for five years. You never called him back and—”

  “I know.” He shakes his head. “Dove, sometimes you act like everyone’s family should be as perfect as yours.”

  I scoop my legs up to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. My forehead is damp and I suddenly feel woozy, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the vodka or the sun or what Laz is saying. “We’re not perfect. You know that.”

  “Where is the lie?” Laz sits up, balancing on his elbows. “Even when your aunt comes back from rehab, it just works out. She’s going to AA meetings, getting her hair license.… It’s like everything still wraps up with a bow, even when shitty things happen.”

  “Just because my mom wants to act like we’re perfect doesn’t make it true.” My voice is shaky and my heart is thumping hard, like there’s something bubbling under the surface—something that makes me want to tell him to shut up, something I know isn’t right. But I don’t understand why.

  “Well, it sure looks like it from over here.” He gazes out at the water for a while, swigging so hard from his bottle that I don’t even try to catch up this time.

  MY FAMILY IS LOW-KEY WHEN IT COMES TO JULY FOURTH.

  We don’t go down to see the fireworks at Navy Pier or head to the beach like half the city. The salon closes for the day, and my father usually has minimal appointments. Carlene’s scho
ol is closed, so after her AA meeting we grill out on the roof. One of Laz’s water polo teammates is having a party, but I decide it’s easier to just stay in. At least I know I’ll see Booker at the Bulls game soon.

  “We’re heading out of town this weekend,” Dad says as I crunch down on a potato chip. “Your mom and I.”

  I finish chewing. “To see Mimi? I want to go.”

  “No, this is a trip just for us,” Mom says. “But we are going to Wisconsin. Your father’s taking me on a nature retreat.”

  “A nature retreat?” I look at them both. “Did you book the wrong trip?”

  Carlene squeezes mustard on her hot dog. “Will the woodland creatures sing and dress you in the morning?”

  I snort.

  “Very funny, you two.” My mother purses her lips, but I think she’s trying to hide a smile. “It’ll be good for us to get out of the city. Have some quiet time together.”

  “I don’t care how peaceful it is—I’m not meditating,” Dad says before he bites into his burger.

  “We’ll be leaving on Friday after breakfast and come back on Sunday afternoon,” Mom continues. “Birdie, I already checked with Ayanna and you can sleep over the whole weekend.”

  I frown. “Why do I have to stay at Laz’s?”

  “Because you’re only sixteen and we’re not comfortable with you staying by yourself. Don’t you want to be with Laz?”

  I glance at my aunt, who’s staring down at her plate. “But if Carlene is going to be here, why can’t I just stay at home?”

  “It’s not Carlene’s responsibility to take care of you.” Mom pauses, her eyes sweeping over the table before they land on me. “And you’ve stayed at Laz’s before—what’s the problem?”

  “I want to stay here. In my own bed. Their pullout couch is lumpy, and Ayanna gets up early and makes so much noise.” I take a deep breath. I want to present my case calmly. “Carlene wouldn’t have to babysit me. If I hang out with anyone, it would be Laz.”

  “I don’t mind,” Carlene says easily, even though we’ve been talking about her like she’s not here. “I just have to go to a couple of meetings. Otherwise, I’ll be around.”

  My mother sighs. “But what if you’re not?”

  “I will be, Kitty.”

  The silence at the table is louder than the multitude of fireworks popping and sparking in the distance. I look at Dad who’s looking at Mom who’s staring at Carlene.

  “Kitty,” my father says softly, “Dovie is sixteen. She’s not a baby. If something happens, she knows what to do.”

  “Nothing is going to happen, Ray,” Carlene says through gritted teeth.

  His voice is just as tight when he says, “I’m on your side.”

  And I am so grateful for my father in that moment. Three against one is so much easier than him teaming up with my mother.

  “Come on, Mom,” I plead. “I’m not that young. In a couple of years, I’ll be living on my own. You can call me every hour if you want to make sure I’m okay.”

  “We won’t have reception anyway,” Mom mutters. She sighs again, then looks warily at Carlene. “You don’t mind sticking around and looking after things?”

  “I already said I didn’t, Kitty. She’s—Dove is my niece. I won’t let you down.”

  Mom stares at her for a while and something passes between them. Something I can’t identify, but it unsettles me all the same.

  Still, my mother nods. “Fine. Birdie, you’ll stay here. But I’m still going to have Ayanna check in on you a few times, just to make sure everything’s okay. Carlene, I expect you to be here every night.”

  “You got it, warden.” My aunt salutes her and digs into her hot dog.

  My parents leave for their trip three days later, while I’m cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Carlene and I watch the car pull out of its spot around back and head toward the expressway.

  She looks at me. “What time will Booker be here?”

  As soon as my parents announced their trip, we decided I should invite him over. Strike while the iron is hot, Carlene said.

  “I don’t know. Six? Seven?”

  “Want a new set of braids before he gets here?” she asks, eyeing my head.

  I run my hand over my newly loose hair. I took down my goddess braids last night, but I liked them. A fresh set would be nice. I nod.

  “So,” she says slowly, “maybe I could do them down in the salon.”

  My eyebrows wrinkle. “Are you suddenly allowed to work in there now?”

  “No, but what’s the harm if she’s not here?” Carlene looks at the clock on the microwave. “The shop doesn’t open for another couple of hours. I can give you a good wash and get most of it done before then.”

  “But Ayanna won’t be here for another hour and a half.”

  “Don’t you know where your mother keeps the key?”

  I do. And I’d never hear the end of it if she knew I used it to break into the shop. But maybe Carlene is right—what’s the harm? We’ll clean up the station when we’re done, and a little shampoo and conditioner isn’t going to break their budget. I wonder if my mother was right when I overheard her talking to my father—is Carlene rubbing off on me? I never would have done something like this a couple of months ago, but now… Well, it’s easier to see that my whole world won’t fall apart if I break a rule or two or three.

  Still, the guilt vibrates in my fingertips as I turn the key in the lock. I close the door quickly behind my aunt and make sure the sign is still turned to CLOSED. Then I go straight back to the sinks and sit down, but Carlene takes her time walking through the shop, her eyes traveling over every bottle, hair tool, and chair leg. I hold my breath when she looks at the cash register, remembering her story about stealing from my mother. There’s no money in there now, but even if there were, I know Carlene wouldn’t do that. Not now. Except maybe I wouldn’t be holding my breath if I were actually sure of that.

  “I think we should get started,” I say when she pauses by my mom’s station, looking at the framed picture of me and Mimi propped on top. Before Mimi cut her hair short. “Ayanna isn’t going to be happy about this.”

  Carlene sucks her teeth, holding the bundle of hair she brought down. “Do I look like I’m scared of Ayanna?”

  But she does come over then. I lean my head back and close my eyes. She turns on the faucet, and the warm needles of water are so soothing I almost fall asleep as they soak into my hair. Then Carlene is shampooing my tight curls, massaging my scalp like I did Ms. Daugherty’s, and I have to stop myself from sighing with happiness. I almost forgot how much I like someone else washing my hair. And Carlene is good—not so rough that her finger-nails are scraping up my scalp, but not so soft that I’m worried she’s not getting the job done.

  I didn’t turn on the music when we came in, and we don’t talk, so it is completely quiet as she washes. And I’m okay with that. We’ve developed a comfortable silence around each other that I’ve come to like. It never feels like we need to be saying anything just to fill the space.

  She wanders around more as she lets my hair absorb the coconut conditioner for a few minutes. “You know, I always thought your mom and I would have a shop like this. We talked about it.”

  “You did?”

  “The only thing I know how to do is hair, and she’s good at it, too. It just made sense that we’d do something like this together.”

  I lift my head to look at her. “What happened?”

  “Well, it’s so much work to start a business. Kitty couldn’t do it herself.” Carlene pauses, takes a breath. “I guess I thought she might wait for me to get it together, but then she met Ayanna.…”

  That was ten years ago. I lower my head back to the sink. I hate thinking of Carlene wasting all that time. I wonder what the salon would look like if she were co-owner. I guess my mom wouldn’t know Ayanna, which means I wouldn’t know Laz, which makes me think my life would look a whole lot different, too.

  “It’s proba
bly for the best,” Carlene says, walking back over to check on my hair. “Kitty has done good. She didn’t need me.”

  But I remember that’s what she said about not having kids, too—It was for the best—and I wonder if she actually believes that.

  “You ever think about doing hair?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “I can’t. Not like you and Mom. Even Mimi is way better than me. She just doesn’t like it.”

  Carlene pokes gently at my conditioner-soaked curls. “Well, good. You’re probably going to be a doctor or lawyer or something. Can’t have you wasting away at a salon.”

  “Civil engineer,” I say, smiling. “Mimi’s going to be a doctor.”

  “See? You’re smart. You don’t need to know how to do hair.”

  “Mom’s one of the smartest people I know, and her whole life is hair,” I say. “You’re smart, too. Doing hair is a skill, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have to be in school to make sure you’re good enough.”

  Carlene doesn’t say anything, but she squeezes my shoulder before she picks up the sprayer to rinse my hair.

  Ayanna walks in just as Carlene is picking up the blow dryer. She’s early, even to open up the shop. She stops in the foyer with her coffee and sighs. “Carlene, what are you doing? You know Kitty would kill you if she walked in right now.”

  “Kitty is halfway to Wisconsin for her nature retreat,” Carlene says, utterly unfazed. “The only way she’ll know is if you tell her.”

  Ayanna sighs again and looks at me in the mirror. “You know better, too, Dove.”

  I shrug, staring back at her. “I’m just an unwitting hair model.”

  She shakes her head as she walks past us to the break room. “Don’t forget to use cool air. Her hair can’t handle all that heat.”

  Carlene purses her lips and takes a deep breath before she nods at Ayanna.

  Ayanna finishes her coffee in the break room and grumbles her way around the salon as she gets it ready to open, but she lingers by our station to watch Carlene braid. My lips are pressed tight as I try to pretend like my scalp isn’t on fire.

  “Those look real nice,” Ayanna says after a couple of minutes.