“Go find the kids,” Mama says, hands on her hips. “We don’t need y’all in grown folks’ business today.”
We “find the kids” and play horseshoes and kickball, while the grown folks play spades, Bid Whist and dominoes, their laughter and all the things we aren’t supposed to hear reaching our ears anyway. When it’s time to eat, Iris and I sit at the kids’ table with a little bit of everything on our plates.
“What’s your favorite?” I ask Iris.
“Fried chicken,” she says around a greasy mouthful, pointing to a leg, thigh, and breast on her plate. “Can’t you tell?”
“I like this étouffée.” I spoon up some of the soup and rice from a Styrofoam bowl.
“I can teach you how to make it,” an old lady nearby says.
It’s my great-grandma MiMi. We don’t see her much since she lives in the bayou out in the middle of nowhere.
“Okay.” I shrug. “Maybe someday.”
She takes my chin between her fingers and studies my face. “You’re growing up, Lotus,” she says. “Such a pretty girl.”
Does MiMi see Iris sitting beside me with her light skin and long, silky, “good” hair? She’s the one people usually notice, not me. We’re dressed almost identically, both wearing white tube tops and shorts.
“Uh, thank you.” I look away when MiMi keeps staring at me. She has a way of looking right through you. Mama says she practices voodoo like a lot of the women in our family used to do. She’s kind of scary, and I’m glad when she lets my chin go and moves on.
We eat and run all day until it’s close to getting dark. The sun’s about to go down, and I’m playing hand slap with one of our cousins when Aunt Priscilla walks over, frowning and glancing around the pavilion.
“Lo, I don’t see Iris anywhere,” she says. “Go find your cousin so we can go. I don’t want to be in that death trap of Ron’s on the road at night.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I take off toward the field where I last saw Iris playing with one of the dogs someone brought along.
“Bo!” I call. Aunt Priscilla is Creole. Iris’s father is German, so Iris is all mixed up and got a little bit of everything in her. That’s why I call her Gumbo.
I wander into the old sugarcane field that borders the community center. Looks like no one harvested it last season. All the tall stalks, some of them rotting, make it hard to see.
“She wouldn’t have come this far in.” I turn, ready to retrace my steps and find my way out, but I bump into something solid.
“Oh, Ron,” I say, looking up at him cautiously. “Hey.”
“Hey, Lo.” He addresses the words to the little buds on my chest in my tube top. “You growing up fast.”
His smile makes my stomach knot with nerves, but I’m not sure why. I glance around and see nothing but stalks and Ron.
“I better get back.” I go to step around him, but he steps with me. When I step right, so does he.
He chuckles and touches my face. “We got a few minutes.”
“I-I gotta go. Aunt Pris sent me to find Iris.” My voice shakes a little, and my heart is pounding so hard I hear it. “She’ll be looking for me.”
“Naw. Her new man just got here,” he says easily. “She’ll be occupied for a while, convincing him to pay next month’s rent. We never get to talk, you and me.”
“I’m gonna go on back, Ron.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me into him. “You been running around here half-naked all day,” he says, his voice coming deeper, rougher. “Looking all good.”
The word naked sets off alarms in my head. He shouldn’t be talking to me like that. Or looking at me like that. Or sneaking in little touches every chance he gets.
“No, I haven’t.” I try to pull away, but his fingers tighten. “Let go.”
“Just one kiss, Lo,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to mine.
“No!” I jerk back, but he holds my head in place with one big hand. I open my mouth to scream, and he shoves his tongue inside. It’s wet and thick and muffles my voice. I gag. How can Mama like this? I bite his bottom lip until I taste blood.