Buddy Week

“They shouldn’t teach kids how to mix this stuff.”

I sighed. Firstly, sophomores aren’t kids. Secondly, I bet no one even knew what kind of poison carbon and nitrogen made, except Bimori, who demanded to speak to Mrs Lawiny to “ensure the items were never near each other.”

I sighed again. Buddy Week was supposed to be fun. It was a summer day camp, except it took place at school—a sneaky way to make the term longer. Anyway, you were supposed to choose an acquaintance and spend the week with only them at the tables, events, and other stuff. I wanted to hit-up with Yvonne. Then Mrs Lawiny told me acquaintances aren’t friends.

Then what are they?, I asked.

Not friends, she said. Not friends! What an answer. I had to look it up.

We have space travel. We have machine learning. We have personal robots. But whatever you do, don’t look up crucial information on the net. It’s like they just haven’t figured out the simple things. Like when Mom gave Chad (yes, my parents went with country names) and me a holiday chilli con carne, and it sent me to bed but made him so active he went to the treadmill*. Trying to check out why the compounds in spicy foods had different effects on my brother was like trying to find an English sign in Quebec, from what I’ve heard.

*Treadmill is code word in our house for a few laps around the garden.

Few is the code word for 24‡.

‡24 is Dad’s favorite number. No reason. He stopped being 24 fourteen years ago.

So, anyway, I resolved to find the school’s rulebook. Apparently, an acquaintance is someone you know certain things about and have spent more than 60 but less than 300 minutes with. Quite interestingly specific. ‘Spent’ was the part that sent me scratching my head. Been in the same room with? Talked to? Talked about?

At least I most definitely knew who I wanted to take, regardless of what the rules were. I would shake off my shyness and senselessness and muster up all the courage I had to talk to Iori. Iori what, I don’t know. But I would by Buddy Week. And by Saturday, I’d have exchanged dozens of kumihimo bracelets with her, showed off my 78 crumpled ricepaper cranes, and recited (what I could remember; probably 12%) Shiki’s “A Day in Spring”.

I had three days to tell her I wanted us to be buddies. Two, actually, since it was Thursday, and I didn’t know where she lived, so I could only see her on school days. And only during the Hour of Code, ‘cause that was our only class together.

“I want everyone seated,” Mrs Lawiny said.

Each desk usually had four chairs, but mine had half, and I usually sat alone because the class had an odd number. But Yvonne had signed up now—or her parents made her, rather, so she could help them with Excel and Word—so that made us 22.

“Sup, McKenya?”

“Hey,” I said. “You’re sitting here?”

“Sure. Gotta spend my last two days of the year with my bestie.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re neighbors.”

She laughed, and I did too.

“How far is your Black Girls Code contest submission?” she asked.

“Good, I guess. I hear the judge is tough. You should join, too.”

“Can’t. I can’t even turn this thing on!” She laughed and banged the computer. “So who’s your buddy going to be?”

I pointed across the room.

“What’s her name again?”

“Iori.”

“How do you spell that?”

“Dunno.”

“Have you told her you’ll be buddies?”

“No…”

“Time’s ticking. She might get taken.”

“Sure, I know. But I’m excited for my first Buddy Week.”

“It’ll be good to see you come out of your eggshell. I had to make you talk when we met!” And we laughed again.

Leave it to Mrs Lawiny to break my heart.

“Did you mention Buddy Week? Have I forgotten to tell the class it was canceled?”

Yes. Yes you did.

“We’re readjusting…” I’d heard about this. Sunrise Christian High always struggled with events, and Buddy Week was no different. They could never decide on when to do it. They’d had it once in ‘98, again in 2003, and twice five years later. The school board couldn’t even agree on what to do each week. At last, they’d decided to have it the second week of May, and for three years, it worked well. But the year I came, they didn’t have it. Chad joked that it was my fault. And now this year, it was canceled!

“We have three options this year instead.” I felt like she was supposed to make this announcement at homeroom the next morning when the entire class would be gathered, instead of half of it. But she had forgotten the others. “Your parents should get the form by the end of the week…”

I banged my head on the chair’s headrest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Yvonne said.

“Not your fault,” and I sighed for the first of a million times in the following days.

***

“I got a form from your school, McKenya,” Mom said over dinner. She always started the conversations. Dad was fine with silence while he ate.

“What form?” Dad asked. He looked like Pixar’s Joe Gardner, but slightly fatter. I think ‘plump’ is the word people use nowadays.

“Summer camp form.”

“Oh.” He went back to the mangú.

“Why doesn’t my school have free summer camp?” Chad whined.

“You’ll be in high school in a few years. Just wait a little,” Mom said and passed me the form across the table.

Please tick your option for Agape Week:

Brand from the Burning:

Camp for refugees and traumatized children in Millsview

*Buddy [13-15]

*Camp Counselor [16-18]

Golden Year Nursing Home:

Nursing home outside Roman Complex

*Housekeeping assistant

*Recreational activities assistant

Dawn of Amazing Grace Rehabilitation Center:

Youth rehabilitation center in South Millsview

*Chaplain [16-18]

*Counselor [16-18]

*Housekeeping [14-18]

*Inspector [16-17]

“I won’t have McKenya do any of these. I can’t see her saying yes either,” Dad remarked. He had an unfortunately long neck.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“The Nursing Home’s too far,” Mom said after reading it aloud, “and that would be the most palatable.”

“What’s a re-hab-il-i-too-tion center?” Chad asked.

“Place they lock people who eat and drink bad stuff so they can stop,” Dad said, “like cilantro.” Mom glared at him.

“But she hasn’t done any of the school’s other events,” said Chad. “Ain’t they gonna flag her or something?”

“True; excellent, Chad,” Mom said. “We have to choose something.”

“A rehab?” Dad said gravely. “Really? No. McKenya isn’t going to get flagged if she doesn’t go.”

Dad was adamant. Despite Mom looking upset, she didn’t want me in any of those places either, even if I’d be showing "God's love". Neither did I. Wilson didn’t quite get it, but he pretended to be upset too. But I would be flagged, and likely stripped of some points off my transcript. And I needed them so bad. I’d just have to pray something would come up.

***

Bimori snatched Yvonne’s beret and flung it across the room while screaming. “Carbon! Carbon! And you’re holding the nitrogen! Stop it!” She grabbed one of Yvonne’s braids and began expunging it furiously with a napkin. Mrs Lawiny ran to their table to stop her.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Mrs Lawiny if she hadn’t forgotten something else. I should definitely have gone to the nursing home, no matter how far it was. But I’d felt certain God was telling me to take a step. Apparently, it was a fiend talking.

“Are you sure there are only three options, ma’am?”

“Let me see…oh sure, that’s the outdated form for last year! Buddy Week wasn’t scrapped at all. We’re just doing something new. We’re partnering with Enabled Academy. Half their students are coming here, and half ours are going there. They’re a special needs school, and—”

“So our buddies are going to be…disabled?”

“Special needs, MoKigali.”

“McKenya.”

“Sorry.”

That didn’t sound too hard. Though I was disappointed not to get a chance to flex my Nipponophile skills, at least I would get the credits. And my parents probably wouldn’t say no.

***

“No.” I kinda felt he would say that.

“But it’s just going to be blind and lame and deaf and dumb kids, probably. No crazy ones. Mrs Lawiny said so.”

“Mrs Lawiny told you, and you believe her?”

“Well…”

“Come on, honey,” Mom said. “She needs to do something this year.”

“Why couldn’t they send you to get an internship or something?”

“The juniors will do that, Dad. Please! I’m this close to bringing someone new to church.”

“We’ll think about it.”

***

Yvonne looked like she desperately needed to talk to me, but the laws of Buddy Week forbade her. I hated Buddy Week now, and I wished they hadn’t said yes. Three hours in, and I was still waiting for my buddy to arrive. I was told she had left her monoculars and walker at home. And Bimori, somewhere on the autism spectrum, who had been more placid and amiable all morning than I'd been all my life, was furious that Yvonne was covered in ‘cyanide’, and screamed that they must leave the lab immediately. Since the hour only had five minutes left, all Mrs Lawiny had to do was calm her down until the next activity started.

“Leave it to Mrs Lawiny. Why did they leave one teacher here?” I muttered.

“You should help,” a passerby pushing a wheelchair said. “You’ve just sat there in the corner grumbling all morning. Great way to show God’s love. Stop being so pessimistic and do something!”

I groaned. I’d made a bad impression on Iori! How terrible! I was helpful, most of the time. But not this time. I leaned over to see the scene. Bimori was trying to free Yvonne from Mrs Lawiny so she could clean Yvonne herself. I wondered how this didn’t count as assault.

“I’ve go this, Mrs Lawiny. Can’t we leave now?” Yvonne said. She always ‘got this.’ That was why she was my friend.

“Well, there’s no rule against…”

“Great! We’re going now.”

Bimori hugged her. “The picnic gardens. I am showing my grandmother’s awards. She run, she played soccer, and she speaks about we Raramuri.”

And off they went, two perfect peas: Yvonne to be transported to ancient Mexico through her buddy's stories, Bimori taking my place. I’d never felt unhappier. Okay, maybe I had when Mrs Lawiny called me out in front of the class for pronouncing her name Lavini—which it would have been had not the immigration officer spelt it wrong. But this unhappiness was different.

Mrs Lawiny had just finished a phone call and approached me. “Sam’s at the gate. Please be considerate, MaKayla.”

“McKenya.”

“Yes, yes. Sorry.”

Was she insinuating I would be insensitive? That I would I unforgivably offend my albinic buddy? Try to avoid her? Now I was double cross. I’d never…

“Hi. Mrs Lawiny says I’m meeting a MoKami?”

“Mrs Lawiny meant to introduce you to McKenya.”

“Where is…”

“Me,” I snapped, very ungodly-ly.

She missed my hand while trying to shake it and waved her hand around to find mine.

I was furiously unhappy. I had done nothing for half the day, learned nothing, seen nothing (enjoyable), witnessed the kidnap of my BFF, become sick with the smell of first aid, and been told I was insensitive. It seemed more like the better buddy was helping the other do everything, and I had hopelessly waited for mine to arrive. I was a solo go-getter; never wanted to do nothing or be dragged along by someone slower. Now I was stuck without anything to say to Samantha and running the risk of rudeness. So I waited for her to talk first, but she didn’t. We wandered around the school, no one leading, until I made up my mind to quit myself of this nightmarish week.

“Let’s go to the gardens,” I said. My plan: find and re-capture Yvonne, convince her this was nonsensical, and go home to enjoy the summer. I’d forget about the transcript.

“Kay.” That was it.

The entrance to the garden had a ridiculously high ledge, and in my anger, I tripped over it.

“Oh, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Thanks.” I hastily continued.

“You did hurt yourself! You’re limping.”

I looked down at my legs. In my rage, I’d forgotten to fake it. “I-I-I always walk like that.”

“Not before.”

“This one’s shorter. I walk so it’s not noticeable.”

She inspected it for some time. I guessed she couldn’t see a difference.

“That’s why you walk so stiff!” she laughed. “I thought you were mad at me. I was so worried I’d have to stick around with a monster for the week.”

I sighed. “I’m no monster, I guess.”

“Are we still going to the gardens?”

I’d been stupid. Yeah, like most of my rages, this hadn’t lasted long—they usually end in my being grounded—but her calling out my congenital defect hit me. Then I remembered my bent nose, and how my bottom half was Mom's dark color and the upper half nearly as white as Dad, and that Sam hadn’t called any of these out, and how I’d forgotten about my own defects compared to those I thought were worse. Yvonne and I weren’t good friends, at least, I wasn’t. I was always too busy to help her with her coding assignments. That was bad. I needed to take the logs out of my eye, put a pin to my head full of hot air, and think. I’d remember Sam’s statement—at least, until my next bad mood, which I hoped was far away into infinity. “Yeah.”