Desi was in her room late at night, her stereo on full blast. It was about one in the morning but for some reason she couldn't sleep, so she had turned on her music and was now dancing around her room in her short white nightgown. She flared her arms around, and moved her shoulders and head from side to side, making her dark red curls bounce around her face. The song was one of Ephram's songs, in Japanese. She couldn't understand any of the words, but, she soon found, that didn't matter. The song was one of her favorites, even if she had no idea what was being said. Ephram had given her a lot of nice songs. He knew just the kinds of music she liked. He liked all kinds. Classical, J-Pop, Reggae, Rap, Punk, Ephram was a true lover of music. Jig was too, so it was probably a musician thing. Hey, Desi was dating a musician! It's a good thing she didn't tell her parents that. Even if she explained he played the piano, they wouldn't think it was funny. Oh, wait a minute! What was Desi thinking? They wouldn't listen to her anyway. When she had Ephram over for dinner to meet them, her father left to a meeting and her mom was on her cell phone, at the table. To heads of state Desi's parents oozed courtesy, but for Desi, they just oozed. Christopher would always mimic them, making Desi think it was funny the way their parents had ignored them. Now Christopher was dead, and it wasn't funny anymore.
Desi found her hands shaking so she rubbed them together, hoping whatever made them shake would leave. But then she got a chill through her entire body. She undressed and got into her shower. She turned just the hot water on and enjoyed the near scolding shower. Hot showers always made the pain go away. When she felt refreshed enough she changed back into her nightgown and wrapped her hair in a towel. She walked in front of her mirror and thought how much she looked like those African women with their hair wrapped up. Though their head ornaments probably weren't made out of terrycloth. Desi hit the air in front of her like a drum and continued dancing around her room, water dripping off of her legs and making foot prints on her carpet. She swayed her hips as if moving to the beat of her 'air drum.' Sometimes Desi felt like a big disappointment. She was half Black, but her heritage was not African, it was French. Neither she nor her father considered either of them having any ties to Africa. Desi was glad there were no Kwanza celebrating people in Everwood. What would they think of her? Maybe next year she should do something about the history of Kwanza for the school newspaper, or even the Pinecone.
She still couldn't sleep so she got out her favorite movie. The Mighty Ducks. The first person who laughs at her, dies. She just likes the movie. She had no idea why, she just did. She liked the second one too, with the chick goalie. That movie made Desi want to be a hockey player for some time. That's another thing she was glad she never told her parents about. That would not have gone well. The really scary part of it is, though, she wasn't bad. Back when she cared, Desi was undeniably the best hockey player in her class. Offense, defense, goalie, it didn't matter, Desi was the king, er, queen. And she was always a captain too, meaning she always got to chose her team. She never lost a game. Actually, not that she would ever want anyone knowing this now, but in the trophy case, way down at the bottom tucked behind the school's high golfing scores, was a tiny trophy of hers, signifying her 25-0 hockey game record in the third grade. But, luckily, that was at her old school, so Ephram nor Jig would ever see it. She should write a book about hockey players. Oh. A murder mystery. "The Striking Circle." Oh! She liked it!
Delia had everything set up. Her friend since Pre-K, Hasina Izquierdo was coming next Saturday, and her, Delia, and Murasaki could spend the entire day together. Delia and Murasaki could show Hasina around Everwood. Hasina had lived directly downstairs from the Brown's in New York for as long as either Delia or Hasina could remember. Hasina's parents were both immigrants, her father from Mexico and her mother from Africa. Hasina was an African name, it meant 'heaven,' Delia thought. She wasn't sure.
Anyway, Delia couldn't wait. She missed Hasina so much. They knew everything about each other, they knew each other's secrets. Hasina gave the eulogy when Delia's hamster Pringles died. Delia sewed the arm back on Hasina's favorite doll whenever it fell off, which it did, a few times. They grew up like sisters; they were inseparable at school. If they weren't in the same class they would kick and scream until one set of parents would make them be. Hasina was the champion crier. She could do it on cue like nothing. One moment she'd be happy and laughing, the next, you'd think someone had cut off her hand. It was like watching art. Hasina had taught Delia a lot of things. Most of which Delia found useful at some point. Some suddenly became useful once Hasina was out of the main picture. Delia missed her. Hasina had so many things Murasaki didn't, she could do so many things Murasaki couldn't. But, the reverse was true as well. Delia missed Hasina, but she wouldn't give up her friendship with Murasaki for anything. Hasina had been Delia's friend because it was convenient, them living so closely, but Murasaki? Murasaki became Delia's friend because Delia needed one. And that was worth a lot.
Dr. Brown was sitting at the kitchen table in the near dark. As far as he knew, Ephram and Delia were upstairs. He sat at the table casually eating from a bowl of cereal. Needless to say, his attempt at cooking that night had been, a little less than successful. The cereal was good though. He could always make a mean bowl of cereal. As long as it wasn't oatmeal. Dr. Brown and oatmeal didn't get along very well, or, at all. His head turned as he saw his son approach him slowly. For the past few months Ephram had been generally happy, and when he wasn't, Dr. Brown knew why. But the less than cheerful expression Ephram now bore was of a man who had worn it in his youth, Dr. Brown didn't know the cause of, and if he did, he didn't like it.
"Hi, Dad," Ephram said cautiously.
"Hi, Ephram," Dr. Brown replied. Ephram sighed and quickly walked to the table and sat down next to his father.
"Look, I have this problem and I've been told you might be able to help me with it," Ephram blurted.
"You finally realized you're a genius and you're worried about how it makes you see the world," Dr. Brown said, placing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Ephram stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments until Dr. Brown finally explained.
"Jig told me," he said, still crunching cereal in his teeth. Ephram sighed and shook his head.
"Of course she did…"
"You know, she's really worried about you. Are you sure you made the right choice?" Dr. Brown asked him. Ephram looked up at him, confused.
"What choice?"
"Between Desi and Jig, are you sure you picked the right one?" Dr. Brown elaborated. Ephram sighed again.
"I didn't chose, my heart did," Ephram told him. Dr. Brown simply nodded.
"If I had said stuff like that at your age, I wouldn't have taken Betty Spencer to the prom," Dr. Brown told him. Ephram narrowed his eyebrows but decided it best to leave his questions unasked.
"So do you know what I'm going through or don't you?" Ephram asked, getting tired and wanting answers.
"Of course I do. You see Ephram, when I was your age, I had a breakdown too," Dr. Brown told him. Ephram frowned.
"I'm not having a breakdown," Ephram corrected him.
"Sure you are. You yelled at Jig, you've never yelled at Jig. You willingly came to talk to me, you've never willingly talked to me. You're having a breakdown, Ephram. But that's okay, it's normal for the people in our family to have breakdowns at your age."
"Thank you genetics!"
"Yes, well, don't worry, you'll get past it. Just some words of advice, don't go telling people you're better than them even if you are, don't assume you can do everything just because you're a genius, and never hide yourself from your friends. Jig said you realized the world isn't perfect, right?"
"Right," Ephram said nodding as well.
"Then, when that starts getting to you, go talk to Desi, or Jig. You have a great girlfriend and a devoted best friend Ephram, don't waste them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some lab results to look at. Good night, don't stay up too early," Dr. Brown said standing up, placing his bowl in the sink, and walking out of the kitchen. Ephram remained where he sat for a few moments, thinking.
"This is a stupid game…" Bright said staring at the chess board in front of him. Amy sat on the opposite side of the board, looking at her brother as he examined the damage. She held all of his pawns, both knights, and a bishop. He had one of her pawns.
"You're the one who wanted to learn…" Amy reminded him. He frowned, knowing it was very well true. Things had not being going well for Bright in the world of women lately. Currently he had his eye on Georgianna Prescott. She was the President of the Chess Club but by no means a nerd. She had long, wavy black hair, light brown eyes that changed shades in different lighting, smooth chocolate complexion, and an idea set in her mind that a jock was no match for her. So Bright, being horny, wanted Amy to teach him how to play chess like a master, so he could impress Georgianna. Normally Amy would say no, but he was giving her fifty bucks and there was a new shirt she wanted to buy, plus there was a reader's encyclopedia she had her eye on.
"I'm really beginning to regret this."
"Wanna give up?" Amy asked him. He shook his head.
"No. I have to let Georgianna know she's not smarter than I am."
"Uh, Bright, she kind of is," Amy told him. He looked up at her, frowning.
"No she's not…"
"Bright she got 1475 on her PSAT's, what'd you get?" Amy asked him.
"A test doesn't prove anything…" Bright told her. Amy nodded.
"Sure, whatever. Checkmate," Amy said moving her piece. Bright looked at the board, confused.
"What does that mean?" Bright asked her. Amy looked at him quietly for a few moments before sighing.
"I don't think chess is for you, Bright," Amy told him. He shook his head.
"No, I'm going to understand this game if it kills me. Now, what does checkmate mean?"
"It means you lose," she told him. He sighed.
"Okay. How do we reset the board?" he asked her to her surprise.
"You really want to prove to this girl you're smart, don't you?" Amy asked him. He nodded. She sighed.
"Take your black pieces and set them up here like this," Amy said, showing him.
