Chapter 3

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Yvette's words revealed she didn'tcare. They said she knew she was leaning hard against the last nerve of theowner of the old, tan, 1995 Impala, but didn't care. "You could at leastgive some thought to the possibility," she said as she unwrapped a stickof Juicy Fruit. She popped the sweet, stretchy, rectangular treat into hermouth and kept talking. "I mean, look. I know you want to stay, and so doI. I understand. As horrible as it can be, Mississippi is my home too."

Zarah rolled her eyes away from her friend before rolling them back.

Once the gum's juiciness factor kicked, it kindled Yvette's saliva and made it hard for her to speak. She folded the wrapper, stuffed it into her purse, and then swallowed hard. "But," she said, "you know ... you'll never have the kind of success you want ... in publishing, if you stay." Smacking twice, she swallowed again. "That means you have to leave. We can leave together, because I know I'll have more success away from this God forsaken place. But. With or without you. After graduation? I'm outta here."

"I'm just not sure." Zarah rolled her eyes away again. "How can you be so sure?" Gripping the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and prayed for the old ignition in her old car to turn over. It was going to be another sweaty hot day, and, at just seven o'clock that September morning, she knew she couldn't start her old car's air conditioner. But if her car didn't start soon, her sweat glands were going to kick in. That meant her outfit, a beautiful crimson skirt and top that belonged to her passenger—her roommate and her best friend, would get wet with sweat, and she didn't want that to happen. "Please, please, please ... start, you stupid car!" She turned the key in the ignition again, but once again, the car only groaned.

Smacking her lips and savoring the sugary, fragrant gum, the loquacious passenger kept talking. "Look. If you stay in Mississippi? Your only choice is to beg for a job at that publishing company owned by that white guy ... that billionaire you hate. The guy who seems okay, but to you is just another white person you hate."

It was clear she knew how to push Zarah's buttons, and even though Vette's best friend was three years younger, the older best friend knew her driver was a pro at pushing back. 

"Don't make me regret saying I would drive you this week," Zarah said, "and don't make me put you out. And, oh, thanks for offering me a piece of gum."

"Look, heifer. Don't forget ... I drove you all last month in my daddy's car. He's fixing it for me now, and I'll have it next week. And you are taking me to work until then. Like I took your butt to school last week. And that was my last piece of gum." Frowning hard, Yvette turned the rear-view mirror toward her and started putting on mascara. "You didn't have to walk not one hot day last week while the queen of clunkers wasn't starting. So shut up and make this beater go. And don't you have a sister and two brothers with money? It's 2006. Why don't you ask them to get you a real car? We might not always be as lucky as we were yesterday."

Zarah yanked her rear-view mirror back to where it belonged. "I buy my own cars. Josie and E-Z offered to get me one, but you know me. I like to do for myself. Josie and my brothers all have children. I just have me."

Yvette turned the rear-view mirror back toward her. "Well, if this is the best you can do, it's time to raise that little white flag on all your independence. Sweetie. You need a car."

Gripping the steering wheel with her palms sweating, the driver clenched her teeth with her eyes closed. "Old car, please. Don't let me down today, or she'll never shut up. God? If you hear me, and if you love sister Zarah, puh-leeeeze let this car start!" She took a deep breath, exhaled, then made the sign of the cross starting at the tip of her forehead, touching a spot at the top of her belly, and then crossing her chest. When she turned the key again, like the eleven year-old car it was, the moody, 1995 Impala groaned like it really wanted to start, but just couldn't.

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