Don't Know Where, Don't Know When (The Snipesville Chronicles Book 1) Page 2

  That makes sense, she thought now, because Grandma is a bit like a wolf. Not that she looks like one, of course: She is as beautiful as an old lady can be, but she is also clever and sly. It wouldn’t have surprised Hannah if she had had sharp teeth to eat people with. Hannah felt ugly and dumb most of the time these days. Although she usually enjoyed her grandmother’s company, there were days she would have given anything to have a fat, plain, dimwitted Grandma who orbited around her, offering lots of sympathy and home-made chocolate chip cookies.

  But no. Grandma was the first woman high school principal in the city, and she was the most stylish, smart, and scary old lady Hannah had ever known. She always wore clothes with expensive designer labels, and colorful, hip jewelry from the Sacramento Artists’ Collective. Hannah had never seen her Grandma with a single grey hair or without makeup. Her dad had once muttered a snarky comment about Grandma having had a facelift, but since Hannah had figured out that there was no love lost between her dad and his mother-in-law, she kind of doubted it.

  Grandma threw open the door and her arms to Hannah: “Sweetheart! It’s so great to see you!” Hannah hugged her awkwardly, before pulling free, dashing past, and throwing her arms round Grandpa, who was a good foot taller than his wife.

  “So are you practising your Scarlett O’Hara routine yet?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Hannah looked up at him. “Scarlett say what?”

  “Never mind.” He kissed the top of her head. “It’s from a movie about the South your grandma and I saw back in the day, sometime around the late seventeenth century. Right, Ellen?” Grandma rolled her eyes, and playfully slapped Grandpa on the arm.

  That was the last light moment: Afterwards, the evening descended unstoppably into disaster.

  Grandma ordered the farewell dinner from a Mexican restaurant, because she refused to believe that they would have real Mexican food in Georgia. But the food took over an hour and a half to arrive, and meanwhile, everyone grew hungrier and hungrier, and grumpier and grumpier.

  Grandma was the grumpiest of all. Her mood did not improve with the arrival of the limp, lukewarm food. During dinner, Grandma needled her son-in-law about the move to Georgia: Schools, the library, the politics, the weather, how often they could visit their grandchildren, the food, the arts scene (not that there would be one to speak of, she muttered), how often their grandchildren could visit California, and lots besides. She never seemed pleased with Dad’s answers.

  Grandpa contented himself with cracking jokes about the Deep South, which was, Hannah knew, his way of telling her Dad that he was unhappy, too. He rubbed his hands together and said “So what’s first on the agenda, Bill? You gonna change your name to Billy Bob, or invite the neighbors round for a cross-burning?” Then he laughed loudly at his own joke.

  Shooting him a warning look, Grandma said, “Don’t scare the kids, Fred.”

  Like she hasn’t been scaring me for the past two hours with her stupid questions, Hannah thought angrily.

  Looking directly at Hannah, Grandma said, in a knowing tone, “Your grandpa thinks the South is as bad as it was fifty years ago.”

  Hannah had been getting madder and madder, and now her head exploded.

  She jumped up at the table, and yelled, “You do too. That’s why you’re asking Dad all these retarded questions.” She picked up her napkin and threw it at Grandma, landing it squarely on her head. Everyone at table paused, stunned. Alex sat with his mouth open.

  Grandma slowly plucked off the napkin, and folded it. In a soothing voice that made Hannah madder than ever, she said “Hannah, perhaps you should go into the living room, and calm down.”

  Hannah had expected someone to yell at her, and “young lady” her a lot, but Dad just looked depressed, Alex looked embarrassed, and even Grandpa was uncomfortably quiet. Hannah sat down in silence at the table, and tried not to look at her grandmother again.

  Later, when Hannah was in the den with Alex, watching TV, she overheard Grandma and Dad talking in the kitchen. She overheard her name, and words like “self-esteem,” “counseling,” and “issues.” Hannah was always being told that she had “issues,” and she had begun to explain her own behavior to herself and adults in terms of “issues,” too. Adults seemed to like it when she talked about “issues,” and it got them off her case. Too bad that it always made her squirm a little.

  When they said goodbye, Grandma hugged Hannah tightly, and apologized for upsetting her, which both pleased and annoyed her granddaughter. Grandpa told Hannah that she was just like her mother, and there were tears in his eyes. Both of them told Dad to look after Hannah and Alex, and himself. On the way home, nobody in the car said anything at all.

  Brandon Clark lived in Snipesville, Georgia, in a ramshackle old whitewashed wooden house that belonged to his parents. His great-great-grandparents had built it, when they were among the first black homeowners in West Snipesville, back in 1899.

  Most of the house was neat and normal. Brandon’s older brother Jonathan’s sports trophies took pride of place in the family room, next to the new flatscreen TV. Photos lined the white beadboard walls: Brandon’s parents’ wedding, Brandon as a toddler, Jonathan in Little League, Brandon’s grandparents’ 45th wedding anniversary, and Jonathan’s wedding.

  Then there was Brandon’s room. A dusty three-dimensional model of the solar system floated from a hanger. Little glow-in-the-dark stickers in the shapes of stars and moons were glued to the ceiling, and some were falling off. An old, disintegrating bookcase was crammed two deep with books. There were dusty books on the floor. Books were piled on the nightstand by Brandon’s unmade bed.

  A few were the sort of books you get from well-meaning but clueless family members or the school library, like Nature’s Wonders: Our Friend, The Frog, Timmy TooGood Celebrates Our Nation’s Heritage, Puppy and Kitty Find a Ball and Play With It, and A Kid’s Guide to Success Through Appropriate Behavior.

  Most were books that Brandon had bought for himself from online bookstores, using his allowance, and the gift certificates he begged from every family member every Christmas and birthday. There were books of science fiction, comic books, funny books in which all the jokes were about poop and toilets, and books about history. Brandon especially liked historical picture books. He could imagine walking through the camera lens and into those faraway, lost worlds.

  A dust-speckled baseball bat, deflated football, and saggy basketball sat in a corner of the room.

  Brandon’s grandparents had founded the family business that was now known as Clark and Sons Home of Eternal Rest, Inc. His father and uncle owned the funeral home, together with his mom’s sister, his aunt Marcia. She worked the front desk, and dealt with grieving customers. She was almost never known to smile, although Brandon’s dad swore he had heard her laugh for a full half minute in 1981, when she saw a neighbor’s cat run over by a car. Brandon and his dad had secretly nicknamed her Morticia, until his mom overheard them one day, and put a stop to it. Well, kind of. They still called her Morticia when they were sure Mom was well out of earshot.

  Brandon’s dad also worked as an insurance broker, and more and more of his attention went to that business, while Brandon’s uncle and auntie kept up the funeral home. Two years ago, Mr. Clark had opened a new office, close by the tiny Snipesville Mall, which was known to everyone as the Small. With more and more people retiring to Snipesville, Brandon’s dad had explained, he could expand what he called his “customer base” out of West Snipesville: “White folks still don’t like being buried by a black man, but these days, some of them will buy insurance from one,” he said. And so, Gordon Clark and Son Insurance of Snipesville was born.

  Brandon had a horrible feeling that he was the “Son” in the title: Nobody had consulted him, but there were no other likely candidates. He had a frightening vision of the future he was sure his parents had planned for him. He would get a degree in business from Snipesville College, followed by a partnership in either the funeral home or t
he insurance agency, or, most likely, both. And he would marry some girl he probably already knew at the Authentic Original First African Baptist Church of Snipesville (so named in 1967, to distinguish it from the Original First African Baptist Church, after there was a big split in the First African Baptist Church over some terrible controversy. Nobody now could remember what the fuss was about.)

  Brandon wasn’t sure what he wanted out of life, but this sure wasn’t it. Two years ago, he had met his second cousin Franklin at the family reunion at the church hall. Franklin was a Big Shot, one of many Big Shots who had left black Snipesville to find careers they couldn’t have in town, where white Snipesville controlled most of the jobs. Big Shots were lawyers, businesspeople, professors, and, as in Franklin’s case, doctors, all across America.

  Brandon liked Franklin, and was impressed by the enormous respect everyone showed to the young man. What excited him most were Franklin’s tales of life in Boston, and all the traveling he had done while he was a college student. This was the kind of life Brandon wanted, but he kept very quiet about it. He was too afraid that somebody would say no—and especially his mom, who scared everyone, including his dad.

  At Alex and Hannah’s new house in Snipesville, the silence was deafening, broken only briefly when Alex came back in from the yard, carrying two huge pinecones. “I love this place! You seen these? They’re awesome.”

  Hannah looked at him as though he was the saddest person she had ever known. “You need a life. Big pine cones? That’s pitiful.”

  “No, it’s not,” Alex shot back. “It’s too cool to have a big yard, and a big house. I mean, this is way better than California. You know, I saw an actual woodpecker this morning.”

  Hannah gave an exaggerated yawn. “This place is, like, the boredom capital of America.”

  Hannah still didn’t believe her dad’s story about why they had left California. He had told her and Alex that the bank was transferring him to Georgia, and he had no choice. Hannah had begged him to look for another job, but he said it wasn’t that easy, and, anyway, it would be fun to live in a small town, with clean air and less crime. And, he said, they would be able to afford a big house, because Georgia was so much cheaper than California.

  That part had been true, Hannah thought resentfully. They had a big house, alright, with a bathroom for each of them, plus one more… in Nowheresville, USA. The house wasn’t even in Snipesville, where she could at least have gone shopping at the tiny mall, or hung out at the college.

  Instead, they were living in Magnolia Acres, “an exclusive luxury community,” according to the sign at the gate, that was surrounded by cotton fields. There were no parks, no shops, no buses, and almost nobody under the age of 60. And it was too far from town for Hannah and Alex to walk or ride their bikes.

  When Hannah complained, her dad promised to check into summer programs at the college. Remembering that conversation, Hannah sighed heavily. Now Alex was signed up for baseball camp—even though he hated baseball—and she was registered for creative writing camp, which she thought sounded a little too forced, kind of like calling a camp “mandatory fun.”

  Hannah was just staring blankly at the big pile of boxes, when the doorbell rang. Through the frosted glass front door, she could see someone with long blonde hair. When she opened the door, the visitor flashed a big smile at Hannah, who disliked her on sight: Blonde and perky, Hannah thought. I hate perky. I hate blonde.

  “Hi, I’m Kimberly?” Hannah also hated girls who said everything like it was a question, and who carried prissy purses—which Kimberly was doing, of course. Hannah stared at her, but Kimberly plowed on. “Your dad sent me?”

  “You’re the babysitter, yeah?”

  “Um, yeah, that’s right. You guys ready?”

  Hannah shrugged, and yelled “Alex?” over her shoulder. She did not invite Kimberly inside.

  Kimberly drove a huge SUV, and she looked, Hannah thought, like a Barbie doll driving a tank. They traveled the short distance into Snipesville while Alex played on his GameBoy, and Hannah looked out of the window. The first things she saw coming into Snipesville were the billboards, most of them for local businesses. Hannah read them all, fascinated by how amazingly tacky they were:

  Peanut Pines Inn: Classy Elegance with Southern Sass! announced one.

  Another: Mama Fred’s BBQ and Gifts. Hannah tried to picture Mama Fred, and imagined a big bearded guy, wearing a pink housedress and fluffy slippers. She smirked.

  Kimberly took Hannah’s superior smile as a sign of approval: “Snipesville is such a beautiful place, isn’t it?” she said. Hannah looked at her as if she was mad, thinking, is this chick blind or just stupid?

  They passed Casey’s Mobile Home’s: Luxury Living. Easy Credit. Se Habla Espanol, which was an overgrown field lined with identical white trailers. Next to it was Sluggett’s Motel: Modern Facility, Old-Fashion Southern Hospitality, an establishment that looked as though it was built in 1950 and had not had a coat of paint since. Hannah thought it would make a great setting for a horror movie.

  Suddenly, there was a break in all the tattered bill boards, tatty old motels, trailer parks, and used car lots that littered the edge of Snipesville. Two handsome brick pillars marked the entrance to Snipesville State College, and Kimberly turned onto the road that ran between them. “Okay, y’all, I’ll drop off Hannah first, because the baseball fields are round the other side of campus. Cool?”

  “Whatever,” muttered Hannah. Alex frowned anxiously at her, embarrassed that she was being so rude. Trying to make amends, he said brightly to Kimberly, “Yeah, that’s cool. Thanks, Kimberly.”

  Hannah made a sucking-up face at him, which he ignored.

  They pulled up outside a building that looked just like a large version of the mobile homes they had seen all over Snipes County.

  “Do you want me to walk in with you?” Kimberly sang.

  “No,” said Hannah abruptly, as she opened the passenger door and slid from the seat. “Ciao, Alex,” she said with a backward wave.

  Walking through the darkened, empty, echoing halls, past deserted, windowless classrooms, Hannah started to think uneasily that this wasn’t where she wanted to spend the next week. Soon, she realized how quiet the building was, and it struck her that she might be in the wrong place.

  Hearing voices from the hallway ahead, Hannah followed the sounds into an office. A girl of college age was sitting at a computer, idly playing on the keyboard. Sitting sideways in front of the desk, slumped in a chair, was a man in a baseball cap, who, Hannah guessed from the awkward silence, was the boyfriend.

  The girl looked both bored and irritated when Hannah presented herself. “Can I hep yew?” she asked, in a way that managed to be both polite and discouraging, all at once.

  That accent, Hannah thought. Why can’t people here learn to talk normally, like they do in California?

  “Yeah, I’m here for the writing camp.”

  “Rahttin’ camp?”

  “Uh-huh.” Hannah said.

  The girl shrugged. “Not here.”

  Hannah sighed impatiently. “Do you know where it is, then?”

  But the girl was eager to get rid of her, and her eyes turned back to the monitor. “Try the Union. It’s next door.” She gestured vaguely to the left.

  The writing camp wasn’t in the Union, either. On the bulletin boards, Hannah saw signs for a beauty pageant for kids, a seminar on leadership, and a foreign film series, but no writing camp. Then suddenly, a green and white sign caught her eye, and she felt the warm rush of recognizing a familiar place. She pushed through the glass door and stepped into the campus Starbucks. Huge, colorful abstract murals lined the walls, and jazz was playing quietly.

  Hannah’s Grandma liked to take her to Starbucks. Grandma would order a macchiato, and Hannah would order a hot chocolate or, her favorite, a Strawberries and Crème Frappuccino.

  Now, walking in was just like walking into California. A smiling, hip-looking young man wit
h a goatee, wearing the uniform green apron and cap, asked her what drink he could get started for her, while a girl with red hair rang up her sale, and fetched her a peanut butter cookie, popping it into a brown bag.

  It was all so comfortable, like putting on pajamas, and Hannah felt very grown up to be there by herself. She was soon curled up in a squashy armchair with her drink, a cookie, and a magazine that somebody had left behind. She hoped that she looked like a college student, or at least like a very smart kid.

  Hannah paid no attention to the middle-aged woman who was sitting in another corner of Starbucks, sipping her coffee. But the woman was paying very close attention to Hannah. For the next several minutes, she sat silently in a chair by the window, watching her with interest, and as discreetly as she could. Then she quietly dropped her empty cup in the trash, and left the coffeehouse through the main doors. Hannah, who had had her back to the woman the whole time, never even saw her leave.

  Alex, meanwhile, had happily accepted Kimberly’s offer to accompany him to registration for baseball camp. Now he watched with dismay as athletic-looking kids tossed balls to each other. The registration line was long, and Alex found himself listening to the conversation going on behind him. A black mother was talking nonstop at her son, a short kid, who looked as nervous as Alex felt.

  “Don’t forget, I’ll be at the church women’s council, so daddy will fetch you and take you to Bible study.” She didn’t notice, but Alex did, when the boy rolled his eyes. The mother continued: “Tomorrow, I’ll be at the hospital, so Ivory will pick you up and take you to the library. Don’t forget, now, I want you to get math and science books, too, not just all those fun books you’ve been reading. You have to keep up your math if you’re going to major in business.” The boy caught Alex’s eye, and pulled a face like he was choking. His mother continued, oblivious. “Brandon, don’t forget to listen to what Coach says, now, and pay attention in practice. You’ll never get on any travel teams the way you’re going.”