A Girl's Guide to Love & Magic by Debbie Rigaud

Author:Debbie Rigaud
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

By the time Scottish Scotty’s yellow bus rumbles to a stop near Eastern Parkway, it’s already ten forty-five. We thank Scotty and hop off on a side street. The air is charged with electric excitement; the parade will be kicking off soon. Renee, Kwame, Erzu, and I join the crowd, moving as one toward the parade intersection.

It’s wild to think that when I woke up this morning, my mission was all about the parade, my aunt, and Papash. Papash’s image was so vivid in my mind, I could almost take a selfie with it. Now that image has started to get fuzzy. I’m not letting it fade to black just yet. If there’s a chance I still can meet Papash, I’ll jump on it. But for now, my mission is about disaster management.

Still, it’s hard not to get swept up in the sense of anticipation. The lifeblood of the streets is pulsing. It’s like we are all being cradled and rocked by the thumping island music playing from every speaker. The buildings lining the streets seem taller, more upright, as if they’re breathing in our pride.

The crowd’s excitement peaks when we reach Eastern Parkway, the broad avenue that hosts the parade. People are nabbing spots on the sidelines where they can watch the action. When the explosion of color, aroma, and sound hits, my senses go into overdrive.

The parkway is lined with metal barricades, and bright flags hang from windows and streetlamps. Under colorful umbrellas, food vendors serve marinated meats, to wash down with sorrel beer, ginger beer, and cane juice. And people are dressed to party at this celebration of Caribbean life. Everyone who understood the assignment wears clothes accented with their island nation flags. Some girls I spot wear actual flags as tube tops, headbands, or capes; homies let their flags hang from their belt loops or out their back pockets. Honduras, Saint Vincent, Barbados, Montserrat, Bermuda, and, a personal favorite, Guyana, are all showing out, and we love to see it.

Every small detail has been planned and pored over to perfection. I see peekaboo bodysuits and strappy sandals that crisscross up the thighs. All around us are brown faces speckled with shiny gold dust and sparkly gemstones. Everyone is strutting with what they are repping, and it’s a glorious sight.

I remember the tablescape my parents created for me this morning. Today, it feels like everyone’s birthday. Like all of us here have been born under the same star sign, connected by shared characteristics and experiences. We celebrate ourselves and one another.

“I see you, Panama!” Renee calls. I turn to admire a supremely coordinated group of Panama-flag-draped girls sitting on the barricades, and I beam at them with pride. Then I notice a familiar face up ahead.

“Jamaican Beauty!” I call out to my neighbor who’s standing at the curb. I know she’s here representing the Brooklyn borough president’s office. She waves back at me, but she’s so distracted by the group of overdressed politicians she’s with, she doesn’t stop to chat long enough to notice anything strange about topsy-turvy Mimose.

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