Sellout by Ebony Joy Wilkins

Author:Ebony Joy Wilkins [Ebony Joy Wilkins]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780545283212
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SHAUNDA MUST HAVE seen me heading for the ladies’ room, because she was hot on my heels just as I shut myself into a stall. I could hear her shuffling around in her bag, pretending she really needed to be in there, but I ignored her.

When I came back out she looked at me sheepishly. “I wanted to say sorry to you for this morning on the court,” she said. I stared at her blankly, forcing her to recall her betrayal. She lowered her head a little and began. “I should have defended you. I’m sorry, NaTasha.”

I had to face those girls on my own. Some friend she was. My real friends would never have treated me like that. I thought of Heather. I would have had to pull her off Quiana. Well, maybe not, but she wouldn’t have let me fight alone. Shaunda had left me out in a pack of wolves to survive on my own.

I didn’t say anything. While I waited, I poured out the contents of my purse and decided to touch up my hair. I wet a paper towel and wiped my face clean, careful not to ruin the bandage. My face felt rough and it throbbed from the scratches I had endured earlier. I pulled out my comb and raked it through my hair a few times.

“It’s just that I have been trying to steer clear of those girls for so long now,” Shaunda continued. “They used to torture me so badly. I’m finally ready to move on with my life and I just want to leave here peacefully without them bothering me anymore.”

I glanced at her in the mirror next to me. I rolled gloss on my lips and handed it to her when I saw her admiring it.

“It’s MAC’s new stuff, sparkles a little, too,” I told her, completely ignoring her apology.

“Thanks,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“No problem,” I said, taking back my gloss. She put her pointer finger between her lips and dabbed lightly.

“So, what is your history with those girls?” I asked. Somehow I knew the story wasn’t going to be pleasant. Shaunda took a deep breath and turned to look at me. I hadn’t forgiven her yet. She’d left me hanging like a dirty washcloth on the court. I pulled the comb through my hair several times again slowly. She turned back away from me to dab her eyes dry. I watched her open her own purse and take out a jar of skin bleach and use the paper towel to add a new coat to her cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin.

“What are you doing?” I asked her. “Why are you using that? How long have you been doing that to your skin? That stuff is really not good for you.”

I tried to take the bleach away, but she held it out of my reach.

“I know what it does for me, NaTasha,” she said. “It makes me forget who I am, and reminds me who I want to be.

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