Read Online 2-in-1 Yada Yada by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online

pun?”
    â€œPun? . . . Oh.” I laughed. “You mean ’cause she wants to quit real estate and get back into social work? Guess she was a caseworker for DCFS right out of college.” The caseload for the Department of Child and Family Services was so huge, a lot of young idealistic social workers crashed and burned.
    â€œSounded like it from her prayer request—that newspaper story about the little girl who’d been left alone in her apartment for two days? Lord, have mercy!”
    The French doors opened, and Avis came into the bedroom. “Wow!” I said. “You look stunning.” She did, too. For someone her age—I guessed fifty-four, maybe fifty-five—the principal of Bethune Elementary always looked so elegant and smart. Tonight she was wearing black silky harem pants and a loose silky tunic with wide rag sleeves in a bright rose color, belted with a sequined belt.
    She looked me up and down. “You look pretty good yourself, girl. Don’t show up at church in that outfit, or Pastor Clark might preach a sermon on being a temptation and a snare.”
    I gawked at her, then giggled and checked myself in the mirror once more. I did look nice . . . even kind of sexy—which I considered a big waste at a women’s convention. Still, it felt good to go toe to toe with the fancy dressers I’d seen. Hair tucked behind my ears, silver earrings, silver necklace, slinky black dress . . . mmm, I felt luscious.
    â€œMm-hm. You two all that an’ a bag o’ chips.”
    Neither Avis nor I had heard Florida come in.
    â€œBut, um . . . something has come up. The rest of the group thought it was a good plan, and I was sure you two would be will-in’ to make the sacrifice—”
    I broke in. “Florida! What are you talking about?”
    â€œYo-Yo. She doesn’t have a dress. Only those bib overall thangs she wears. She didn’t realize there was a dress-up dinner—don’t think she has a dress, even if she did. So she wasn’t goin’ to go tonight. But we thought—”
    â€œWe who, Florida?” Avis asked suspiciously.
    â€œYou know, Ruth and Stu and Delores and Edesa—the prayer group!”
    â€œThought what?”
    â€œThat we could all wear our jeans or slacks or sweats to the banquet tonight to support our sister. You know, all for one and one for all.”
    I could not believe my ears. I’d just spent an hour getting myself ready for the banquet. I might even be able to hold my head up among the “glitterati” I was sure would appear tonight. Now Florida was asking us—me—to wear my jeans?
    I almost couldn’t trust myself to speak. But I managed a weak “I need a little time to think about this.”
    â€œSure. Banquet doesn’t start for another half-hour. Besides, I gotta go check with a couple more folks in the group.” And as quickly as she had come, Florida bopped back out the door, leaving Avis and me staring at each other.

7
    T hink about it? I was mad! What I really needed was time to cool down before I said something I regretted. Excusing myself from Avis, I shut myself in the bathroom and plopped on the stool. The nerve of Florida . . . or whoever thought of this crazy idea. Committing the whole prayer group—still practically a group of strangers—to something so outrageous as showing up at a fancy banquet in our jeans and sweats. The very thought was ludicrous. Or embarrassing.
    That’s it, isn’t it, Jodi? You don’t want to look like a fool.
    I wanted to hit something or scream. But given the fact that Avis was just outside the door somewhere, I stuck a washcloth in my mouth and shook it with clenched teeth, like Willie Wonka, our chocolate Lab, playing with one of Denny’s socks. Then I caught sight of myself in the big bathroom vanity mirror. I looked so silly I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    Taking the washcloth