Every Time a Rainbow Dies

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Authors: Rita Williams-Garcia
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her habits was good enough.
    â€œI’ve been looking for you, Ysa.”
    Her eyes flashed at him upon hearing her name.
    â€œI wasn’t worried,” she said confidently, but not smiling. “I knew you would find me.”
    â€œI’ve been by your church, hoping to find you there lighting candles. All I saw were little old ladies praying. Then I went by the Chinese herb place and asked about you. I said, “‘Have you seen this girl…wears every color in the rainbow?’”
    â€œNo, you didn’t.”
    He nodded yes. “I even tried to find you in school. Been thrown into detention every day since September looking for you.”
    â€œI don’t go to your school.”
    â€œYou know my school?” he asked.
    â€œNo, no, boy. I don’t know your school. I go to a special high school. And you—pardon me—don’t look special.”
    He showed her he was wounded.
    She laughed at him. “Don’t give me that face,” she said. “Besides, you know where I live if you want to find me.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not knocking on your door. Not with your grandmother—” He wasn’t sure. He just knew the woman behind the curtain, the one who cursed him, looked too old to be her mother.
    â€œTant Rosie?” She explained that Tant Rosie was her grandmother’s sister. A grandaunt.
    â€œWhoever she is,” he said, “she wanted to kill me.”
    â€œShe was scared for me. That’s all.”
    â€œScared for you? She was beating you.”
    â€œBeat? Ha! No, no. You exaggerate.”
    He exaggerated about being a workingman. About being thrown into detention every day since September. But he remembered the woman’s slap. And Ysa’s sobsfrom the other side of the door.
    â€œAll I knew was I couldn’t do nothing. I was worried. Scared. Wanted to protect you, girl.”
    She looked about as if anxious that they could be overheard. Suddenly her confidence was gone. He could see her scars.
    She said, “We can talk about something else.”
    â€œI’m sor—”
    â€œForget it.”
    Then they said nothing at all. Thulani took a big bite of his pizza before realizing she would never finish hers. Once he was through eating, she’d want to leave. He was desperate to make conversation. Anything to keep her there, sitting with him for a few more minutes. He wondered if she would care that he had just become an uncle. Or that he had called the EMS and ridden with Shakira to the hospital. Then he thought, talk about having babies might upset her, a girl who took herbs and teas to cleanse her body when she thought that she might be pregnant or worse. He could tell her about job hunting. How every store manager said no and how Yong Moon finally gave in. But he’d have to admit that he had not actually worked today, and she’d never completely trust him if she knew he had lied.
    He could tell her she had pretty hands, but she might run away, like the girl who used to come to him when hedaydreamed on his roof. If he dreamed the wrong thing, the dream girl was gone. Maybe he’d say the wrong thing to Ysa.
    â€œTulani.” She broke the silence. “That’s too pretty for you. A girl name.”
    â€œMy mother”—he hadn’t said “Mommy” or “my mother” to anyone except Truman—“named me for her favorite poet.”
    He could see Ysa found that amusing, which he didn’t mind, mainly because she still wanted to talk.
    â€œGo ahead,” Ysa said. “Say some rhymes.”
    He laughed. “Not me.”
    â€œI know,” she said with a certain satisfaction. “You have no art.”
    â€œBut you do.” He returned her smugness.
    She didn’t catch on. She said, “I’m studying to be an artist. Not like you think, painting pictures. I’m going to design clothing. Do fun things with

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