The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel Read Free Page A

appropriately breathless whisper) that she had a rep-u-tay-shun: She was Fast—which, by the litmus test for Whoredom at Peebles, meant she’d made out with more than five boys and not only KNEW what all the Bases were, it was rumored that she’d been to some of them. Plus, she had pierced ears, and our mamas assured us that “only whores had pierced ears.” We all wanted them, naturally.
    â€œCan I help it if I have a strong sex-shu-al appetite?” she’d say, hand pressed against her chest in an aggrieved manner.
    I was unwrapping my sandwich when Mary Bennett sniffed her armpits.
    â€œI think I need to have me a little whore’s bath.”
    â€œEvery bath you take’s a whore’s bath, Mary Bennett,” Gerald said, nibbling primly on the last bit of his PB&J on white bread. Gerald had unruly, wiry hair, which he slathered with a combination of hair relaxer and Brylcreem; his attempt at a “hairstyle” looked sorta like Buckwheat’s—with a side of scented Crisco.
    Mary Bennett grinned. She had one of those lazy, sexy smiles, which opened slowly like a bud blooming in slow-motion photography.
    â€œAren’t you sharp on the uptake this afternoon, Geraldine,” she said with a low chuckle. “Maybe you’d like to give me that bath?”
    â€œI’d be honored,” Gerald said, blowing her a kiss. He had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a boy.
    That was part of their routine. Mary Bennett propositioned Gerald, and Gerald acted as if he were happy to oblige her. Nothing ever came of it.
    Mary Bennett opened her sandwich and poked her nose inside. “I’m so tired of pimento cheese. Whatcha got, Jill?”
    â€œBLT,” I said, holding my bag close to my body. “But you’ll have to kill me for my bacon.”
    She jerked her head in Patsy’s direction. “Hey, Swiss Miss! You got anything edible in that sack?”
    â€œSardines,” Patsy said with a nod. Patsy still possessed the same round face she’d had since we were in first grade, with porcelain skin, enormous blue eyes, and genuine natural-blond hair, courtesy of her Scandinavian mama.
    â€œThat ain’t nothin’ to be braggin’ about,” Mary Bennett said.
    â€œBy the way,” Patsy said. “Have you guys—”
    â€œHow many times do I have to tell you? It’s y’all. ” Mary Bennett stretched out the last word so it lasted several seconds on her tongue. She cupped her smallish breasts. “Do I look like a guy to you? What in the hell is going on up there in Montana? They think everyone is a guy?”
    â€œMy daddy’s a guy and he’s from Hot Coffee, Mississippi,” said Patsy, in a huff. “My MAMA is from MINNESOTA.”
    â€œSame damn thing,” Mary Bennett said.
    â€œWould you just let the poor girl talk?” Gerald said.
    â€œChirp away,” Mary Bennett said with a bored wave of her hand.
    â€œI was wondering if you guys…I mean, y’all, have met that new girl, Tammy,” Patsy said. “I was going to ask her to have lunch with us tomorrow.”
    Her “y’all” came out as “yuall,” a mispronunciation Mary Bennett acknowledged with an aggravated eye roll.
    â€œI talked to her for a minute,” I said, brushing crumbs from my skirt. “Says she just moved here from Texas, and that she lives north of Yazoo Road, but she didn’t seem the type.”
    Gerald rolled up his brown paper sack into a small, neat package and gently placed it in a nearby wire trash can. “Oh, she lives north of Yazoo Road, all right,” he said, his lips pursed as if holding in a delicious piece of gossip. “I overheard Marcy talking about it in study hall. I sit right next to her, and get to eavesdrop on all her conversations.”
    That wasn’t hard to believe. Marcy and her friends wouldn’t pay any attention to a skinny