A Heart Divided by Cherie Bennett

Flipping the Dip, but they still did it—driving the length of Main Street, circling the monument, and then doing a U-turn at Mr. Derry’s Shell station. Jack said that scores of Redford romances had been kindled while Flipping the Dip, and we did a two-lap homage before heading to Jimmy Mack’s to meet up with his friends.
    Jimmy Mack’s was another Redford tradition. The foot-ballteam ate there every Friday before home games— joined by half the town—in a ritual called Puttin’ on the Feed: fried chicken, sides, biscuits, gravy, all the sweet tea you could drink. Of course, as Mrs. Augustus had explained to me, in the not-so-good old days, you could only partake if you were white. Now, allegedly, people of every race, creed, and stripe were welcome. But just as kids at Redford High self-segregated in the bleachers and the cafeteria, black kids almost never set foot in Jimmy Mack’s. They hung out around the corner at Taco Bell.
    The entryway to Jimmy Mack’s is adorned with photos of Redford High’s football team, dating back to World War II. Behind the cash register, there’s an array of flags: American, Tennessee… and Confederate. So you can imagine how odd it seemed when we were hit with a wall of hip-hop music as soon as we walked in. A group of black kids spilled out of a back booth, music blasting from a portable CD player.
    From the other direction: “Yo, Redford!”
    It was Chaz, waving to us from a table near the front window. He had one beefy arm slung casually around the shoulders of his girlfriend, Crystal Chambers. Crystal was Sara’s best friend, and I realized that she was the one who’d been with Sara during the sorority hazing I’d witnessed on the football field my first day at Redford High. With Chaz and Crystal were Terry Collins and Tisha White, two other seniors. Tisha was in my American history class. I liked her. I was relieved to see that Sara wasn’t part of the group.
    Jack and I squeezed into a couple of empty seats as a new groove erupted from the boom box. Crystal covered her ears. “That music is driving me nuts!”
    Chaz shrugged. “I already complained to the waitress, baby.”
    “Well, complain to someone else, then.”
    “Where’s Big Jimmy?” Jack asked. Big Jimmy was Jimmy Mack IV, who owned the place.
    “Sliced a finger on the meat cutter, went for stitches,” Crystal told Jack. Evidently eye contact with me would have been disloyal to Sara, so she rendered me invisible. But Tisha noticed and came to my rescue.
    “Cute shirt, Kate,” she said supportively
    I smiled, grateful that she was being nice. “Thanks.”
    A harried, elderly waitress with dishes balanced on her arms stepped up to our booth. “Blue-cheese burger?”
    “Right here, ma’am,” Chaz said as loud laughter erupted from the rear booth. A tall guy I didn’t recognize was standing in the aisle, rapping along to the music. “Ma’am, if there’s no one here can handle those people back there, I’m fixing to do it myself.”
    “Knock yourself out, cowboy.” She distributed the rest of the food, took Jack’s and my orders, and hustled off to the kitchen.
    “You and what army?” Jack teased.
    Chaz pointed at him. “If push comes to shove, I know you got my back, Redford.”
    Jack nodded. “Always.”
    Thankfully, the music dropped a few decibels. Crystal pushed back a lock of dark hair and finally glanced in my direction. “So, Kate. How’s it going?”
    “Okay.”
    “I’m sure it’s hard to be new and not fit in,” she said sweetly, stirring a pool of catsup with a French fry.
    “Meow,” Tisha whined at Crystal’s dis.
    “What?” Crystal asked. As if she didn’t know.
    “I think she’s fitting in just fine,” Jack said.
    The conversation turned to football, Redford’s unofficial religion. Chaz had just been named starting tight end. Everyone was excited this year about the Rebels’ chances of winning the league championship. It hadn’t happened in a