Pushin' by L. Divine Page A

before taking a sip of her tea. “Because this is our first tea, we are going to take this opportunity to get to know each of you on a more friendly basis. So mingle and take in some of the lovely art on the walls. We’ll hold the history quiz after we get to know one another better.” Mrs. Tyler and Mrs. Esop join the rest of the women walking around the large room, checking out us girls. They seem to be watching our social etiquette. I think I’ll just stay where I am and let the wolves come to me.
    â€œSo you must be the infamous Jayd,” Mrs. Tyler says, sizing me up. “My soror here has told me a lot about you,” she says, gesturing with her teacup toward Nigel’s mom, who’s standing beside her. Unlike the white women in PV, these black elitists don’t drink alcohol during the day out of fear of being deemed uncivilized. Too bad, because they could really use some loosening up in here.
    â€œJayd Jackson, Lynn Mae James’s granddaughter?” one of the other women asks, suddenly interested, in the small section of the room where I’m now cornered by these three ladies. “Hello, dear. I’m Mrs. Pierce, social secretary.” Here we go.
    â€œYes ma’am, I am,” I answer, trying to remain polite as my blood pressure rises. I don’t want to have to cuss anyone out today, but if she says one wrong word about my grandmother, it’s going to be on and cracking in Lafayette Square, tea be damned.
    â€œHow is our soror?” Mrs. Tyler asks, catching me completely off guard. Soror? Mama’s not a member of their sorority, is she? I know Mrs. Esop is closer to Mama’s age than my mom’s, being that Mrs. Esop’s eldest child is several years older than Nigel, but I’m not sure exactly how old she is.
    â€œNow, Rita, you know Lynn Mae left us a long, long time ago.” Mrs. Esop winks at me as she puts the tea tray down on the coffee table. “As a matter of fact, she was never really with us.”
    â€œYet and still, her daughter’s wearing our colors. Go figure,” Mrs. Pierce says, looking at my pink shoes and shell, smiling at my chosen attire.
    â€œ Granddaughter —and she’s only wearing half of them, or have you forgotten how well crimson goes with pink?” Mrs. Esop asks, visibly annoyed by her friend’s reference, but I’m not too sure which one. The way she said granddaughter was like she wanted to make sure the separation was clear between generations. And as for the colors, I think all Greek organizations are just one step away from being as devoted to their colors as gangs are, yet they strive to be seen as the exact opposite. Go figure.
    â€œYes, dear. And when’s the last time you wore the two together?” Mrs. Tyler asks while helping herself to the effervescent drink in her hand. Maybe there’s a little something extra in her cup.
    â€œI love my ladies, but really, pink and red just don’t mix,” Mrs. Pierce says, touching up her tea with the small kettle on the side table next to my chair. There are a variety of teas in the ceramic bowls on the coffee table, as well as flavored instant coffees, Mama’s favorite. The three women are standing over me, dominating my space and the conversation. One of the younger sisters decides to take the initiative and join our side chat.
    â€œWhat about Valentine’s Day? They are the two main colors, and I think they look lovely together,” she says, but I think that was the wrong thing to say because the elder sisters look at her like she has horns sticking out of her head. At least her comment got me out of the hot seat.
    â€œNatalia, only speak when spoken to, understood?” Mrs. Tyler says, seemingly embarrassed for the young woman. “Jayd, this is my daughter Natalia. She’s so excited to be here.”
    â€œHello,” I say, reaching out my hand for the tall, slender sister to take. She