The Other Half of My Heart by Sundee T. Frazier Page B

and looked at her watch. Four-thirty. She planned to keep her watch on Pacific time.
    Keira groaned. “What time is it?”
    “Seven-thirty.”
    “That’s only four-thirty our time!” Keira rolled over and put her head under her pillow.
    Grandmother Johnson hadn’t left the bottom of the stairs. “There is no time other than the one you’re in. Now, get up and get dressed. We need to turn in your applications at the Black Pearls of America headquarters.”
    That worked. Keira got up.
    “Put on skirts and sandals.” Grandmother Johnson shut the door.
    Keira slipped on a tangerine-orange camisole and covered it with a crisp white button-down shirt. She advised Minni to wear her light blue cardigan over an aquamarine spaghetti-strap tank. They both put on flowery skirts, and Keira donned her red ballet flats.
    Then they went to the bathroom to do their hair. Minni sat on the edge of the tub and watched Keira wield her fork comb the way Mama worked her paintbrushes. First she picked out her hair. Then, at her hairline, she sectioned off a two-inch strip, made a center part and slicked down the front on either side of the part with gel. She used bobby pins to hold the hair even tighter to her scalp, then hid the pins beneath a bright pink satin-covered headband.
    Minni wound a strand of her own hair around her finger, admiring Keira’s puffed-out curls. Her sister looked even more like a model when she wore her hair like this, big and wild and free.
    Minni quickly pulled her own hair into her usual two low ponytails and left her bangs to do whatever they wanted.
    “Wait,” Keira said. She took the ends of the ponytails and put them back through the elastic bands without pulling the hair all the way through. Then she gently pulled the loops until they were the same size. “There. That has
twice
the funkiness factor.”
    They went to the dining room table, where Grandmother Johnson fed them oatmeal and dry toast. Minni was thankful that this time they got orange juice instead ofbuttermilk. She dipped her spoon in the slimy cereal, trying hard not to think of slugs or mucus.
    “Can we have some butter?” Keira asked.
    “
‘May
we,’ and no, you may not. Terrible for the arteries.”
    Keira crunched on the toast. She made her eyes big and exaggerated her chewing, as if trying to moisten the bread enough to get it down. Fortunately, Grandmother Johnson didn’t notice.
    They ate mostly in silence, although the bread was so crunchy and dry and the cereal so slimy it was hard not to hear every swallow. Minni felt as if she was on the verge of another laugh attack their entire time at the table.
    Just when she thought she couldn’t hold in her giggles a second longer, Grandmother Johnson finished. She picked up her empty bowl and looked at Keira. “Before we leave, you will make that head of yours presentable.”
    “What’s wrong with my head?”
    “You need to get that unruly hair of yours under control, preferably locked up in some braids. Two will do.”
    Why did Keira have to “lock up” her hair to be presentable? Grandmother Johnson made even a simple hairdo sound like prison.
    “I haven’t worn braided pigtails since I was in second grade!”
    Grandmother Johnson’s left eyebrow arched high. Her glare would have sent a bear running for cover, but Keira held her ground.
    Minni was about to jump up and pull her sister awaywhen Keira stalked off, but not before muttering, “At least I don’t snore.”
    Grandmother Johnson’s prune lips got even more wrinkled. “How dare…I don’t snore—” she snapped, but Keira was gone. Grandmother Johnson smoothed her jacket like a hen trying to get its feathers unruffled. “I just breathe heavily.”
    She turned to Minni. “Are you finished?”
    Minni still had plenty of oatmeal in her bowl, but if Grandmother Johnson wasn’t going to make her eat it…
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Then go wash up. And let your hair down. I want the program director to be able to