Akeelah and the Bee - James W. Ellison [23]
Akeelah got out of the car, but Georgia was not budging. She looked warily at Javier’s house—and the backyard party in full swing, mostly full of white kids.
“You coming, Georgia?”
“I guess I’ll go to the mall with Kiana instead.”
“I thought you were excited about this party.”
Javier had spotted them and came running out from the backyard, waving his hand and grinning.
“Hey, Akeelah!”
“Okay, whatever,” she said to Georgia. “I’ll see you later.”
Georgia looked uneasy as she watched Akeelah scamper off with Javier. She couldn’t understand Akeelah’s attraction to Woodland Hills and all these white kids. Their neighborhood wasn’t much, but at least it was their neighborhood. It was where they belonged, where they felt comfortable and they were with their own kind.
In the backyard Javier introduced Akeelah around. A blindfolded young girl took a whack at a piñata with a baseball bat. A group of kids threw beanbags into a cardboard clown’s mouth. Others played soccer, doing more screaming than kicking and ball-butting, and Dylan Watanabe deftly maneuvered the ball through his opponents.
Akeelah turned to Javier with a frown. “Why’d you invite him? You don’t even like him.”
They each had grabbed a slice of birthday cake and were eating at a table under a ginkgo tree.
“My dad’s friends with his dad. I’m surprised he showed up. I know he’s not exactly crazy about me.”
“Hey, Javier,” Roman shouted, “we need another player!”
“No, that’s okay. Count me out. Old war injury.” He tapped his hearing aid and grinned.
“You can’t play ’cause of your hearing aid?” Akeelah asked.
“That’s just an excuse. I suck at soccer. But the hearing aid gets me off the hook. Come on—I’ll show you my house.”
He took Akeelah by the hand and led her up the stairs and down the hallway. She noticed the paintings on the walls. The house was like a miniature museum.
“Dang, this place is like a mansion,” she said.
“I guess it is a mansion, though I’ve never thought of it that way.”
He opened the door to his father’s office. The walls were decorated with plaques and awards for journalism. There were a number of framed war photographs. Javier proudly showed Akeelah the display.
“I guess it’s obvious my father’s a journalist. A foreign correspondent. That’s what I wanna be.” He walked to the bookcase behind his father’s desk and picked up a book. “My dad’s written three books. This one was a New York Times bestseller.”
Akeelah noticed a picture of Javier with his father on a speedboat, their arms around each other, clowning for the camera. She swallowed with emotion as she looked at the two of them, so obviously happy to be together.
“Is your dad as goofy-funny as you are?” she said.
“Yeah. On his best days he’s goofier and funnier.” Javier turned to her and studied her face. “What’s your father do, Akeelah?”
“My daddy?” She looked away, her mind racing, wondering how much to tell him. She had never confided in anyone, even Georgia, about the facts of her father’s death.
“Uh…he used to work for the city parks.”
Dropping the subject, she walked to the window and looked down at the birthday party below.
“Man, you got a lot of friends, Javier. I never had a birthday party half this big.”
Javier took her hand and squeezed it. “Really? I’d think you’d have lots of friends.” He stared into her eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
Akeelah held her hand to her cheek and stared at him, caught in a swirl of emotions. “Why’d you do that?”
“I had an impulse,” Javier said. He grinned. “Are you going to sue me for sexual harassment?”
Akeelah tried to keep a straight face as he fluttered his eyelashes at her, then she broke up laughing. Finally Javier was laughing, too, and the laughing fit lasted until tears were streaming from their eyes. She finally stopped laughing when she noticed something outside.
“Hey, what are they doin’?”
The kids were all gathered on the patio. Dylan was opening up several blue boxes.
“Oh, no,” Javier said, rolling his eyes. “Dylan brought his Scrabble games. I hate to admit it, but he