Almost Zero Read online

  Luckily, nobody besides Tameeka seemed to notice that she was wearing yesterday’s outfit. At least, nobody else mentioned it.

  By the end of the day, Dyamonde relaxed.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, she thought.

  But who was she kidding? The last thing Dyamonde wanted was a repeat of this day.

  Walking home alone that afternoon, Dyamonde put that big brain of hers to work to figure a way out of her problem. There has to be a way to get my clothes back, thought Dyamonde. By the time she reached her front door, she had a plan.

  Dyamonde was careful to be quiet as a mouse that evening. She did all her homework without complaining even once. When she was finished, she cleared her books away without being told and set the table for dinner. She put extra ice in her mom’s glass and poured Mrs. Daniel’s favorite diet soda. For herself she poured milk, like she was supposed to, instead of whining about wanting soda too, which is what she usually did.

  After dinner, she cleared the dishes and scrubbed them until they were squeaky clean.

  When Mrs. Daniel went to the living room to watch TV, Dyamonde ran ahead, grabbed the remote control and put it in her mother’s hand. The minute her mom seemed settled comfortably, Dyamonde cleared her throat.

  “Mommy,” said Dyamonde—she never called her mother “Mommy” unless she wanted something—“Mommy, I was wondering. Could I have my clothes back now, please?”

  “I’m sorry, honey,” said her mom, pressing the channel changer on the remote. “What did you say?”

  Dyamonde took a deep breath and tried again, using a voice sweeter than corn bread.

  “I was wondering if I could have my clothes back now,” said Dyamonde.

  “Oh!” said Mrs. Daniel. “But I thought you understood. You already have all the clothes you need.”

  Dyamonde’s smile slid sideways, melting quicker than a snowflake.

  “But the clothes I have are all dirty,” said Dyamonde, beginning to whine.

  “Well, then,” said her mom, looking up from the television, “I guess you’d better wash them. But you should do it soon, because it’s almost your bedtime.”

  Dyamonde ground her teeth and made a sound halfway between a growl and a scream.

  Her mom turned back to the television, and Dyamonde stomped off to the bathroom.

  “Don’t pour too much detergent in the sink,” warned her mother. “I don’t want bubbles all over my bathroom floor.”

  Dyamonde slammed the door, ripped off her clothes and filled the sink to the brim. She poured in half a cup of soap powder and stuffed her shirt, panties and socks into the water to soak.

  While Dyamonde waited for the soap to do its job, she stomped into the living room, stark naked, and stood there in the middle of the floor, daring her mom to say something.

  “Sit down,” said Mrs. Daniel. “You’re blocking my view.”

  “Uhhhhh!” What’s the use? thought Dyamonde. She glared at her mother and marched right back into the bathroom.

  Dyamonde scrubbed her clothes until she thought they must be clean. Then she rinsed them out and hung them on a dryer rack in the bathtub. If they were still damp in the morning, she could always go to the basement laundry and toss them in the dryer.

  She found herself yawning, more tired than she’d felt in a long time. She padded to the closet, got her pajamas and slipped them on. Her mom switched off the television and went to her bedroom.

  “Good night, Dyamonde,” she said. But Dyamonde didn’t answer. She just pulled out the sofa bed and crawled under the covers.

  5. Suddenly Small

  In class on Thursday, Dyamonde slumped down in her seat, trying her best to be invisible. She sat up straight, though, when the principal ducked into the room and handed Mrs. Cordell a piece of paper.

  The teacher’s eyes raced across the note in her hand. When she reached the bottom of the page, she gave a little gasp and shook her head from side to side.

  What is it? Dyamonde wondered.

  “Class,” said Mrs. Cordell, looking up now. “Some of you may have noticed that Isabel isn’t here today. Last night, there was a terrible fire in the apartment house where her family lives, and their apartment was destroyed. Everyone got out safely, thank God, but the family lost everything they owned. When Isabel comes back to school next week, I want you all to be especially kind to her. And if you see her wearing the same clothes several days in a row, don’t tease her or make a big deal out of it. Those are probably the only clothes she has.” She looked straight at Tameeka when she said it.

  Tameeka squirmed in her seat. “What?” said Tameeka. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I am asking you all to be thoughtful,” added Mrs. Cordell, looking around at the entire class. “Just imagine how you’d feel if it were you.”

  The teacher’s words gave Dyamonde a twinge. She suddenly felt very small inside, making such a fuss about her mother packing up all her clothes. At least they hadn’t burned up in a fire. Plus, Dyamonde believed that, sooner or later, she’d get them back. But what about Isabel?

  “Is there gonna be a clothes drive or something?” asked Dyamonde. She forgot to raise her hand first, but Mrs. Cordell didn’t seem to mind this one time.

  “What do you mean?” asked the teacher.

  “Are we gonna collect money or clothes or something?” That was the first thing Dyamonde thought of because that’s what they did at her church when something bad like this happened to someone they knew.

  “Well, Dyamonde, the school can’t do anything officially. There are lots of people in the world who need things, and if the school chose one family to help, it wouldn’t be fair to all the others.”

  “Well, that’s just silly,” said Dyamonde without thinking. “Fair has got nothing to do with it.”

  “Excuse me?” The teacher’s voice rose.

  “Oooooh!” said one kid. “You must be itchin’ to get sent to the principal’s office!”

  Dyamonde ignored him. “I mean, if we know somebody who needs help, we should help them, right?”

  “I don’t disagree, Dyamonde, but fund-raisers and clothing drives for individuals are not school policy. Of course, you’re always free to do something on your own, if you like.”

  What can I do? Dyamonde asked herself. I don’t have any money. Then it hit her. But I do have clothes! Somewhere. Mom did a good job of hiding them. I just hope they’re somewhere close by.

  6. Tales out of School

  The minute her mother walked in the door that night, Dyamonde ran to her.

  “Mom! I need to go through my clothes—not for me this time, though. A girl in my school got burned out of her apartment and she doesn’t have anything left.”

  “Slow down, Dyamonde. Let me get in the door first.”

  “Sorry.” Dyamonde hopped from one foot to the other, impatient for her mother to set down her purse, kick off her shoes and settle into the recliner.

  “That’s better,” Mrs. Daniel said, sighing. “Now, what were you saying?”

  Dyamonde told her all about the announcement her teacher made in class and all about the crazy school policy about taking up collections.

  “Mrs. Cordell said I could do something myself, if I wanted to. And I want to give Isabel some of my clothes because she doesn’t have any at all, and we’re the same size. So can I have my clothes back, just for a little while? You can take them away again. I just want to pick out a few for Isabel,” said Dyamonde.

  Dyamonde waited for her mother to say something. Instead, her mom just smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  Mrs. Daniel ignored the question. “Let’s get dinner going, then I’ll see if I can remember what I did with all your clothes.”

  Dyamonde knew her mother was kidding about remembering where the clothes were, because she gave Dyamonde a wink when she said it.

  “Tell me about this girl,” said Mrs. Daniel, over dinner.

  Dyamonde shrugged. “She�
��s a girl in my class I talk to sometimes. She’s got this great white streak in her hair, and she’s nice. I don’t really know her as much as I know Free and Damaris, though.”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t have to know somebody to help them. Right?”

  Dyamonde’s mother flashed that slow smile again, saying nothing.

  After the dishes were washed and put away, Mrs. Daniel slipped out of the apartment. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Mom forgot her keys. Again.”

  When Dyamonde opened the front door, she found her mother and their neighbor, Mrs. King, both juggling armloads of boxes.

  “Say hello to Mrs. King,” said Mrs. Daniel.

  “Good evening, Mrs. King,” said Dyamonde.

  “Mrs. King was kind enough to store these boxes in her extra bedroom closet.”

  So that’s where they were, thought Dyamonde.

  “Well, come on! Give us a hand,” said her mom.

  Dyamonde was happy to grab one of the boxes.

  Once all of the cartons were neatly stacked in front of Dyamonde’s closet, Mrs. King said good night and left.

  “Whew!” said Mrs. Daniel. “Glad that’s done. I’m off duty for the rest of the night, but you can go ahead and put away whatever clothes you’ve decided to keep for yourself.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Dyamonde turned to her mother. “But I thought—”

  “You thought I’d take your things away again, after you set aside clothes for Isabel?”

  Dyamonde nodded.

  “No, honey. It’s clear you’ve learned the lesson: Everything we have is a gift. I’m just pleased you’ve found it in your heart to share some of your gifts with others.”

  Dyamonde threw her arms around her mother’s waist and squeezed tighter than she ever had before.

  7. Good-bye, Clothes

  Dyamonde sorted her clothes quickly, saying good-bye to some of her favorite shirts and pants. She held up a red cardigan her mom had given her one Christmas. Dyamonde ran a hand over the soft sleeves and sighed.

  I love this sweater, thought Dyamonde. But it’s not like I don’t have plenty more. And if I love it, then Isabel will too.

  Dyamonde folded the sweater and added it to the pile.

  Hey, thought Dyamonde, now Isabel will be as good a dresser as me! Dyamonde wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She liked looking special. What would it feel like to see Isabel in some of her favorite clothes? Dyamonde gave it some thought. It’ll be okay, Dyamonde decided. Nobody looks as good wearing my clothes as I do!

  Little by little, the stack of clothes for Isabel grew. Dyamonde folded them carefully, then pushed them into a brown paper shopping bag. She sighed, feeling pretty good about herself. But not for long.

  What about Isabel’s brothers and sisters? wondered Dyamonde. And what about her mom and dad? They need clothes too, and I don’t have anything to fit them. Dyamonde had never met them, but Isabel talked about her family all the time.

  Dyamonde went to the kitchen for a glass of water. She sat at the table for a minute, sipping her water and thinking. Then she jumped up, grabbed her loose-leaf notebook, ripped out a page and started writing.

  Where to Find More Clothes:

  Men’s Clothes

  • Free’s dad

  • Mrs. King’s grown son (he’s away at college and won’t miss anything anyway)

  • The building super

  Women’s Clothes

  • Mom

  • Mrs. Freeman

  • Ms. Gracie Lee

  Boys’ Clothes

  • Free

  • His little brother, Booker

  Girls’ Clothes

  • Me

  • The Three T’s?

  Dyamonde looked at the list long enough to know that she needed a lot more people on it. The problem was most of the people she knew were at school, and the school would not sponsor a clothing drive.

  But what if I collected clothes outside of the school building? wondered Dyamonde.

  The way she figured, that would probably be okay. Now all she had to do was let everybody know.

  Dyamonde ripped another page from her loose-leaf and got busy.

  ISABEL MARTINEZ CLOTHING DRIVE

  (This is NOT a school clothing drive, in case you were wondering.)

  In case you haven’t heard, Isabel Martinez and her family got burnt out of their apartment. They lost everything, and that includes clothes.

  You can help. Donate some of your clothes so they’ll have something to wear.

  Thank you.

  Signed,

  Dyamonde Daniel

  Dyamonde’s handwriting was not the best, so she wrote it out again, slowly this time.

  “There,” said Dyamonde when she was done. “Now all I need is a hundred more copies. Ugh!”

  Dyamonde remembered seeing a copy machine at the library. Maybe she could—

  “Dyamonde?” said Mrs. Daniel.

  “Yeah? I mean, yes?”

  “Finish putting those clothes away. It’s getting late.”

  “Okay,” said Dyamonde. “I’m almost done.”

  I’ll try the library tomorrow, thought Dyamonde. I better ask Damaris to read my flyer first to make sure it’s okay. After all, she did win a writing contest.

  “What’s taking you so long?” asked Mrs. Daniel.

  “Just have to put my shoes away,” said Dyamonde.

  Shoes! Isabel needs shoes! thought Dyamonde. How could I forget?

  “Mom? Do we have another shopping bag?”

  8. A Good Cause

  Dyamonde slipped the flyer to Damaris under the table during lunch on Friday.

  “Read it when you get a chance,” whispered Dyamonde. “Let me know if I need to fix anything, ’cause I need to make lots of copies and I don’t want all those copies to have mistakes in them.”

  Damaris peeked at the flyer, then put it away before anyone could see it.

  “How are you making copies?”

  “Library,” said Dyamonde. “They’ve got a copy machine.”

  “Yeah, but they charge a lot.”

  Dyamonde shrugged. “It’s not like I have a choice. I can’t make all the copies by hand.”

  “Yeah, but how are you going to pay for them?”

  “I’ll use my allowance until it runs out.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” said Damaris, looking away.

  Dyamonde bit her lip. Shoot! she thought. I forgot. Damaris doesn’t get an allowance anymore. Her mom can’t afford it.

  “Anyway,” said Dyamonde, trying to change the subject, “it won’t matter how many copies I make if the writing is all wrong. You’re the only writing-contest winner I know, so you gotta help me.”

  “All right. Quit bugging!” said Damaris, but she was smiling when she said it. “I’ll get it back to you later.”

  “Get what back?” asked Free, plopping his lunch tray down next to them.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Damaris. She winked at Dyamonde and they both laughed out loud, enjoying their secret for a little while longer.

  “Here,” said Damaris, handing Dyamonde a piece of paper that afternoon when school let out.

  “Wow,” whispered Dyamonde, reading the announcement for the clothing drive. After Damaris rewrote it, the announcement was practically poetry.

  ISABEL MARTINEZ CLOTHING DRIVE

  Isabel is

  a stranger,

  a classmate,

  a friend.

  Her family needs the shirt off your back.

  They lost theirs in a fire.

  Do you have one to spare?

  Do you even care?

  Donate clothes outside of school.

  If you can’t find us, you’re not really looking.

  But we are.

  We’re looking to see

  if your heart is small as a pea,

  or big as the sky.

>   Dyamonde read the announcement again and smiled.

  Now tell me that isn’t great poetry, thought Dyamonde.

  The girls raced to the public library to use the computer.

  Once the announcement was typed up, they realized they could fit three on a page. That meant three times as many copies!

  Dyamonde chose the lettering, something official-looking but bold. When she was done, she hit print and waited forever for the printer to spit it out. Then, copy in hand, she dug her $3.50 out of her pocket and went to the reference desk for change.

  “We need change for this too, please,” said Damaris, plunking a five-dollar bill on the counter. Dyamonde’s jaw dropped. Damaris never had that much money.

  “That’s what’s left over from my poetry-contest prize,” explained Damaris. “I gave most of it to my mom, but she made me keep ten dollars for myself. This is what’s left.”

  “But don’t you want to use it for something fun?” asked Dyamonde.

  Damaris shrugged. “You can’t buy much with five dollars these days,” she said. “Besides, this is for a good cause.”

  Dyamonde smiled and gave her friend’s shoulder a squeeze. After that, she was all business.

  “Okay. We’ve got $8.50. Each copy costs 15 cents. That means we have enough for”—Dyamonde did the math in her head—“56 copies.”

  “Times three,” said Damaris. “Remember, there are three announcements per page.”

  “Right! So that makes it 168 copies. Whew! We better get started.”

  Dyamonde placed the page on the copier glass and started feeding in the coins, one quarter at a time. The machine was old and cranky. It whined and clunked with every copy it spit out. The whole process took forever. Before long, there was a line of people behind Dyamonde and Damaris, waiting their turn to use the copier.

  When the reference librarian saw the long line, she walked up to Dyamonde.

  “Let me help you,” she said once Dyamonde told her how many copies she needed. “Give me the original page and whatever change you have left.”