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finishing her degree in African-American Studies at Cornell and her master’s at Yale. She was really doing it up! I was proud of her. She was on her way to beingone of those big-time scholars who knew something about everything, and I was in luck. I caught her at her office.
    â€œHey, Ra-Ra. You wanna go to the mall? I hear there’s some cute guys up there,” I joked with her, reminiscing on our teen years.
    She broke up laughing and played her part.
    â€œTracy, I don’t care about that. I have homework to do.”
    â€œGirl, this is Saturday. You can do your homework tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m going to church tomorrow, Tracy. I don’t have time for the mall.”
    â€œWell, how ’bout you go to a party with me tonight?”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘for what?’ So we can meet some guys.”
    She let out a long sigh and said, “Tracy, how many times do I have to tell you. I am
not
interested in boys.”
    I broke out of my role-playing and complained, “Raheema, I am just
too through
with this teaching shit! Do you know I had a parent who came up to the school today and asked me why I failed her child when the damn girl didn’t do anything for the entire fourth quarter? Some of these parents are a pain in the ass! They want their kids to get a damn free ride in life.”
    Raheema paused before she said anything. That meant she had a lecture to give me. She was always thinking. That was just her personality.
    â€œActually, Tracy,” she started up, “when you decided to go for that master’s degree in English at Hampton, I was really surprised. Then when you came back to Philly and took that teaching job, I just did not know
what
to think. I just
knew
that you would be married and working on your third or fourth child by now. At least that’s how you were heading when we were still in high school.”
    â€œYeah, well, you know who fucked that up. Gon’ get out of jail and hook up with some damn house mouse,” I snapped, referring to my teenage sweetheart and his new wife.
    â€œHouse mouse? How do you know that Victor’s wife doesn’t work?”
    â€œI
don’t
know. I’m just calling her a house mouse based on what I
do
know,” I said. “She’s one of those sisters who will do just about anything to satisfy a man’s ego. ‘Oh, I’ll do it, honey. What do you need me to do?’”
    Raheema laughed and said, “If I remember correctly, Victor had
you
that way too.”
    â€œYeah, until I grew up and he couldn’t handle me on equal terms. That’s just how these black men are nowadays. They all want you to be some damned young girl who doesn’t know shit. Well, fuck that! Those days are over with for me and I know
too
much.”
    â€œSo my mother was a house mouse too?” Raheema asked me.
    She knew the answer to that, so I was plain honest with her.
    â€œRaheema, your mother was a
big-time
house mouse, and you know it. But she’s okay now. So I guess you work through it, but I’m not planning to be one at all. But let’s not get into that, because I called you for a pick-me-up, if you have time to chat,” I told her.
    She said, “Yeah, I have time. I just finished eating a late lunch.”
    â€œSo what do I do about this whole teaching thing?” I asked her flat out. That was what friends were for, honesty.
    Raheema started to laugh again. “Here we go. The same old Tracy,” she said. “You want someone else to tell you what to do, so you can go right ahead and do what
you
want to do anyway.”
    She was right. We knew each other’s personalities long before we had our first periods.
    â€œAll right, so give me your opinion then,” I said, smiling. I felt better already, but I still needed a solution to my problem. What the heck did I want to do with myself?
    Raheema said, “Tracy,
we