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of voodoo priestesses.
    Mama smiles at me while opening the hot oven to remove one large pan of her delicious treats before replacing it with another three dozen, ready to bake. The spirit room, Mama’s private workshop, is good for small orders. But when she has to get down like this, the house kitchen is where it’s at. She’s been complaining about our old oven for years, but Mama’s touch makes even this raggedy thing work magic.
    â€œChi, ashe; it’s all the same thing,” Mama says, reading my mind. I hate when she does that. “But why are they affecting it?”
    â€œWell, Nellie’s jealousy is getting worse and she’s pimping Chance like he’s a little puppy dog, and all I can do is watch. And Mr. Adewale’s up to something, but I don’t know what it is.”
    Mama looks at me and starts humming a familiar song. I think she sang it to me in the womb. Sometimes Mama can trigger memories I had when I still wore my caul. As soon as I was born, it was violently destroyed by the ignorant nurses my mom had around her, but I still wear my veil like other children born like me.
    â€œJayd, you can’t worry about what other people are up to. Haven’t you learned that by now? You just have to keep yourself clean, and the best way to do that is to be up front and honest about all of your moves. Now, that doesn’t mean going around and telling all of your business. It does mean that you don’t lie about it though.”
    â€œBut what if someone misinterprets your information—then what?”
    Whatever Mr. Adewale knows about me has nothing to do with my life at school, that much I can tell. Still, I wonder what he’s heard. Teachers gossip just as much as the students and I know Mrs. Bennett has given him an earful and then some about her favorite students to hate.
    â€œYou can’t worry about how others are going to play their hand. You have to deal with the cards that have been dealt in front of you.”
    I love it when Mama starts talking like she’s playing spades. That and bid wiz are her favorite card games, and she’s good at them both, too. She and Netta used to play with Daddy and Netta’s husband, back when Mama and Daddy acted like a couple. Now I’m usually her partner.
    â€œThat’s the art of a true hustler, baby. It doesn’t matter what tools you have in front of you. A true hustler will survive no matter if he has a paddle to get up shit creek or has to use his bare hands. Either way, he’s going to make it.”
    â€œBut this is different, Mama. There’s more at stake than losing a hand—or my pride. I can feel that whatever’s up Laura’s sleeve is big.”
    Mama passes me a paper towel with two piping-hot cookies inside. I can tell these will calm me down for sure just by their sweet scent. If Mama would sell her desserts and other treats for their true worth, we’d all be on easy street.
    â€œWell, you need to call her bluff if you want to find out what’s in her hand, baby girl.”
    Mama’s right. Sometimes talking to her is like talking to an old player in the game. I guess that’s her Legba side coming out, as she calls it.
    â€œAnd as far as Nellie and Chance are concerned, that’s their business. Whether you can see it or not, they are both getting something out of that relationship.”
    â€œBut what can Chance possibly be getting, except for played?” I bite into the soft sugar cookie, licking the light sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar off my lips as I chew the fragrant treat. Damn, Mama’s got skills.
    â€œThat’s between Chance and Nellie. Just be sure it’s a mutual situation between them. Everyone’s out to hustle someone or something if they’re being honest with themselves.” Mama takes an angel-shaped cookie cutter out of the cupboard and covers it with flour before she cuts into the dough. The other