Page 10 of Mazywood

“Tell the truth, your father and brother slapped on some cork once or twice,” Mother said. Burnt cork was the most popular way performers, colored and white, blackened their faces. “Had to, in the early days. Don’t you worry about that. Better you playing that part than another white child. At least you don’t have to play dumb. Mazy is the smartest one in the pack.”

“Scout’s the smartest.”

“Same thing. There’s no Scout without you. That’s a fact. Two sides of a coin.”

No Scout without her.

No Mazy without Scout.

But for how long?

“Where the hell have you been, girl?”

Aunt Ruby looked demure with tightly pinned silver-blue hair, but she swore like a drunk. Aunt Ruby was already frowning, her dreaded black hairbrush clutched in her palm. If she got annoyed, Aunt Ruby would swat Mazelle’s rump with the brush’s wide, flat back. Daddy and Mother never whipped her, but Aunt Ruby was quick to swat her with the brush without notice or a good excuse. But Mazelle refused to be afraid of her. Doris’s bullying had made Mazelle swear she would never be afraid of anyone.

“Talk to Mother if you don’t like it.” Mazelle didn’t glance her way as she sank to her knees to roll up the heavy living room rug. This was the largest space for dance lessons, but the floor had to be bare. She would get paddled today for sure at the first excuse.

“Don’t you sass me,” Aunt Ruby said.

Mazelle was tempted to show her what sassing really sounded like, but she held her tongue when she saw Scout watching through the screen door. With the front door open to let in the morning breeze, Scout was a smoky silhouette behind the screen. His ears were perked high, paying close attention. Scout didn’t like it when people spoke to Mazelle with a certain tone, the same tone Mazelle didn’t like herself. Scout had growled at Mr. Lorenzo twice, but thankfully no one else had heard him. Mr. Lorenzo slipped easily into that tone when he was running behind.

When Mazelle looked up at Scout, his tail thumped.

“Leave that dog be and get your shoes on,” Aunt Ruby said.

“Can we start with piano today?”

“Too early for all that banging. But all right.”

That was Aunt Ruby. Mazelle’s piano lessons were “banging.” Her tap lessons were “shuffling.” Her voice lessons were “screeching.” The closest Aunt Ruby came to a compliment was to purse her lips and nod as if it pained her to approve, usually only if Mother or Daddy was passing through the room. But although she apparently hated Mazelle’s Saturday lessons almost as much as Mazelle did, she never let a Saturday pass without them—and they never were a minute less than three hour-long blocks, with a break for lunch before the third hour.

If you’ve got any talent, we’re gonna dig down deep to find it, Aunt Ruby said.

The sameness of her Saturday schedule made Mazelle want to scream. And Scout knew it. Now he was pacing in front of the door. Mazelle rushed to sit at the piano bench so she and Scout wouldn’t have to listen to Aunt Ruby’s insults; so his pacing would stop. Scout held his temper—their temper—pretty well, and he’d never done more than growl low from the base of his throat, but instinct told Mazelle that it was best to keep him calm. To keep them both calm.

Aunt Ruby turned on the metronome on the piano with its incessant click-click-click.

“Begin,” Aunt Ruby said.

Mazelle began playing her scale, her cramping fingers following the march of the metronome. If she lost her concentration or the note didn’t play, even though she’d pressed a sticky key, Aunt Ruby snapped, “Play it right! Again!”

Mazelle hated Aunt Ruby. The feeling didn’t sit well with her because she had never hated anyone, not even close. But while she played, she couldn’t help thinking of all the things about Aunt Ruby she hated so much that she wished Aunt Ruby would disappear in a hole in the ground. She hated Aunt Ruby’s breath, which smelled like coffee and rotten teeth. She hated her voice, which sounded like a buzzard’s. She hated her face the worst: too-small eyes, a wide brow, and that awful sneer she pretended was a smile. With each new scale, Mazelle thought of a new thing she hated about Aunt Ruby—who wasn’t even a blood aunt.

Mazelle only stopped counting her grievances when she heard Scout whimpering on the sunporch, asking to be let in. Scout only whimpered to come inside when Mazelle was feeling hateful. Mazelle was trying so hard to stop hating Aunt Ruby that her fingers stumbled and she played F instead of F-sharp in the G scale.

“I said play it right!” Aunt Ruby said. With the black hairbrush, she hit the meat of Mazelle’s forearm with a thump of fiery pain. “Again!”

“Ow!” Mazelle said, cupping her shoulder with her palm. Aunt Ruby leaned over to hit Mazelle’s other forearm with a sharp snapping motion that hurt even more, as if Mazelle had cussed at her instead of crying out. Aunt Ruby was biting her bottom lip, her face a mask of fury.

Scout barked and snarled. He stood on his hind legs, paws pressed to the mesh. The screen door rattled beneath his weight. Mazelle remembered the banging sound against the door that had followed her from her dream.

“That dog needs a few good whacks too,” Aunt Ruby said in a vicious whisper as she tugged on Mazelle’s earlobe. Her breath was hot against her face. “If he takes a bite out of somebody, you better believe the law will put him down. That’ll be in all the papers too.”

That was the first time Mazelle understood: Aunt Ruby was jealous of her. She thought she had more talent than Mazelle and she should have been in the papers. She might have paddled Mother too, but she probably never hit her with so much envy driving her hand.

Tears pooled in Mazelle’s eyes. She wished Scout would break that door down and—

“Mazelle, make him be quiet,” Dottie’s voice said from the stairs. Mazelle didn’t know how long her sister had been watching, but she must have been able to see how Aunt Ruby was poised over her like a dragon. Aunt Ruby stepped away from the piano bench, wearing her best smile. She moved her hairbrush behind her back, as if she hoped Dottie wouldn’t see it.