Naz walked around his twin bed to his window, which overlooked the front of the house and faced east. He quietly raised his window high enough then snaked his slender frame out onto the slanted roof of the vestibule. There he sat as he often did in the last few weeks since he had been given the privacy of a locked bedroom of which to take advantage.
The morning was calm and cloudless, and a faint pinkish glow appeared atop the row of identical houses across the street, although the sun itself was still hidden below the horizon. The barking dog across the street and another one two blocks away were nothing more than background noise to which Naz had grown accustomed.
It was warm for mid-October, and his gray Henley T-shirt was fitting in all respects. Naz fiddled with the small skeleton key that dangled from his neck just to make sure it was there, then undid the top button on his shirt and put the key inside. He unconsciously moved his fingers up to feel the itching scar on his neck—a scar he had received in a knife fight five weeks earlier on the way to his first day at Lincoln Middle School. He liked his scar, though, thinking it made him look tougher somehow, but he didn’t want another.
He could just feel the rumble and hear the hum of the Helix as it passed by several blocks away. He could set his watch, if he ever wore one, by the feeling and sound of it, and he knew his time of solitude on the roof, like the elevated train, was winding down.
The familiar disturbances sounded from a block away—someone was being robbed and calling for help, and then a gunshot rang out a little farther away to punctuate it. To add insult to injury, sirens wailed in the distance, but unlike the Helix, they would almost never reach their destinations in time.
He knew his time was just about up when the brilliant red rim of the sun shone through distortion created by the fire of some structure ablaze in the distance. Was it a house, a church, or maybe even one of the market merchant stores that would ultimately burn to the ground? The smell of burning wood mingled with some kind of narcotic that Naz had long since given up trying to identify awakened his olfactory senses.
The last working streetlight on his block, thirty feet away on the corner to his right, sputtered out, catching his eye and signaling the night’s submission to the day. Twisting a tendril of his hair, he looked down on his street that never seemed to stop moving, and all of a sudden, this place called the Exclave began to take on a life of its own. His doorknob jiggled, someone knocked, and it was time to go.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIBLINGS
Naz and Meri surprisingly managed to escape Miss Tracy’s house with no more incidents of drama. As they made the two-block trek to Meri’s bus stop, she chattered as usual while Naz scanned their surroundings.
“So … what will you do?” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill.
“About what?” he asked, knowing she was continuing their earlier conversation about her going to International Academy and him not.
“You know what,” she accused as she tried to hand the money to an older homeless man standing on the corner next to a shopping cart full of dirty clothes, bottles, and cans.
“What are you doing?” Naz asked, wresting the money from her and handing it to the man. “Some of these people are dangerous, Meri, and like I said before, don’t worry about me.”
“That man was harmless.” She shrugged.
“Well, I’m not taking any chances.
A block ahead, directly in front of them, three unsavory-looking teenage boys approached, one of them Naz recognized as a drug dealer from the neighborhood. He’d propositioned Naz on more than one occasion. Naz and Meri looked at each other.
“So, are we gonna turn around and go the other way … Mr. Paranoid?” Meri challenged.
“No,” Naz answered quickly. “M-Meri … do you ever notice anyone following us?”
“You’re being paranoid … again.”
“I-I don’t think so. A-A pale man with a dark funny-looking hat … like an old-time gangster. I saw him parked in front of the house once and driving around the neighborhood,” said Naz, still clearly distracted by the three boys approaching. “… a-and again Saturday, at the festival; he was watching me when I was playing the Chess Master.”
“Watching you … why you? You mean losing to the Chess Master. That’s probably why you lost … no focus.”
“Just forget it. Let’s cross.”
“Really? Why don’t you just stand up to them?”
“Meri, it’s three of them and one of me.”
“Two … of … us—”
“One … of … me,” Naz repeated as he took Meri’s hand, and they crossed the street.
The familiar boy nodded and the other two boys laughed. Naz breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the three boys continued on.
“How’d you lose anyway … to a homeless man?” She asked, teasing him.
Naz calmed down only to become defensive. “A homeless genius … and I don’t think he was homeless.”
“He looked pretty homeless to me … blindfolded, too—”
“Stop rubbing it in. He was just better than me.”
“How can you say that?”
“I don’t know, he just was,”
“Are you joining the chess club today?”
“I guess.”
“You better. Did you comb your hair this morning?”
“Of course, I did.”
“Then why’s it all lumpy. You need to stop twisting it. You need a haircut.”
“I’m not getting my hair cut.”
“If you got your hair cut,” she reached up and tickled his chin, “maybe I could see these three tiny hairs sticking out of your chin a little better.” She laughed.
“Quit.” He knocked her hand away. “I see you got jokes.” Something on the inside of Meri’s upper arm caught his eye. “What’s this?” He grabbed her arm to get a closer look at the inside of her bicep. There were clearly three bruises in the shape of fingers.
It was Meri’s turn to anticipate his next move. She grabbed his arm before he could turn around and take one step toward Miss Tracey’s house. “I took care of it.”
“You took care of it … how?”
“Did you see that bruise under her eye?” Meri showed her fist.
Naz didn’t respond. He didn’t move.
“Oh, no, Naz,” a man’s voice said.
“Naz,” said Meri.
“Forget about it,” said the voice.
Naz continued to leer in the direction of Miss Tracey’s house.
“Naz, I can take care of myself,” said Meri.
Naz clenched both his fists until all the caramel color quickly drained from his knuckles. The tire on a car passing by blew out with a startling boom. The car hopped the curb and skidded toward them.
Meri screamed. Naz shielded her with his body and threw his hand up in the direction of the car.
The car miraculously stopped with a screech inches away from them.
The driver, horrified, jumped out of the car to find Naz and Meri unharmed. Onlookers watched from afar, but no one other than the driver rushed to their aid. Naz and Meri hurried away from the scene.
“Are you OK?” Naz asked.
“Yes, are you?”
“What?”
“You’re shaking, Naz.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you hear the voice?”
“Yes.”
“It’s OK, Naz. It’s OK. Do you have your money?”
“What?”
“Do you have your money?!” she repeated.
“Yes, of course.”
“Where’d you put it?”
“In my sock.”
“Good, no one will ever think to look for it there,” she said playfully.
Naz finally caught on. She had done a reversal on him. She was giving him the third degree, something he did, to her, every morning on the way to her bus stop. It worked, as Naz played along and calmed down just as they reached her bus stop.
�
��Where’s your phone,” Meri asked him as she got in line.
“In my pocket.”
“Is it on vibrate?”
“Always.”
“Did you charge it last night?”
“I did. Thanks, Meri, and don’t forget, not a word about Saturday after the festival … to anybody.”
“I’m not the one you have to worry about. You better talk to your friend, Artie.”
Naz had taken Meri for a ride on the Helix Saturday. They had gone to the suburbs, an hour and a half ride away. She had taken the entrance exam to International Academy, one of the best schools in the country and passed with flying colors. He watched her get on the bus and smiled—finally, I can get her out of this Godforsaken place.
After her exam, they rode the Helix downtown where Naz treated Meri to the time of her life at the festival. During the festivities, they met up with Artie. It was on the ride home they were all confronted by three members of a gang hell-bent on recruiting Naz as their newest member. Naz had used Meri’s phone as a decoy to distract the gang members and buy time so they could escape and eventually trap the gang members inside a vacant office building.
She looked out of one of the windows. “Hey, Meri! I take care of you … and don’t you ever go home without me again, OK?”
She nodded as the bus pulled away.
CHAPTER SIX
TREK
By the time Naz was just about to pass Miss Tracey’s house on his way back down the street, he was hot, despite Meri’s efforts to calm him. He stopped in front of the house and looked at the front door.
When Naz’s mother was alive, she charged her only son as her daughter’s keeper and protector if something were to happen to her. It was as if she knew this day would come. At the age of three, Meri was diagnosed with a mild congenital heart defect, but their mother refused to let anyone baby her, especially Naz. Nonetheless, the condition added to Naz’s sense as guardian angel over her.
He stormed onto the porch ready to do battle, but something stopped him at the door—this could end badly. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry, and he expected to hear the voice again loud and clear, but it was suspiciously absent. He had just told Meri that Miss Tracey knew what to do to get in her head—could the same be true for me. If I go in there and something bad happens—and something bad will happen—at the very least I’ll end up in juvenile detention hall, and Meri would be all alone with her. He backed off the porch, took deep breaths until he was calm, and headed off to Lincoln Middle. He resolved, no matter what, he would never allow Meri to be alone with Miss Tracey again.
He thought about Meri on that school bus—on her way to Higginbotham Elementary. “Suckerrrrr …” she called me when she kicked me in the butt. He laughed. Then he remembered hearing the voice in unison with Meri, but the voice didn’t bother him anymore; he was used to it.
A homeless couple sat on the curb. The couple blessed him as he walked by. He thought about Meri’s generosity moments before, how he used to give the derelicts money and reached in his pocket. Then he remembered hearing a lot of the panhandlers were actually scam artists and often worked in pairs, preying on the unsuspecting good Samaritan. He would be no victim today. He kept moving.
Naz took precaution against anyone who might be trying to get a bead on him as well as entertained himself by taking different routes to school every day. He would count the vacant houses on each block, sometimes seeing more than half of the houses boarded up. Some of those houses were the closest thing the Exclave had to art exhibits, and Naz took his time to admire the graffiti. The letters IA were painted immaculately on a condemned church house—International Academy—you go Meri. When three shady-looking boys exited the building, his heart lurched, remembering the name of the gang that confronted him only three days earlier also used those same initials, IA. He moved along in a hurry with his head down.
Around the next corner, before he could relax, Naz saw Ham in front of Lincoln. Hector Antonio Martinez, known to his friends as Ham, had been Naz’s only friend all summer long before the school year began. He was talking with two other boys Naz didn’t recognize. Naz walked by with his head still down, and as he heard them laugh, he couldn’t help but the think the joke was on him.
He and Ham hadn’t talked since they had faced off in a knife fight against two gang members on the first day of school—well Ham faced off. I just stood there and did nothing. It was Naz’s first incident ever on the dangerous streets of the Exclave, but not the last. He had gotten a revenge of sorts against the same gang members on Saturday night after the festival downtown, and he hoped that would be the end of it. Ham had suffered a near fatal injury, which caused him to miss the first three and a half weeks of school.
Naz did his best to ignore the trio, pushed past them, and entered the ancient royal blue hallways of Lincoln Middle School.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DILEMMA
As Naz entered the school, he thought about Meri’s question: “Are you joining the chess club today?” What was I thinking? How am I gonna play chess for Lincoln? That had never been his intention when he went to play the Chess Master. Yes, he had fun Saturday, even in his first ever loss that he could remember, and the thought of being Lincoln’s first state chess champion was more than appealing, but it always came back to the same question; what about his job with the Market Merchants?
Naz worked at MeeChi’s as well as three other Market Merchants. He couriered out-of-stock items between the stores to keep their customers happy. It took him two to three hours after school and kept him busy most Saturdays.
The chess club met every day after school for two hours. That meant he wouldn’t start his runs until after six-o’clock, not getting back to MeeChi’s until well past eight. It was fall now, and the sun was going down just before eight. He could run faster, and possibly stop running errands for Bellarusso’s—the last Market Merchant on his route—but that didn’t make any sense. Bellarusso’s was on the way back to MeeChi’s after picking up Meri from school. Then he thought about Meri and laughed.
Francis Bella and Richelle Russo, joint owners of the market, had unofficially adopted Meri as their daughter. They had put Meri in charge of the errands and Naz was there solely as protection—a junior bodyguard of sorts and to carry the heavier things. Meri, Francis, and Richelle would put me in front of a firing squad if I tried to take Bellarusso’s off my route … and I’d be the silent soldier for real. But something had to give. His problem would ultimately work itself out, but as usual, not entirely as he imagined.
Before his last hour class that day, the counselor called Naz to her office to discuss joining the chess club. She told him his involvement and participation in extra-curricular activities, like the chess club, would bode well for him in high school and pave the way to a successful college career. College? All of this because of one chess game? I guess it was a little more than that.
Word was out at Lincoln that Naz had almost beaten the Chess Master: a homeless genius that played nine random opponents simultaneously at the festival downtown every Saturday night during the summer and fall. The Chess Master had supposedly never lost a game. Naz was the last man standing over the weekend and had wowed the crowd before falling to the Chess Master by putting the blindfolded genius in check, not only once, but twice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HEALTH
Naz walked into his last hour health class fifteen minutes late. There was something different about Coach Marcus Fears’ class today; it was just short of a free-for-all. Some students were grouped together playing card games; one group of students had moved their desks to the front of the class near the dry-erase board where they played Hangman; other students talked quietly or sat by themselves, listening to music or playing games on their phones, reading, writing, or drawing; one student had his head down and appeared to have been asleep for a while as drool collected onto a piece of white paper under his head.
Naz had heard that Coach Fears
sometimes allowed his students to have free time in his health class on special occasions—but what was the occasion? Fears only had two rules: no loud voices and no touching of any kind, which was Fears’ way of saying no fighting, among other things. Anything else was fair game.
Naz walked over to Fears’ desk and handed him the pass he had received from his counselor. Ham was standing next to Fears and shot Naz a look of contempt. Another boy named Soulomon Bender was sitting on Fears’ desk, shooting a miniature ball into a miniature hoop repeatedly, and a third boy with a spiky-on-top, shaved-on-the-sides, military haircut named Harvis Young had moved his desk flush with Fears’ desk and was writing away in a composition notebook.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Andersen,” said Fears.
When Marcus Fears spoke, anybody within earshot took notice as all the students looked up to see Naz. If Fears’ booming voice wasn’t enough, he stood between six foot five and six foot seven inches tall, depending on what papers you read back in the day when he used to play. Today, clad in silver gray and royal blue fleece from neck to ankle with the words “Property of the Lincoln Railsplitter” printed on them, Fears sat (something he rarely did) leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out and crossed on top of his desk, his size seventeen royal blue high top gym shoes like huge trophies leaning against each other.
Naz could tell Fears was in a good mood, but he could also tell that Fears and the other three boys were in a conversation that had stopped with his arrival and would continue upon his departure, so he nodded, turned, and walked away. He immediately saw his friend, Artie, and two other boys playing cards. Artie motioned frantically for Naz to join them.
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