by Hannah Weyer
AnnMarie smiled, pushing out the door, first day done. A few blocks from the school, she hooked up with Raymel and Jason who were walking over to Redfern, heading to 12-70 where they claimed a bench. Backpacks flung to the ground. High-school kids passing in clusters, and the air was warm and breezy even as the sun sunk behind the low-rise buildings, casting shadow blocks along the pathways.
Her mother had told her to come right home but there was no way she leaving ’cause in the midst of all the chatter and weed smell and laughter, Darius Green rolled up, taking a seat three benches down, joining a group of older boys, Bloods, in their own little circle. Raymel’s hand went up in a What up y’all to somebody over there but no one seemed to notice, not even Darius, and AnnMarie wondered if they true friends or not.
She felt Raymel’s arm go around her shoulder as he leaned forward to take the blunt someone was passing. She said, Ain’t that your homie over there.
Who dat.
Darius.
Raymel didn’t answer, sucked in the weed smoke and held it in.
Why ain’t you introduce me.
Don’t be a slut, Raymel said.
Say what? AnnMarie turned and stared. She shrugged off his arm, stood up and he reached for her, coughing up smoke, saying, I’m playin’ with you, AnnMarie. I’m playin’ … Off the bench now, he pulled her into an embrace, and she let him, ’cause she wanted the attention, even though she knew it was wrong, that it was Darius she was thinking of, feeling her brand-new Diesels snug against her skin, glancing now, down the path, past the kids roaming, to see if he was looking.
6
The days rolled up with change in the air, the October wind blowing damp and cool, night sky dropping early, sweeping daylight off like a blanket. They’d moved her bed next to the window, making room for the mattress they set out on the floor. She came home one day to find her room no longer her own, Carlotta’s clothes hanging in the closet, Carlton’s in the dresser, her clothes in a pile, spilling from a chair in the living room. AnnMarie blew up, screaming at her mother, Why you let them do that? What do you care, Blessed said. You never home anyway. Fuck you, I’m never home. Comatosin’. How would you know? Up in her mother’s face ’til Carlton had clamped one of his big hands down on her arm and was beating her with the belt he’d wrapped partways around his fist. Or at least he was trying to ’cause AnnMarie yanked herself loose, screaming all the fuck y’alls and the muthafuck bitch fuck yous she could muster, her hands and arms getting lashed each time she reached out to stop the belt. Her mother leaning on the walker, yelling, Whip she tail, whip she tail. Whip she tail.
Carlotta got a job at BJ’s working the register nine to five. Home by six o’clock, she’d sit on AnnMarie’s bed, filing her nails down, listening to the gospel station on the radio. Carlton worked odd hours as a dollar van driver, sometimes the split shift, walking in at midnight with his heavy step. One night, she’d been dreaming. She was asleep on the foam mattress in Grandma Mason house up in the Bronx. But in the dream she was grown, not a child, and she felt the sensation, like someone laying next to her, pressing up against her ass, a hand moving between her legs. Rubbing and cumming. She jerked awake and found herself alone on the couch. Carlton was standing in the kitchen, overhead light on, casting his face in shadow.
What’s the matter, AnnMarie, he said. I wake you?
She said, Fuck you, punk ass. Stay away from me.
She couldn’t see his expression as he moved toward her, shoving her back into the cushion, his knee grinding into her shoulder. Get offa me, she hollered.
Watch your mouth, he said, clamping his hand over her mouth. Or I beat you again.
A picture forming in her mind. Like heat folding over her, making it hard to breathe. Grandma Mason’s belt swinging, cracking down across her spine.
At school the next day, in between 5th and 6th periods, Brittany came down the hall, bumped her shoulder, saying ’Xcuse me. AnnMarie slammed her books to the floor. She said, Bitch don’t touch me.
Brittany nearly got her on the floor but AnnMarie yanked free and threw a solid, feeling bone against her knuckle. A crowd quickly formed, laughing with the hooo shits and the ooohhhs, bitch fuck her up ’til Mr. Preston pushed through and pulled the girls apart, his nose bloodied by one of their elbows. Then Principal arrived with security, asking for an explanation. AnnMarie stood staring at the floor, breathing hard, not able to look at Mr. Preston. She’d caught the disappointment in his eye, she’d seen it—an expression that made all the protest and rage bunch up in the back of her throat.
Principal gave them both five-day suspension. Her mother didn’t know. School so stupid, never bothered to call. In the mornings, AnnMarie got herself up off Blessed’s bedroom floor where she’d started to sleep. Five thirty, everything dark, made it into the shower and dressed before the light even went on in her bedroom. She’d slip out the door and hook into a group of kids walking up Gateway. In The Donut Shop, she’d take a seat facing the window and watch the sky brighten, late-pass kids trickling by ’til the street was empty and the lady in uniform start to hover, asking why she ain’t in school. She need to get to school.
She made wide loops through the neighborhood, wandering down to the boardwalk, or in the other direction past the expressway; one day all the way clear up Mott Avenue to where the sidewalk ended and way over there, across the bay, she could see Inwood Country Club spread out like a bright green blanket.
One night she went by to see Niki. They hung out for a while but soon Niki got restless. She said, Come on. Let’s go to Nadette’s. So AnnMarie followed her out the door, the whole while Niki telling her about a new rap she come up with, spitting the verse while they walked and AnnMarie said, That sound dope. Then she told Niki about a song she was writing called “Avalanche” and do she want to hear it and Niki said, Yeah, sing it. So AnnMarie sang softly, stumbling over a couple lines she hadn’t worked out yet but mostly it sounded good, Niki giving her daps, saying it was sweet.
But at Nadette’s, Niki seemed to forget all about her. They smoked weed and Nadette put on some music, then started dancing in front of the mirror. AnnMarie cracked up, thinking she got to be joking, moving her silly ass like a stripper would but Niki wasn’t laughing. She was watching, her and Nadette’s eyes on each other through the reflection.
Then Dennis came home and Nadette stopped dancing. She sat down next to Niki on the couch and said, Hey baby, but she didn’t get up, even though he her boyfriend.
AnnMarie watched Niki and Nadette sitting there and for a little while no one spoke, the music playing from the stereo. But AnnMarie could tell they was talking, saying things to each other with they eyes. She wondered how you got like that. How you got close like that to someone else.
7
On Friday, she went back to school. After first bell, she saw Mr. Preston in the hallway moving through the swarm of kids, saying, Get to class. Y’all need to get to your classrooms. She pushed away from the locker, walking toward him, wanting him to take notice, ask how she doing, but she kept her eyes forward and when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she glanced up, saying, Oh hey Mr. Preston. He said, So you back, AnnMarie? Saying it stern, like he still angry. Right away, starting up a lecture, the I expect more lecture. Stay away from … keep your head down … girl … trouble you get into … all that business … singing, am I right? And when he let her shoulder go, she stepped back into the crunch and jam of middle-school life, one of a thousand kids who scraped back their chairs 5th period when the fire-drill bell rang, the whole school pouring out onto the sidewalk.
The air was crisp and cool. AnnMarie shrugged on her satin hoodie. She scanned the crowd and spotted Brittany’s big head rising above the sea of faces, like a wave rolling toward her. She took a step back, then another, it was that easy, to slip away and be gone.
She wandered some, along Mott Avenue for a ways, until she finally got up the nerve to go into Redfern by herself. The housing project laid out in a grid with
paths intersecting, lacing between the buildings, and up ahead she could make out a group of fellas hanging in a lazy circle by the benches near 12-70. She spotted Raymel among them so she cut across the path. But as she neared, she faltered, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes fell on Darius Greene sitting center stage, leaning back with his arm flung out over the bench. He was saying something and they was all listening. Too close to turn around without looking stupid, she told herself to chill, calling out, Hey Raymel.
Raymel turned. He said, What up, AnnMarie. And it got quiet all at once because Darius stopped talking and was looking at her now. She shifted, the only girl standing there in her snake hoodie and Classic Tims, all them eyes on her like, who she but AnnMarie didn’t care, all of a sudden she didn’t care—she stepped right into the circle, and said, What’s good, y’all …
Next thing she knew, she was sitting on the leather couch in his studio room, strobe light flashing, turning the white walls red, blue, green, then black. Raymel had slouched down next to her and she thought, Thank god for Raymel. ’Cause there was six of them and one of her. Darius doing his thing at the console, not once looking her way, all of them restless, red do-rags underneath they ball caps, eyes a mask of indifference until the weed came out, then finally the room start to soften. She told herself to breathe, took another sip from the bottle going around, coughed, then sipped again.
What’s good, y’all … Someone had snickered, but Darius hadn’t. He’d leaned forward and said, So you’s AnnMarie. Her heart banging in her chest, like You know me? You know me? The way he’d looked at her—that’s all it took. The sidewalk tipped and the whole world just fell away.
She glanced up at the posters on his wall—Busta Rhymes, Lil’ Kim, Janet, all the superstars flashing in the strobe light. She got up the nerve and said, You heard Busta’s new album?
Darius didn’t answer but a boy she knew from up the block, he said, That one sick and she knew she was taking a chance but she went ahead and spit.
… Hey yo feel the bass line
Stack the overdrive …
One of the boys jumped in, start up a thwaka thwaka thwaka and she had to laugh ’cause he was getting it right, then they all laughing ’cause Raymel was on his feet, popping in the middle of the room, his body moving like a badass mime, limbs like water rippling. She let her eyes drift over to Darius, his fingers playing with the keys of the console. Her skin tingled, watching him and when he glanced over, their eyes met and she didn’t look away.
A week went by and she didn’t see him again. But she looked for him everywhere, hanging out by the White Castle, passing in and out of Redfern and even at Teisha’s house, jotting lyrics in her song book, or getting high with Niki and laughing ’til their guts busted open, she felt it. Heartsick. Gawd, was she in love. Some nights she stayed at Teisha’s. Some nights with Niki. Some nights, she snuck home after lights out, pulled the blanket off the couch and lay there, drifting off on her mother’s floor. She’d hear the buffalo come in. Feel him standing in the doorway, watching her. On these nights, she’d picture Darius punching him in the head, smashing his face ’til it was bloody.
On Thursday, Teisha shook her awake. She sat up groggy, the room still smelling of weed and cigarettes from the night before. What time is it, AnnMarie asked. It’s almost eleven, Teisha said. Ain’t you got school? AnnMarie got up, went into the bathroom, put toothpaste on her finger and brushed. Teisha appeared in the doorway. She said, I got to shower, AnnMarie, hurry up.
When Teisha got in the shower, AnnMarie sifted through a drawer, borrowed a scarf for her hair. Found her backpack kicked in the corner and went out the door, heading over to the school. But the closer she got, the more she slowed, thinking, What am I doing. All her energy slipping away, she was mad hungry. She looped past the school yard, looking across the street at the building, thought she heard the faint sound of the bell, what period was it, was it lunchtime? But no kids appeared in the yard so she kept going, wandering back up to Mott Avenue and the narrow sidewalks, the street choked with cars and an old lady creeping up the center lane, pushing her shopipng cart like a walker.
Past the Western Union and the 99-cent store and Tina’s hair salon, she thought about weaves and braids and how ringlets be mad cute and soon she found herself on Nameoke where Darius lived. She slowed, glancing at the houses, thinking, Which one was it. She remembered the FOR SALE sign. Plywood covering the windows on the next, was it the green one, no, the one next to it yeah, there it is. What would she say. She’d pretend she looking for Raymel, see how it go. But passing the bushes and the stove dumped on the curb, she saw them up on the porch—three older dudes chillin’. She felt their eyes on her all at once, faces vaguely familiar, red do-rags hanging loose, so she cut across the street, the whole while feeling their stares like heat crawling up her back.
In Redfern, she found the bench where she first met Darius and sat down. She kicked out her feet, glancing up past the buildings, way up there the sky darkening. Clouds rolling in with the wind. She stood, tugged her pants out of her crotch, creased and re-creased the fold but knew she was looking ratty—wearing the same jeans for three days and needing a change.
The wind whipped up hard. She squinted against it but saw them coming. Finally.
School out, kids rollin’ up. Patrice and Katelyn walking slow, backpacks half off their shoulders. Patrice got her hair down today. Her mother knew how to fix it. Patrice hair always look nice, even in this wind.
Why haven’t you been at school, AnnMarie? Mr. Preston passed out the sheet music.
Word? How it sound, AnnMarie asked.
Oh, it’s real nice. You heard a “Let Them Sing”?
Mr. Preston says everybody gotta bring five dollars for the trip.
What trip, AnnMarie asked.
Choir Academy, dummy. We all goin’ on Monday.
AnnMarie pictured Mr. Preston on the first day of school. Closing his eyes, listening to her sing. Seemed like ages ago.
Brittany was asking for you, Katelyn said.
Talking how she’s not done yet. How she gonna eff you up.
AnnMarie tsked. So. I ain’t afraid a that girl.
So how come you been skipping—
AnnMarie heard the CRACK and saw Katelyn duck. Gunshot, close this time, close enough to make the school kids scatter all at once. It came from the far side of 12-70 and AnnMarie didn’t wait. Got behind a tree and stayed still. She heard footsteps. Rubber on cement. Some kinda scuffle. Homies running. Then the rain came. Big wet drops, and a wash of sound like leaves rustling wild. Pop Pop. Pop. She crouched low, making herself gone. Pop. Pop Pop. She hugged her arms around her knees and the rain poured, sheets of rain, big drops falling on the back of her neck.
Still she didn’t move but she felt her hands trembling so she clenched them together to keep them still. She thought to start her countdown. Now, she thought, but only got to seven when a boy dashed past with a gun in his hand, his white shirt electric in the sudden flash of lightning. She stared at her Tims. Watched the mud splotching there, and wished more than anything she could be home.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
She slipped inside the apartment and stood listening. Saw her mother asleep under the blanket. Pulled off her wet shoes and went into the suitcase she kept under the couch for dry clothes. When she last ate something. Peanut butter crackers at Teisha house. Wish she had the sheet music. “Let Them Sing.” Then she could practice. Maybe Mr. Preston’d give her a solo. She talk to him tomorrow. She’d go to school tomorrow. All the days gone, piling up one afer another, she felt a rush, like dread, spread across her chest.
She heard Carlton walk in with his heavy step but she ignored him, bunching up her underwear, hiding it under a clean shirt.
Where you been.
AnnMarie didn’t answer.
Has your mother talked to you?
AnnMarie tsked. My mother ain’t say nothing. Why should she.
&n
bsp; Carlton laughed. You like a stray dog. If you was mine, I’d beat you again.
Fuck you, marshmallow.
He lunged and she stepped, putting the TV tray between them. Then she watched, waiting to see what he gonna do.
He went into the bathroom, slammed the door.
AnnMarie waited ’til she heard the shower go on, then went into her bedroom to change. She glanced down, saw a pair of his pants on the floor. She picked them up, dug into the pockets. Empty. Pulled open the dresser drawer, found some folded bills tucked deep in the back. She hesitated, then peeled off a ten. Punk-ass muthafucker. The front door opened. AnnMarie quickly shoved the ten in her pocket and hid behind the wall, listening to Carlotta go into the kitchen.
AnnMarie stepped into the living room and Carlotta jumped.
Dang, AnnMarie, you scared me.
AnnMarie watched her pull takeout from a paper bag, smelled the jerk spice rising from the container. Made her stomach groan. She turned, reached for her backpack and headed for the door.
Some boy called for you.
Say what?
I said, some boy was calling for you.