“I don’t know what needs to be done!” He opens his mouth, but I go on. “I know you’re gonna say ‘All I need is God,’ and yeah, I get that … but I have no idea what I’m doing here.” And suddenly I’m not talking just about George but about life. “I’m the guy just trying to get through the day without” — I can’t talk to him about the Pukey stuff — “falling on my face.”
“What’s wrong with falling on your face?” asks Dave. Then he looks me right in the eye. “Again?”
We have one of those I-know-that-you-know-that-I-know moments, and if it was anyone but Dave, it would be excruciating. But I’m kind of relieved. I should tell him about the lunchroom today, but it’s George who’s the main character right now.
“Where do you think he is?” I ask, looking at the mangy rug. “Maybe he got a job — he’s almost an engineer, you know — maybe he found a place and everything …”
“Maybe,” says Dave.
“He was really into that project he was doing with the kids; he wouldn’t just leave them hanging.” I’m talking fast now. “He was talking about a whole after-school program. I was going to help out, and get some of my friends to do it too.”
“You could still do the after-school program,” says Dave. “That would be a good project for Clarke. I’m on the Board of Advisors there, you know.”
“You are? I didn’t know we had a Board of Advisors,” I say. “What do you guys do?”
“Well, I’m going to be a chaperone at that Holiday Jam you have coming up…. Got your date lined up?”
“I’m working on it,” I mutter. “Go on.”
“There are two hundred and thirty-seven of us advisors, including the governor. Not a whole lot gets done.”
“That’s the thing about Clarke,” I say. “I know it’s corny, but all of that stuff we’re supposed to be about, civic responsibility and community service? I wish it were for real.” Standing on the cafeteria table and announcing my candidacy feels like a dream now.
“Reggie,” says Dave, sounding impatient again, “you do a lot of wishing and dreaming and hoping. That’s all well and good, but you’ve got to get past that. You know, ‘faith without works is dead.’ James 2:20.”
“I want to have faith. But I’m not like you.”
Dave gets up again. “I’ve got two words for you: mustard seed.” When I just look at him, he adds, “I know you’ll get it. Hit the Book.”
Yeah, yeah. He stacks books in boxes while I sit there for a few minutes. I look around; the room’s looking pretty sparse.
“What’s with the cleanup?” I ask. “Is the bishop coming to review the youth group again?”
Dave doesn’t say anything for a minute. He doesn’t look at me either.
“Hello?” I say.
“Remember when I said that I had an announcement?” Dave starts. “I was planning to tell the whole group at our last meeting, but …” He sighs. “I’m leaving.”
“Huh?”
“I’m moving. I’ve taken a teaching job in Jersey. It’s full-time. I won’t be able to do the youth group anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” I stand up. “You’re just messing with me, right?” I force a laugh. “The Jersey reference was a little over the top.” Dave always tells us that he’s been in Brooklyn so long, he went to Dodgers games.
“South Orange,” he says without smiling. “You’re looking at Columbia High School’s newest English teacher. I’ll start in January.” Then he does look at me and smiles a little. “I’m going to miss you guys. But I’m looking forward to this. I’ve always wanted to teach English.”
I can’t believe this. I don’t believe this. “You’re abandoning us?”
“I’m not ‘abandoning’ anyone,” Dave starts, but it’s sinking in and I’m getting mad.
“What, deserting, then? Is that better? Let’s get to the ‘meat of the sammich,’ Dave. Isn’t that the way you like to roll?”
“I like to be honest, and I like to be real,” he says, and there’s no apology in his voice. “I’ve enjoyed working with you guys, and I’ve been inspired. But I’m ready to challenge myself in a new way. I’ve always wanted to teach — that’s what I studied in grad school. And I need to make more money.”
“What happened to ‘seek ye first His kingdom and his righteousness'?” I ask, and my tone is so nasty that I don’t recognize my voice. “Or don’t you practice what you preach?”
“I try not to preach,” says Dave with a sigh. “Maybe I’m not always successful. But I’m a human being, Reggie, not your guardian angel. And I believe I can serve wherever I am.”
I don’t know what to say. So I just leave. At least this way, I’m doing it first.
5:39 P.M.
The BBC News is playing on the kitchen radio when I get home. I don’t want to get any more depressed, so I try to run upstairs without seeing Pops. The creaky step betrays me.
“Reggie?” he calls. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come in here.”
I drag myself into the kitchen. He’s standing over the stove. “Can you run to the store and get some sugar? I need it for the meat sauce.”
“Can’t we just do without it?” I ask. “I just got home, and it’s been a long day.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Eighth-grade High-Powered Executive,” he says. “I didn’t realize that you had it so tough.”
“You never do,” I say without thinking. Oops.
Pops stirs his meat sauce, and then points to the five-dollar bill on the counter. I sigh, grab it, and head back out.
I skip the fancy new organic market because I’m not in the mood to be followed around by the woman who thinks I’m going to steal her jars of imported whatever. I go to Ralph’s Bodega and grab a box of sugar and a bag of plantain chips for myself, along with the Brooklyn Courier and Our Time Press, the free papers that keep my parents grumbling over the State of Black America. When I get back, I drop the sugar on the counter and start to head to my room. I figure he’s going to send me there anyway.
“There’s a salad to make,” says Pops without looking at me. There’s a smart answer on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it and get the lettuce out of the fridge and start washing it. Pops and I work in silence for a while.
“So tell me about your long day,” he says. I look at him, and he nods. “Go on. I’m interested.”
I don’t really want to talk to Pops about it, but I know I’m skating on thin ice.
“Well, um, you know that project we’ve been doing with Dave? The homeless shelter thing?”
“Listening Ears, right?” he says, nodding. I’m surprised he remembers the name.
“So, the guy who was my partner—”
“George,” says Pops.
“Yeah, George. He’s gone. Like, really gone. I went there today to tell him — something that happened and he was gone. Nobody knows where he is.”
“Couldn’t that be a good thing?” asks Pops. “Maybe he’s gotten on his feet. You said he was a pretty together guy.”
I did? I don’t even remember talking to Pops about George.
“I happened to hear you and Dave talking at church the other day. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he adds quickly. “I was there already.”
Pops on the defensive! That’s a first. “Yeah, maybe,” I say slowly. “But … I don’t know….” I don’t want to tell Pops why I’m scared. I don’t want him to judge George. Or call me a fool for believing in him in the first place.
“But what?” he asks. “You’re worried that he’s not okay?”
I nod slowly. I can feel him looking at me, so I raise my head.
“Is he involved with drugs?” he asks.
I just shrug, which I know he hates. He lowers the flame under the meat sauce and sits at the table.
“What does this” — he shrugs — “mean?”
I know I’m pushing it, so I look up. “Yeah. He used to be on drugs. But he’s clean now, and anyway it wasn’t his fault, he was under a lot of
pressure…. He had a tough life,” I finish. My voice sounds thin and squeaky and I hate it.
“Many of us have tough lives and are able to refrain from drug use,” Judge Pops begins, but then he adds, “And many aren’t. And we cannot judge either way. Addiction is a complicated thing.”
I’m shocked, and I don’t even bother to hide it.
“You thought that I would say something else?” He smiles. “You judge me, Reggie. I thought you’d know better than that.”
“You always think I should be better than something. Why can’t you just let me be me? Just leave me alone and get a job!” My words shatter in the air.
His voice gets hard and his accent gets stronger. “And who exactly are you to talk to me like that?”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. What finally does is a whisper. “I don’t know…. Nobody, I guess.” I’m ready to send myself to my room. “Can I go now?”
Pops nods. I start to leave, and then he says:
“Reginald Garvey McKnight. Sit down.”
He used my whole name. I sit down at the table. I am a jerk. It’s so quiet, I think that I can hear the minutes go by on the microwave clock. Pops sags a little in his chair.
“Pops.” He doesn’t look at me. “Pops, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
He nods, and it looks like that’s all I’m going to get. I wish he’d sit up straighter. I don’t know what else to do, so I just keep talking.
“I got all involved with this thing George was doing, working with little kids … and now he just leaves.” I take a breath. “And then I go to Dave for help, and he tells me he’s leaving too.”
“Dave’s leaving?” Pops looks up.
“Yeah. He’s gonna be a teacher. In Jersey.” I spit the word “Jersey” out and Pops smiles a little. “And I know you’ve been looking for a job, I don’t know why I said that….”
“You’re feeling abandoned,” Pops says, sitting up. I shrug again, and he lets it go. “It’s been a stressful time around here,” he says slowly. “Lord knows it’s been hard for all of us. I never expected to be out of work for this long, and I will tell you the truth —” He pauses and looks right in my eyes. “I’m ashamed.”
I broke Pops. I hate myself. “Pops,” I start, and I don’t care that my voice is shaky, but he puts his hand up.
“I know you’re at an age when you’re going through some things that we should probably talk about.”
Please don’t say sex. Please don’t say sex.
“Like sex,” he says, and for a minute I think that I really am melting into the floor, but he’s looking over his glasses at me with a question in his eyes.
“Huh?” I shift in my chair. “Come on, Pops. Of course not.”
“Just checking,” he says. He picks up the lettuce and starts shredding it. “I don’t tell you enough how proud I am of you.” He looks at me. “Or should I say that I don’t tell you at all.” He goes back to shredding. “You are a responsible young man — doing that Big Buddy project, working with the youth group, studying hard…. I tell you, you are way ahead of me when I was your age.”
“What?” I make a face. “You were that Head Guy thing. You had the respect of your peers.”
Now he makes a face. “I cared too much about being popular. I didn’t even like football. And I was so busy trying to be everyone’s buddy that I wasn’t a friend to myself.”
That sounds like something Ruthie would say. Or maybe she’s actually said it.
“And when the chips were down, I didn’t have a real friend to speak of.” He sighs. “It was a hard lesson to learn, but I will always be glad that I did, especially after what happened at the job.”
“Uh, what did happen, Pops?” I ask.
He sighs again. “Nothing I can prove in a court of law, as I was told. I witnessed discrimination over and over…. Young, qualified brothers who got passed over because they weren’t members of this unofficial ‘club.’ I was ‘in,’ you know, because being Jamaican made me ‘different.’ But when I couldn’t let it go any longer without asking questions, my membership card was revoked.”
“Wait, how can you get fired like that? That’s not fair.”
“Life is not fair, Reggie. Layoffs had to happen, and since certain people weren’t ‘comfortable’ with me anymore, I was first on the chopping block. I don’t regret what I did, though. It’s not been easy, but I would stand up and speak out again.”
“Did anything change? Did any of those guys get promotions or anything?”
“I don’t know,” he answers.
Pops clams up. We sit together for a while as he shreds the lettuce.
“So, you want to go out and look for your friend together?” he asks.
I’m glad I don’t have a heart condition, because I’d be stone-cold dead with all of the surprises hitting me today. “Uh — you serious?”
Pops shrugs.
I think about it. “I guess it doesn’t make sense, does it? I wouldn’t even know where to start.” I shred a few pieces of lettuce myself. “But I don’t want to do nothing, you know? And those kids — if you had seen how excited they were, happy, even in the middle of that dingy place. And today, the bossy one was all defeated…. George was helping them forget where they were, and I was helping. I was even forgetting who I was.”
“Maybe you were being who you really are,” says Pops, standing up. “You know, I left a book in here for you the other day. Did you see it? Black poets. Powerful stuff. It really affected me when I was your age, and I see you with this notebook all of the time, so I just thought …” He looks at me. “Did you get it?”
I want to lie, but I don’t. “Yeah, I did. But, um, I didn’t read it yet. Ruthie told me that it’s really good, though.”
“Smart girl,” is all he says, but I know he’s disappointed.
“Pops,” I start, remembering something George said once. “Who’s Samuel Sharpe?”
“Daddy Sharpe!” he says, grinning. “Maybe they are teaching you something at that school.” He shuts off the stove and starts to clean up all of the shredded lettuce, and I think that father-son time is over, but he laughs. “Looks like we need another head of lettuce,” he says. “You want to go? We can stop by the shelter, see if George came back. I’ll tell you about Samuel Sharpe. An educated man, a deacon, and a leader of a slave rebellion — one of Jamaica’s bravest.”
“Sure,” I say, starting to get up.
“Wait, let me go get my shoes,” he says. “And you can tell me a little more of what’s been going on. How’s school? And what’s happening with that new image you were going for?”
I have to laugh. “Let me go get MY shoes,” I say. “And I’ll tell you.”
George hasn’t returned to Olive Branch. No one’s seen him either, or they’re not saying. Pops and I walk around the neighborhood for a while, grabbing some Yummy Taco on the way as a snack; we don’t see George, and I’m glad about that. Because if we see him on the street, I’m thinking it wouldn’t be good.
By the time we get home, I’m exhausted. In one day, I’ve announced my presidential candidacy, lost two people who were a big part of the reason for the announcement, and — biggest shocker of all — had a real conversation with my dad. We eat a fast dinner and I go to bed without taking off my clothes or my shoes or worrying about this whole election thing. I just sleep.
NOVEMBER 23
7:16 A.M.
When I wake up, it’s late and I want to squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my ears, but then I see a Post-it stuck to my Dora sneakers. I stumble out of bed to check it out. It’s from Mom — a heart-shaped smiley face. It’s corny, but I smile and it gets me going. When I go downstairs to say thank you, Mom’s already gone. Pops is out, and I guess Monica left without bothering to wake me up. I run back upstairs and get Mom’s Post-it. I fold it carefully and put it in my pocket, and I grab the Dora shoes and put them in a bag. Then I run all the way to school.
&nbs
p; Sparrow Barrow is blocking my locker and has a microphone in front of Ruthie’s face. This can’t be good. I speed up and get close enough to hear Ruthie speak.
“… Just think of him as ‘Dark McKnight'!” she’s saying. “You know, like the Superman comic books.”
We are not friends.
“She means Batman,” says Joe C., who’s trying to stay off camera. It doesn’t matter; Vijay’s obviously got the camera locked on Ruthie. He smirks. Then they all notice me.
“Hey, Puke — um …” says Sparrow.
“It’s Reggie. Reginald Garvey McKnight, and don’t you forget it,” says Ruthie so loud I’m sure people in Jersey can hear. I glare at her and try to catch my breath.
“Sorry, Reggie. We’re taping for Candidates Get Real, the election reality show, giving the people a chance to see who the candidates really are behind the scenes. We’ve been taping for a while, and we’ll air a couple of specials next week.”
“Why didn’t I know about this before?” I ask. “I was a candidate’s campaign manager.”
“We’ve got hours of Justin on camera. We only started covering Vicky yesterday, after your dramatic lunchroom betrayal designed to brutally undercut her hard-fought journey.”
“Sounds like I’m already being misrepresented by the media,” I say.
“Exactly! This is a chance to show us who you truly are! That’s the beauty of reality television!” Sparrow chirps. Ruthie sighs and rolls her eyes.
“Justin and Vicky are already on board,” says Vijay. “It would be, like, kind of bad if you don’t participate.”
“Justin’s poll numbers are setting a record,” says Sparrow. “And Vicky is dying a slow painful death, and it’s great to have it all on camera. So, what’s up? Are you gonna do it?”
I look at Joe C., who shrugs. “We just found out about this,” he says.
I turn to Sparrow. “Uh, I don’t even know if I’m really running, actually,” I say. “The whole thing might be kind of a mistake….”
“You don’t have to do the show if you don’t want to, but …” Sparrow trails off so it sounds like a chirpy threat.
Eighth-Grade Superzero Page 16