Dad came to check on us after the movie was over.
“Everything cool?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” we all said at the same time.
“Hey, Wes, come here,” Dad said, motioning me over to the kitchen. “Quick question: Did you invite Takari?”
“Well…no. I wanted to, but he and Mya don’t get along,” I whispered.
“Son.” Dad’s voice was low.
“I know,” I said, looking down at the floor. “Dad, can we talk about it later?”
“We definitely will,” Dad said, then turned to walk away.
I tried to brush off the look of disappointment in Dad’s eyes before I rejoined the group.
“Was that about Kari?” Jas asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Thanks for not inviting Takari Brown the Weirdo,” Mya said.
“Mya, that’s not fair. He and his family have been through a lot,” said Alyssa.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mya said.
“Look, it’s my birthday,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about Kari. Let’s get this tournament started!”
Brent and Mya were up first.
“You ready for this beatdown?” Brent said. He put on a fake grimace and stood over Mya.
“Back up,” she said, pushing him out of her face. “I don’t even know how to play, but since it’s Wes’s birthday, I’ll pretend to be interested.”
“Finally, something you aren’t good at,” Brent said.
Brent got an early lead. Mya broke down and gave up in the third quarter.
Next were Jas and Alyssa. No junk-talking this round. Alyssa could have put up a hundred points on Jas, but she took it easy on him. She only beat him 85 to 60.
The winners of those rounds had to play each other. Alyssa and Brent grabbed the controllers and got ready to battle.
“I’m not playing nice,” Brent said. “Get ready to go down.”
Alyssa smirked. She gave Brent a nice, quiet beatdown. No bragging needed.
Since it was my birthday, I played the winner of the last round. I was ready—I love coming up with a winning strategy and then the rush of controlling every play. My heart pounded a little when I took Brent’s seat. I usually beat Brent by talking enough smack to get him off his game. That wouldn’t work with Alyssa; she was a quiet killer. We grabbed the controllers and got to work.
By the end of the third quarter, there had been six lead changes and I was up by four points.
“You got her, Wes!” Jas yelled from the sidelines.
Alyssa just kept playing. Right when I thought I would take it, she started raining threes. In no time, she was up by six.
With one minute left in the fourth quarter, Alyssa pulled ahead by nine and I knew it was over. I sat stunned and watched the game clock tick to :00.
An L on my birthday? I would never live this down.
In the morning, after the best birthday sleepover—with almost no sleep—Jas pumped music into his earbuds while Brent and I played Racers. It’s a preowned no-name car-racing video game, my birthday present from Brent. After the game glitched for the fourth time, I was over it.
“Man, where’d you get this game from?” I asked Brent as I tossed my controller on the bed.
“Come on, let’s try it one more time,” he said, ignoring my question. “You gotta admit the graphics are nice, and look at all the cool places we’ve raced.”
Brent did have a point; we’d raced through cities all over the world—across bridges and through beaches—and it did make me feel like I was in another place.
That’s one of the things I like most about Brent—his way of turning something so-so into something good. Maybe that’s why Brent’s my best friend. Not that I’m not tight with the rest of the crew, but he’s my best best friend. There was the time in fourth grade when Brent and I were paired for a project in art class. We had to make a collage of our favorite vacation memories. The only problem was that neither of us had ever been on a real vacation. I was too embarrassed to admit that to Ms. Bradley, and I definitely didn’t want the other kids to know.
Brent came up with the idea of making a collage of all the cool places our favorite rappers talked about: Saint-Tropez, Miami Beach, Santorini, New York City, and the Hollywood Hills. We clipped pictures from magazines of all the luxurious places and pasted our favorite lyrics under the images. We had the most interesting collage in the whole class.
I was sure someone would pick at us for cheating and choosing places we had never visited, but no one cared that we’d never seen any of the places in real life.
After we were both over the racing game, Brent, Jas, and I left my house and headed to the community park at the end of my block. We shot hoops for a while at the court, then walked a couple blocks over to Central Community Church.
On Sundays, when the church dismisses, some of the younger drummers from the band stay around to put on a show on the church’s front lawn. Even though we don’t go to the service, we like to listen to the drummers do their thing. Bunches of people hang around to dance and talk and drop a few coins in a bucket as a thank-you for the dope beats.
“Man, it’s hot as fire out here,” Brent said. “Y’all really want to stand outside listening to some drums?”
It was hot—hot as fire, even, but the drummers were worth a little sweat.
“Come on, Brent. It’s summer….It’s supposed to be hot,” Jas said. “Plus, I’ve been practicing a new beat. I almost have it down.” Jas whipped his drumsticks out of their permanent spot in his back pocket and air-tapped a beat.
Of the three of us, Jas is the musical one. He’s been playing the drums since I’ve known him. His mom says he was born with music in his fingers and toes. I think he would give up everything else if he could play drums and listen to music all day, every day. He likes to join the drumline on Sundays, and sometimes they even split the change with him.
“If you make some money today, you owe me half,” Brent said. “Deal?”
“No deal,” Jas said, poking Brent with one of his drumsticks.
Brent and I blended into the crowd while Jas went to help the drummers set up. They kept it old school by banging on buckets while they stood up or sat on crates.
After one of the other drummers intro’d the set, Jas chimed in with his newly practiced beat. It was good—and got the crowd rocking and dropping coins into the bucket. It was a full-on party when the other drummers joined in. Hands were clapping, feet were gliding, and sweat was pouring. Even Brent stopped complaining and got into it.
Random people walking down the street stopped to watch and listen. The group had grown large enough to spill out onto the curb when I spotted Kari. It was only the second time I’d seen him all summer, which was kinda weird, since I was used to having him at my house all the time. His mom and my mom have known each other since forever.
Kari lived in Kensington Oaks until a few years ago—back when he was part of the crew. Not that he isn’t now, but when his parents split up, his dad moved away, and his mom, Ms. Tasha, moved Kari and his sister to an apartment downtown, so he isn’t around much. Last month, they had to move out of the apartment because of the new condo building construction. Which sucked for Kari. He deserved to be somewhere nicer. The protest marches were for his family and others like them.
I left Brent to join Kari near the curb. “Where’ve you been, Kari?” I shouted over the drums.
“Hey, Wes,” Kari said. “I’ve been around.”
“Ummm, okay,” I said. “Just haven’t seen you…”
“Your birthday was yesterday, right?” Kari said, changing the subject. “Happy birthday. I bet you had fun.”
“Ummm, yeah, it was okay. Just had a couple people over. I wanted to invite you, but I don’t have your mom’s new number and—”
“It’s cool,” Kari interrupted.
I swayed from one foot to the other. I miss Kari, and I hate leaving him out of stuff, but the truth is, I don’t know how to be his friend anymore. I’m not sure where he lives. After the apartment building was torn down, Kari and his family had to leave, but no one knows where they went, and Kari can be weird about sharing personal stuff. Plus, he and Mya aren’t really feeling each other, and since Alyssa and Mya are super tight, things can get messy fast.
“Maybe we can hang out sometime. Just me and you. Like old times,” I suggested.
“That would be cool.”
“Tomorrow? My house? I mean, if you can.”
“Yeah, I can,” Kari said.
* * *
• • •
I hoped Kari would really show up. I spent the evening cleaning my room just in case. I rearranged my sneaker collection to display the newest pairs on the wall across from my bed, and I moved the older pairs into the closet. The room is small, but I take advantage of every inch of space.
My bed is just two steps from the door; if I roll too far, I end up in the hallway. Yep, that’s happened. The wall behind the bed is reserved for my puzzles. They’re kinda my thing. I started collecting them a few years back when Mr. Hank gave me one for my birthday. He said I needed something to stimulate my mind and video games didn’t count. I spent hours piecing together that first puzzle, and even though I never told him, Mr. Hank was right. I was hooked—something about taking a broken picture and slowly clicking each piece into place, making it whole again, made me feel good. When I was done, I wrapped it in special stick-n-peel plastic and hung it up. Now I have a collection big enough to cover half the wall. My latest is a still of Stephen Curry’s overtime three-pointer to beat the Oklahoma City Thunder. Steph’s my man; he has the smoothest three-pointer in the game.
The only thing as precious as my wall of puzzles is my wall of sneakers. I have it set up similar to a shoe store, with two rows of boxes lined up against the wall. I can show off ten pairs without Mom freaking out on me. I’ve even worked out an exchange deal with a few other kids in the neighborhood. When it’s time for me to size up, I have a new supply waiting on me.
* * *
• • •
Ding dong!
The next afternoon, Mom ushered Kari inside and handed him a glass of water. “Honey, you’re dripping wet. Let’s get you under the AC.”
“Thanks,” Kari mumbled, his eyes low.
“Kari! You played a game of HORSE on the way here?”
“Nah, man, it’s just a little hot outside,” Kari said between gulps of water. More than a little hot. His shirt was three shades darker around the neck and chest and under his armpits.
“Well, come on—let’s go to my room and get on this Fortnite.”
“Wes, give Kari a clean shirt,” Mom said. “Kari, you’re at home. Need anything, just ask.”
“Yes ma’am,” Kari said.
While Kari changed his shirt, I wondered where he’d come from. He must’ve walked a long way. I didn’t ask, though. He hadn’t been around in a while, and I didn’t want to mess it up.
Kari’s eighteen months older than me, but we’ve always been close—until recently. When Kari and his family lived in the Oaks, we slept at each other’s house every weekend. And even though Kari didn’t always get along with the other kids in the neighborhood, I didn’t mind. Ms. Tasha called him eclectic. “He dances to his own drumbeat,” she always said. I figured Kari is just Kari.
He isn’t into sneakers or sports, and he always wears his hair in a new style. Just last year, he rocked four different hairstyles. Bald fade, low fade, baby Afro, then twists. This year he started growing locs. They were short, frizzy, and uneven—kinda like him. Today he was dressed in cutoff shorts and a faded pink T-shirt.
I peeked at the strings hanging from his shorts. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that outfit. I like a clean look. I have the best edge-up on the block, and I pride myself on being named Best Dressed in fifth grade, a title I expect to carry into sixth grade.
“You still hang with Brent and Jas?” Kari asked.
“Yeah,” I answered, hoping Kari wouldn’t bring up my birthday party again.
“How’s Mya? I bet she doesn’t step foot in the Oaks anymore,” Kari said with a slight grin.
“She came over for my…uhhh…birthday. But yeah, you’re right. She hardly comes around anymore,” I said. Mya makes her own schedule and always has some cool things she’s doing—dance class, art class. She even has a book club. She’s basically a grown woman in an eleven-year-old’s body.
After an awkward silence, I blurted out, “Look, Kari…I’m sorry I haven’t invited you over lately. I didn’t know you were going to get kicked out of your place. Mom said you guys only knew two weeks before you had to be out.”
“It’s cool, Wes.”
I could tell Kari was mad, though. I’d picked Mya’s pool party over helping him move this last time. Which sounded really messed up, but I had promised Mya, and the rest of the crew was there. Mom said I needed to make things right, but I didn’t know how. It wasn’t my fault Kari’s parents got divorced and he had to move. And it wasn’t my fault things were all weird with him and Mya.
“No, for real, I wanted to help you pack your stuff up…but Mya had a pool party on the same day.”
“Look, me and my family aren’t your responsibility,” Kari said. “We have enough pity. We don’t need yours too.”
Flames came off Kari’s words. “That’s not what I meant,” I said.
This is exactly why I hadn’t invited him over lately. I barely know what to say to him anymore, especially now. It’s like walking on stilts—one false move and bam!
“Let’s just play the game,” Kari said. “You’re my little bro. It’s no biggie.”
Kari and I spent the next three hours battling on Fortnite. There wasn’t much talking, but after a few minutes we got into the game and it was almost like old times, like our argument hadn’t even happened.
“You ready for school to start next week?” I asked.
“Not really,” Kari answered.
“I’m in Mr. Baker’s homeroom. I heard he’s tough.”
“I had him for homeroom in sixth grade too. He’s not that bad. You nervous to start middle school?”
Brent, Jas, Alyssa, and I would all be starting at Oak Grove Middle. It’s the neighborhood middle school, across the street from Oak Gardens Elementary. Mya also convinced her parents to drive her from the Southside so we could all stay together. Her dad agreed to a two-month trial at the Grove, whatever that means, but Mya pretty much gets anything she asks for, and we’ve always gone to the same school.
“Everybody keeps asking me that. Not really. All my friends will be at the Grove too, so I don’t think it’ll be that different. Plus, you’ll be there, right?”
Kari looked away. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he said finally.
“Who do you have for seventh-grade homeroom?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. My papers got lost in the mail. Ya know, during the move,” Kari said.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I nodded and kept playing the game.
It was almost dinnertime when we wandered to the kitchen for a snack. Dad was just coming in from work at the car dealership. He unbuttoned his oil-stained uniform shirt and tossed it on the couch.
“Walter, get that dirty shirt off my couch!” Mom yelled over her shoulder.
Dad laughed and picked up the shirt and threw it in the basket beside the washing machine. That routine replays itself every day, and it never gets old.
“Hey, son,” Dad said. “Kari, we’ve missed you around here.”
“Hi, Mr. Walter.”
“You guys ready for dinner?” Mom asked.
“Yes ma’am,
” I answered for both of us.
Mom had made Kari’s favorite meal. Meat loaf, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade biscuits, and peach sweet tea. She’s the best cook—like chef level—and she outdoes herself when we have guests over.
“Wes, bless the table,” Mom said once we were all sitting down.
“Dear Lord, thank you for this food. Thank you for this day and thank you for Kari. Amen.” Mom flashed me a quick grin. I knew she was happy me and Kari had made up.
I liked when we had a fourth person at the table for dinner. Being an only child means I’m always the only one being asked questions. Today was Kari’s turn. Besides, maybe Mom and Dad could get Kari to spill where he and his family had moved to.
“Kari, did y’all get settled into your new place yet?” Mom asked.
“I guess so. I lost a lot of my stuff, though.”
“Stuff like what?” Mom asked.
Kari shifted in his chair and finally whispered, “Clothes and stuff.”
That’s why he was wearing those busted shorts.
“Well, you know, A Place Called Home is sponsoring a clothing drive in a couple weeks. You be sure to come down and get some clothes. Wes will be there too, helping out,” Mom said.
“Yes ma’am,” Kari said.
Dinner went along just like that, Mom asking questions and Kari answering with as few words as possible. But Kari must have really enjoyed the food, because he left his plate spotless and he volunteered to clean the kitchen.
Of course, that meant I had to help.
I glared at the mountain of dirty dishes. White, slimy potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot were my worst nightmare. I leaned over to Kari and whispered, “Man, we could be finishing our game. It’s not even my night to do the dishes.”
Take Back the Block Page 2