Take Back the Block

by Chrystal D. Giles

“For how long?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know. She said maybe till the summer…” Kari’s voice trailed off and he looked over at me.

  I had to do something. “See, Dad, Kari can stay here and live in the Oaks again,” I said. “None of this of Kari’s fault, and he shouldn’t have to move.”

  “Of course none of this is Kari’s fault. But, Wes, your mom and I need some time to think about this.” Dad’s voice was plain—no sugar.

  “But why? You always say how much you miss Kari, and he used to stay over all the time, and he won’t have to deal with all the stuff happening at the hotel,” I said. “Mom? What do you think?”

  “Wes, listen to your father. He and I need to talk about this.”

  I could feel my face getting hot. I leaned back in my chair, trying to think of something else that might convince Dad to let Kari stay with us. This was supposed to be easy, but we weren’t speaking the same language. Dad was Charlie Brown’s teacher and all I heard was wah wah wah wah wah wah. And all this time I thought Mom was the hardest to convince.

  “Look, Kari, Maxine and I love you. You’ve been like a second child to us, but the fact of the matter is, you have a family. We aren’t saying no, but we do need to think about all the facts and talk to your mother,” Dad continued. Wah wah wah wah wah wah.

  “Yes sir,” Kari mumbled.

  My fork clanked against my plate as I stabbed peas and pieces of carrot, separating the veggies from the rest of the potpie. Every time I thought of a new point to add, I stopped myself. All this chanting and marching for other people and we could actually do something to help Kari—right here, right now!

  Instead of going home the next day after school, I stopped at Jas’s house. I didn’t feel comfortable escaping to Brent’s house the way I used to. His family was still thinking about leaving the Oaks, and he was acting funny about me and Mr. Baker. Plus, I knew Mr. and Mrs. Silva wouldn’t mind me crashing for dinner. The vibe was cooler at Jas’s than at my house, anyway, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit in the house with my parents, staring at the walls or watching the news.

  Jas lives four streets over from me. The houses on his street are identical to mine, but the neighbors on Jas’s street are newer to the Oaks. Brent calls it Little Mexico, which doesn’t make sense, because only three Mexican families live on the block. The Silvas are from Brazil.

  I could see the sunny yellow walls of the Silvas’ living room from the yard. Their front door is always open when they’re home. I walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door, even though I could see Mr. Silva on the couch staring at the TV.

  “Come on in, Wes, it’s open,” Mr. Silva said. “Jasper’s back in his room, with that noise going. Go ahead back there.”

  I slipped my shoes off and scooted past Mr. Silva, who was sunk down into the bright orange couch. A collection of yellow, orange, and blue pillows framed him. The rug beneath his feet was a picture of a tropical sunset. The swirls of pink and orange met a sea of blue. It was almost too pretty to put your feet on. I guess that’s why no one wears shoes in the Silvas’ house.

  “Jas!” I called out as I turned the corner.

  “Hey, Wes, I didn’t know you were stopping by. You eating with us?”

  “You think your mom will be cool with it?”

  “You know it.”

  “Good, my parents trippin’ and I’m trying not to go home yet.”

  “All good, man.”

  Jas isn’t the kind to get all up in someone’s business, so he didn’t ask any more questions. He just flipped through the channels on the TV while the speakers mounted on his wall blared. I don’t see much point in watching TV and listening to music, but Jas always has music playing in his room—through his speakers or earbuds, sometimes both at the same time. The bass was pumping so loud we barely heard Mrs. Silva call us to dinner.

  “Go ahead and start without me,” Mr. Silva called from the living room. He always eats on the couch in front of the TV—that’s that cool vibe you’d never find at my house.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Silva, everything smells really good,” I said. I grabbed a seat at the table across from Jas.

  “Thanks, Wes. Your mom called—she said it was okay for you to stay for dinner.”

  I glanced at Jas. “Oh, she did?” I said under my breath. Jas shrugged and dug his fork into his dish of feijoada, made with black beans and sausage. Mrs. Silva makes the most awesome food, food I only get to eat at their house. Feijoada is one of my favorites, and brigadeiro. I love brigadeiro.

  “So, Wes, how’s school going?” Mrs. Silva asked.

  “Hope your grades are better than Jasper’s!” Mr. Silva called from his spot on the couch.

  Jas stuck his tongue out in the direction of the living room. I laughed and turned to Mrs. Silva and said, “It’s going okay. It’s not much different from Oak Gardens.” That was a lie, but it sounded better than complaining about the D I’d gotten on my math quiz or how long it had taken me to decide on my topic for the fall social studies project.

  I looked up at the parrot-shaped clock on the wall in the kitchen: 7:38 p.m. I knew Mom would kill me if I didn’t get home soon. I finished my last scoop of rice, thanked Mrs. Silva, and headed out the door.

  The walk home was like being summoned to the principal’s office. I hadn’t really spoken to Mom and Dad since the night before, when Dad had pretty much shut down my idea of Kari staying with us for a while. I tiptoed onto the porch and turned the knob of the front door—it was unlocked. I pushed the door lightly and peeked into the living room—all clear. I crept across the room, down the hall, and into my bedroom—safe.

  Before I could close the door, Dad appeared in the doorway. “First and last time you aren’t home for dinner without permission.”

  I looked at the floor and nodded.

  “And Ms. Hardy emailed your mom and me to make sure you were getting all the help you need in math. When were you going to tell us about your quiz grade?” Dad continued.

  “I…,” I started.

  “No TV and no video games until the extra credit assignment is complete. Do I make myself clear?” Dad said. No sugar.

  “Yes sir,” I whispered. And just like that, I had a new problem to deal with.

  * * *

  • • •

  Mom had marked a big X on the calendar in the kitchen for today’s date. The X meant today was the last day of the sixty-day offer period from Simmons. It had come and gone with no fuss at all. After the block party, almost all our neighbors had decided to hold out on accepting the offer. It seemed like everything was moving right along with the plan to stop Simmons Development Group. Which felt like the only good thing going on these days, but it was a big good thing, almost big enough to forget about everything else. A little happy bubble floated over me by the time I met with Jas, Alyssa, Kari, and Mr. Baker after school.

  “We did it!” I said, giving everybody a pound.

  “The Oaks is safe. Right?” asked Jas.

  “Let’s hope so,” Mr. Baker said.

  I could tell Mr. Baker wasn’t so sure this was the end of the fight, but I was relieved. Everything in the Oaks seemed good again. I dismissed the meeting and headed home.

  “Hey, Wes, wait up,” Kari said, running to catch up. “Have your parents said anything about me coming to live with you guys?”

  “Nope, nothing. Sorry, Kari.” I had gotten Kari overhyped about moving in with us, but I should’ve known better than to rush my parents. When they said wait, they meant it. The other day, this really had seemed like something I could actually fix, but it was turning out to be harder than I thought it would be.

  Since my NBA 2K battle with Jas after the meeting was a no-go, I decided to help Mom with dinner. Maybe I could convince her to make up her mind.

  “Who are you, and what have you d
one with my son?” Mom asked.

  “Moooom…really.”

  “Okay, you can chop the potatoes,” she said, handing me a knife.

  My knife banged against the cutting board as I pressed it into the potatoes. I wasn’t sure if I should bring up Kari or wait for Mom to. So I waited.

  After a few moments Mom said, “Wes, I know you’re worried, but we haven’t forgotten about Kari. Your dad and I will have an answer sometime this week, but I want you to think about this too.”

  “I have,” I said. “I want to help Kari.”

  “But why are you so certain Kari living with us will help him? There are other ways to help Kari.”

  Kari needed somewhere to live—what was so difficult about that? I wasn’t there for him when he was forced out of the apartment building; I needed to be there for him now.

  “Yeah, but if he moves, he’ll have to go to another school. You know how hard it is for him to make new friends,” I said finally.

  “I understand, but, Wes, you need to think about how this will impact us. Having another person in the house will affect the time we spend together.”

  “Okay, Mom, I’ll think about it,” I said, dropping my shoulders.

  Maybe Mom was right. I had my parents all to myself. When I was younger, I always asked why I was an only child. Mom and Dad would just say that was God’s plan for our family. It was only last year that I learned Mom couldn’t have another child. Something bad had happened when I was born; the doctors said she couldn’t have any more kids. I’m Mom’s special gift.

  I wanted Kari to feel special too. After Kari’s parents divorced and his dad stopped coming around, he had to become the man at his house. Ms. Tasha depended on Kari to help with everything. Kari told me once, “I have to step up now.” Which didn’t seem fair, since his parents were the ones who decided to get a divorce. His dad should be the one stepping up, or at least showing up. Living with us would give Kari a chance to be a regular kid again.

  I was setting the table for dinner when Dad got home from work.

  Before he could lay his oily uniform shirt on the couch, Mom’s eyes shot toward the laundry basket. Dad laughed and tossed his shirt into the basket.

  “Hey, son. Are you actually helping with dinner?”

  “Daaad!”

  “I’m impressed, that’s all,” Dad teased.

  As we sat down to dinner, I noticed a package delivery truck stop in front of the house.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, hopping up and opening the front door.

  All those feelings of relief from earlier in the day dissolved when I saw SIMMONS DEVELOPMENT GROUP typed on the large envelope.

  This couldn’t be good news. I wished I could throw it away.

  “Wes, what is it?” Dad asked.

  I dropped the envelope in his hand.

  “Hmmm, let’s see what they’ve come up with now,” Dad said.

  “Let’s eat dinner first. Wes and I prepared an awesome meal. We can deal with that later,” Mom said, shooing the envelope away like it was a stray cat.

  I ate dinner, but I didn’t taste a thing. I might as well have been eating cardboard. I barely responded to the normal questioning by Mom and Dad. All I could think about was the envelope. SIMMONS DEVELOPMENT GROUP was seared onto the inside of my eyelids.

  After dinner was done and the kitchen cleaned, Dad sat down to open the envelope. Inside were a letter and several drawings.

  “Simmons would like to meet with each homeowner again to make another offer,” Dad said. He read a portion of the letter aloud: “ ‘We realize our original offer was grossly undervalued and would like to meet to discuss a more appropriate figure….Please see the enclosed drawings of the redevelopment plans.’ ”

  “Looks like we need to gear up for round two,” Mom said to Dad.

  “I’m ready!” I said, jumping up from my seat.

  “Wes, you’ve done a lot to help, but we’re tagging you out,” Mom said.

  “Mom…”

  “This second offer makes things more serious. It’s time for the adults to take this over,” Mom said. “Not to mention, you have extra math assignments to finish. And have you finished your social studies project?”

  “I picked a topic, but—”

  “We mean it, Wesley. School is your first priority. You’re done with this,” Dad said, leveling me with a laser stare.

  I nodded, but I didn’t intend to bow out now. There was no way I was backing down.

  The community board called an emergency meeting about the second offer the next day. The yelling and screaming started the moment everyone piled into the community center. No one even bothered to sit down.

  This was the worst meeting yet. I was supposed to be working on my fall project, but I had to see what was going on. I’d snuck in the back door after everyone arrived. I almost wished I hadn’t. I stood quietly in the back of the room so Mom wouldn’t see me. I watched my neighbors fight with each other like whiny babies.

  “Listen to me…”

  “I’m done listening…”

  “Everyone be quiet!”

  Harsh words and sharp tones spun around me like a tornado. Louder and louder. The yelling clouded my head. I planted my feet on the ground to steady myself. I couldn’t take another moment of this. I darted out the back door.

  The crisp fall air cooled my face.

  “You okay, Wes?”

  I turned to see Alyssa standing there; her shining eyes brightened the cloud around me. I hadn’t seen her inside the community center. I tried to check her out without staring. She was wearing a gray-and-white polka-dotted bubble vest, a denim skirt, and gray leggings. Her black furry boots reached just up to her knees. Her hair was braided back halfway, the rest loose in fluffy curls.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said.

  “Can you believe how everyone’s acting?”

  “No. It’s a mess.”

  “I don’t know if we can fix this,” Alyssa said.

  “Me either.”

  For the first time, I allowed myself to think about what would happen if me and my family had to leave Kensington Oaks. Would we end up like Kari? Living in a hotel? Or moving all the way to the suburbs like my cousins? My eyes started to fill with tears. Alyssa walked over and wrapped her arms around me. I wrapped my arms back around her and held on tight.

  Tears dripped down Alyssa’s cheeks.

  “It’s okay. We’ll find a way to make this better,” I said.

  I didn’t believe my own words, but I hoped saying them aloud would make them more true. Alyssa took a couple steps back and smoothed out her skirt. I reached up to wipe her tears away. Her lips curled into a half smile.

  “Y’all doing okay out here?” Mr. Hank said.

  I jumped back, stumbling over a rock on the ground.

  “Yes, yes, she’s fine, I mean, we’re fine…I mean good,” I said, fumbling over my words.

  “I know things got a little out of control in there, but we’ll work it out. Don’t y’all worry,” Mr. Hank said.

  I was tired of people telling me not to worry.

  * * *

  • • •

  The next week at school was like being force-fed cold oatmeal. I’d finished my extra math assignments and turned in the opening paragraph for my fall social studies report. Mr. Baker had said he wanted to check our progress—I think he wanted to make sure we hadn’t picked boring topics.

  I’d spent a few afternoons in the school’s library trying to work on the rest of my report. But with everything I’d read, I still didn’t understand all the science behind climate change, and we were years behind on slowing down the effects. I didn’t really want to dump all that bad news in my report. As I settled in at my normal table in the back corner of the library, I spotted Ms. Monica talking to
the school librarian. Kinda weird that she’d be here, since we’d stopped the meetings in Mr. Baker’s room.

  She was wearing navy pants with lavender pinstripes. The pinstripes were a perfect match to her lavender top. Her metallic pointy-toe heels poked out under her pant cuffs.

  “Hey, Ms. Monica,” I said, walking over to her.

  “Hi, Wesley. How are things going in Kensington Oaks?”

  “Not good.” I didn’t even know where to start. “Simmons made new offers worth a bunch more money. A lot of families want to accept. Everyone is fighting again. The Oaks doesn’t even feel like home anymore.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t know what else to do. If they want to accept the offers, I guess I should stop fighting and let them.” I thought about all the yelling at the last meeting and about Kari and my parents. And Ms. Tasha making Kari move again. What was the point of arguing? It seemed like the adults were going to do what they wanted to do anyway.

  “I understand how you feel, but you’ve had too many successes to give up now. Sometimes change takes a long time,” Ms. Monica said. “ ‘The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’ ”

  I thought I’d heard Mom say that before, and I was pretty sure it meant Ms. Monica wasn’t about to let me give up. “What else can I do?” I asked.

  “You’ll have to get a bit more creative. Research some other options,” she said. “I’ll be thinking too, and if you find something I can help with, please let me know.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t very encouraged. It seemed like everything was harder than it was supposed to be.

  On my walk home from school, I stopped in the park. Just weeks ago, the park shone with laughter and light from the block party, but today all I saw was darkness.

  My favorite spot in the park is the brick path that leads from the long row of oak trees. At the very end of the path is an old water fountain. It’s about three feet tall with a small steel water basin, and carved into its base is a row of swirly leaves.

  Last year when the community repaved the walkway, the board debated getting rid of the fountain, but I was glad they’d decided to keep it. I’ve always felt a connection to it; whenever me and my friends used to play hide-and-seek, I would take off running toward the fountain. If I arrived there untouched, I knew I’d made it safely home.