Take Back the Block

by Chrystal D. Giles

  I left the park wondering if anyone else even cared about the Oaks as much as I did. Mom, Dad, and Mr. Hank probably did, but most of my other neighbors only seemed to care about money.

  When I got home, Mom and Dad were there waiting on me.

  “Hey, Dad, you’re home early.” My insides got all queasy like when we first found out about the offer letter. I knew something was up.

  “Hey, son. Your mom and I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay…”

  “We just got off the phone with Kari and his mom. We’ve decided now isn’t the right time for Kari to move in with us. And Tasha agreed.”

  My heart dropped to my toes. “Why not?”

  “Our future in Kensington Oaks is in jeopardy. The last thing we want is for Kari to move in and have to face more instability if we get forced out too.”

  “But can’t he finish the school year at the Grove?”

  “At this point we aren’t even sure you’ll finish this year at the Grove. We have to start seriously thinking about the possibility of living somewhere else.” No sugar.

  “Can I go to my room?” I didn’t even wait on an answer. I marched down the hall and closed my bedroom door. I couldn’t handle any more bad news.

  The skies poured buckets of rain on Kari’s last day at the Grove. I guess the heavens were crying, since no one else seemed to care that Kari was leaving. Kari didn’t even seem to care himself. I knew it was an act, though. He cared; he just wasn’t good at showing it.

  Kari hadn’t told anyone except Jas and Alyssa he’d be leaving. I figured he didn’t want to deal with the questions from anyone else. He got straight to the point. “So, my mom is moving us to live with my aunt. Tomorrow is my last day,” he’d said after school the day before.

  “Oh no! Why?” Alyssa had asked. She looked shocked.

  “Things not going too good where we live now,” Kari had said.

  “Why can’t you stay till Friday?” Jas asked.

  “Tomorrow is the only day my uncle can move us.”

  I had wondered the same thing. Why would Ms. Tasha make them move on a Wednesday? A stupid Wednesday, in the middle of the week?

  Kari had started eating lunch at our table since Mya wasn’t around anymore. Now today would be our last lunch together—our last day together, period. Alyssa, Jas, Kari, and I filed into the café and settled at our regular table, though not much eating or talking was going on. Alyssa had brought Kari some peanut butter M&M’s; they were his favorite. She said they were his going-away present. Kari actually cracked a smile when she gave them to him. It only lasted a few seconds, but I saw it.

  “Why y’all look so mad?” Brent said when he joined us in the café. He slung his wet book bag off his shoulder and onto the lunch table, splashing water on everyone.

  Jas looked at Alyssa, Alyssa looked at me, and I looked at Kari. Finally, Kari answered, “Today is my last day.”

  “You for real?”

  “Yeah,” Kari sighed.

  “Dang, you moving again?” Brent asked. Alyssa shot him a look of death. “What?” he mouthed to Alyssa.

  “Yep, moving again,” Kari answered.

  “Well, we’re going to miss you,” Brent said, reaching over to dap Kari.

  “Yes, we’ll all miss you,” Alyssa said.

  Random chatter and the sound of rain dancing on the windows filled the café during the rest of the lunch period, but there was only silence at our table. There was nothing left to say.

  When the last bell rang for the day, I ran to catch up with Kari at his locker. I was glad it was just the two of us. Kari stacked his textbooks into one corner of the locker while he packed the other things into his bag.

  I rocked back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to think of the right words. “I’m gonna keep talking to my mom and dad about you moving in with us. They’ll give in, I know it,” I said.

  “Okay,” Kari said. He didn’t believe me. He tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Well, I gotta go. My mom is picking me up from school and we’re going straight there.”

  “Oh, okay…well…see you later….”

  “Bye,” Kari said, reaching over to give me a half hug.

  I watched him walk down the corridor. “Bye,” I said to myself.

  I felt tears coming, but I brushed them away. If Kari wasn’t crying, I wouldn’t cry either.

  It had been almost three weeks since Kari left. I needed something to get my mood up. That something was Halloween. It was my second-favorite holiday—behind Christmas, of course. The only person I knew who loved Halloween more than me was Mya. She came up with our group costume idea every year. It took her weeks to pick the perfect theme, and when she was ready, she presented her costume designs to us on her tablet complete with colored sketches.

  Mya’s neighborhood also had a huge Halloween party in their clubhouse. One of the highlights of the party was a costume contest—the best costume won a trophy. Mya had won the kids’ category two years in a row, and our crew had won Best Group Costume just as many times.

  Last year, we went as superheroes at a wedding. We wore regular superhero outfits but added dress-up clothes on top to make them look fancy. Then during the costume judging, we ripped off the dressy top layer and blew their minds. We won hands down.

  The other awesome thing about Halloween in Mya’s neighborhood was the candy. People in rich neighborhoods give the best treats—I’m talking full-sized candy bars. One time I even got a king-sized pack of Reese’s cups.

  “Wes, can you and Mya please make up so we can go to the costume party?” Jas asked me for the third time that day.

  We were at my house eating pizza, waiting for it to get dark enough to go trick-or-treating.

  “Think about how weak tricking-or-treating in the Oaks is compared to Mya’s neighborhood,” Brent said. “You’re trippin’.”

  “Can we at least see if Alyssa is going with Mya?” Jas asked.

  “I told you she is. I asked her in homeroom this morning,” I said.

  “Maybe she’ll stash away some candy for us,” Brent said.

  “That’s a good idea,” Jas said. “Let’s go ask her.”

  They both grabbed a slice of pizza and headed for the door. I trailed behind them down the block to Alyssa’s house.

  We looked like a bunch of misfits in our last-minute costumes. Jas wore his band uniform, including that stupid hat. I was dressed as Steph Curry—I already had the jersey and shoes; I just added some basketball shorts and colored on a fake beard. Brent was dressed as Brent. He wore the same clothes he’d had on at school earlier that day. Even though Mya could be annoying, we were a mess without her.

  “Are y’all really wearing regular clothes for Halloween?” Alyssa asked when she saw us. She was decked out in a glittery zombie outfit. I’m sure she and Mya had something special planned, but I was too salty to ask what.

  “This is all Wes’s fault! Please take us with you,” Jas pleaded.

  “Man, y’all just gonna leave me?” I said, looking at Jas and Brent.

  “Nah, if Mya didn’t invite us we’ll stay here…with you…but, Alyssa, can you pleeeease bring us back some candy?” Brent said, with his palms pressed together like praying hands.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Alyssa said.

  She probably felt sorry for them like I did. I mean, it wasn’t really their fault we weren’t invited. After our argument, Mya had stopped talking to everyone in the crew except for Alyssa. Everybody expected me to fix it—but it wasn’t my fault either.

  We left Alyssa’s house and waited in the park until it was dark enough to start knocking on doors. I wished I could push time forward, because I was tired of being ripped on by Brent and I was ready to just get this over with.

  When the sun was down, we
started our trek around the Oaks.

  It was just as boring as Brent said it would be. Half the houses had their lights off, and one guy was wack enough to give out those square orange peanut butter crackers.

  I was back inside the house by 9:15 p.m. with a half-full bag of the most boring candy anybody had ever seen. And even worse than that, a police car rode through our neighborhood the whole time we were trick-or-treating. None of us recognized the officer. He didn’t bother us—but after the incident with Kari, I got a little shaky when I saw police cars now. Then, when Brent, Jas, and I went our separate ways to go home, I noticed the officer again, parked on my block, watching me.

  My first year at the Grove hadn’t started well. When I think about it, it actually sucked. Both Mya and Kari had left, and the rest of us would probably have to move before the school year was over. I didn’t have much to be happy about these days. Halloween was a bust, and I never found the missing piece from my superhero puzzle.

  The next afternoon, when the bell rang to dismiss us from social studies, Mr. Baker asked me to stay after class. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong. My grade wasn’t the best, but I didn’t have any late assignments either. I sat quietly while the other kids rushed toward the door.

  I waved Brent and Alyssa to go on just in case things went worse than I thought. Then I waited for Mr. Baker to tell me what this was all about.

  “Wesley, I read the opening for your report. It was just fine, but I wanted to ask you why you chose climate change as your topic,” he said, walking over to my desk.

  “I…I chose climate change because…it’s a big deal right now and…,” I started. The truth is, I hadn’t figured out how to explain climate change without making it sound super unexciting—Mr. Baker wouldn’t let me get away with that.

  “Go on,” Mr. Baker said, waiting for me to stay something that made sense. When I didn’t, he said, “This project isn’t only a big part of your grade; it’s a way for you to connect to the world around you. That’s why I let each of you pick your own topics. If climate change isn’t connecting with you—show us what is.”

  I decided to be honest. It couldn’t hurt, and I was running out of time. “I couldn’t think of anything that I really wanted to write about, so I kinda got my topic from someone else,” I said.

  “I think there’s something really important happening in your community right now,” Mr. Baker said with a slight grin. At least it looked like a grin.

  “Yeah, but the class won’t care about that,” I said, more to myself than to him. “And I already don’t like talking in front of people. It’ll be even worse if they don’t care about my topic.”

  “You can make them care,” Mr. Baker said. “And don’t get hung up on the presentation—just add some of your personality to it,” he added.

  I hadn’t cared when Kari and the other families were being forced out—but I did care now. Maybe I did need a topic that impacted me. Not that climate change wasn’t important, but maybe Mr. Baker was right—I could make the class care about my community.

  “Is it too late for me to change my topic?” I asked.

  “It’s a little late in the game, but if anyone can do it, I know you can.”

  So I guess I had a new topic…gentrification. I needed to get to work. I went straight home to redo my paper. I had to make gentrification interesting enough to write about and think of a way not to have a boring presentation. I didn’t want to answer to Mr. Baker (or Mom and Dad either) for not giving my best.

  I hopped online to see how many other communities were going through the same thing as the Oaks. Maybe that would keep the class’s attention. I typed Where does gentrification happen? in the search bar. I got 2,610,000 results—this was going to take a while.

  I flipped through article after article about families being forced out of cities, only for their original homes to be taken over by younger, more affluent residents. Affluent meant rich and white, or at least it seemed that way.

  The more I read, the swimmier my thoughts got.

  Then I saw an article titled “Stop Gentrification Before It Starts.” The article talked about how a small town near the North Carolina coast stopped gentrification in its tracks by getting their neighborhood registered on the National Register of Historic Places. No new construction could happen without approval, which kept their neighborhood safe from condo buildings.

  I rubbed my eyes to make sure I’d really read that right. Maybe it wasn’t over—this could work for the Oaks!

  Until now, everyone (including me) had been so busy looking for a way to stop Simmons, no one had thought about researching Kensington Oaks. Maybe that was the answer.

  * * *

  • • •

  Over the next few days, I visited the library every chance I got. I put my old librarian skills to work and found everything I could about the history of Kensington Oaks. I looked through old newspaper clippings and even watched old TV news reports.

  A lot of the stuff I found was useless, like this area being known for its oak trees (duh) or the unbelievably low crime in our neighborhood. This was stuff I already knew—so much for me getting excited about nothing.

  But then this afternoon, I found something interesting. In a column written about local entrepreneurs, I read that Kensington Oaks and its surrounding neighborhoods were once called Pippin Village, after a man named Frederick Pippin.

  Now, this was something to get excited about. Mr. Pippin was a Black entrepreneur who owned and operated a small lumber mill during the 1930s. It was the only Black-owned lumber mill in the state.

  Is this real? I thought. I couldn’t read the words fast enough.

  Even though Mr. Pippin didn’t get much support from the city, he grew his lumber mill on his own and employed over seventy-five workers. To help his employees, he bought the land surrounding the mill and built a community of small homes. He rented those homes to the millworkers so they would be close to work. With a group of hardworking families, Pippin Village started to do well.

  Pippin Village caught the attention of local law enforcement and politicians. Seeing Black families be successful on their own made people angry. The city started to harass Mr. Pippin. They fined him for noise and trash violations. They even arrested his workers.

  Mr. Pippin fought back as best he could by keeping his community employed, but as he got older, he gave up on fighting the city and decided to close his lumber mill. When the mill closed, the workers moved out of the houses and Mr. Pippin sold them. Over the next sixty years, the old Pippin Village land was bought and sold and bought and sold lots of times.

  Just thirty years ago, the area was bought again and Kensington Oaks was born. The original Pippin Village homes had been torn down, but the neighborhood still looked a lot like it did back then.

  How could I not have known this? Mr. Pippin was a legend in this city, or least he should be, a legend stripped of his legacy.

  I’d cracked a mysterious code. I had no idea what to do next, but I did know who to ask. The only person I knew who’d lived in the Oaks longer than Mom.

  I ran the whole way to visit my favorite storyteller.

  “Hey, Mr. Hank,” I called out when I reached his driveway. He was rolling an old-timey spiked steel thingy across his front yard.

  He stopped rolling when he saw me. “Hey, Wes, you come to help me turn this grass over?”

  “Ummm…” The last thing I wanted to do was yard work.

  “I’m teasing you. Sit on down. I need a break anyway.”

  I headed to the steps of his front porch while Mr. Hank stomped his mud-covered boots in the grass (what was left of it) and plopped down beside me on the bottom step. He pulled his gloves off and tossed them on the ground beside his boots. The smell of soap, sweat, and wet dirt wafted from his body and hung in the air.

  �
��Don’t you ever get tired of working on this grass?” I asked.

  “I’m just blessed that I have the strength to get out here and do it. Besides, if I don’t, who gon’ do it? You?” Mr. Hank said, giving me a nudge.

  I laughed to myself. I had no plans on turning grass or whatever he called it. I didn’t mind cutting the yard, but that was where my landscaping skills stopped.

  “Mr. Hank, have you ever heard of a man named Frederick Pippin?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” he said.

  “Okay…well, do you know how Kensington Oaks got its name?”

  “Hmmm, let me guess: Maxine gave you a project, and you trying to skip the work and get me to answer for you.”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said, trying to hold back a grin. “For real, I promise.”

  “You know what, Wes, I really don’t know. I always figured it was named after some rich family, probably related to the British royals.”

  “Kensington Oaks like Kensington Palace?”

  “Maybe so. Oh, and of course all these oak trees.” He shrugged and tipped his head toward the large patch of trees in his backyard.

  I wondered if anybody knew who was in charge of naming the Oaks. I hoped it wasn’t after the British royal family—I mean, they did have a Black duchess for a while, but they were still way too fancy for the Oaks.

  After a few more minutes, Mr. Hank got back to his grass turning and I headed to my side of the street. I couldn’t seem to shake the thought of my neighborhood being named after some rich royal people. Even if that wasn’t true, it didn’t seem fair that nobody knew who Mr. Pippin was—not even Mr. Hank, and he knew everything.

  I waited until Mom and Dad were comfortable on the couch the next evening after dinner before I snuck into my room with the phone.