by Jake Coburn
“You’re still Mr. Black-and-White Movies Guy, huh?” Greg laughed.
“I guess you could say that,” I muttered.
“Well, lose those loafers.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, squeezing the cell. I felt like telling him to go fuck himself, but I’d promised Danny. Greg loved this.
“And Thet.”
“Yeah?”
“Welcome home.” Beep.
I lifted Kodak’s Nikon to my eye and measured the frame. I didn’t want any of the cars in the picture but there was no way around it. The piece had a six-foot wingspan and it stretched over the hoods of two 7-Series.
“Take the fucking picture already, Thet,” Greg said, picking up his backpack.
I held my breath and pressed the shutter. Sliding the lens cover onto the camera, I handed it back to Kodak. I had to document every piece, especially a fresh style. That way, if some toy came along and crossed me out, at least I’d have a record.
I pulled my hoodie over my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. A young woman jogged by in spandex and a Chase Manhattan T-shirt. Before I could think to hide, she was gone. She wasn’t going to call the cops, though. Most New Yorkers don’t give a shit.
“Five-O?” Kodak said, searching Greg and me for an answer.
“Nah,” I mumbled.
I nearly freaked out the first time we got busted, but the cops always had a sense of humor about the whole thing. They’d usually line us up against the wall and spray our backs and hair and pants with our own paint. They never dragged us in.
Greg laughed. “Yo, that bitch saw you naked.”
I looked down at my bare chest and smiled. “Probably made her morning,” I said, grinning.
I emptied the laundry bag onto the concrete and searched for my oxford. My blazer was completely wrinkled but I didn’t give a shit. The only thing my teachers ever noticed was the paint on my fingers. I’d spend ten minutes scrubbing my hands at McDonald’s, but I could never get rid of it all.
I hung up Adam’s cell. I needed a drink. Fast. I swung the closet door open, and it jerked to a stop halfway through its arc.
“Motherfucker!” a voice yelled.
The door flew all the way open and a guy stared in at me. He had slicked curly black hair and his dark leather belt held up a sagging pair of khakis. “What the fuck do we have here?” he shouted.
Maybe it was the head rush from standing up so quickly, or the combo of Jameson and cheap beer, but I didn’t recognize Derrick until he gripped my shoulder. My stomach clenched.
“Yo, you one of them crazy public places perverts?”
The hallway bulbs seemed to be throwing off twice as much light as before. What the fuck could I do? “Sorry about that,” I said, as casually as I could.
Another hood showed up behind Derrick and started sizing me up.
“As a guest,” Derrick sneered, “you shouldn’t go around getting nice with yourself in other people’s closets.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Sorry?” Derrick leaned into me, hard. His nose had been broken so many times that it zigzagged its way down toward the bow of his upper lip. “Your bitch ass is a public nuisance, and all you can say is, ‘Sorry’?”
I had no idea what to do if he swung at me. A pellet of sweat took off down my forehead and scalded my left eye.
“Derrick,” a girl yelled from down the hall. She had long blond hair and she looked furious at somebody. “I’m out of here.”
“Jessica,” Derrick shouted, stepping past me. All I could think was way to go, Danny, and then he was gone. I’d barely said a word to Derrick and I hated him already.
“You got off mad easy.” Derrick’s friend laughed and squared off with me. “Domestic disputes and shit.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Out of nowhere, Jerry threw his hand on the kid’s back. “Chillz,” Jerry said, drunkenly. “Nick’s good peoples.”
“Yo, I don’t know about that.” The hood looked me up and down, then shifted his glance to Jerry. Without saying another word, he turned and walked slowly back toward the living room.
“What the fuck is up with those guys?” I said.
Jerry smiled. “That kid’s crazy as fucking shit. He’s smoked, yo.”
Jerry’s cell phone chirped. “S’up? S’up?” he shouted. Then his intonation flattened. “Mother, where are you calling me from?” He signaled to me that he’d need a minute and then cupped his hand over the phone. “No, of course I understand. . . . It’s just that I tried on those. . . . No, we’re going to play pool.” He leaned his head back and mimed a scream. “I know it’s a special occasion,” he whispered. “Okay . . . yes . . . I gotta go . . . Gotta go,” he said, slamming his cell phone shut. He turned to me and took out a pocket-sized bottle of Visine. “This place is whacked.”
I walked back into the bedroom and took two long, full breaths. Why was I such a pussy? I couldn’t even handle talking to Derrick. This whole weekend was collapsing—I could feel it.
I handed Adam his cell and used whatever cool I had left. “Thanks, Adam. I owe you one.”
“Chilz, yo,” Adam said, grinning. “Anything for the great Thet.”
“There’s a kid bleeding in the bathroom,” Tim said anxiously. “He scared Nancy.”
Nancy was blotting her sweater with a wet paper towel. She’d obviously collided with someone and ended up wearing half their drink. “I think we should leave,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Tim took Nancy’s hand and looked over at me.
The three of us weaved our way out into the hallway, saying random good-byes and trying not to step on anybody. There was a line for the elevator, but I was just glad to be out of the apartment.
Downstairs, a crowd was gathering on the sidewalk. Nobody wanted to be inside the building when the cops arrived. Sometimes the police would show up because there were fifty kids hanging outside a building; other times the neighbors would call them, and once in a while the person throwing the party would do it, just to put a stop to the evening. But everybody knew they’d be here sooner or later.
“It looks like it’s clearing out,” Nancy said.
“Yeah, the doorman across the street called the cops,” Tim said. “At least that’s the buzz.”
I lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Let’s get out of here.”
As we turned to walk toward Park, Sara threw open the door to her building and started screaming down the street at the group of ten or so hoods who were hanging out down the block. She’d started crying, and her face and eyes were swollen.
“Is that IPO?” Nancy asked.
“Yeah,” I said. I could tell just by looking at them.
“You fucking assholes,” Sara yelled.
Two guys in IPO stopped Sara from walking toward the rest of their crew and one of them leaned over and said something in her ear. The heads of IPO didn’t even turn to look at her. Most prep-school crews have one or two leaders, and a practiced eye can tell who they are instantly. To run a crew like IPO, you don’t have to be the richest or the strongest or the loudest. You just need to be ready to risk more than anybody else will. Whether it’s stealing or fucking, drinking or fighting, tagging or dosing, you never back down.
“I won’t shut up,” Sara cried. “You guys are going to get me in so much fucking trouble.”
Sara rushed toward IPO, and this time the two hoods pushed her back. She stumbled a little, and the taller guy raised his hand to tell her to back off. A couple IPO hoods looked over at Sara and laughed. They were bastards, and they were proud of it.
“You guys are assholes,” she screamed. “I’m calling the cops.”
Two of Sara’s girlfriends tried to grab hold of her wrist, but she brushed them off. Sara turned her back on IPO and started to walk toward her building.
“I’m glad that’s over,” Nancy said.
After a couple steps, Sara pivoted and charged back at IPO. She ran by the two guys who’d stopped her before
and shoved one of the leaders in the back.
I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think any of the hoods in IPO did either. But the guy Sara shoved spun around on his right boot, arm extended, palm open, and smacked her across the side of her face. It sounded like a firecracker. Sara’s head swung back, and her knees buckled forward onto the pavement. The guy stood over her for a moment, smiling at the silence he’d created. Then IPO took off in a dead sprint across 98th Street toward the river, their hoods flapping behind them.
Two of Sara’s friends helped her up and then walked her back inside. My legs were shaking. What the fuck was IPO trying to prove? Half of me felt like chasing after them, and the other part of me just wanted to sit down on the pavement and cry. My hand scrambled into my pocket and dug around for my coin. Ella had fallen out of my wallet and I brushed some tobacco off his face. I needed something to hold on to.
Across the street, a group of adults was starting to gather and the doormen from the neighboring buildings were all standing in the road. Nancy’s face was buried in Tim’s shoulder. Everything felt so fucking wrong.
I walked with Tim and Nancy to the corner. Three cop cars blazed by us with their sirens groaning and lights spinning, and I stood there trying to slow my pulse with deep breaths.
“We’re going back to my place. I’ve had enough of this shit,” Tim said, flagging a cab. “You want us to drop you off?”
“I’ve got to meet up with Danny.” I felt like going home and hiding underneath my comforter, but Greg had said “Yes.” I still couldn’t believe he was going to help us.
“All right.” Tim nodded. “I want my boy to stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“I was talking about you, Nick.”
My eyes slid halfway open and I passed the joint to this cute field hockey player who I’d just met. We’d been introduced when Greg, Kodak, and I arrived at the house party, and I’d spent the last hour telling her about the Quik Park pieces we’d finished that morning. Everybody at the party was talking about them.
“That’s a crazy story, Thet,” the girl said, tickling the back of my neck.
“Yeah.” Neon triangles were dancing with each other on the back of my eyelids, like a slow-motion screen saver. “It was a good morning.” I couldn’t remember whose apartment it was, but the place was soaked in Phillies blunts and rookie cleavage, and the parents were anywhere else but home.
Greg walked over to my couch and tossed me his cell. “Kodak wants you.” Kodak had gone downstairs to try and line up a fifty-bag.
I lifted the phone to my ear. “S’up? Where you at?”
“Thet, let’s roll,” Kodak shouted. “I just made a date with an eighth of an ounce, and we got enough Andrew Jacksons to wipe out a reservation.”
“I need a few,” I said, looking over at the field hockey player. She smiled and rolled her eyes at me. She had the kind of smile that could make any guy forget his own name.
“Thet, I’m talking hydroponic buds,” Kodak cried.
“You wanna bust?” I asked Greg.
Greg nodded. If Greg had a girl on the hook he wouldn’t leave a burning building, and I was supposed to just walk. Fuck it.
I pressed the StarTAC to my cheek. “Kodie, I’ll be downstairs in five.” I snapped the phone closed.
“See you outside,” Greg said, stomping toward the front door.
The field hockey player tossed her Marlboro Lights into her purse. “It was nice—”
“I’ve just gotta run an errand,” I said apologetically.
“Uh-huh.” She sighed.
“Will you be here in a half-hour?”
“Maybe,” she said, running her fingertips down my shoulder. “But I’m here now.”
I knew I was real high and I knew it was real late, but she was wearing this sparkling lip gloss, and when you’re a baked sophomore, that can feel like the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Brushing away her bangs, I leaned toward her. Our kiss tasted like Captain Morgan’s and Diet Coke, and her breasts pressed against my chest. People swam around us, but I didn’t give a shit.
I found Danny in the back aisle of Global News. He was reading a folded copy of Time magazine and gnawing on a pack of Twizzlers. From the look of the store clerk, he hadn’t paid for either yet.
“Danny,” I said, tapping his magazine. “We’re going to the Bronx.” I ripped a Twizzler from his pack. “Greg’s gonna set up a meeting with MKII so you can settle this.”
“That’s great,” Danny said, beaming. “Thank you, Nick.”
I wasn’t proud of my past, but it felt good to hear. I just couldn’t decide if it was worth dredging everything back up.
“Why would Greg do that for me?” Danny stuffed the magazine into its plastic cubby.
“He wouldn’t. He’s doing it to prove something to me.”
“What’s that?”
“That I made a mistake a long time ago,” I said.
“Did you?”
“Yeah, but not the one he thinks. I gotta stop off at home and grab some more money.”
“Can you spot me?” Danny asked, grinning. “You wouldn’t believe the markup on licorice.”
I paid for the candy and we started back to Elliot’s place. Danny spent the walk hollowing out strands of Twizzlers and turning them into soggy whistles.
“I ran into your friend, Derrick,” I said. “I mean, literally.”
“What?” Danny cried. “He was at the party?”
“Yup. Him and your girl. I thought he was going to drop me for bumping into him.”
“What a mess,” Danny said, raising his palms to the sky. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about how fucking clichéd this whole thing is. The girl, being chased by this gang. I mean, it’s a dime-store novel, for god’s sake.”
“But it gets updated. There’s a reason Footloose was a hit decades after Rebel Without a Cause.”
“Of course,” Danny declared. “But don’t you see why hoods are so obsolete? Guys like Greg and Derrick might have made sense in the thirties or fifties, but now everything’s digital, wireless, ones and zeros.” He flicked the antenna of a Grand Chero kee. “I mean, these hoods have all this fucking anger and adrenaline, and they could do so much more than smash heads and smoke blunts. It’s such a meaningless way to deal with shit.”
“So what should hoods do instead?” I asked. “Start book clubs?”
Danny laughed. “You really want to know?”
“Sure,” I said, stepping over a pile of cardboard boxes that someone had thrown away.
“All right. I decided tonight that I want to start a movement. One of those intellectual jobs like modernism and post-modernism.”
“Okay.” I spent a week once watching Antonioni films, but I never figured out how to explain modernism. “What are you going to call yours?”
“Drumroll please,” Danny said, smiling. “Conformism. With a capital C. See the whole idea is that you do exactly what you think you’re supposed to do. I mean, it’s the logical inversion of the rebel, the hood.”
I looked over at Danny to see if he was serious. Kris was always telling me about her brother’s newest theory, but he’d never pitched me before. “So instead of hoods, you want kids who do their homework and say all the right shit at cocktail parties.”
“Yeah, but not because they’re spineless dorks,” Danny said. “See, Conformists will do their homework because they know that going to a good college will give them more power, more access. It’s just a matter of rechanneling that anger until you can actually have some influence.”
“So you can end up some stockbroker or real estate guy? I’m not interested.”
“No, so you can end up a public defender or a journalist. Fuck it, so you can end up a congressman. People like that matter.”
“You’re still part of the whole system,” I said dismissively. Before my father left on a trip, he would always remind me that he went to work in sandals and a T-shirt. He l
oved reading Thoreau and there was one quote that he had sewn into a throw pillow: “I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.” My father never understood how people could wear a tie every day.
“But you need to be part of the system these days,” Danny said. “To some degree at least. Otherwise, you might as well be smoking herb in Central Park with MKII.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “But why would anybody ever pay attention to these Conformists?”
“That’s exactly why they’re perfect. They’re not the wild ones. They can get inside, understand shit, and fix it. They’re conforming to be Conformists.”
Turning off Lexington, we walked past a line of brownstones and city elms, and headed toward Park. Each house was four or five stories high, and they were built in every style. On one night or another, Kris and I had sat on the steps of every one of those brownstones.
“So you want everyone to brownnose their way through high school?”
“Sure, there’s some brownnosing involved.” Danny nodded. “But you’re not selling out. It’s more like selling in.”
“And who would want to be a Conformist?”
“Somebody just like you, Nick.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “Why not you?”
“When you get sent to rehab at fourteen, the CIA starts a file on you. Besides, I’ve been having a little trouble with authority these days.”
“What kind of benefits are you offering?” I asked. “Dental and—”
“Fuck.”
I looked over at Danny. His face was completely pale. “What?”
He nodded down the block toward Elliot’s awning. “Tell me those are friends of yours.”
Four hoods were leaning against a blue BMW parked outside Elliot’s building. A built kid in Double RL noticed that we’d stopped walking and took a step toward Danny and me. His friends took their hands out of their jackets and followed behind him. When they hit the light from the awning, I saw their grinning faces and slanted baseball caps.
I took a step back. “Can you—”