by 50 Cent
“Hi there,” she said, smiling up at me. “How’s it going?”
I gave her a psycho look. Why was this woman talking to me? She’d never had me for a class, and Watkins teachers didn’t just go up to kids and randomly talk to them like that.
“I couldn’t help but notice your meal selection,” she said, and I glanced down at the plastic orange tray in my hands. Four slices of pepperoni pizza, my usual on a Monday. What about it? “And I was just wondering if your mother knows what you’re having for lunch today?”
My insides froze, and it all clicked into place. So he’d gone and done it, had he? That little fool. “What does my mom have to do with anything?” I asked gruffly.
“I do counseling for students,” she went on. “Free of charge, too, so if you ever need anything, I’m always around. I just wanted you to know that. You can bring your mom, too, if you’d like.”
“You’d better leave my mom out of it,” I said, backing out of the line as if she’d maced me. A dark burst of hatred flared up in my chest and almost knocked me backward. My dad’s face floated through my brain, and I tried to push it away, but not fast enough. Be a man, be a real man for a change. The words kept running uselessly through my brain. But how? I had no idea.
I was practically gasping for breath as I threw down my tray and ran straight out of that cafeteria. I had to be alone; I had to figure out exactly what to do, and fast. Only one thing was clear to me right then: Maurice had really stepped in it this time, and damned if I’d let him get away with it.
22
When I got home from Liz’s that night, I was completely drained. It wasn’t yet six o’clock, but I felt like I’d been on my feet for days. Sometimes napping does that to me—reminds me of just how tired I was to begin with. I felt groggy and slow and just wanted to go straight to bed.
Liz, at least, had stayed easy on me for the rest of the session. I guess she figured that, with my face all swollen and nasty, I had enough problems without having to go into it with her. “Thanks for letting me sit here,” I said as I got up to go. “For not, um, waking me, I mean.”
“Anytime, Butterball,” Liz said, with a broad smile I couldn’t begin to understand.
After I’d come into the living room looking all messed-up on Saturday morning, Mom had made it clear that I was never leaving the apartment again, except for school and Liz. For Mom, it was actually quite a speech, maybe three whole sentences from start to finish: She lets me go to a party despite being grounded, and I reward her trust with a black eye and an egg-shaped lump on my forehead and a flat-out refusal to tell her what had happened? No, sir, she wasn’t making that mistake again.
So that morning, before dropping me off at school, Mom went door-to-door through the apartment building and asked our neighbors—people she’d never once spoken to before—if they wouldn’t mind letting her know if they saw me leaving the house unsupervised at any hour. Those were the exact words she used—talking about her son like he was some kinda parolee who needed to be under surveillance 24-7. That was how low things had gotten.
The one neighbor who I saw took a real pleasure in Mom’s request was that little kid Malik’s grandmother, who spent most of her days on a cheap folding chair on the sidewalk right outside the basement apartment she shared with him and his mom. Mrs. Rutherford was like one of those stoop-sitting old ladies in Harlem, only in Garden City there was no street life worth watching. She’d had it in for me big time since that night I’d roughed Malik up.
That Monday after my session with Liz, my mom took off soon after she’d dropped me back at home, only this time I knew she wasn’t going to work. She was going out with Evelyn. They had “private matters to discuss,” she’d said, and I wondered if one of those private matters involved putting me in a military academy or some shit they made scary TV shows about. At this point, I wouldn’t put nothing past my mom.
Evelyn had left one of her stews warm on the stovetop for me, along with some tortillas she made herself while waiting for my mom to get back from picking me up. I don’t know where a black woman from Newark, New Jersey, learns to make her own tortillas, but I had to admit they were damn good.
Even though I’d never been more beat, I knew I couldn’t sleep if I tried, so I decided, a few minutes after my mom and Evelyn took off, to call my dad. Shit was getting so wacked out here, damn. If my dad had any idea, he’d definitely rescue me from the situation. And yeah, so maybe things hadn’t gone so great at Nia’s party on Saturday, but at least I’d gone for it, just like my dad had told me to do. I might’ve been outmatched, but I hadn’t been afraid. Not at first, anyway.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I said when he picked up on like the sixth ring.
“Oh, hey, B-Ball, man,” Dad said. He was outside somewhere. I could hear the city sounds I loved so much—honking mostly, and distant shouts—behind him. “Damn, I thought it was Shari calling and almost didn’t pick up. No offense intended, but I’m not much in the mood for your mom’s bullshit right now.”
“She’s not here right now,” I said. I hadn’t spoken to my dad since the Sunday after our trip to Atmos NYC, when he’d ridden the express train all the way down to Penn Station with me. Crazy that was only eight days ago.
“So I just wanted to know, Dad, if maybe I could come see you this week sometime? Like maybe tomorrow?” The thought of going back to Watkins so soon ... I just couldn’t deal with another day like the one I’d just had.
“Tomorrow?” my dad repeated. “Am I smoking crack, or is tomorrow a Tuesday?”
“It is,” I said. “But I just really, really want to come out and see you if that’s okay. I won’t be any trouble, I swear. You’ll hardly know I was there.”
“Yeah, well, sorry, B-ball man, but some of us gotta work for a living, know what I’m saying? Only thing you’d be doing here tomorrow is staring at the walls of my apartment all day.”
“I wouldn’t care,” I said, and I was being serious. Staring at the walls in the city was a million times better than staring at them here. It didn’t even compare. “I promise I wouldn’t care at all.”
“Well, you know what, B-Ball, I would,” my dad said. “Now, it’s none of my business to inquire into why you done call me up on a Monday night blubbering like a little baby, but we both know Shari would have my balls in a sling if she thought I had any part in your missing school. So you do what you gotta do, boy, but not on my watch. Oh, hey there, Diane,” he shouted suddenly, and the background noises got a lot louder as he took the phone away from his ear.
A few seconds later my dad hung up the phone without waiting for me to reply, and that was just fine with me because my voice wasn’t working right anyway. Besides, I had shit to do before Mom and Evelyn got back. I’d hidden the jeans I’d worn on Saturday night in the darkest corner under my bed, but I knew Evelyn would fish them out if I left them there too long.
I went into my bedroom and hunched down to pull them out. They still stank of urine, as if I’d just pissed myself again. As if wetting my pants in front of the whole eighth grade wasn’t enough for one lifetime.
I had to wash that shit, destroy the evidence, before Mom and Evelyn got back. I had enough quarters to do a year’s worth of laundry in the basement, but for the life of me I couldn’t find that damn bottle of Gain my mom usually kept right on top of the fridge. Still, I couldn’t risk anyone finding the jeans—I had to take care of them tonight. I considered knocking on a neighbor’s door to ask if I could borrow some detergent, but that seemed pretty sketchy. Besides, it wasn’t like I was on speaking terms with anyone in the building—especially now, when they’d all had been charged with patrolling my every move.
After a while, I took out the old Batman lunchbox where I was saving cash for a laptop I could edit my movies on and counted out ten dollars. I had no idea how much new detergent cost, but I didn’t want to come up short. I could also use another PQ. Even after the liter Liz had gotten me and the one from my backpack I’d drunk
on the way home, my throat still felt all scraped dry. Garden City tap water tasted like shit, and of course there was nothing else to drink in the apartment. And yeah, it felt good to sneak out without my mom’s permission. If she cared so bad about where I was, then she could’ve stayed home to watch me herself.
I made it outside without running into anyone in the hall or stairwell, and out on the street Malik’s grandmother’s chair was empty, too. She was more of a daytime stoop-sitter, Mrs. Rutherford. When it got dark out, she’d usually go inside to sleep or watch TV or whatever it is mean as shit old people did at night.
I walked briskly past my usual bodega, which sold maybe thirty different kinds of beer but not a single bottle of detergent, and headed for the big 7-Eleven behind Watkins. That was probably the closest place that would have detergent, and maybe a little exercise would do me some good, yeah right.
Once I got to the 7-Eleven, I went straight to the refrigerated shelves at the back for my PQ, then wandered around in search of the cleaning products. I’d just turned down the aisle and spotted the big plastic tub of Tide when I ran smack into her.
Nia. I hadn’t seen her at school earlier, but to tell the truth I hadn’t exactly been looking for her. I’d pretty much stayed on the down low all day: gotten my lunch from the vending machine outside the teachers’ lounge and eaten the three packs of cheese-cracker sandwiches inside the handicapped stall of the seventh-grade bathroom. Just like old times.
I didn’t know what Nia was doing in that 7-Eleven on a school night—she lived way on the other side of town—until I saw what she was buying: a big container of bleach and some of that Comet stuff my mom sometimes used to scrub out the bathtub. And then I realized, without even thinking about it, that I’d come within three blocks of her Aunt Cora’s house. Nia must still be picking up the mess from Saturday night. I didn’t know much of what had gone down after Cora’s boyfriend had kicked me to the curb, but I’m pretty sure it was no limbo-dancing.
My already-dry throat felt like it was filled with sand as I said, “Oh, hey there, Nia, um, how’s it going?”
And then she looked right at me, and man, I can’t even begin to describe the flashing hatred I saw in her eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like that about someone—well, except for Maurice, but everything about Maurice felt far away now, like a scene in a movie I’d only half-watched while doing homework.
“How do you think it’s going?” she snapped after a second.
“I’m sorry, Nia,” I mumbled, eyes on my feet. I didn’t know what else to say.
“Sorry for what?” she asked. “For ruining my whole party just for the hell of it? For getting me in trouble with my mom and my aunt for no reason at all?”
“It wasn’t for no reason,” I said. “You don’t understand, I—”
“I don’t understand?” she repeated incredulously. “Right, kind of like I didn’t understand what made you bash poor Maurice’s face in?” Nia was practically screaming, and when I looked up I saw her friend Imani at the end of the aisle, watching us through the display of week-old rotating hotdogs. I don’t know why that bothered me, knowing Nia was putting on a show for Imani, too.
“Yeah, Butterball,” Nia said, “I guess that’s true. I don’t understand you for shit. I don’t understand why a guy who was so nice and always had the coolest ideas when he sat across from me in art class last year has turned into this crazy-ass psychopath who walks around jumping complete strangers just because he feels like it. And do you know what? I don’t want to understand no more. I’m done trying with you.”
“B-but,” I sputtered out, “that guy Terrence, you have no idea what he’s like.”
And suddenly Nia was right up in my face, poking her finger into my chest. I’d never noticed how tall she was before. She almost came up to eye-level with me. “Oh, really?” she was all-out shouting. “I don’t know Terrence? That’s funny because he’s lived in my building since we was two years old! Five floors up from me, my whole damn life. His mom and mine are like sisters, and you’re telling me I don’t know Terrence? Nuh-uh”—she was shaking her head, still poking me hard—“you’re the one who don’t know Terrence! He said the first time he’d ever seen you was when you tried to pound him with that sock of batteries! I’m sorry his friends kicked you, but shit, you deserved a lot worse if you ask me. I picked up that sock later—you could have killed him, Butterball! And right after I asked you to help me out, too! What were you even thinking?”
But then she made a huffing sound and backed away from me suddenly. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Like I said, I’m done trying to understand that shit. I don’t care. I’m done, done, done.”
“I’m sorry, Nia,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too,” she said. “Sorry for believing you were something other than what you acted like. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
And before I could say another word, Nia spun around and marched up to the register, where the Pakistani man behind the counter was watching the takedown like it was the most entertaining shit he’d ever seen. Nia paid for her stuff and stormed back out into the parking lot with Imani. Neither of them glanced back at me even once.
My mind was racing, and I could hardly breathe. Nothing made any sense at all. Terrence lived in Nia’s building? She’d known him since they were two? That wasn’t what Andres had made it sound like, but I realized it didn’t much matter one way or the other. Nothing mattered for shit. Like Nia had said, I was done, done, done.
I counted down from ninety after Nia and Imani left before approaching the register. The last thing I wanted to do was look that checkout guy in the face, but I needed to buy the damn detergent. I left the PQ behind, though. For some reason, I just wasn’t all that thirsty anymore.
23
I made it all the way to Wednesday afternoon before I ran into Andres and his posse again. “Well, well, well,” he said, coming right up to me in the hall by my locker. “If it isn’t old Blubberbutt.”
The boys cracked up at this; I knew none of them would’ve forgotten the name Terrence had used before scooping my pee-soaked ass off the ground on Saturday.
“Hey, guys,” I mumbled. “What’s going on?” I knew this first meeting wasn’t going to be all that fun, but I guess it was better just to get it over with. Like I had any choice in the matter.
Darrell and Bobbie were staring hard at me, waiting, as always, for a prompt from their leader. I slammed my locker shut and headed down the hall as fast as I could. I knew the boys were right behind me, but I tried to pretend like I didn’t care. And in some way, I kinda didn’t.
“So what happened to you Saturday night?” Andres asked as I came close to the exit by the gym. He slipped between me and the door, Darrell and Bobbie right at his flanks like his own personal bodyguard detail.
“What do you mean, what happened?” I asked, trying to play it off all innocent-like. I knew I’d made a fool of myself at that party, but I felt like I’d already been punished enough for it. More than enough.
“You sure don’t put up much of a fight, do you?” Andres asked, and the boys cracked up again. “I mean, unless crying like a girl and pissing all over yourself counts. Oh, man, I’d never seen anything so crazy!”
“Yeah, man, your little show sure turned that party around fast,” Darrell said.
The boys kept on laughing, and I felt sick at the reminder of what exactly had gone down after I’d missed Terrence’s face and stumbled forward into the tree. It took about half a second for Terrence’s friend to land that first punch to my face, and even if he was only using his fist, I can’t imagine a sock full of batteries hurting half that much.
Now Bobbie spoke for the first time. “You was supposed to show that dude a lesson,” he said, “and instead you ended up being another notch in his belt. You even made him look good for stopping shit when he did, when anyone else would’ve wiped the goddamned ground with your blo
od, know what I’m saying? And that’s what pissed me off the most, I’ll be honest. That’s what really makes me want to get even with you now.”
Something in his voice made me look up at him. Bobbie never said much, but he always meant every word, so when he wound his arm back and lunged forward at me, I let out a squeal. Bobbie dropped his arm about an inch from my face, and everyone busted up laughing again, including some kids I’d never seen before who’d gathered to watch.
“Damn,” Andres said, “you have gots to chill, man. We was just messing with you, B-ball! My man Bobbie is a lover, not a fighter, know what I’m saying?”
The three of them traded high-fives and fist bumps while I just stood there crumpled against the exit door. In a way I wish Bobbie had hit me straight on. A blow to the head couldn’t make me feel any worse.
“C’mon, boys, let’s get outta here,” Andres said. Darrell and Bobbie both stepped back from where they’d been pressing into me, and just like that the three of them started walking back toward the other exit door that led to the playground.
“Man, we should’ve known that fatass wasn’t up to no real opponent,” Andres mumbled loudly as they made their way out. “Only kids he can fight weigh like 120 on a good day.”
“Yeah,” Darrell said, “and Blubberbutt could’ve just sat his big ass on that kid, and he’d be deader than dead. He didn’t need no batteries for that one.”
The boys laughed again, and I just stood there, back against the wall, until they’d rounded the corner and were out of sight. I knew they were talking about Maurice, who was as little and scrawny as I was big and fat.
But one thing about Maurice, I realized as I stood there waiting for the hall noises to fade out and all the kids to stop their staring, he was no coward. When I’d gone up to him in the playground that day, he’d barely blinked. He’d never cried, never shouted out, never done nothing, not even as those batteries came right down in his face. He’d just stood there and taken it. He’d been a real man about it in his way, Maurice.