Courage

by Barbara Binns

  “Who knew you’d find the nerve to show up near me?” she says, ripping off her blue swim cap as she approaches, revealing short, tightly curled brown hair. I haven’t paid much attention to the swimmers on the team, but now that I look, this girl seems a little familiar.

  Lamont’s deep sigh sounds like a tired warrior about to make the ultimate sacrifice. “Oh, I’m deathly afraid of you, Harmony.”

  “You should be. I heard you were out, but you never contacted me.” She moves closer to him, brown eyes flashing. “I sent you letters. All returned unopened. You never put my name on the visitor list, so I couldn’t come to see you.”

  “I knew how your uncle would react if you tried to visit me.”

  “Uncle Bill doesn’t control me,” she says, but her voice now shakes.

  “Uncle Bill?” I ask.

  Sammy leans close to my ear. “Coach Mung is Harmony’s uncle.”

  My coach is her uncle? That answers the question my brother wouldn’t. Does he know everyone? I glance at Mung, whose back is turned as he talks to another diver.

  “I did a lot of stupid things back then, didn’t I?” Lamont says. “No wonder you don’t trust me.”

  Suddenly I remember where I’ve seen this girl before. Years ago, the day Lamont taught me to swim. Harmony was at the beach, although I didn’t know her then. Rocks and seashells scraped the bottoms of my feet as she talked with Lamont and tried to get him to leave the water. She got all in his face, smiling, giggling, and touching his chest; eyeing him like he was a rib slathered with barbecue sauce. I thought he would go off with her. Instead, he put his arm around me.

  “This is your day, Short Stack,” he told me, leaving her alone on the sand while he walked into the water with me.

  “Get back to practice, Harmony,” one of the swim coaches calls out.

  Harmony turns and walks back to the swimming pool.

  “That was harder than I expected,” Lamont mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and staring after her. “I thought she’d forget me.”

  I could have told him girls never forget. Even Rochelle remembers old dirt when she gets mad at me.

  “Do you like her?” I ask.

  “No way,” he says, the words tumbling off his lips much too quickly.

  “Did you like her?”

  This time he waits for almost a minute before answering, “It’s not that simple.”

  I hear Sammy yell my name.

  “You better go,” I say. “I don’t want you around my friends.”

  My brother’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets and walks away. I am left to wonder, in the past two years, did he ever want to see Harmony? Did he want to see me? Ever? Even once?

  I return to the other divers. Mung keeps his back to me, ignoring me. I go to him anyway.

  “Did you and your brother have fun?” Mung growls when he sees me.

  “I didn’t ask him to come,” I say.

  Mung’s eyes run over me like a body scanner, piercing and questioning. The silence goes on and on, with only the sound of splashing in the air.

  “I’m not like him,” I finally say. “We may look alike, but it’s unfair to blame me for anything he did.” Sometimes the whole world seems unfair.

  Mung’s lips twitch. The twitch grows into a smile, as if we have suddenly become buddies. “I may have misjudged a few things,” he says. He starts to walk away, then returns, rubbing his chin. “Stand straight, arms stretched out in a T position.”

  I obey, moving my arms until I am shaped like my name. My mind races, struggling to realize he is actually coaching me for real.

  “Rotate your hips forward, tighten your stomach and rear. Concentrate on keeping your head level.” He walks around me, studying my position, pulling my shoulders back. “If you want to perform a good layout, you learn this posture. Let your mind remember how this feels. Practice getting into this position often. Repetition is the key.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pats me on the shoulder for the first time ever. “Now go get with the others, T’Shawn.”

  No, Coach Mung is not suddenly my best bud or anything, but things are different for the rest of practice. We are united in our dislike of my brother.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  THE SHOWER WATER IS HOT, so hot I want to stay in a long time after practice ends. So long I don’t hear the voices talking in the locker room until I leave the shower. As I wrap a towel around me, I hear the snort and giggle coming from the boys’ bathroom, more laughter than usual from there. It’s a typical bully kind of laugh, and I wonder who’s being pranked.

  “Call for Crapper,” one of the older swimmers yells. He and two other guys, one white and one black, are almost falling over one another laughing.

  “Crapper?” I ask Sammy, whose locker is next to mine.

  “That’s what those brain-deficient high school kids call the janitor,” he says. “Watch where you step. They stopped up a toilet. Guess there’s not enough water in the pool for these dorks.”

  A too-deep breath brings the stench from a clogged and overflowing toilet. Water spreads rapidly over the tile floor, carrying soggy toilet paper.

  The door opens, and an older man walks in wearing a gray shirt and pants and carrying a pail and mop. He looks at the group of boys and snorts as if he’s seen the same thing too many times before. His brown skin is wrinkled, and there’s almost no hair on his head. Even with the long mop handle, he has to get so close to the smell his nose must be hurting. And the guys who deliberately caused the mess just laugh harder.

  “The older, the stupider,” one bully snorts.

  “Go, Crapper, go,” his friends chant.

  “He’s taking care of your crap, so what does that make you?” I say.

  “Who were you talking to?” one of the bullies asks me, his blue eyes shining with menace.

  Sammy tugs at my sleeve, whispering, “I think we should leave.”

  “I’m talking to you,” I say. I’m not good at fighting. Awful, really. Lamont tried to teach me, but it never took. He switched to the next-best thing and instructed me on bluffing. If you look tough, act tough, you can sometimes head off a fight before it begins. These are phony tough guys, anyway—not one would dare to walk down my street at night. I give these guys a hard stare, my meanest expression, copied from Lamont.

  Only there are three of them and just one of me. Sammy squeaks and backs away. The older guys move closer, surrounding me. I hear the bathroom door open behind me but keep my eyes on the three faces.

  “What’s going on here? T, you need help?” There he is, Lamont himself. The man who doesn’t need to bluff has entered the bathroom and stands behind me.

  “Yes. No. I mean . . .” I thought he’d left. My heart beats a little easier. I’m glad he’s still around because the situation could have become a problem. I’m also mad because he’s supposed to be gone. I see the original hard stare filling Lamont’s face. This will end up getting me the rep of needing my brother to take care of me.

  “We’re just having a little fun.” The speaker stares into Lamont’s eyes for a few seconds, then lowers his head.

  One shrugs and mumbles, “Come on. Not worth the effort.”

  “Let’s go. My dad’s waiting to drive us home,” another says, and all three leave, still chuckling.

  “You can thank me later,” Lamont tells me.

  I whirl on him. “I can take care of myself. Why didn’t you leave when I asked you to? Why stay and keep embarrassing me?” I ask, furious at my brother and at the flash of relief I felt when I saw him at my back.

  “You used to be proud of me,” Lamont muses.

  “Used to be. Like that’s ever going to happen again.”

  He nods, looking hurt and disappointed. “I’m trying, T.” He shakes his head. “And now I’m gone.”

  In seconds, I am alone there with the old man and his mop. He looks at me and nods his thanks.

/>   “I actually thought my transfer from the night shift was a promotion,” he says, cleaning up. “Maybe I should tell the boss to give me my old shift back. Working nights meant I only dealt with faculty and staff, never with spoiled rich kids.”

  “I’m not spoiled. Or rich.”

  “You’re new, aren’t you?” he says.

  “I guess that’s pretty obvious.”

  “You’ll change soon enough. You’ll get infected and become another club brat, thinking only of yourself.”

  No way. I will not let them change me. I want my new teammates to accept me as one of them. But there is only so much I can change myself.

  Sammy and the other team members dress quickly and scatter. Today I don’t ache as much and manage to get out fast too. I run for the CTA bus stop, where I see Linda among the crowd waiting. She is wearing a bright blue coat. Looks like she’s trying to ignore the cold and cheer up the world.

  I look around, expecting to see Carmela too, but there’s no sign of her.

  “Where’s Carmela?” I ask, trying to sound uncaring as I approach Linda.

  She shrugs, staring down the street so all I see is the back of her hair. “Her mother has already driven her home.”

  “You two live on the same block. Why didn’t they take you home too?”

  “I always take the bus.”

  “You come here just to watch her and then go home alone?” That’s not the way friends work. “Where’re the other two, Fantasia and Marianne?” I ask.

  “They don’t come to practice.”

  “But you do?”

  Linda sighs. “Carmela likes an audience. She’d be mad if I didn’t come.”

  “She gives orders and you follow them,” I mumble. “What if she told you to do something you didn’t want to?”

  Linda stands so still and calm, I get the feeling that’s already happened at least once.

  The bus chugs up then, bouncing like a gentle dinosaur. It stops to release some people while swallowing us. Linda is the first to board. She finds an empty seat near the front and sits down, staring out the window. I move to stand beside her, holding the metal top of her seat to stay upright as the bus shakes going down the street. This time of day, Chicago traffic inches along like an overstuffed caterpillar. We are in the middle of the crush of weary commuters on their way home.

  “I know how the world works,” she says, still staring out the window. “You don’t understand because everyone likes you, but I’m invisible.”

  “I see you just fine.” I see everything about her. Her smarts and the way her mouth almost always droops in sadness. Her black hair parted into small squares and twisted into Bantu knots that make her look like she’s wearing a crown. Her brown skin, a shade darker than my own. I see everything about Linda.

  She turns and looks me in the eye. Hers are light brown. “T, you didn’t even know I was alive back when we were both in Mrs. Fischer’s class for sixth grade.”

  “I always knew. I was trying to hide from you at first. I thought you probably didn’t want to be around me.”

  “Because of what your brother did?” She shakes her head. “You are not your brother. You may look like him, but that’s only the outside. You’re a different person, a very funny guy.”

  “Really?” I brighten from the inside out. “Because that’s what I’m trying for, you know, to be funny and cool and . . . likable.”

  She giggles. “Everyone likes you, T.”

  I pause. “You know, I didn’t know my brother would show up,” I say, remembering the moment when she jumped from her seat and ran from the balcony. “I guess he scared you.”

  “I was just . . . surprised to see him walk in like that. Like he owned the place.”

  “He was always like that, especially after he joined the gang,” I admit. “I think that’s what made guys follow him: he knows how to act like a boss.”

  “He knows how to be mean. Barnetta may not be worried about him, but I am.”

  “He won’t go after her again. I know it.” It’s not a promise I can actually keep. Who knows what my brother may decide to do once he is settled? The rules say he is not supposed to have contact with his former victims, including the entire Murhasselt family. But he’s not really good with rules. The only thing keeping him in check is Mr. Cho. And maybe Mom.

  “How do you know? Can you read his mind? My sister helped stop him when he tried robbing Frank’s Place. She called the police on him. What if he wants revenge?” Linda’s voice grows husky. “I already lost my mother. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my sister too.”

  The bus slows and turns a corner, pushing me against her shoulder. My stomach jumps. Now that we’re no longer talking about Carmela, I’m not sure what to say. We both fall silent, not moving or speaking until the bus enters our neighborhood. It’s dark, but the streets are crowded with people. Dog walkers and joggers, baby carriages and bicycles. Some people on their phones, some actually talking to each other. Every inch of our neighborhood is alive. I decide to get off when she does.

  She looks confused when the bus pulls away, leaving us on the corner together. “This isn’t your stop.”

  “I know, but it’s getting dark, and I thought . . .” I don’t know what I thought. Sometimes my brain makes decisions without telling me why. It just want to walk her to her door, make sure she stays safe. I only live three blocks away from her.

  We start walking toward the small house her aunt rents. I want to hear her talk again. This is pretty much the longest time I’ve spent alone with a girl. My heart pounds louder than it did the first time I climbed on a diving board.

  Linda hiccups and rubs her eyes. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the bad memories kind of leak out, you know.”

  “I know. You don’t need to be sorry.” My chest feels hollow. I want to do something for her. But all I can think of is to dig a tissue from my pocket and hand it to her.

  “Thanks,” she says, smiling at me while wiping her cheeks. “Do you know . . . did your brother see my father while he was in prison? They were both at Pontiac.”

  “Lamont was in the medium-security area. Murderers would be in the maximum-security area.” Maybe I never went, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn everything I could about the place where Lamont was sent. There are almost two thousand men inside those walls, and more than half are black. The medium-security unit is located on the same grounds but kept separate.

  “Oh, yeah. Probably not, then.” She rubs her nose again. “Sometimes I hate my father and want to rip him apart. But sometimes I hope he’s changed. I hope it’s possible for people to change.”

  Her father, my brother. Both picked up guns, aimed, fired. I don’t think you can change back from that. I could never touch a real gun.

  But then, I never thought I would dive off a board until the day I did.

  I pause at the door of Linda’s aunt’s house. I have one last question I need answered. “Does Carmela even remember that she asked me to join the club?”

  Linda remains silent. That’s answer enough.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  “NATURALLY THINGS GET INTERESTING THE minute I’m not around,” Dontae grumbles the next morning at school. I told him everything that happened at practice. Everything except the ride home with Linda. He leans against his locker, watching me as I try to decide what to do with my geometry book.

  “I missed seeing you actually dive and I missed your brother. I still want to meet him,” Dontae continues.

  “No, you don’t.”

  I plan to dedicate today’s lunch and study periods to math and science. I can see the Hun revoking my scholarship if any teacher tells him my grades are slumping. I close my locker, and when I turn, I almost bump into Carmela. She’s not alone. She and her friends form a semicircle around me. Linda won’t meet my eyes.

  “What’s up, girls?” Dontae says, smiling all friendly and stuff. He leans one hand against the wall. “I know you’re not lost, so
if it’s me you’re after . . .” He pauses and grins.

  “Back off. This only concerns T.” Carmela holds up a palm like a stop sign in his direction. “You should have told us your brother had been released. How did he get out so early?”

  I shrug. “Good behavior, I guess.” I’ve thought about it a lot, but this is the only explanation I can think of.

  “That’s not how things work. Ten years don’t become two just like that.”

  “So, how do things work?”

  She waves my question aside like a leaf in a breeze. “My dad said this sounded shady. He’s been a police officer for sixteen years. He knows how the Prisoner Review Board works. They should never have given your brother parole so soon or allowed him to come back here.”

  “Where should he be?”

  “Anywhere. Maybe back in prison.”

  “My mom wants him here.” My voice chooses this moment to crack so I squeak like a mouse.

  “You mean you want him. You want a gangbanger around to show you how it’s done.” Her glare says Lamont is a slug that deserves to be stepped on, and I’m not much better.

  “No, I don’t.” The words tumble over my tongue. “I want him gone more than anyone. It will happen soon. You’ll see. I’m sure he’ll get caught doing something wrong, and they’ll take him away quick.”

  “We shouldn’t have to wait for that. My dad worked hard to clean up this neighborhood. We don’t need another gang leader running around trying to rebuild his reputation.” She makes it sound like her father is some kind of superman. He’s a police sergeant, a good cop, but he didn’t do anything alone. In fact, Dontae’s father started Take Back the Streets. They talk about people power and changing the world. And they organize marches and patrols to tell the gangs they are not wanted here. We follow the examples set by other Chicago neighborhoods, other churches. And it’s working. No gunfire rings out in the night on our streets anymore. Instead of gang tags, walls are painted with murals of historic events and people. Abandoned buildings are being repaired and occupied.