Courage

by Barbara Binns

  “What are you doing?” I ask. This is too fast, too soon. “You can’t go now.”

  “Says the guy who most wants me gone. I’m not blind, T. You never wanted me here. I saw that on your face the first day.”

  I wonder what my face says now.

  “Turns out your petition had one good effect. Mr. Cho agrees I need a change of venue.”

  He moves like a tired old man as he bends to pick up the things I threw on the floor and shoves them back in the bag. “I did try to change, but I can’t escape the past. So it’s best I take my wreck of a life somewhere else.”

  I search for words, new and better words, something right, anything to make him see how sorry I am. There is a big giant blank where my vocabulary should be.

  He opens one of the drawers that holds my things. Realizing his mistake, he starts to close it, then pauses. He reaches inside and pulls out the picture of Malik I stuffed in there the first day Lamont came home. “The guy who has everything, including my brother. No one can compete against the rich guys.”

  “Malik wasn’t born with money. He told me his father built his business from nothing while his mother waited tables so she could bring home leftovers so they had enough to eat. He and his brother used to thank God for school lunches.”

  “And he grew up rich, talented, and good-looking, plus he saved you from me and my gun. No wonder you worship him.” His shoulders droop. “You had every right to be scared of me that night.”

  My thoughts race back to the night I ran away to be with my brother and the gang, until cold and fear left me praying to escape. That was the first time I faced a gun.

  “When Darnell reached for the gun, I froze. I had to take the gun and point it at you, make a show to hold them off. I’d begun to realize I had no real control over any of them. I had to make Darnell think I agreed with him.” The twitching muscle in Lamont’s jaw is pulsing hard and heavy. That doesn’t just happen when he’s lying, I realize now. It’s also about guilt.

  “All I could do was text your friend Malik. I knew I couldn’t get you from there alone. I don’t hate him. I thank him for rescuing you out of the mess I caused.”

  He zips up his bag and starts for the door.

  “Wait.” I grab the chair from my desk and drag it to the closet. The treasure box is there, still hidden behind my rock collection. I pull it down and place it in the middle of his bed.

  “That’s the box,” he mutters. The mattress squeaks when he sits down. “Are you trying to make me remember? I hate wandering through the past.” He continues touching the contents as he speaks, revisiting the time before.

  With shaking hands, he pulls out the tiny plastic toy soldiers we played with when we were a whole family and cancer was just a word. “My guys can still crush yours,” I say with a growl and a grin because I know he used to let me win our play fights. For a few minutes, we tussle, our soldiers battling on the bed. Again he lets me win.

  We continue to go through the contents of the box. “Does Jekyll tell Hyde?” he mutters once, touching the old horror movie DVD while wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. The torn card announcing Mom’s pregnancy makes him pause. He and I drew that card, using big letters to be sure Dad could read the words, since he was already in hospice by then and had trouble seeing.

  “Remember when we spent a whole day terrified, thinking Mom’s morning sickness meant she had caught Dad’s cancer?” he asks.

  I nod. I endured a long, sleepless night before I learned cancer isn’t contagious. As scary as it had been hearing Mom throw up, the memory is now a blessing. We kept each other going through all the bad times. We still do. That’s why I can’t let him leave me, not ever again.

  His fingers tremble when he pulls out the belt with the extra holes punched in so Dad could keep using it as he grew thinner and thinner in the months before his death. “I told some of the guys in prison about Dad dying, and they said I was lucky to be rid of him. Lucky.” His voice deepens into a growl.

  Then he picks up Dad’s heavy, silver ring. This time his whole body shudders. “I thought this was lost long ago.”

  He pulls it over his finger. Perfect fit.

  That ring first belonged to our great-great grandfather who fought for the Union in the Civil War. It meant enough to the former slave that he refused to sell it, instead giving it to his son, the first Rodgers born in America as a free man. The ring continued on to his son, who wore it during World War II, and then my dad, who carried it on the battlefields of Iraq. And now, the ring that has seen so many changes in the world and been worn by so many good men, sits on my brother’s finger.

  “I still miss Dad,” I say. “When he died, I put everything on you. I wanted you to be perfect.”

  “I can’t be perfect,” he whispers. “I can’t even be like him. Every time I look at you, I remember I put you in danger. I know why you want me gone.”

  That’s the thing, I don’t anymore. I want things the way they were. Lamont and me, closer than friends.

  The ring fits so well, he has to struggle to remove it.

  “Keep it,” I say, trying to make my voice light. I hope the ring helps him be more like Dad.

  He shakes his head. “I can’t take this from you. You carried this box through every temporary situation, the shelter, now here. You saved our family history. Everything in here belongs to you.”

  “You’re the oldest. The ring was supposed to go to you.” I hold up my right hand. “See, it wouldn’t stay on my skinny fingers.”

  He stops struggling with the ring and climbs to his feet. “When you get bigger, it’ll go on your hand, where it really belongs. Until then, I’ll keep it safe.” He takes my hand and shakes it like we’re making a solemn vow. “Now I’d better bounce.”

  He pauses in the living room. Rochelle looks up from the picture book in her lap. Mom comes close, puts her hands on Lamont’s shoulders, and looks up into his eyes. “Are you too old to hug your mother goodbye?” she asks, her voice wistful.

  He bends to kiss her forehead. She presses against his chest. His arms go around her, like he’s the parent and she’s the child. Then he peers over her head at me. “I don’t blame any of you.” I believe him the way I do when Rochelle claims that cookies just find their way into her mouth by magic.

  He walks out the door with his old King of the World swagger.

  I return to my room, climb up to my bed, sit and stare down at my empty room. I guess I’m safe now. Through the window, I see him cross the courtyard and walk down the block.

  The swagger is missing.

  Chapter

  Thirty-One

  LAMONT HAS BEEN GONE A whole week, and each day feels like forever. No one seemed more surprised by the news of his departure than Carmela.

  “Are you sure?” she asked after I told her and the rest of my friends he was gone. “That means we won!” she squealed, threw her arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek.

  I stepped back and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

  That night, like every other night, Rochelle comes in my room to look for Lamont. She expects me to go out and find him.

  “Try, just try,” she pleads, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. I don’t know how to explain that life is not that simple. I needed two days before I got up the nerve to try calling him. No answer, and there’s no voice mail on his line. He doesn’t respond to the texts I send. Mom hasn’t heard from him either. I guess only Mr. Cho knows where he’s gone.

  I see Redmond in school the next day while Dontae and I are on our way to the lunchroom. He doesn’t slink back into the crowd when our eyes meet. I can tell the instant Dontae recognizes Redmond: my friend’s mouth drops open into a perfect O.

  “That—that’s the guy,” he says, pointing with a shaky finger when Redmond stops in front of me.

  “Where’s your brother?” Redmond asks.

  “He’s gone.”

  “He can’t be.” A heavy frown draws a big eleven int
o the pale skin above Redmond’s nose. “We were supposed to . . .”

  “Go out banging together?”

  Blue eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “No, we never did that.” He scratches the back of his neck before adding, “Sorry about the way I acted the day we met. I was angry.”

  “I could tell.” Me, I was sad. The words “confused” and “lost” would also describe me, then and now.

  “When I first saw Lamont, I thought it was you again,” Redmond continues. “Then I realized he was much too big.”

  See? Even a guy who saw me only one time could tell Lamont and I don’t look that much alike. I shouldn’t keep blaming my brother for the cops making a totally crazy mistake.

  “Your brother is awesome. We see each other sometimes; he talks to me, explains stuff. He boasted on his short-stack brother all the time. He told me I should stop hiding myself,” Redmond adds, brushing back wisps of hair from his face.

  He begins telling Dontae about himself, explaining about living in the homeless shelter while his father is in jail. “My old man keeps getting out and doing something else so they put him back in again. Your brother told me about himself and prison life. He said it was dangerous. Nights especially.”

  “He talked to you.” I push back jealousy.

  “When will he come back?”

  “Never,” Dontae volunteers. “He’s a bad guy. You too. At least I thought you were.” He looks at me for confirmation.

  “We saw you together and thought he was trying to pull you into his gang,” I admit.

  “Nah, he said he won’t let himself be pulled back into that life. Connie asked him to talk me out of making a ‘poor decision.’”

  Connie? Lamont didn’t even teach him to call Miss Wiggins “the witch”?

  “He told me I’d better not join,” Redmond continues.

  “I told you that,” I remind him, feeling indignant.

  “Yeah, I know. But your brother made things seem real.” As he talks, Redmond digs in his backpack. His hand comes out holding a portable drive. “When I told him I was into music and computers, he paid me to make this for you. It’s a mix tape, a custom country-rap mash-up. Are you two country music fans?”

  “Not me, no way, never. He is.” Dontae points at me.

  I take the device in my hands.

  “Well, I gotta go.” Redmond steps back awkwardly. The hall is almost empty, most students now either in their classes or the lunchroom. I remember how I always see Redmond alone.

  “You wanna have lunch with us?” I ask.

  Surprise lights up his face. “Yeah, totally.”

  As we walk into the lunchroom, I ask, “Did my brother ever tell you why the top bunk was supposed to be safer?” I’m sure now his words about the bunk couldn’t have been the threat they first seemed.

  “He said there’s no real safety in prison. If you’re on top you can at least attempt to fight back when you’re attacked. He said that if they really want to get you, there is no help, but taking the high ground gives an advantage to more than just the army.”

  He was thinking of me. My brother has always thought of me.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  IT’S REALLY HARD TO CONCENTRATE in school the next day. I want the clock to run backward, the calendar to reverse, but new seconds and minutes keep flowing, like mud sliding down a hill. I head to practice to escape those thoughts; glad today is a strength-training day. Crunches, lunges, push-ups—it’s hard to believe that only a month ago I thought this was impossible. The Hun’s charts show how much I’ve changed. Using my muscles helps me calm down, and I need that big-time. I wish Sammy were here on the mat beside me. We used to push each other to do better. I know he did something wrong, but he is still my friend. I miss him.

  I lie on a bench and begin doing presses: ten lifts each set and all getting to be so easy, it’s probably time to talk to the coaches about increasing my weight a few pounds. Suddenly I notice voices around the workout room growing still. The clank of moving metal goes silent. I sit up and look at the entrance to find Sammy and his parents standing just inside the door.

  My breath catches when I see the bulky bandage wound around my friend’s head. He goes right to Harmony and they hug.

  “I was so worried. I’m glad you’re back,” I say when I get close.

  He releases her and looks at me. “Just to say goodbye. I’m going into rehab in a place out of state.”

  Drug rehab. I thrust my hands deep in the pockets of my warm-up jacket and remain silent.

  “A jail for kids.” Harmony sniffles and touches the bandage around his head.

  “Not exactly. And my parents get therapy too.” For a second, the old Sammy grin fills his face. “Mom told the therapist to fix me, and he said we all needed to change. He says it’s never just about the identified patient. That’s what he called me, an identified patient. At least my parents are calmer now.” He sounds a little surprised as he says those last words, as if he never expected that to happen.

  “Are we still friends?” I ask Sammy.

  “Always.

  I remain motionless as he and his family leave. The door has barely closed behind them when the Hun makes the announcement I feared. “Sammy is off the team. He has been suspended for drug use. We have rules,” he continues when some team members protest. His lips tighten for a moment. “I should have seen things sooner. Apparently he’d been using performance enhancers for months. That accounts for his muscle and weight increase. I charted the changes in him, but”—he sighs, and his eyes roll toward the ceiling—“I chalked things up to early puberty and the success of our program training methods.”

  Most of the team appear to accept that. The club handbook used the words “zero tolerance.” That really means no second chances. Mess up once, make a single mistake, and it’s Game Over.

  “He wanted to win,” Harmony says. Her chin quivers.

  “We all want to win. But winning is never worth this.”

  We’re supposed to forget and pretend Sammy was never one of us.

  Most team members are already slipping out of the weight room, along with several coaches. In a few minutes, only the Hun, Mung, Harmony, and I are left.

  “You should join the others,” the Hun tells me. “Coach Mung and I have to stay here a little longer to deal with one additional matter.” Mr. Hundle and Mung stare at each other. Looking at their expressions and seeing the way Harmony eyes me, I know this additional matter is something big and that it involves me.

  “What else is wrong?” I ask.

  Mung turns to Harmony, ignoring my question. “Go with him. The campus police will be here in a few minutes.”

  Instead of obeying, Harmony takes a seat on one of the abandoned weight benches. “Some things have been disappearing from around the campus and the locker rooms,” she says, her voice smooth and even. “Uncle Bill lost his laptop, and now he’s rushing to blame Lamont.”

  “I didn’t lose anything.” Mung’s face flushes a dark, angry scarlet. “Lamont Rodgers broke into my office and stole that laptop.”

  “Why blame my brother?” I ask. “He doesn’t come near this place. There was just that one time, and he only came to see me.”

  “He’s been hanging around campus almost every day,” Mung says. “He works here.”

  “Worked,” Harmony corrects him. “Before my uncle persuaded the administration to fire him, Lamont had a part-time position as a night janitor.”

  “He had a job?” My question is mostly a stall for time to digest the information. I thought he was playing around about the job thing, that his parole officer was letting him get away with ignoring that obligation. Instead, he was here all along, close to me.

  “My uncle is eager to accuse Lamont of something because he can’t be blamed for selling drugs to Sammy.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, my mind spinning.

  “Sammy’s been using for months,” the Hun answers for Harmony. Simple math
, Sammy had connections before Lamont came home.

  “Tell T the real reason you blame his brother for everything. And why you got him fired,” Harmony insists.

  “Why do you defend him?” Mung waves a hand in the air, swatting at nothing and glaring at his niece. “You wanted him gone too, but you enjoyed seeing the man who dumped you reduced to slinging a mop. You certainly spent enough time watching him.”

  “Yes, I did.” She sighs, looking like someone who dived into the deep end before realizing the pool was empty. “I thought seeing him in the muck would be fun. No one was supposed to be hurt except you and Lamont, and you both deserved that. But now there’s Sammy, and T, and, well, turns out revenge isn’t fun after all.” Harmony extends her hands, wrists together as if in anticipation of handcuffs. “When the campus police arrive, I’ll have to confess.”

  The color drains from Mung’s face, leaving it pasty white. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m the thief. You’ll find the missing computer in the trunk of my car, along with a few other items that have gone missing over the last few weeks. Wallets and electronics and any equipment your golden boy Bishop thought he could sell.”

  “Bishop! He can’t be part of any of this,” Mung insists. “He’s a fine young man.”

  “You bought Bishop’s good-boy act. He does anything I ask, even supplies the drugs I need to survive life with you. Why else would I spend five minutes with that jerk?”

  “Why did you give drugs to Sammy?” I ask her while Mung paces. She turns her back on her uncle and comes to me. “I never meant to hurt him. I’ve taken those pills for years myself and never had a reaction like that.”

  Mung runs a hand over his face and looks like he wishes he wore a mask. “I took you into my home, and this is what you do to my good name?”

  “It’s my name too. Mung has always been my name.”

  “Why are you confessing?” I ask her.

  “Because I’m tired. When I saw Sammy today, I realized what I’d done. I have to tell someone the truth.”

  Two campus police officers arrive a few minutes later. Both seem confused as she repeats her confession. Her uncle sits, tightlipped and silent. At least they are gentle when they put her in handcuffs. She smiles as the officers march her down the hall.