Dirty Jersey

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  “You so thugged out it’s ridiculous,” she says approvingly.

  Thugged out?

  Me?

  Hard to imagine.

  She walks me over to a full-length mirror they have set up. I blink several times. My eyes have to be playing tricks on me. I look cooler than I’ve ever looked before. The jeans fit just right, with a perfect sag. The white tee is snug, and my arms are skinny, for sure, but more muscular than I ever noticed. I’ve got a chiseled skinny-boy body that isn’t half-bad. And the bandanna is a perfect touch.

  Bye, Steve Urkel.

  I say, “I look…”

  “Cool,” she finishes.

  The X-Treme says, “Roll tape.”

  Fiasco stands directly across from me.

  A scowl paints his face.

  He’s dressed in black cargo pants that fall way below his hips, a fresh pair of Timbs and a white wife-beater that shows off his lean physique. I’m in the baggy jeans from wardrobe, an interesting pair of gray Timbs and a white tee. They had me jettison the tire iron—overkill according to The X-Treme.

  Fiasco stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed in front of him. I squint like I’m having trouble seeing. Not too much, though. Not like I need Coke bottles over my eyes. I lean a bit to the side with my arms crossed over my chest. And cock my head a bit to the side, too. It’s a cool pose. It’s Mya’s. She deserves all the credit.

  Fiasco eyes me with poise and calm. That’s a feat, because I’m flanked by ten sho’ nuff thugs. We have him boxed into a corner. He doesn’t seem fazed in the least.

  If this were a real-life scenario and I was in Fiasco’s position, I’d be dripping with sweat. My heart would be in my throat. My stomach would be in knots. Fiasco is cool as can be, though. He’s tough and defiant despite the long odds against him.

  He says, “My heart don’t pump fear,” and reaches for his waist.

  The X-Treme yells, “And…cut. That’s a wrap, brethren.”

  An abrupt end, but they piece things together and make a whole later, so I’m not surprised.

  The video is done. I can’t wait to see it.

  Fiasco comes over to me, touches my shoulder, says, “I’m having them leak this to YouTube in the next few hours. You’re about to be a star, E.P. A star, ya heard?”

  Bye, Steve Urkel.

  Hello, fifteen minutes of fame.

  Kenya

  “YouTube. YouTube. YouTube. Anyone in this school care about anything else?”

  “I guess I know who drank all the Hatorade.”

  “Whatever, Donnell. You make me sick.”

  Of course he smiled at that. Swore he was cute, which he was, but whatever. I needed his moral support. I needed to be comforted. Life kept on handing me lemons and I didn’t have the strength to make lemonade.

  Lark said, “You should be happy for Eric, Ken. I know I am.”

  “I liked you better when you weren’t here, Lark.”

  She said, “Nice, Ken. Real nice.”

  I knew it wasn’t. She’d just gotten back to school after a bout with chicken pox. Or was it poison ivy? Bird flu? Whatever, it was something. And it’d kept my girl away from me for over a week. I’d only made it through that time because so much drama was happening in my life. I didn’t need to treat her badly as much as I needed her.

  I told her, “Sorry. I’m just bummed. Life is treating me like I’m Britney Spears right about now.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Ken.”

  Donnell said, “Yeah.”

  I looked at him hard. Let him know I wasn’t in the mood. He smiled at me. But I wouldn’t soften.

  I said, “I’m in the video, looking cute as all get-out.”

  Donnell said, “I’m sure. And I was sitting in the car twiddling my toes.”

  I didn’t pay that any mind. You want me, you gotta work.

  Lark said, “I know that’s right, girl.”

  I poked out my lips, said, “Then why didn’t Fiasco leak the whole video?”

  Lark said, “It’ll be out there soon, I’m sure.”

  Donnell added, “Yeah. The YouTube thing’s just a teaser to whet folks’ appetites.”

  I looked around. Kids were moving by swiftly without speaking a word to me. I wasn’t used to that. I could never get used to that. I needed that video with me in it out there pronto.

  Lark said, “People are buzzing about the YouTube, Ken. When the whole thing comes out, you are gonna blow up.”

  I doubted it.

  My little ten seconds wasn’t much. But it was enough, I guessed, to get me back in the good graces of my schoolmates. That would be enough for me.

  Meanwhile, Eric, my pain-in-the-behind of a brother, was on full blast all over YouTube. The two-and-a-half-minute clip that Fiasco leaked boasted more than a minute of Eric playing gangsta. I didn’t think much of his acting skills personally, but whatever.

  Lark said, “Eric’s eating this all up. He was so cute earlier. He had a crowd of girls around his locker and he did this word-of-the-day bit. It was crazy.”

  I’d heard about it. I didn’t care to listen to the story again. So I opened my locker and made busy reorganizing my textbooks.

  Donnell said, “Word of the day? What was that about?”

  I tried to drown them both out but couldn’t.

  Lark’s tone rose. “Oh, it was too funny, D. His word was inward.”

  “Inward?”

  Lark nodded, laughed, composed herself and then went on. “Yeah. Inward. And then he used it in a sentence.”

  Donnell said, “What he say?”

  I couldn’t help looking closely at Donnell. His eyes were wide with anticipation. At the moment I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for him.

  Lark cracked up again, got caught in a coughing spell. And she accused me of being dramatic? Please. I wasn’t about to pat her back, that was for sure.

  Donnell did, though. They both laughed together.

  Calm, Lark said, “Eric’s crazy, D, I’m telling you. He was so serious. I saw a side of him today I never knew existed. He was so confident, so assured. He said ‘inward.’ And then he paused, like a showman. His sentence was, ‘I’ma black out on anyone that calls me the inward.’”

  Donnell got himself a coughing spell.

  Lark said, “Get it? Inward. N word.”

  Donnell just nodded, couldn’t even speak.

  What in the world was I doing with that boy?

  Donnell managed, “He said ‘black out’?”

  Lark couldn’t even answer. She just nodded.

  I left them there acting like my brother was just the cleverest thing.

  They didn’t even realize I’d stepped away.

  Lil’ Wayne and Birdman’s “Pop Bottles” cried out from my hip. I was surprised to hear that ringtone. Surprised and nervous. I fumbled for my cell phone, flipped it open on the fourth ring. Just in time, as it flows into voice mail on the fifth.

  I said, “Holla.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Oh, hey. Wassup?” I tried to stay calm. Played that role lovely.

  “Nada. Got some free time. You want to hang out?”

  Did I wanna be next to Fiasco?

  Hmm, let me see.

  Hells yeah, I did.

  I said, “I can swing that.”

  “You at school now?”

  “Yup.”

  “What time you get out?”

  I said, “Three-fifteen.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  I said, “You can come scoop me up?”

  “On it like white on rice. I’ll be out front of your school when you get out.”

  I said, “What you pushing?”

  He said, “Black Land Rover.”

  Eric

  “Hey, E, I’m having a party this weekend. Wanna come?”

  “Hey, E, Tammy Morgan told me to give you her number.”

  “Eric, where you get them Wallabees? They’re mean, son.”

  “Hey,
E, we ’bout to hit the mall. You wanna rock with us?”

  “E, I sent you a MySpace message this morning. You get it?”

  “E, approve me as your MySpace friend, please. Put me in your top ten. Okay? Okay, E?”

  It was too much.

  Making it out of the school building isn’t easy. Every step I take, someone stops me, asks me a question, asks me for a favor, begs me for something, invites me somewhere.

  I step around a crowd of boys and girls, make my way to the front door. I’m exhausted. I want to get home and take a nap.

  You believe that? A nap in the middle of the afternoon. That’s how it is, though. Being popular is work. I got worked over like a one-legged slave today.

  Smiling.

  Telling jokes.

  Posing for cell phone pictures.

  Listening.

  I think I might have even kissed a few babies.

  I have my hand on the door now, an inch away from opening it. When I get outside, I’m going to run without stopping until I reach home.

  I’m one inch to daylight, to freedom.

  I hear, “Eric?”

  No. No. No.

  I start to take off running anyway. Pretend I didn’t hear my name called.

  “Eric?”

  Shoot.

  I turn around.

  Mr. Quigley’s smile is crooked but pleasant.

  I say, “Yes, Mr. Quigley?”

  He says, “Just wanted to see if I could touch the hem of your garment.”

  He laughs.

  I wave him off.

  He says, “No, in all seriousness, I’m glad the tide has turned.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Be good.”

  I take that good wish and step outside, finally. Coast is clear for the most part. A few kids are scattered about, but they’re so busy in conversation they don’t notice me. I better go quick before they catch a glimpse of me; then it’ll be elbows touching sides, heads nodding in my direction, the vultures descending on me.

  I look up and see Kenya running toward the street. A black Land Rover idles at the curb. Fiasco? What’s he doing here? I stop and watch Kenya’s determined trot. Her cell phone slips from her purse, clacks against the pavement.

  I yell out, “Hey, Kenya?”

  She turns, sees me, waves, and then keeps going. I run to try and catch up. “Kenya, wait. You dropped your phone.”

  Either she doesn’t hear me or she doesn’t care. She slides into Fiasco’s Land Rover. I reach down and pick up her phone. Just like her to be selfish, to try to elbow her way in on my friendship with Fiasco. I should toss her cell phone in the woods somewhere. As much as she loves this thing, that would hurt, teach her a lesson about staying in her place. How dare she step to Fiasco behind my back?

  The Land Rover pulls off.

  I watch it go.

  Kenya

  “Your brother’s gonna be mad we took off like that.”

  I said, “He’ll get over it.”

  “How was school?”

  I thought about all the love Eric got, the apathy that came my way. I said, “Sucked.”

  “Really?” He widens his eyes in surprise. “Why’s that?”

  “Just going through some things.”

  He tapped his large hands on the steering column. “I imagine the boys must drive you crazy.”

  “How so?”

  He looked over at me. I swear his eyes drifted over my whole body, seemed to linger on my chest. I shifted in my seat. He sniffed out a laugh, kept his gaze on me. “You’re a ripe piece of fruit, girl. Boys wanna get their fingers slick with that juice, right?”

  I didn’t like that comment one bit. I wasn’t going there with him.

  I said, “We’re going back to the mansion?”

  He shook his head.

  I said, “Where?”

  “Chillax, Kenya.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  He smiled. I saw the devil in his countenance. He said, “I heard a young person say that once. Chillax. Chill and relax combined, you get it?”

  I got it.

  I reached in my purse, felt around. Oh hells no. Why was this happening?

  I asked, “Can we turn around? I left my cell phone somewhere.”

  He looked over at me, smiled again. His teeth looked too perfect. Dentures, falsies, I guessed. He said, “Don’t even sweat that phone, Kenya.”

  The way he said my name made my skin crawl.

  I started to feel tight around the neck. My heartbeat was a runaway locomotive. I said, “We meeting up with Fiasco?”

  He took that moment to turn on the stereo. It wasn’t my kind of music, but I knew who it was. Marvin Gaye.

  I repeated, “We meeting up with Fiasco?”

  He turned the volume up, didn’t answer me.

  I said, “Mr. Alonzo?”

  He still didn’t answer, didn’t even look in my direction.

  “Mr. Alonzo…Mr. Alonzo…Mr. Alonzo…Mr. Alonzo…”

  Eric

  As tired as I am, sleep just won’t come. My room is dark, quiet, and yet sleep just won’t come. I jump out of bed, giving up on sleep, and turn on the television. Straight to BET—106 & Park is on. Rocsi and her fine self. She’s doing a little dance with the day’s guest: Wyclef.

  Kenya’s cell phone rings for the millionth time. Someone’s really been blowing her up. She’s not even popular at the moment and her phone still rings off the hook. I’ve never even thought about having one myself. Who would call? Benny?

  But maybe I should reconsider. I’m on the verge of having some long-term popularity. If Kenya doesn’t mess things up for me.

  I can’t believe she hooked up with Fiasco without me. She wouldn’t even know him if I hadn’t made the introduction. I can’t believe he would meet with her behind my back, that he’d drive off without any consideration for me.

  I walk over and pick up Kenya’s phone from my dresser, scroll through her “received” calls until I find the number I want. I dial it without hesitation.

  She picks up right away.

  I say, “Mya?”

  “Baby boy?”

  “Oh, I’m baby boy again?”

  “I acted a fool, I’m sorry. I got caught up with some emotions. You wouldn’t understand.”

  I say, “Yeah, you did.”

  I hear the smile in her voice. “I heard you killed.”

  I say, “Did you see it?”

  “Not yet. Couldn’t even look at it. It’s on YouTube, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She says, “I’ll check it out eventually.”

  I ask, “You and Fiasco make up?”

  “Haven’t talked to him. No.”

  Should I tell her?

  I don’t want to hurt her.

  But I’d want to be told if the shoe were on the other foot.

  I say, “Your boyfriend picked my sister up from school today.”

  Mya doesn’t say anything.

  I say, “You heard me?”

  “I did.”

  “You and Fiasco have a weird relationship.”

  “My half brother.”

  I say, “What?”

  “Fiasco is my brother.”

  I’m stunned.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Mya talks for me. “He’s stupid. How old is your sister?” I manage, “Seventeen.”

  Mya tsks. “And he came to school and picked her up?” “Yup. Pulled up in a black Land Rover.” Mya says, “Range.”

  I correct her. “Nah, it was a Land.”

  Her tone changes. “You’re sure?” “Yeah. I saw it at the warehouse. It’s a Land.”

  “Oh my God!”

  I ask, “What’s wrong? You okay, Mya?” She says, “That’s not Fiasco. That’s Alonzo.” The Black Fonz.

  My heart does pump fear.

  Kenya

  TheGreen Mile, The Green Mile, that was all I could think.

  Alonzo seemed like he was as big as Michael Clarke
Duncan.

  Nowhere near as gentle, though.

  He said, “Get out.”

  I looked out the window. It was completely dark out. Mama would be worried.

  “Get out, Kenya.”

  I asked, “Do I have to?”

  Alonzo flashed me a smile. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s gonna be fine. We’ll have some fun and then I’ll get you home to your nerd brother.”

  I’d never thought I’d say such a thing, but at that moment I really missed Eric. I’d have given anything to touch his hand, hug his neck and tell him I loved him. He was corny, for sure. But he was my brother. And he loved me even when I didn’t deserve his love. I felt sad all of a sudden. Sad and lonely. Sad and alone.

  Alonzo’s voice boomed, “I’m not playing, Kenya. Get out.”

  I said, “This some kind of warehouse?” I was stalling as best I could.

  “This is a playground, Kenya. This is a place for Daddy and his little girl to play.” Alonzo laughed. It was a horror-movie laugh, one I figured I’d never forget.

  I asked, “And what about Fiasco?”

  Alonzo shrugged. “Two’s company, Kenya,” he said, “and three’s a crowd.”

  Eric

  “Get in, baby boy.”

  Mya pulls away from the curb down the street from my place before I can close the door all the way. I did the movie thing, stuffed pillows in my bed to approximate my size. If Mama checks in on me, hopefully she will be fooled.

  I say, “The Black Fonz scares me.”

  Mya says, “Who?”

  “Alonzo,” I answer.

  A cloud comes over her face. “He’s dangerous. He’s unstable.”

  “You noticed, too?”

  “I know,” Mya says. “I know.”

  “I saw him take two young girls in a room at the warehouse the other day. The room is marked PRIVATE. The way he touched them when he walked in behind them was terrible. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I even had dreams about it.”

  Mya says, “Old Spice.”

  I say, “What?”

  She looks at me. I suddenly realize that she’s crying. Her eyes look like fragile glass. I ask, “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head, bites her lip. “Alonzo was my mother’s boyfriend after my father died.”