Kenny Wright

by James Patterson

  “Ray-Ray, hold up,” I say. “That ain’t it.”

  But he’s already running. There’s a bus on the curb just up the street. Ray-Ray jumps on the back, grabs hold, and hitches a ride.

  “Stop buggin’ out!” I yell at him. “You’re acting like a real punk right now!” Which is probably the wrong thing to say.

  That’s when Ray-Ray looks over at me and ice-grills me again. The problem is, that bus is about to take a corner, and Ray-Ray’s too busy squinting his eyes, trying to shoot hot laser beams at me like Cyclops or something. I wish he’d kept his eyes on the bus.

  He takes one hand off the back and does something real rude with it just as the bus swings around that corner. Ray-Ray loses his grip.

  When he falls, it’s like slow motion. All I can do is watch while he goes down—and hits the street. Hard. His head bangs into the concrete, and it sounds like someone hitting a pumpkin with a hammer. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sound.

  After that, Ray-Ray’s out. Like a light.

  I USED RAY-RAY’S phone to call 911. Then G-ma. Then Nicky, but he didn’t pick up, so I left a message.

  Now I’m at the hospital with G-ma, and we’re waiting to find out if Ray-Ray has to spend the night, or needs a new skull, or will spend the rest of his life sucking burgers through a straw. So far, there’s no sign of Nicky at all.

  G-ma’s talking to the people at the desk while I’m sitting here waiting…and waiting…and waiting. No wonder they call it the waiting room, ’cause that’s all that happens here. I didn’t bring a book, plus I only have one game for my PS Vita—but I can’t concentrate on anything anyway.

  I hate this place. There’s sick people everywhere. Some of them have broken bones. Some of them are lying on stretchers. And maybe you don’t see it, but you just know there’s dead people around here somewhere, peeping around corners and stuff. I mean, seriously, does anyone like hospitals?

  The other thing is, this is the hospital where my dad died. It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t here when it happened. But that doesn’t stop G-ma from treating me like a baby. She keeps asking if I want to go to my aunt Nina’s while she gets this figured out.

  The thing is, I want to be here. It’s not like what happened to Ray-Ray is my fault—but it’s not exactly not my fault, either. If I’m lucky, banging that big wrecking ball of his on the concrete gave him amnesia. Maybe he’ll forget he was ever mad at me in the first place.

  Finally, G-ma brings over some visitor passes and I follow her down the hall. They’ve got Ray-Ray in one of those little rooms with curtains for walls, and his head is wrapped up with about a mile of white bandages. He looks like a human Q-tip, but I don’t say so.

  Ray-Ray stares at me for a second, like he can’t decide if he’s still mad, or what.

  “We cool?” I ask him.

  He just shrugs, but I think he means yes. “Did anyone call my brother?” he asks.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, dear,” G-ma says, and touches his cheek like she does with mine sometimes. “How are you feeling?”

  He drops the obvious. “My head hurts.”

  That cracks me up. I can’t help it, but it’s okay, because then Ray-Ray starts laughing, too. The only one who doesn’t even smile is G-ma.

  “Buses aren’t toys, Raymond,” she says. “You have to make better decisions from now on, baby. Next time you might not be so lucky. Walk away with the good sense God gave you. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ray-Ray says, even though he’s still cheesing over at me.

  “What were you two doing outside, anyway?” G-ma asks. “Why weren’t you having chess club today?”

  And I’m like, Oh, great. I got things smoothed over with Ray-Ray about half a second ago, and I’m already running into another lie.

  “It’s not chess club,” I tell her. “It’s just chess.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” G-ma says.

  She’s got her back to Ray-Ray, and he’s watching me like TV. He’s not snitching me out about the deal with Dr. Yetty, but he’s not helping out, either. So maybe he’s still a little mad.

  Then before I can mess things up any more, I get a lucky break. That curtain pulls back, and Nicky Powell is standing there.

  “What’s up, baby bruh?” Nicky says. “You good?”

  Ray-Ray sits up a little straighter. “I’m cool,” he says. “I’ll bounce right back. You know me, Nick.”

  “No doubt,” Nicky says, and starts to give him a pound and a hug.

  “Ouch!” Ray-Ray says.

  Meanwhile, G-ma’s staring at Nicky like she’s thinking, Where the heck have you been? But she keeps it polite.

  “You must be Raymond’s brother,” she says. “I’m Hope Wright. And this is my grandson—”

  “Chess Man!” Nicky says, and shakes my hand while G-ma looks surprised that Nicky shows me some love.

  “Do you two know each other?” G-ma says.

  Well, you know that expression—out of the frying pan and into the fire? That’s me. Pants on fire. Engulfed in flames. Total cremation.

  Before Nicky can jump in, I answer real quick. “Nicky picks Ray-Ray up at school sometimes,” I say. “That’s all.”

  I can’t even look at Ray-Ray right now. If G-ma finds out I went riding with Nicky and Trayvon that day, I’m going to be the next one checking into the hospital.

  Seriously, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. So I make a promise to myself, right there. No more lying to G-ma. Well…no more new lies, anyway. I can’t undo all the old ones yet. Not without starting World War III.

  But no new ones. I’m putting that on everything. I’m going to change. That’s my word.

  I just hope I’m telling myself the truth right now.

  I always want to do right, but you know…for whatever reason…it doesn’t turn out that way.

  WHEN WE LEAVE the hospital, we don’t even go home. We head straight over to St. Anthony’s Church for an emergency neighborhood meeting.

  Word’s gotten around about Dr. Yetty, and I guess that was the last straw. This whole action thing with the big march and the rally is going on ahead of schedule—like tomorrow.

  And that means I’ve got less than twenty-four hours to figure out what I’m going to say in front of all those people.

  “Look who it is—our student ambassador!” Mrs. Clark says when we come in. A bunch of people start clapping again, and I’m thinking they should save all that for someone who deserves it.

  “I know it’s last-minute,” G-ma tells me, “so you don’t have to speak at the rally if you don’t want to.”

  “Yes he does!” voices that I recognize yell out. It’s Vashon and Dele.

  “Kenny really has a lot to say. He’s smart. I know he’ll say what we all want to hear,” Vashon vouches for me.

  Dele turns to me and says, “You’ll be our voice, bro. The students.”

  That just blows me away. They both give me a pound and a pat on the back. It’s kind of weird, but really cool at the same time. You know? They’re looking at me like I could be some sort of savior. I wouldn’t go that far, but hearing them have my back really puts a little more pressure on the situation.

  But here’s the weird thing. It makes me want to do the speech even more. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m still as scared as a dude standing at the doorstep of a cute girl’s house when her gigantic father answers the door gritting his teeth and growling like a pit bull.

  But I feel like I owe G-ma big-time, after all the lying and everything. This is my chance to get it right. I feel like the kids at UMS are depending on me. And even though she didn’t say so, Dr. Yetty needs me to say something important. I have to get to work.

  The good news is, they got a bunch of pizza for the meeting, and I’m starving. G-ma tells me to grab some food and go find a quiet spot to “gather my thoughts.”

  So that’s what I do. I wind up in the churchy part of the church. You know, where the M
other’s Board sits, right across from the pulpit and the choir stand.

  I don’t know if you’re supposed to eat pizza in here, but hopefully God won’t mind. It’s hard to pray on an empty stomach, and I figure a prayer or two couldn’t hurt right about now. Because I need some answers.

  Like about what I’m going to say tomorrow.

  And how I’m going to stop lying to G-ma for real.

  And make Arthur my best friend again.

  And make sure Ray-Ray’s okay, too.

  I can’t help it. All these thoughts are running through my head all at once. It’s like a traffic jam in my brain.

  And that’s when I hear this voice out of nowhere—

  No kidding, I’m like, God? I’m also thinking God’s a lady, because she sounds a whole lot like Dr. Yetty. (But you’re already way ahead of me on this, aren’t you?)

  I turn around and there she is, standing behind me with a paper plate and a piece of pizza. Seriously, nobody can sneak into a room like Dr. Yetty James.

  “I just saw your grandma,” she says. “Sounds like you had a rough day.”

  “Not as rough as Ray-Ray,” I say, and she comes over to sit down.

  “Are you ever coming back to UMS?” I ask her, straight up.

  She gives me a straight-up answer. “I’m sorry, Kenny, but it’s not my choice.”

  “Are you coming to the big thing tomorrow?” I ask.

  But she just shakes her head. “I don’t think it would be appropriate. That’s why I’m here tonight. I want to help however I can.”

  “Well, I want to give a good speech,” I say. “And most of all…I want to help bring you back to UMS. Your school.”

  Her eyes get a little misty. Just a little, as she smiles at me like she’s looking at Steel. And it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her speechless. I think she knows I mean what I say.

  “What have you got so far?” she asks me.

  I look down at my notebook. All I have on the page are a couple of pepperoni-scented grease stains.

  “Not too sure how I should set it off,” I say. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to put all these thoughts in my head on paper.”

  I feel like turning my head sideways, tapping it, and watching every single word fall gently on my notebook—in my best handwriting ever. But that ain’t gonna happen.

  “Maybe that’s the wrong question,” Dr. Yetty says. “Forget about supposed to. What do you want to say, Kenny?”

  I think about that for a second.

  And then she says something that sparks me.

  “Do you remember, in the second week of my history class, when we discussed Dr. King’s address to the Montgomery Improvement Association? 1955?”

  See, everyone always mentions the “I Have a Dream” speech, which was a big deal. But they never give any love to the speech that started it all. “You know it,” I told her. “It was his first major speech. Like this one is for me.”

  “Yes, and rumor has it that he only had twenty minutes to prepare it. He spoke from the heart. He spoke for those people just fighting for human rights. He spoke for the people.”

  “G-ma says I should tell my own story,” I say. “And my story is—I guess, a part of everyone else’s story who lives here.”

  Dr. Yetty smiles. “You can’t go wrong there,” she says. “If you speak from the heart, it’s always true.” She hands me a napkin to wipe the trail of grease from my chin and adds, “What Dr. King was most concerned about in that speech was what he could say to keep the people courageous and prepared for a positive outcome. You have to speak a positive outcome into existence, Kenny.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy,” I say. “To keep it real—I’m pretty scared about the whole thing. You know?”

  She takes a bite of pizza and doesn’t answer at first. Then she says, “There’s an expression I love. It says, ‘Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes.’ So let it shake, Kenny. That’s okay. Sometimes courage feels a whole lot like being scared.”

  I like that. Dr. Yetty doesn’t try to pretend things are different than they are. She doesn’t sugarcoat stuff, either, that’s for sure.

  But I’m also starting to figure out exactly what I want to say tomorrow.

  Hopefully. Positive, positive outcomes.

  THE NEXT DAY after school is crazy! They have signs pointing the way when we get out for the day, and parents are herding kids over to the start of the march. There are police along the road and news cameras getting ready to film the whole thing.

  I see Arthur in the crowd and tap him on the shoulder.

  “You want to walk over there together?” I say.

  And he’s like, “I’ll just see you there,” which is what I said to him on the way to that field trip. I guess I deserve that.

  When we get to the corner of MLK Ave (which is kinda poetic, seeing how I just had that conversation about speeches and stuff with Dr. Yetty) and Good Hope Road, it’s all blocked off and there’s people everywhere. Not just from my school, but all over. I don’t recognize half of them. This thing’s gonna be huge.

  G-ma actually gets the whole thing going. When everyone’s lined up and holding on to their signs, and ready to march, she stands up on the bumper of a car with this big old bullhorn, while Vashon’s dad and I hold her steady. She’s so small up there, she looks like a little hood ornament—but a mighty hood ornament. She looks like Sojourner Truth or Shirley Chisholm. But it’s my grandmother.

  My grandmother.

  Once she gets that bullhorn going, she sounds huge.

  “WHAT DO WE WANT?” G-ma says.

  “Great schools!” a bunch of people say back.

  “WHAT DO WE WANT?” G-ma says again.

  “GREAT SCHOOLS!” a whole lot more people say, all at the same time.

  “AND WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”

  “Now!” everyone says.

  “WHEN DO WE WANT IT?” G-ma yells.

  “NOW!” they say.

  The crowd is fired up. I’m shouting, too. It feels good to let off some steam, even if it all seems kind of unrealistic. I mean, I don’t know how GREAT Union Middle School is ever going to get—and I definitely don’t think it’s going to happen NOW.

  But I’ll tell you what else. Once all those people—all of us—start marching up MLK Ave, it feels like we can do anything.

  BY THE TIME we get to the school, people are fired UP! They’ve got a podium on the steps, and a microphone with a real sound system, and everything.

  The mayor gets his picture taken with a bunch of kids, but I’m too nervous for that. Plus, I don’t know if I’d want to do that anyway. I’m sure he’s a cool dude, but would he come by and take a picture with us, have lunch, and shake our hands if we weren’t marching? I’m just saying.

  They want me to talk first, and maybe that’s a good thing. I just need to get this over with.

  Pretty soon, Mrs. Clark gets up and introduces me and tells everyone that I’d like to say a few words.

  Really? I’m not so sure about that. More like I’d like to not have a kindergarten flashback to when I peed all down my leg during a Christmas play. (I made a big enough puddle for Lawona Bigelow to slip and fall into the front row.) I’m that kind of scared. But it’s too late to back out.

  Next thing I know, I’m walking up to that podium and facing off with the biggest crowd of people you’ve ever seen.

  “Um…hi,” I say into the mike, and my voice booms out, all the way to Virginia. My heart’s ready to explode, and my throat’s as dry as some of Ray-Ray’s jokes. Also, my mind’s a total blank. I can’t remember what I want to say!

  But then I remember that greasy piece of notebook paper in my back pocket, and I pull it out. My whole speech is right there. I think about how Dr. King must have felt when he addressed that crowd in 1955.

  I take a deep breath. Swallow hard. And start to talk.

  “I just want to say…Dr. Yetty is the best principal I’ve ever had,” I
tell everyone. “Don’t we deserve to have a good principal? Don’t we?! Just one? Not a new one every year. It’s called consistency, or something like that, right?”

  The crowd roars, “YEAH!” and “YOU TELL ’EM, LITTLE BROTHA!” Some people even cheer and applaud, too. And G-ma’s smiling at me from the front row like I’m the next Stokely Carmichael or something (look him up).

  But I’m just getting started. It’s time for me to do what I came here to do.

  Time to tell the truth.

  “Dr. Yetty took a chance on me,” I say. “When she could have given me a suspension, she told me I could teach chess instead.”

  A couple of people clap at that, but nobody cheers. G-ma’s not exactly smiling anymore, either. I can’t even look at her now. So I look around for Arthur, Dele, and Vashon instead, and I keep on talking.

  “I’m not perfect and I haven’t been a perfect friend or grandson, but I’m getting better at that. I’m working on all of that. Really. I want to be someone they can rely on. I’d also like to tell my grandma the truth a little more often.”

  I decide to get back on track a little after a few people in the front look at me sideways. “But you know who else could do better?” I ask the crowd.

  And they respond with a loud “WHO!?!”

  And I say, “The people who run our schools!” That gets another giant cheer.

  “You’re supposed to stand by your friends and do right by your family. I didn’t do that for a little while. Just like the district people. They need to stand by our school, all of the schools. They need to do right by us kids, do right by our families and our whole community!”

  More people are applauding now. I see Arthur off to the side, and he isn’t clapping, but he’s listening, anyway. And even though G-ma’s steaming away, right there in the front row, I feel like someone’s lifting weights off me, ten pounds at a time. I’m about ready to take off like a balloon.

  I’m almost done, too.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how many principals I’ve had ever since I’ve been in school. Not-so-good ones. Bad ones. You name it. But when we finally get one that fits, a perfect fit, they snatch her away. Y’all know that’s not right,” I say before I yank the mike off the stand and begin to walk around. “Not only is it not right—it ain’t right!”