Tight

by Torrey Maldonado

  “I like that comic.” His accent isn’t from here. He sounds Jamaican or something.

  “This?” I hand him my Fantastic Four comic.

  He takes it and looks through it mad quiet. He doesn’t look like he could be me or Mike’s brother, but his eyes are the way ours used to look when we spent hours hypnotized by comics.

  “Who would you be?” I ask.

  He looks at me, confused.

  “Like which of the Fantastic Four would you be?”

  “The Human Torch.” His accent isn’t Jamaican. I know because the lunch lady at school is Jamaican and they sound different.

  “Where you from? You sound like you speak another language.”

  “I’m African. From Kenya.”

  “Word? For real, for real?!”

  He looks at me like I’m clowning him.

  “Nah, I mean that’s wavy you African. I mean cool. You know this comic?” I shuffle through my stuff, then find it. “This is Black Panther. He’s African. Like you.”

  Kamau takes it into his hands. He doesn’t know Black Panther.

  He flips through it like he is in heaven.

  “Who would you be?” he asks me.

  “Who what?”

  He chuckles. “If you were a Fantastic Four.”

  “Oh. Like you. I’d be the Human Torch. Like, who else on that team is better, y’feel me?”

  Right now, I notice two things.

  First, this is the first time I hit it off with another kid about comics since me and Mike. Mad heads know comics, but they don’t get amped the way me and Mike get amped. Clicking with Kamau is rare: the way we jump straight into comics like this.

  The second thing I notice is that girl Melanie from my school is in here with her parents. They seem to be just dropping off some big, closed yellow envelope and chatting. I don’t know how long she’s been watching me with Kamau, but this time I can tell she’s happy with what she sees. She smiles and waves like it’s cool I’m being cool with Kamau.

  I wave back. This is way better than the last time she saw me and shot me a disgusted look like I was an idiot for being with Mike as he kept smacking James.

  If that’s not cool enough, me and Kamau go back to talking about how tight it’d be to fly above skyscrapers and shoot flames from our hands like Human Torch.

  “Flame on!” we say at the same time.

  “How hot do you think he gets?” Kamau asks.

  We geek out on that.

  Then I ask, “Do you think he could melt Colossus from X-Men?”

  We bug for a while on that.

  “Or that metal that makes up Wolverine’s claws and skeleton?” Kamau asks. “The same metal in Captain America’s shield, do you think he could melt that?”

  Man! Me and this dude have fun like me and Mike before Mike turned . . .

  “You moving out here?” I ask. I hope so.

  “No,” he says. “My parents want your mom to help us get an apartment in another neighborhood where my dad starts a job.”

  “Oh.” I try fronting like I’m not disappointed.

  “Anyways,” I bring the conversation back to the Human Torch. “What if Iceman from the X-Men and the Human Torch faced off? Who’d win?”

  He argues why Iceman has a good chance. Then he argues why the Human Torch might body Iceman.

  I’m just eating it up, listening to Kamau.

  When I pull some of my drawings of superheroes out of my folder, he gets hyped. He doesn’t draw but thinks I got skills.

  “How did you do this to Hulk’s chest?” He points.

  As I answer his question about how I got the shading right on the Hulk’s chest, Mike walks in, unfolds a metal chair, and just sits and listens to me and Kamau talk. No hi. He doesn’t say what’s up to me. He doesn’t introduce himself to Kamau. It is mad awkward. He just kind of sits on the edge of us and eavesdrops.

  Kamau looks weirded out and shoots me a look like, You know this guy?

  To make the vibe less awkward, I introduce them. “Kamau, this is Mike.”

  Mike says mad salty to Kamau, “I’m his brother.”

  Kamau reaches out to shake his hand.

  Mike just looks at it, sucks his teeth, and stares at the floor. “What’s good?”

  Me and Kamau try going back to what we were discussing but Mike is killing the vibe.

  Mike just sits there, staring at his kicks.

  Between sentences, me and Kamau keep looking over at Mike like, What’s up with him?

  Soon, Kamau’s parents come over.

  “Say good-bye to your friend,” his father says. “We are leaving.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Kamau tells me. He turns to his parents. “Are we coming back here?”

  “No.” His mother smiles. “We have everything we need. Everything will happen soon.”

  Kamau looks happy about that but disappointed me and him won’t see each other again.

  “Okay, Human Torch,” he calls me. “See you.”

  I call him that back. “Yeah, Human Torch, I’ll see you too.”

  I watch him and his parents leave Ma’s job, and as soon as they are out the door, Mike says, “Y’all sounded mad giddy and kiddy.” He mocks us, whining, “‘Okay, Human Torch.’” He lets out one fake laugh. “I felt like I was watching a chick flick and you two were breaking up.”

  I swear. If we weren’t at Ma’s job and she and her boss weren’t right there across the room, I’d snuff him.

  “You calling me soft?” I ask him.

  He chuckles. “My bad, Bryan. That’s foul of me. For real.” He looks sorry. Like he means it. “For real.”

  I chill a little and remember what Ava said about people who bug out not being all bad.

  Mike keeps on. “I’m just tight you flat left me at dismissal.”

  I relax some more. I feel myself deep-breathing.

  I decide to forget how he just acted and accept his apology.

  CHAPTER 24

  After dinner with Ava and Ma, Ma asks, “Would you both like a surprise?”

  Me and Ava nod, then look at each other, wondering what it could be.

  Ma goes to the shelves near the TV and reaches behind Ava’s and my framed elementary-school graduation photos. “What do you think is behind here?”

  Before me and Ava can guess, Ma whips out an envelope. “Your father wrote.”

  Ava tries to play all cool, but she should see her face. She’s lit.

  Me too! “What he say?”

  Ma sits between us and reads a little, then puts extra on his line, “Give the best daughter and son ever—Ava and Bryan—a big hug and kiss for me. Tell them to keep making me proud. And give them each their photo of me.”

  I lean in to see where my photo is in the envelope.

  Ma reaches in it and pulls ours out.

  Ava peeks at mine at the same time I peek at hers.

  She says, “I’m putting mine in my mirror,” and goes to her room.

  I sit with Ma.

  I want to tell her stuff but I don’t know where to start. I look at my kicks.

  “I’m glad Pa wrote,” I say.

  “Me too.”

  “So.”

  “So,” she says, smiling. “What’s up? What’s new?”

  “With?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Mike?”

  I suck my teeth. “Mike?”

  “Something happened with him?” Ma asks, real concerned. “I noticed he was acting a little funny at my office.”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I don’t know. He’s like two different people. Sometimes.”

  “How?”

  All of a sudden, my words knot in my throat.

  Ma sighs. “You know you can tell me anything. What’s wrong?”


  “Sometimes he really annoys me,” I say, starting to talk faster and faster. “He does stuff. Grimy stuff that makes me want to flip on him. One minute, he acts like boom. Then the next, he acts like whoa. He thinks I won’t, but I will. And—”

  “Are you mad at him?

  “Yeah.”

  “How mad?”

  “I don’t know. Mad-mad.”

  “How mad?”

  “Sometimes I want to punch him.” I look. She doesn’t react.

  I hold my fist up. “Like punch him in the face.”

  “First, don’t use the word mad. Animals get mad. Humans get angry,” Ma says. “Mike and you are like brothers. Friends get angry at each other. Brothers get really, really angry at each other. The way you feel is normal.”

  I hear that voice in my again. Yeah, your brother, whatever. Ma doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get what’s really going on.

  “I don’t want you fighting him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you getting physical with anyone.” Ma pauses, then continues real slow and serious. “When your father gets physical, what happens? Don’t answer. Think about it. Think about if he solves a problem or makes a problem bigger.”

  “Okay, I hear you. But then what do I do? If Mike makes me feel whoa again, I’m supposed to do nothing?”

  “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “Noooo. Uh-uh,” I tell Ma. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to him the next time something happens. I promise. Just don’t go talking to him because he’ll think I sent you and he’ll think I’m soft.”

  “Soft?”

  “Forget it!” I wave my hands. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  CHAPTER 25

  I kick it near the water fountain with Big Will. We talk Ms. Pac-Man strategy, and I notice Mike not too far off looking at me with a little frown and mean eyes.

  I give him a friendly nod and wave for him to come over, but he sucks his teeth and walks off.

  “What’s up with Mike?” Big Will asks.

  I shrug.

  “He looks tight that you’re hanging with me.”

  I look at Big Will like whoa, because that was my exact thought. “Well, he can be tight. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You should talk to him,” Big Will tells me.

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “Stop his mood from growing. Keep things cool with him.”

  I look at Big Will with this feeling I’ve felt before: He’s different, good different. Because me trying to talk to Mike is opposite of how a lot of guys would handle this. Big Will sees things differently, and I think he’s right.

  At lunchtime, I sit next to Mike.

  “When we train-surfing again?” he asks.

  “Whenever.” I want to train-surf but I feel two ways about it so I tell him, “I don’t want to cut school for it. And I don’t want to hop turnstiles.”

  I just want that rush, that release, again.

  He nods. “Sure. Let’s go Saturday. And it’ll be more fun if we bring someone else.”

  “How about Big Will?”

  “Nah.” He spits on the floor, sounding jealous.

  “C’mon,” I say, “he’s diesel. Anyone looking for trouble with us in other neighborhoods will back off.”

  “I just don’t like the idea of Big Will.”

  “Why not?”

  Mike shrugs. After a few seconds, he snaps his fingers. “I know exactly who to invite. This kid Kev.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The next day after school Mike introduces me to Kev. But he calls him “Little Kevin.”

  Mike points to me. “This is my brother Bryan.”

  “I know,” says Little Kevin.

  Little Kevin could not be more opposite of Big Will.

  Big Will is in sixth grade, like me, but passes for an eighth grader. Little Kevin is in sixth grade too, but looks like a fourth grader.

  Big Will’s hair has hair. Little Kevin? Does he even have eyebrows?

  When Mike cracks a joke, Little Kevin laughs like Mike is the funniest person alive. If Mike stands a certain way, Little Kevin copycats him. It’s mad annoying and reminds me of me when I first thought Mike was the man.

  Other ways that Big Will and Little Kevin are opposite: Big Will isn’t fazed by dip dudes rocking bling or pushing fat whips. When we talk and they roll by, Big Will’s eyes stay on me and he keeps up the conversation. Not Little Kevin. As me, him, and Mike talk, a real loud car drives up our block, blasting music and revving its motor. Yo, I swear, Mike and Little Kevin act like robots who had their same button pushed—they stop talking and become hypnotized by the car. And as soon as it disappears, they say the same thing. “That car was sick. Imagine that was ours.”

  Little Kevin hits Mike with a list of questions. “What would your rims look like? Would they spin backward? And what about your windows? Tinted like that SUV? Or darker because that’s wavier?”

  Ugh. Little Kevin’s voice comes out sounding as if he thinks Mike’s the biggest, smartest person ever and I sort of can’t stand it. Maybe because I know more about Mike now and know he’s not perfect.

  Mike reacts to Little Kevin like Mike is some superstar, giving an autograph to a thirsty fan. He puts his hand on Little Kevin’s shoulder like Little Kevin is dumb and needs to be schooled. “Rims would be flavor but super-dark tints don’t matter. What you first need is an ill sound system.”

  “Yeah but—” Little Kevin tries talking back.

  “But nothing,” Mike interrupts him.

  Little Kevin tries talking back again. “Yeah, but—”

  “BUT you don’t know.” Mike shuts him down again.

  I can tell Mike likes acting like he has all the answers and knows everything about everything.

  Finally, Little Kevin gets it and changes the subject. “So you told me about train-surfing. When you going train-surfing next?” he asks.

  “Soon,” Mike says, and gives Little Kevin that Steve Harvey fake-snake smile, which gives me a bad feeling about Little Kevin coming with us.

  CHAPTER 26

  On Tuesday, me and Mike run into Little Kevin near this brownstone building where some older swagged-out high school guys chill.

  “Watch this,” Mike says all braggy to Little Kevin.

  Mike calls to some of the guys, and they nod and wave back.

  I wish I could act out the way Little Kevin’s eyes pop when he sees that. “Wow! You know them?” he asks.

  Mike wraps an arm around Little Kevin, walks off, and tells him something like he’s sharing a secret. I bet he’s telling him how he’s down with them.

  I’m not about to bring Little Kevin to my apartment because I don’t know him well, so when Mike turns and says, “Let’s head to the pier,” I’m happy.

  Soon, we’re out of our projects, past the stadium’s handball courts, then at the piers. There, we dare each other to take off our kicks and walk in the water.

  Little Kevin tells Mike he can’t swim and asks him a million times, “How deep is it?”

  When Mike calls him soft, I get that bad feeling.

  Mike goes in on Little Kevin with the disses. Punk, butt, and other things.

  “I’ll do it,” Little Kevin tells Mike, “if you do.”

  I watch Little Kevin slowly step in that pier’s tide, and he’s so scared that he is almost crying. But he does it. He steps in for Mike.

  I feel sick to my stomach. I hate seeing how Little Kevin will follow Mike even when it makes no sense.

  “You coming in?” Mike asks me.

  “Nah,” I say, not expecting for that to boom out with so much bass. But it does. I guess my feelings show. “And I’m not soft
for not doing it.”

  I can swim. I just don’t feel like it. Maybe I don’t want to look like such a follower as Little Kevin, up behind Mike’s every move.

  I just stare at my kicks on solid ground, then at them two stepping deeper and deeper into the tide as the waves start pounding against their shins. Soon, they’re nearly knee deep. I watch Little Kevin fake-laughing.

  I watch, as serious as a heart attack.

  * * *

  • • •

  The next few days are the same when it comes to me, Mike, and Little Kevin. Mike calls the shots, Little Kevin is too thirsty to follow, and I stop caring that this is how it goes. Why? We do fun stuff, and nobody seems to get hurt. I’m, like, “whatever, whatever” and I’m cool with Mike’s ideas.

  I’m cool with our fun for another reason: Mike never goes back to the idea of us train-surfing. I’m thinking, He’s not mentioning it because he doesn’t want Little Kevin coming.

  Before, I just had a general bad feeling about Little Kevin train-surfing with us. Now I definitely don’t want him coming. The kid has no coordination. When we played handball, Little Kevin couldn’t even catch the handball, even when I slow-underhand it to him. So if he can’t catch, how will he stay gripping the outside of the train as it zooms faster than the fastest cars? Duh.

  He also fell down when we played tag. All Mike had to do was say, “You it,” and reach a little toward Little Kevin, and Little Kevin backed up and tripped. He tripped! Over his own feet! He fell straight on his butt. Come on. Someone who can’t run backward can train-surf? Nah.

  Plus, Little Kevin gets too shook too quick too. On Thursday morning, I surprised him as he went from one class to another in our crowded hall. I ran behind and yelled, “BOO!” and he almost jumped out of his body like the scariest-looking zombie in the most haunted house scared him. How is someone who gets that shook that fast ready to handle all that crazy scariness of hanging outside a train above a six-foot drop as the tracks blur under our feet while electricity sparks off the track? Nuh-uh.

  Then, on Thursday after school when we drop Little Kevin near his stoop, Mike whispers to us both, “Saturday, remember. Train-surfing.” Little Kevin gets mad hyped like he’s ready; I feel torn and get real quiet.