“Go ahead,” Sheila encouraged him. “Try it.”
M’Baku raised the cookie up to the light. After a long moment, he bit into it.
T’Challa, Zeke, and Sheila waited.
M’Baku nodded. “Not bad,” he finally said.
Sheila looked at Zeke with satisfaction.
T’Challa bit into his hamburger. He’d heard that the cafeteria food wasn’t very good, but he liked it because it was different from what he had at home—which was usually vegetables, lean meats, and grains. Here at South Side Middle School, they had hot dogs and hamburgers and lasagna and something called Jell-O, which he loved.
Zeke reached in one of his notebooks and pulled out a piece of paper, then slid it across the table. T’Challa picked it up and read:
After-School Activities
CHESS CLUB MEETING
4–5 p.m.
Study Hall Room 101
T’Challa grinned. His father had taught him how to play chess when he was five years old. He said it was a great tool to learn patience and strategic thinking. He looked up from the paper. “Did you sign up?” he asked Zeke.
“Yeah,” Zeke answered. “But I’m not that great.” He turned to M’Baku. “What about you, Marcus?”
M’Baku slid a spoonful of beans into his mouth.
“Marcus,” T’Challa said, elbowing him.
M’Baku raised his head, spoon still up to his mouth. “Oh,” he said, looking at T’Challa. “Yes. That’s me. Uh, what’s the question?”
Sheila and Zeke traded glances.
“I asked,” Zeke said slowly, “do you want to join the Chess Club?”
“No,” said M’Baku. “I don’t think so. I want to try basketball. I saw the Chicago Bulls on TV in Wakan—”
T’Challa sucked in a breath.
M’Baku eyed him quickly. “Um, on TV…yeah. I saw them on TV, and I want to give it a try.”
Zeke opened his mouth to speak, but T’Challa turned to the sound of loud voices. A slim, lanky figure approached the table—it was the boy who had stared at him in Phys. Ed. after he took down Mr. Blevins. He was the tallest boy T’Challa had ever seen. Two other boys were with him. One was small and wiry, like a slithering snake; the other was bigger than T’Challa, with muscles that strained beneath his shirt. All three of them had one thing in common: they did not have kind eyes, something his father said to always look for in a person.
The tall boy sauntered up to T’Challa. He wore low-slung pants tucked into brown boots. A silver ring displaying a skull glinted on his finger. He narrowed his eyes at T’Challa and M’Baku. “So you two from Africa?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
T’Challa eyed him. Best to remain friendly, he thought. “Yes,” he said. “We’re from Kenya.”
“Ever hunt any elephants or kill any tigers?”
M’Baku smirked. “We don’t hunt animals for fun,” he said.
The boy laughed, a deep rumble. His friends behind him followed his lead. “Well, what do you do, then?” he asked. “They have hip-hop over there?”
T’Challa had never heard the words before. “What is ‘hip-hop’?”
The group of boys burst into laughter. T’Challa was reminded of hyena howls he’d heard back home.
“Dude,” the tall boy said. “You don’t know hip-hop? West Side Posse? Killa Krew?”
T’Challa was still lost. He had no idea what the boy was talking about.
“They probably listen to more interesting music,” Zeke suggested. “You know. Like, African music?”
The tall boy’s eyes shifted to the small figure of Zeke. “Whatup, nerd? Where’s your coloring book?”
Zeke blew a breath through his nostrils. “They’re graphic novels,” he said, staring straight ahead and not meeting the tall boy’s eyes.
“Whatever,” the tall boy said. “We’re outta here. See you around, Africa.” He walked away the same way he had come, with a spring in his step and a cocky grin. His friends trailed behind him.
No one spoke for a moment.
“Who was that?” T’Challa finally asked.
“His name’s Gemini Jones,” Zeke said. “And he’s a real pain.”
“Sure is,” Sheila added.
Zeke glanced in the direction of Gemini and his friends at their table, set back way in the corner, away from everyone else. “People are afraid of him ’cause he says he’s a warlock.”
“A warlock?” T’Challa questioned.
“Yeah,” Sheila replied. “A male witch.”
“There’s no such thing as witches,” said M’Baku.
“Well,” said Zeke, “I just read a graphic novel called Hex and Wrex, and it’s all about warlocks.”
Sheila gave him a withering look. “Uh, that’s called fiction.”
“But truth is stranger than fiction,” Zeke said, and then, looking over the tops of his glasses, “Dun…dun…dun!”
Sheila closed her eyes.
“What about the other guys?” T’Challa asked. “Who are they?”
“The skinny guy’s Deshawn,” Sheila said, “and the big muscle-head dude calls himself…wait for it…Bicep.”
“Bicep?” T’Challa echoed.
“I know, right?” Sheila said.
M’Baku laughed.
“I’d keep away from them if I were you guys,” Zeke said. “They’re always picking fights and getting in trouble.”
But T’Challa wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t like the way Gemini Jones spoke to him. Who did he think he was?
But there was nothing he could do about it. He had to keep his identity secret. He rested his chin in his hands and sighed. “So,” he said. “What is hip-hop, anyway?”
Lunch hour passed quickly. T’Challa returned his tray and headed into the hallway with Zeke, Sheila, and M’Baku. A group of kids stood in a circle in the middle of the hall, staring at the floor.
M’Baku pointed. “What’s going on there?”
They walked the few short steps and T’Challa heard several voices mingled together:
What is it?
It’s freaking creepy, is what it is.
Who put it there?
T’Challa pushed through the crowd. At first he didn’t know what he was looking at. But as he drew closer, it became clearer. It was a bundle of small broken branches, held together by string and placed so that it stood upright, like a tripod for a camera.
“What in the name of Zeus is that?” Zeke asked.
“Some kind of nest?” Sheila ventured.
T’Challa stepped forward and bent down to get a closer look.
“Okay, okay,” a booming male voice called out. “Move it along.”
T’Challa stood back up. A teacher was pushing his way through the throng. The crowd broke up quickly, still murmuring.
“What do you think it is?” M’Baku asked.
T’Challa shrugged. “Something to do with Halloween?”
M’Baku shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. But we’re in America. There’s all kinds of weird stuff over here.”
T’Challa took another doubtful look at the weird object. “Yeah,” he said uneasily. “I guess so.”
The boys’ first weekend finally arrived, and they were eager to get out and explore the city. They’d seen next to nothing besides their school and the embassy since they’d landed in Chicago.
“Where do you want to go?” M’Baku asked, tying his sneakers.
T’Challa hesitated. “I don’t know. We should probably stay close, though, right?”
M’Baku let out an exasperated breath. “T’Challa, we can do anything we want! Who’s gonna know?”
T’Challa thought about that. There was a whole city to explore. Were they supposed to stay in their rooms the whole time they were going to be here? “You’re right,” he confessed. “Let’s do it.”
But in the back of his mind, he heard his father’s voice, loud and clear:
I have many enemies. And I will not have them know of your whereabouts.
T’Challa tapped his bus card against the reader, and M’Baku did the same.
“No forests to run through here,” T’Challa said, once they’d found seats. He peered through the window. The Willis Tower loomed skyward, a blinking red light at the very top.
“We should go up there,” M’Baku suggested. “I could spit, and we could see how far it goes.”
“Yeah,” T’Challa said in mock sincerity. “That would be completely fascinating.”
The bus heaved its way down the street, stopping and starting with a lurch, and letting passengers off and on. T’Challa thought of home again. He needed to call his father.
“You know what Chicago has that we don’t back home?” M’Baku asked, interrupting T’Challa’s thoughts.
“What?”
M’Baku smiled, showing every one of his bright white teeth. “Pizza!”
Twenty minutes later, M’Baku wiped pizza grease from his lips and reached for another slice.
“That’s your third, isn’t it?” T’Challa asked.
M’Baku held up four fingers with his free hand.
The pizza place was called Antonio’s, and they had picked it at random because there were so many to choose from.
T’Challa bit into his slice of pepperoni. “It’s good,” he said.
“Mmmmggg,” grunted M’Baku.
T’Challa glanced around the restaurant. It felt strange to him. Most of the people were white, which was something he wasn’t used to. Wakanda was an African country, and the people he grew up with were black. He was reminded of Hunter, and how he was looked at in Wakanda.
“Uh-oh,” moaned M’Baku, his mouth full of pizza.
The door closed and three boys walked in.
It was Gemini Jones and his friends.
M’Baku slumped down in his seat a little. T’Challa did not.
“Let me get a slice of pepperoni,” Gemini demanded from the man at the register. His two friends, Deshawn and Bicep, ordered something called “subs.”
T’Challa swallowed his last bit of pizza right when Gemini turned around from the counter. Their eyes met. “Oh snap!” Gemini said. “It’s Africa. Whatup, Africa?”
T’Challa didn’t know what to say.
Gemini sauntered over, just like he had in the cafeteria. His friends tagged along behind him. He leaned in and rested his fingertips on the table. T’Challa noticed the ring again—a gleaming silver skull.
People are afraid of him because he says he’s a warlock.
“Mind if we sit here?” Gemini said, and then slid in next to M’Baku, who barely had time to scrunch himself toward the window side of the booth. Deshawn scooted in next to Gemini, and Bicep sat next to T’Challa. The server brought their food and left quickly. T’Challa noticed that Deshawn and Bicep also sported skull rings.
“They got pizza in Africa?” Gemini asked, biting into his slice.
“No,” said T’Challa.
Gemini chewed and nodded at the same time. Deshawn and Bicep said nothing, just stared at M’Baku and T’Challa like they were aliens from another planet. “In Chi Town, we do pizza all the time,” Gemini boasted.
T’Challa didn’t say anything. He was curious as to why Gemini and his friends decided to sit with them. It was a power play, he knew that much.
“You know,” Gemini continued, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m not that good with the fancy wrestling, but you know what I am good at?”
“No,” T’Challa answered.
“Arm wrestling. Wanna go?”
“Go where?” T’Challa replied.
Gemini leaned back. He nodded his head a few times. “You’re a funny dude, Africa. C’mon. Arm-wrestle me. Loser buys a whole pie.”
M’Baku looked at T’Challa and raised an eyebrow. T’Challa picked up a napkin and wiped his hands. “All right, if you really want to.”
“Uh-oh,” Deshawn and Bicep both said, and then looked at each other with annoyed faces.
Napkins and plates were quickly moved. T’Challa rested his right elbow on the table. He and M’Baku used to arm-wrestle all the time when they were kids. Truth be told, T’Challa wasn’t great at it, but Gemini’s skinny arm didn’t look too intimidating.
Gemini rubbed his hands together and then placed his elbow on the table. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
The boys clasped hands.
T’Challa stared at Gemini. He had the whisper of a little fuzz on his upper lip, and T’Challa imagined him standing in front of the mirror every morning trying to brush it.
“One,” said Deshawn.
“Two,” added Bicep.
There was a moment of silence. They turned to look at M’Baku.
“Three,” he said.
Both boys leaned into the table. Gemini’s grip was like a vise. The skull ring on his finger stood out and rubbed T’Challa’s pinky finger.
“C’mon, Gemini,” Deshawn encouraged him.
M’Baku looked at T’Challa. They didn’t have to speak. M’Baku just gave him a curious tilt of the head, as if to say: You gonna let this guy beat you?
T’Challa breathed out and pushed himself further. His hand suddenly felt slick, and he didn’t know if it was from the pizza grease or sweat. Both boys’ elbows pivoted a little on the table.
Gemini was leaning in, and T’Challa felt the whole weight of his upper body trying to bend him to his will.
“Not bad, Africa,” Gemini said, his voice straining.
My name’s not Africa, T’Challa wanted to say. It’s T’Challa, Prince of Wakanda.
Bang!
Gemini’s knuckles hit the table.
T’Challa released his grip.
No one spoke.
Deshawn and Bicep looked at Gemini warily, waiting.
Gemini shook his wrist and flexed his fingers. “Took you long enough,” he said lazily. “I could’ve gone longer, but got tired. Next time, bro.”
He got up, and his friends rose with him, grabbing their half-eaten food. They seemed to follow his every lead.
“Hey,” M’Baku called. “You owe us a pizza.”
Gemini stopped midstep and turned around.
T’Challa grinned.
“I got your pizza right here,” Gemini said, and made a rude gesture.
The door slammed shut, as Gemini and his friends left the pizza shop.
“I guess that’s what you’d call a sore loser,” M’Baku said a short time later.
The bus doors hissed open to let on more passengers.
“I know,” said T’Challa. “Did you see the look on his face?”
M’Baku made a fake tough-guy face, scowling and tightening his lips.
“What’s wrong with those guys?” T’Challa asked.
“I don’t know,” said M’Baku. “I think they’re all bark and no bite.”
“They all have the same ring. A silver skull. Did you see it?”
“Yup,” M’Baku replied. “I guess all the warlocks wear them.”
T’Challa grinned.
The bus made its way down Michigan Avenue. They weren’t ready to go back to the embassy yet, so they decided to just ride for a while and take in some sights. Plus, they were both stuffed from pizza and needed a break.
T’Challa let his thoughts drift. He thought of Hunter, and how he and Gemini Jones were similar—always wanting to challenge people. Why? Maybe deep down inside they were both really insecure, and had to put on a show to appear tough. Whatever the reason, T’Challa thought it was a little sad.
He looked out the window. Beyond the wide sidewalk, crowds of people milled about in a park of some sort. One building stood out from the others and reminded him of home. Its surface was all steel or iron, with curved, polished sheets that created a fanciful design. “Let’s check this out,” he said.
“What?” asked M’Baku.
“Over there.” T’Challa pointed. “In the park.”
&nb
sp; T’Challa pulled the cable for the next stop and then grinned at M’Baku, as if to prove he was city-smart.
They got off and crossed the street. The smell of roasting meat made T’Challa’s mouth water, but his stomach was full.
“What’s a gyro?” M’Baku asked, looking at the sign on a parked truck. Other trucks were parked next to it, all selling food of some sort. Mingled aromas rose in the cold air.
“Don’t know,” T’Challa answered.
Sure enough, M’Baku just had to find out.
“Mmm,” he moaned a minute later, angling his head to take another bite. Juice ran down his arms and onto his coat. “Tastes like chicken.”
T’Challa turned and took in the sights around him. Street preachers, jugglers, drummers, and more all competed for space.
They headed toward the largest crowd. Several people were gathered around an object of some sort. They nudged their way through. T’Challa saw glints of metal, sparkling in the cold sunlight. “Interesting,” he said.
A massive metal sculpture stood in front of them, its mirrored surface reflecting the people gathered around it.
“Is it an egg?” M’Baku asked.
“Some kind of bean,” suggested T’Challa.
“They call it Cloud Gate,” a voice spoke up.
T’Challa spun around.
He froze.
The man was familiar, even though he’d only seen him from a distance. It was the same man he saw that first day when they’d caught the bus to school. Now that he was closer, T’Challa noticed a scar on his cheek. Most curious of all was an eyepatch, placed over his left eye.
“But tourists call it the Bean,” the man said.
T’Challa and M’Baku eyed each other.
“First time in Chicago?” the man asked.
“Uh, yeah,” M’Baku answered.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the chattering of tourists.
“C’mon, Marcus,” T’Challa said. “We need to go. Remember?”
M’Baku took the hint, and both boys turned around and headed in the opposite direction.
“Who was that?” M’Baku asked, once they were a fair distance away.
“I don’t know,” T’Challa replied. “But I’ve seen him before. I think he may be following us.”
The bus hit a pothole and both boys bounced in their seats. It was getting a little darker now, although it was only four in the afternoon. T’Challa looked out at Lake Michigan. Small waves crashed against massive rocks along the beachfront. Gray clouds moved across the sky, threatening rain. A small boat in the distance rocked unsteadily in the water, and T’Challa wondered why someone would be out there in such cold weather.
Black Panther Page 5