by Amir Abrams
I sobbed and cried and carried on so bad that the CO threatened to terminate my call if I didn’t calm down. They are so frickin’ heartless!
“Kennedy,” my mom said calmly. “Yes. I got it. And I chose not to write you back. Why? Because I will not become pen pals with my now delinquent daughter who chose to be disrespectful and to run the streets doing God knows what.”
I sniffle.
“You are my child. I could never hate you. I love you. But I am deeply hurt by your choices. And I’m saddened by the outcome. But you will have to stand by your choices. It’s your life. Not mine. It hurts me knowing that my only daughter is locked up like some criminal. But I have to remember that you are the one who put yourself there. Not me. Not your father. You. I am always going to love you because I carried you in my womb and brought you into this world. But I will never, ever, entertain this mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Your father will be there for you. But I will not. All I’ve done is prayed on it. And I stand by my words.”
Her words cut me deep. But she was right. I did this to myself. I allowed myself to get caught up in something I wasn’t ready for. And now I have to suffer the consequences.
“I-I-I-I have court tomorrow. Will you be there, please?”
She blows a breath into the phone. “I don’t know.”
Two COs escort me in through the side door of the courtroom. I spot my dad. And mom. My heart leaps. She actually came. But her body language makes it very clear: “I don’t want to be here.” I quickly cast my eyes downward to avoid her angry, hurt glare.
Still... I am happy she’s here.
I am on pins and needles as I take my seat. Every so often I glance over my shoulder at my parents. Dad looks weary. Like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Mom sits stone-still. Her expression is cold and hard. But her eyes are swollen and red. She’s been crying.
I did this to them.
“All rise!” the officer calls out.
As soon as the judge sweeps in, her robe swishing in back of her, she takes the bench. Glances around the courtroom then says, “I have a full calendar so let’s get right down to business, shall we?” She looks over at my attorney. “Counselor for the defendant, are you ready to proceed?”
He adjusts his navy blue tie and stands. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge shoots a scathing look over at me. “Miss Simms, do you understand the severity of your charges?”
I nod. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“And you understand the purpose of today’s court proceedings?”
“Yes.”
“Then why has the prosecutor informed me that you are not willing to cooperate with a plea agreement?” She peers over the rim of her glasses. “Counselor, have you not advised your client of the state’s desire for a waiver hearing to adult court?”
“Yes, Your Honor. My client’s been advised.”
I hear my mom in back of me, sobbing. I turn to look at her.
“Young lady, turn back around. Face forward. Don’t worry about what’s going on in back of you. What you need to be focused on is what’s happening right in front of you.”
The voices of Malik and Mercedes and Jordan and my dad and my attorney start playing over and over in my head.
“. . . unless you want to be considered a suspect in a murder investigation, I suggest you think long and hard on what your next move is going to be.”
“. . . I hate to be da one to serve you ya papers, but it’s like dis: Malik ain’t checkin’ for you, boo.”
“Understand this, young lady, your stupidity is what’s going to get you a prison sentence with double digits behind it, do you understand what I am saying to you? Your atrocious disregard for the law. And your ridiculous loyalty to some low-life is . . .”
“Whoever it is you are trying to protect, I hope they’re worth your freedom.”
“Im’a need you to ride dis out for me . . .”
“Anyone who is willing to let you take the fall for him isn’t worth loving.”
“You young girls are so desperate and starved for the wrong kind of attention. Here you have two parents who love you and provide you with the best of everything and that isn’t good enough. You silly girls will soon learn the hard way that the streets don’t give a hoot about you. And those boys hanging on the block instead of in the classroom with their pants hanging down off their butts are nothing but trouble. Whoever you are protecting has done nothing but use you . . .”
“It was a bet . . .”
“And you’re so blinded by what you think is love that you’re willing to throw your whole life away for nothing. Girls like you come a dime a dozen. And just like he’s manipulated you, he’ll manipulate the next girl. The only difference is, he’s out there. And you’re the one willing to do prison time for him . . .”
I swallow.
I can’t get waived up as an adult! I can’t do some long prison term. I’m not built for that. Mercedes and Sasha were right. I’m not about that life. I never was.
I just want to go home.
Snitches get stiches . . .
I don’t care!
I lean over and whisper in my lawyer’s ear. “I’ll take the plea. His name is Malik. Malik Evans.”
Epilogue
A month later...
“Simms,” the CO calls out, walking into the dayroom.
“Let’s go. You have a visitor.”
Ohmygod! They came! Jordan and Hope really came to see me!
My heart skips with the excitement of being able to finally see my two besties after so many weeks.
I finally received two letters from Jordan. And we’ve spoken on the phone twice. I’ve apologized profusely. And she says she’s forgiven me for the error of my ways. I know she was serious, but I couldn’t help but laugh at the way she said it, all business-like. “I just hope you’ve learned your lesson. And know not to ever put some boy or some hoochie before your real friends.”
“Yes, yes!” I said with tears filling my eyes. “I promise you. I have. I’ve been such a fool.”
“Uh, yes, you have. But who’s keeping track?”
I laughed. “I’ve missed our friendship so much. I’ve missed you!”
“Ditto,” she said, then started asking me a thousand questions about what it’s like being here. I told her I’d tell her all about it in my letter to her. Before we hung up, she promised to come see me during visits either today or tomorrow. She also told me how badly I hurt her when I chose Sasha, and Malik, and the streets, over her and Hope.
“But all is forgiven.”
I hope so.
I miss my friends.
I miss my family.
I miss my life.
I miss my freedom.
I’ve accepted a plea agreement. And pled guilty to lesser charges of possession. Under the terms of my agreement, my attorney is hoping the judge grants me two years’ probation since this is my first offense. Oh, and substance abuse treatment since my urine came back positive for marijuana. I don’t need to smoke that stuff anyway, so it’s fine. I told my attorney and the prosecutor everything about that night of the shooting. Told them the names of everyone I ever remembered Malik associating with. Even told them about what he’d done to that boy Shaheed after he tried to force himself on me.
And, truthfully, I felt relieved not having to hold all that in any longer. Sadly, I would have taken the weight for Malik. And what’s even more frightening is knowing that had he not turned his back on me, I would have kept protecting him. And he really would have let me.
Daddy was right. He’s a coward.
Anyway, I heard they raided his mother’s apartment and she and Mercedes were both arrested. And now Malik’s on the run. But now he’s the prime suspect for that murder. And when they find him, he’ll get what he has coming to him.
Hopefully.
I get up from the steel stool I’ve been sitting on for the last three hours, anxious to get inside the visiting area. The CO waits for the officer behin
d the thick Plexiglas in the control center to push the button for the door. There’s a loud buzz and the door finally clicks open. I step through the door, glancing around the room for Jordan and Hope.
They aren’t here.
I am speechless.
It’s Hazel Eyes.
He stands up, grinning. I walk over to him, shocked to see him. All eyes are on him. He’s wearing a white Gucci T-shirt with a pair of loose-fitting designer jeans that hang slightly off his narrow hips, but not enough to show his underwear. A Gucci belt keeps them from falling down. He looks so . . . fine!
He opens up his arms and gives me a hug. I fall into his embrace, breathing him in. And I can’t deny it. It feels good having his arms wrapped round me. A sense of calm rushes over me. I am happy to see him. And I tell him so. He hugs me tighter. And we stand like this for longer than we should because the CO has to tell us to take our seats.
I roll my eyes up in my head, annoyed that our moment has been snatched away.
“So what’s good wit’chu?” he wants to know, taking his seat directly across from me. “How you holdin’ up?”
I glance around the visiting area.
I do not belong here. I should not be here.
I want to tell him that I’m barely holding on. That there are days when I am ready to let go of the proverbial rope. That there are times when I really feel like giving up.
I pull in a breath, then slowly exhale.
“I’m holding on as best I can.”
He takes me in with his sparkling hazel eyes. “This is crazy, ma.” He shakes his head. “Seein’ you in here like dis.”
“So much for that whole good girl theory,” I say lightly. I half chuckle.
“Nah, you still a good girl. You just did some bad things. But dat ain’t you, Kennedy. You better than dis life. Always have been.”
I smile.
“I’m sayin’, though, you too fine to be up in here. This ain’t a good look for you.”
“I know.” I shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it now.” Subconsciously, I fidget with the hem of my shirt. The way he is sitting here looking at me as if he’s trying to see through me makes me I am suddenly feeling exposed. Naked.
Hazel Eyes seems different. In a way I wonder why I hadn’t noticed it before now.
“Yo, I know you gonna do wat you feel you gotta do, but you can’t go out like dis. I know whatever they say you did, you didn’t do it.”
I give him a strange look. “And how do you know that?”
He slowly shakes his head at me. “I already told you. ’Cause you’re one’a da good girls.”
I huff. “Yeah, right. Look at me. You do see where I’m at, right?”
“Doesn’t matter. You still gotta chance to make it right ’n’ get back on track.”
“Can we please change the subject? I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“Oh, a’ight. Cool.” He sits back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest and opening his legs. He shuts them. Then opens them again.
We sit silently for a moment.
“What’s ya favorite color?”
“Huh?” I say, giving him a confused look.
He smiles. “I’m changin’ da subject, remember?”
I nod.
“So what’s ya favorite color?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head at him. Tell him it’s pink.
He smiles. “Pink, huh? That figures.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s all girly.”
I pretend to be offended. “Whatever,” I say, laughing. Something I haven’t done in like . . . forever. And it feels good, really good. “I am a girl, silly.”
“True, true. A real pretty one at that.”
I shift in my seat. Swallow. Butterflies start to flutter in my stomach and I don’t know why.
“A’ight. So what’s ya sign?”
“Virgo.”
“Oh, a’ight. You got any pets?”
I laugh. “Ohmygod. How am I going to have pets when I’m locked up?”
He shakes his head. “I meant at home. Do you have any pets at home?”
“Are you really going to do this, here?”
He smirks. “Do what? Try to get to know you?”
“Oh. Is that what you’re doing? I thought you was just changing the subject.”
“Yeah, dat too. But, I’m sayin’ . . . we really didn’t get da chance to really build like I wanted.”
I look away from him.
“Yo, just because you dumped me for ole boy, dat doesn’t mean I still wasn’t feelin’ you.”
“I didn’t dump you,” I say softly. “We were never a couple.”
“Yeah, but we coulda been.”
Maybe we should have been and I wouldn’t be caught up in all this mess.
I see sadness in his eyes. Or at least that’s what I think I see. Maybe it’s what I want to see. Who knows? All I know is, I am so alone in this place.
And sad.
I want to tell him this. But I don’t.
He reaches over and grabs my hand. Then squeezes it before the CO tells him, “No touching.”
He quickly pulls his hand back, and I feel robbed of his touch.
I swallow. Lean in, then whisper, “I’m scared.”
He nods knowingly. “I know you are, ma. But you ain’t gotta do dis alone, a’ight?”
I blink back tears, nodding.
“Thanks, Blaze,” I finally say, fighting back the urge to cry. He grins. “Nah, it’s KeyShaun. I’m no longer blazin’.”
I give him a surprised look. “Oh. For real? Why?”
Hazel Eyes, I mean Blaze . . . no, KeyShaun . . . gives me an intense look. He gazes at me with eyes full of sincerity and says, “I got my eye on dis li’l hottie from da ’burbs so I’m tryna change my ways. You know I’m givin’ up dem bad ways for da good girl.”
He winks at me.
I shift in my seat. Sadness washes over me. “I’m going to be sentenced next week. There’s a chance I may not be coming home.”
“Yo, it’s all good. I’ma be here for you. I’ma write you e’ery week. And I’ma be up here to see you e’ery weekend until you get out, a’ight?”
I start to feel overwhelmed with emotions. I don’t know if I can trust him. But I don’t have any reason not to. I just don’t want to get used to him being here for me, then abandoning me, like Malik did.
He must sense my skepticism. “Listen. I ain’t dude, a’ight? I’m not gonna hurt you. Or try’n play you. I’m gonna be here wit’ you. Word to mother. I got you.”
All I can do is smile, and think, no matter what happens, I’ll be okay.
And for the first time in a very long time, I feel hopeful.
Finally, under dark swollen clouds, I am being led from the holding cell up to Juvenile Court. Today is the day. The day of reckoning. Judgment day. It’s been two months since my last court appearance. And today is my sentencing.
I take a deep breath as the correction officers lead me into the courtroom for what I hope to be the last time. I’ve been praying like crazy, hoping for the best, but expecting the worse.
Still... I am scared to death.
I see my parents. They are both sitting in the first row directly in back of me. Daddy has his arm draped around my mom. She pulls in her bottom lip, blinking back tears. Daddy gives me a pained smile.
I smile back as I take my seat at the wooden table beside my lawyer. I look across the room at the prosecutor, Ms. Swanson. She has her hair parted on the side, and pulled back into a chignon updo. She is flipping through her notepad, scribbling notes.
All about me, I’m sure.
I lower my head and say a prayer. My heart starts pounding as soon as we’re instructed to stand and the judge whisks into the courtroom and takes her seat on the bench. She wastes no time. She glances down at her folder, then looks up and scowls at me.
The prosecu
tor and my attorney go back and forth talking language that only lawyers and judges understand. I start zoning out. Nothing they are saying makes sense to me. At the end of everything, all I hear is my name, “Kennedy Simms . . .”
Please, God . . .
I close my eyes and cross my fingers as the judge rambles on about how I allowed my choices to destroy my life. And how I allowed myself to get caught up with the wrong crowd. And caught up with a boy who meant me no good. And that she is going to make an example out of me.
I swallow.
“Therefore, I hereby sentence you . . .”
My heart crashes against my chest.
“To three years in a juvenile correctional facility . . .”
My knees buckle.
I scream. “Noooooooooooooo! Pleeeeeeeeeease!! Nooooooo!”
The last thing I hear before everything fades to black is my mother cry out as the judge bangs her gavel.
And I faint.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
CAUGHT UP
Amir Abrams
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are intended to
enhance your group’s reading of
CAUGHT UP.
Discussion Questions
1.) Kennedy is a “good girl” who appears to have it all, but she seems willing to risk it all for a good time in the hood. Like Kennedy, there are lots of “good girls” from suburban areas who seem to have a fascination with the “hood” life and with dating “bad boys.” Why do you think this is so? Are you fascinated with “bad boys”? If so, why?
2.) What do you think of Kennedy’s friends, Hope and Jordan? They both have very strong negative beliefs about boys from the hood. Do you feel/think any of what they believe is valid?
3.) Why are so many young dudes from the hood viewed as high school dropouts, disrespectful, weed-smoking, pants-sagging “thugs” who either end up in jail, strung out on drugs, or dead? Do you believe/feel there is any truth to these stereotypes? Why or why not?