Hold Me Down

by Calvin Slater

  “Hello, are you in there, Xavier?” Samantha asked, playfully rapping on the side of his head.

  Xavier was irritated when he turned back to Samantha. “Sam, cut it out!”

  He had broken a cardinal rule of never taking his eyes off the enemy. He looked back in the sucka’s direction but he wasn’t there—it was like he had vanished into thin air.

  Samantha snapped, “What rude bug has crawled up in you?”

  He collected his breath and let out a much-needed sigh of relief. “I’m sorry, Sam. I just have a lot of things to deal with.”

  “Like somebody spray painting ‘snitches get stitches’ on your hall locker.”

  Xavier ran a hand down his face in frustration. “Boy, I swear there’s some big-mouth folks up in this piece. Sam, can we not talk about that now and—”

  He was cut off by Brenda Sanders stomping up to his table with an attitude.

  “Xavier, me and you need to talk,” she said, rolling her neck in Samantha’s direction. Brenda was wearing what looked to be a weave ponytail, an oversize sweatshirt and jeans, and some type of cheap-looking leather shoes.

  Samantha was the first to put her in check. “We would appreciate it if you could have a little more class in approaching us.”

  Brenda threw up the “talk to the hand” gesture at Samantha, popped her lips sarcastically and rolled her neck dismissively. “Whatever.” She looked at Xavier. “Anyway, Xavier, we need to talk about our baby.” She pulled her sweater tight, to show off her swollen belly.

  Samantha was stunned, like she’d been hit by a semi. She’d heard the girl right the first time, but disbelief made her ask, “Did you say baby?”

  Xavier jumped up defensively. “Sam, don’t listen to this little hood rat! She already got one baby and don’t know who the daddy is.” He said to Brenda, “You better go find one of those suckas you’ve been hanging out with and quit playing with me.”

  “So what if I have one baby. What does that have to do with you?”

  “That makes you a hood rat. You better go find both of your baby daddies and leave me the hell alone.”

  “So now I’m easy and a hood rat? You wasn’t saying that when you was with me seven months ago,” Brenda shouted, stepping to Xavier and pointing in his face. “You ’member that time on my couch?”

  Xavier didn’t want to but he was forced to grab her finger and push it away. The look on his face said he meant business.

  Aggression was in his words when Xavier checked her. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Brenda. You don’t have my baby in your belly—don’t care what you say! Now get your little rat behind away from me!”

  Heeding the anger in Xavier’s words and eyes, Brenda began backing up, still talking junk. “You ain’t gonna dog me out like I’m some jump-off, Xavier. You will take care of me and mine—because don’t forget: Snitches get stitches.”

  Now Xavier was really fuming. He clenched his jaw and said in a low, menacing voice, “You have anything to do with writing that on my locker?”

  At Xavier’s sinister tone, Brenda quickly said, “No.”

  Xavier could be a bastard when he wanted to, a real hard case to deal with, and Brenda didn’t want any part of him when he was like that. She walked away but yelled over her shoulder, “You haven’t heard the last of me!”

  Xavier wiped the saliva from his mouth and was trying to get his anger under control. He couldn’t care less about the audience that had gathered around him to witness his fiery exchange with what could potentially be his baby mama. Yeah, he remembered smashing Brenda seven months ago. Right after things went horribly wrong at that Italian restaurant where over dinner Samantha had gotten the bright idea to blend their families. Samantha had sided with her parents and broke it off with Xavier that night. The madness had him stressed out and he needed a way to deal with the drama, so after leaving the restaurant, he’d hailed a cab and gone to visit Brenda Sanders. The same chick who was now claiming to have his bun in her oven.

  The lunchroom was buzzing like a beehive with chatter about the drama unfolding. Xavier didn’t have to wait long. Samantha put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

  With tears in her eyes, she folded her arms and demanded, “You have five minutes to explain to me what the hell she was talking about, Xavier Hunter.”

  Oh no she didn’t call me by my government name, Xavier thought. He prided himself on truthfulness. Xavier might’ve been a lot of things but he was no liar.

  So with a straight face he told the truth. “I’m not saying that this was a good excuse to do what I did, but you put a lot of pressure on me that night at the Italian restaurant and I cracked.”

  Tears fell down Samantha’s face, but somehow she remained calm. “This is a good one—textbook. My boyfriend is having a baby by a hood rat and he’s standing in my face blaming me.”

  “The night you put that dinner together, you knew our families didn’t like each other. I told you then it was a bad idea. But you just had to do things your way, which almost led to our folks fighting one another. Yeah, I left the restaurant that evening angry and went over to Brenda’s.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  Xavier bit his bottom lip and swallowed hard. “Yes, I did, but the baby ain’t mine. I swear the rat has been sleeping around.”

  “Stop. Do you know how stupid you sound?”

  Samantha couldn’t listen anymore. Xavier was surprised when she pushed him out of the way and tried to walk off. He grabbed her by the shoulder and Samantha slapped away Xavier’s hand.

  She turned around. “Get your damn hand off me, Xavier!”

  He tried to plead his case. “Samantha, it was a mistake but—”

  She clapped her hands in his face, sarcastically applauding him. “I commend you for telling the truth, Xavier. Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower. Let me tell you what a mistake is: It’s when you go to the store to buy a certain brand of bread and you come back with another. It’s when you are taking a test and you know the answer to a certain question but write the wrong answer down instead. Those are mistakes. So you’re telling me that anger was the responsible party for you betraying me and sleeping with the hood rat? That’s what led to this ‘mistake’?”

  Xavier couldn’t say anything. Hell, if the roles had been reversed, and it was her trying to talk her way out of it, he wouldn’t believe Samantha. He would tally it up as a weak lie and then tell her to go kick rocks wearing open-toed sandals.

  Like someone who’d been caught up in a lie, Xavier tried to flip the script.

  “I’m under a lot of pressure right now and I don’t need anybody up in my face talking a whole lot of ying-yang, you feel me?” Xavier said. “And another thing—”

  Smack! Samantha’s open hand hit Xavier’s jaw. She slapped him so hard, she tried to slap the slobber from his mouth. The sound from her smack carried across the lunchroom and oohs and aahs could be heard throughout.

  Samantha was crying and Xavier just stood there with a blank expression on his face, holding his jaw. He hadn’t seen that one coming. And judging from the stunned looks on the faces around them, they hadn’t seen it coming either.

  Doug, head of security, had just so happened to be walking into the cafeteria at the precise time of the incident. He didn’t waste any time.

  He asked Samantha, “Are you all right?”

  Even though the tears were flowing freely, Samantha managed to reply, “Yes. I just need to get out of here.”

  The voices of the crowd seemed to spring to life, gossiping about the drama that had just gone down.

  Doug turned to the students, and with a booming voice he said, “Quiet down—right now!”

  Doug might’ve had a friendly nature but could be a beast if provoked. He had a smooth brown complexion, an aggressively receding hairline, stood six-foot-three, and weighed in at a whopping 270 pounds.

  Doug removed a small block of sticky-note hall passes and a pen from his
right pants pocket. He scribbled something and gave it to Samantha. “Take this hall pass and go to the lavatory to get yourself together.” He waited until Samantha was out of earshot before he turned his attention to Xavier. “Mr. Hunter, what was that about?”

  Xavier took his seat, inhaling and exhaling out of pure frustration. “Nothing that I can’t handle.”

  “From here it doesn’t look like you’re handling jack. You want to tell me the real problem, or should we discuss who you think wrote ‘snitches get stitches’ on your locker?”

  “Since you’re so informed about current affairs in the school, why don’t you tell me who wrote it?”

  “This is happening because of last semester, when I told you to leave my job to me. But you had to get in bed with that scumbag Slick Eddie, Romello, and those Zulu dirtbags to try and get rid of the thugs in the school.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Head Of Security—no disrespect, but you knew what would happen when you put my back up against the wall and I had nowhere else to go. You came with the game after Coleman High’s precious little golden-boy quarterback overdosed on Ecstasy pills. It was your cop buddies who came with the pressure.”

  Doug sat in the same seat Samantha had abandoned. “So this is my fault? That’s where you’re going with this?”

  Too many things at one time were knocking Xavier upside the head. He stared at the students sitting at the table on his right. They seemed happy. Probably had lives without the type of drama that simply loved hanging around him like a dark cloud hovering over his head. He would trade places with them in a heartbeat.

  Doug asked, “Do you remember me telling you about folks taking the law into their own hands? Your intentions to make the school safe for your fellow students might have been all good, but you went about it the wrong way. You joined Zulu, not me. So from where I’m sitting, you put your own back up against the wall on that one. Yeah, you did what you felt had to be done. Besides, the judge kept to his word and didn’t charge you with anything but theft, for the car you stole from the parking lot the night of the last school dance.”

  “I thought they were supposed to get rid of that charge too. I ended up on probation.”

  “It could’ve been worse. Especially after Romello and a number of others tried to testify that you were the head of their car-theft ring.”

  In his heart, Xavier knew Doug was right.

  “I saw your old man at the grocery store a couple weeks back. We didn’t get a chance to talk much. Exchanged phone numbers, but with my schedule I haven’t had the time to call him. It’s good to have him home, though.”

  Xavier asked Doug with a straight face. “I need a really big favor.”

  “I’m afraid I have to hear it out before I can say anything.”

  “At the end of my sophomore year, my mother went to jail. The state gave temporary custody of me and my brother to a friend of the family named Billy Hawkins. Once my father was released we went to stay with him.”

  “And your favor?”

  “If I get into any trouble, please call Billy. My father is a lot different than you remember him. Please call Billy.” Xavier scribbled down the number on a napkin and handed it to Doug.

  “I can get into trouble if Billy isn’t your emergency contact person.”

  “I understand, but please contact him if anything happens to me.”

  “Look, Mr. Hunter, I don’t think it’s safe for you to go to school here any longer. Why don’t you talk to your father and ask him if it would be all right for you to change schools?”

  Xavier didn’t have to think about it. “You know I don’t get down like that, you feel me? I ain’t running away from these clowns.”

  Doug merely shook his head. “It’s not about you being a coward, Mr. Hunter. We’re talking about your life—it’s being threatened. And I’m afraid if you stay here—”

  “Let me stop you right there. I’m not bowing down like that. I’m no punk.”

  “And that’s going to look real good on your tombstone: ‘Here lies Xavier Hunter—he died but he ain’t no punk.’ ”

  Xavier dismissively waved his hand at Doug. “Man, miss me with all that crap.”

  “I asked some of my police friends to come up and sit around the building in marked units when their schedules permit. A few of them told me that they could even walk through the hallways from time to time, just to show police presence.”

  Dexter walked into the cafeteria with a startled look on his face. It was like the boy was in a trance as he made his way through the crowded lunchroom.

  He went straight to Xavier’s table and sat down, still looking dazed and confused.

  Doug and Xavier both sat patiently, waiting on him to thaw out and speak his mind.

  The statement that came out of his mouth was chilling. “Felix Hoover, the big dog of the Second Street Gang, was just murdered.”

  The three of them could do nothing but stare at each other in shock.

  2

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 29

  1:00 P.M.

  In fifth period English class, Xavier was trying desperately to focus on the teacher’s lecture, but the news of Hoover’s death had sent shockwaves rippling across the school. The circumstances surrounding his brutal murder were still a mystery; the initial report said that he was a victim of a drive-by shooting. Xavier knew of only one crew who got down flexing that kind of muscle—it had to be his old gang, Zulu. But why Felix? Second Street wasn’t beefing with Zulu. Felix and his thugs might’ve pitched in with the football squad to back Xavier in the parking lot that day when Dutch Westwood, Dylan Dallas, and goons from Straight Eight were trying to jump him. But that was it. Felix never had anything going with Zulu.

  This thing didn’t make any sense. Why Felix? And then there was ol’ Tall and Husky in the lunchroom yesterday, the dude with the charcoal skin and big ears, wearing the Rocawear hoodie. Where did he fit into the equation? Was Felix’s death connected to him? Xavier didn’t get a chance to finish his thought.

  “Mr. Hunter,” the teacher called. “Can you repeat anything I’ve just explained?”

  “Umm, uh, umm,” was all Xavier could utter because he’d been caught red-handed.

  “Your tenth-grade teacher Ms. Gorman thinks highly of you, Mr. Hunter. Stands to reason you have to pay attention in my classroom, young man.”

  Ms. Serena Scott was a brown-sugar Tyra Banks type, with long, curly black hair. Xavier’s new English teacher possessed many of the supermodel’s voluptuous attributes too. And the lady could dress. Xavier knew expensive clothing when he saw it. Samantha had taught him a few tricks about how to distinguish certain designer giants. The type of print on the teacher’s gold and black dress just screamed out the designer’s name—Gucci. Her shoes were out cold. Had to be from the same designer because where the gold and black pattern on the dress left off, it picked right back up on the shoes. Her shiny stainless steel and gold bracelet and the black-faced Rolex on her slim wrist solidified the fact that the sista had to have that cake.

  Ms. Scott asked her class, “Have any of you read Mark Twain’s book, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn?”

  A brown-skinned boy who looked like Floyd “Money” Mayweather was the first to raise his hand.

  Ms. Scott called on him.

  The boy answered, “Huckleberry Finn? Ms. Scott, that sounds like what my drunk uncle had when he staggered up the house steps last night and passed out on the front porch.”

  The students roared with laughter.

  Ms. Scott was quick on her feet. “Another outburst like that will find you in front of Principal Skinner.”

  Some students laughed but every one of them got the point. This was not a classroom for monkey business.

  The student backed down. “Nah, I’ll sit back here and chill out. I don’t want any parts of old man Skinner.”

  Xavier raised his hand.

  “Yes, Xavier,” Ms. Scott said delightedly.

  “I haven’t read the book, but
I know some folks are angry because of the author’s use of the N-word throughout the book,” Xavier explained.

  Heather Larkin sat at the desk behind Xavier. Where Samantha was a certified, sophisticated dime piece, from her body to her elegant clothing and expensive accessories, Heather was the complete opposite. Her clothing looked dusty, more secondhand. She was mixed race and had straight black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. Both girls were similar in body structure, except Heather had more booty than Samantha. And she wore glasses.

  “That’s right, Xavier,” Ms. Scott praised.

  Heather wasn’t afraid to speak out of turn. “I see who’s bucking for teacher’s pet.”

  Xavier was quick with a comeback. “Those who see ’em must be ’em.”

  Some chick with closely cropped hair, sitting in the last chair of the last row next to the window said, “Xavier, what the heck did you just say?” She looked from Ms. Scott back to Xavier. “That sounded like some kind of fertility voodoo mess. Ms. Scott, Xavier over there is gonna mess around and get everybody in this room pregnant.”

  Ms. Scott’s earlier threat to send the brown-skin dude packing was still fresh in everybody’s mind, so only a handful of students dared to laugh.

  Ms. Scott stood in front of the room with the chalkboard at her back, arms folded, intrigued, like she wanted to see where this discussion was headed.

  Heather pushed her bifocals up to the bridge of her nose. “If these same so-called black people are having a hard time with the N-word usage in that book, then why did their dollars help make Jamie Foxx’s film Django Unchained a top grossing movie? People use it all the time, ni—”

  She was cut off by Ms. Scott. She slowly approached Heather, stopping and standing over her desk. “Are we going to have a problem? You are never to use that word in my classroom. Do you understand me?”

  Heather’s facial expression showed a trace of aggression. It was her eyes, though. The intensity in them was cold and threatening. She stared up at Ms. Scott for a few seconds and then whatever anger she might’ve been feeling abated. Her smile returned.