Hold Me Down

by Calvin Slater

  Xavier had to remember his brother’s Asperger’s condition, and gently put an arm around his brother’s neck. “Go on.”

  “That boy keeps telling my classmates that I’m a wimp and my clothes are cheap. That’s why I started wearing the clothes you bought me last semester, instead of the ones Dad bought. Until he found out about the clothes and that’s when he burned them.”

  Xavier rubbed his chin. “Go on.”

  “He’s seen you with me a few times. He says he knows you and that you’re not really tough. He be up there telling people that when he sees you he’s going to sic his dog on you.”

  Xavier was close to blowing his stack, but he kept calm.

  “What’s this boy’s name?”

  Alfonso composed himself. “I don’t know. All I know is that the other kids laugh at me when he’s around with his jokes. I don’t know how much more I can take of the other kids laughing at me, big brother.”

  The kid was seriously tugging at Xavier’s heartstrings. He felt so bad for Alfonso that he almost started crying. But before he would shed any tears, Xavier was going to find Dog Boy and make an example out of him.

  He grabbed Alfonso up in an embrace. “Don’t say anything to anybody. I’ll be up there one day this week.”

  Noah appeared, dressed in dark coveralls, work boots, and gloves. He looked at his two sons.

  “If ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son’—if I don’t have two of the laziest sons in all creation.” He looked at his watch. “Xavier, let’s get a move on before it gets dark. Wanna get this cleaned up, get home, and have some chow before I go to choir rehearsal.”

  Xavier put on his work gloves and followed Noah back into the basement, fuming. He didn’t like it when his little brother wasn’t happy. And Dog Boy was definitely not going to like it when Xavier caught up to him.

  9

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 10

  1:25 P.M.

  The following Monday, Xavier was seated in his fifth period English class. The students hadn’t yet begun taking the examination on Huck Finn. Instead the dude who looked like Floyd “Money” Mayweather was trying to kick some old political angle about how Mark Twain must’ve been a slave owner because of his terrible love affair with the N-word throughout the book.

  “Ms. Scott, I refuse to read this trash,” the Mayweather look-alike spouted. “This book is all kinds of racist. And your boy Huck Finn needs to be wearing a pillowcase and white sheet, is all I’m trying to say, the way he uses the N-word.”

  Some dark-skinned girl from the last desk in the first row added her two cents. “Coleman is made up almost entirely of black folks—not counting a sprinkle of white and a handful of Latinos. Why are we reading the memoirs of the KKK?”

  Some light girl with a jacked-up weave, big nose, and a slight mustache was next to voice her opinion. “Ms. Scott, my mama told me to ask you why The Autobiography of Malcolm X can’t be our recommended reading.”

  Before Ms. Scott had a chance to answer, Mayweather cut in.

  “Girl, miss us with that,” he told her. “Tell your mom to mind her business—460 pages in Malcolm X’s book. Skip that. You’re better off getting Netflix and rentin’ the movie.”

  The class cut loose with laughter.

  Ms. Scott stood in front of the blackboard, smiling, with her arms folded. She considered there to be nothing wrong with students engaging in healthy debate—as long as they didn’t get too rowdy. She often encouraged them to freely express their opinions.

  The teacher noticed that Heather and Xavier weren’t paying attention. They both were looking underneath their desks and laughing. Not even concerned about the discussion.

  Ms. Scott eased her way over. “Xavier Hunter and Heather Larkin, is this classroom discussion not entertaining enough for the two of you? Anything you want to add to this discussion, Mr. Hunter?”

  Xavier was busted and he knew it. So he put his phone underneath his leg, looked around the class, cut a sneaky smile, and broke ’em off with a heavy load of crap.

  He began, “This book is one of the greatest American novels. Regardless of the N-word usage, the book is still a part of our history. You fools want to be safe and only read books by black authors. The ‘comfortable’ books. Feel-good novels. A lot of you use that word a thousand times a day.

  “I hear you all through the hallways and lunchroom. So y’all need to quit frontin’ and stop being scared to expand your horizons.” Convinced that he had everybody’s attention, Xavier sat back in his chair and confidently clasped both hands behind his head, as if to get comfortable. “And to be honest, I think that Huck Finn was a good guy, trying to do right by his partner Jim, the runaway slave. But he was just a product of the time.”

  The class was quiet for a minute.

  That was until Mayweather said, “Yeah. What he said.”

  Ms. Scott smiled at Xavier. “Very well put, Mr. Hunter—very well stated, indeed. And you all can learn a thing or two from Xavier’s perspective. Despite what some critics think, Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is still an American classic.” She stared sternly at Mayweather. “And yes, young man, you still have to read this book if you want to pass my class.”

  Heather jokingly coughed in her hand, something that sounded like she was calling Xavier a teacher’s pet.

  Everybody heard it and cracked up laughing.

  “Ms. Larkin, do you have something you would like to share with the class?” asked Ms. Scott.

  “How about if we just read some erotica books instead,” Heather added, to a rousing ovation from the other students.

  Ms. Scott simply shook her head. “In your dreams, Ms. Larkin.”

  The teacher walked back to her desk and retrieved an armful of stapled sheets containing thirty test questions. “Now, you kids clear your desks and get ready to take your examinations.”

  Heather surprised everybody when she said, “You can’t blame a girl for trying to get rid of this dumb book by suggesting something with a little more naughty bite to the story.”

  Ms. Scott distributed the appropriate number of tests to the first student in each row and had them take one and pass the rest back.

  “What did you say?” Ms. Scott asked Heather.

  Heather had this disturbed expression on her face, like she wanted to just explode on Ms. Scott, but one look from Xavier put the girl in check. Heather backed down and didn’t say another word.

  “Ms. Larkin, I didn’t think you had anything else to say. Any further discussion will constitute you sitting in front of Principal Skinner to explain yourself.”

  Although it was obvious Heather was acting wackier, Xavier couldn’t walk away—Heather Larkin had him whipped.

  The next hour in physical education class had Xavier dressed in gym shorts, a plain black T-shirt, and Nike sneakers, dribbling a basketball on the sidelines as he watched guys run up and down the basketball court trying to outdo each other. The girls were on the other side playing volleyball. Some were wearing skintight booty shorts. Xavier didn’t mind that at all. But despite the gym noise Xavier found himself thinking about Samantha. At times he might not have shown it, but he really loved her. And in a way Xavier was glad that they had broken up. It was too dangerous in his life right now. Just too much going on now and he didn’t want to get her caught up in his foolishness. Samantha was a good girl and deserved a better life, even if it was with a baseball-playing weasel. Sean Desmond, Xavier grudgingly admitted, would be a much better fit than himself. She would be safe.

  There hadn’t been any incidents the last month. Not even one single fight in the hallways. Almost too quiet. Something was up. It reminded Xavier of an Animal Planet documentary he’d watched about predators in the wild. You could tell when predators were around because the smaller prey animals kept extremely quiet. So as not to be spotted. Xavier could sense the two-legged predators around, lurking in the shadows and waiting on the perfect opportunity to carve him up. The rest o
f the students were merely waiting quietly and trying to stay the hell out of the way.

  Xavier dribbled with his head down until a high-pitched female scream pierced the air, echoing and carrying the horrifying sound out into the hallways. At first Xavier looked to see if one of the girls was injured, but they had stopped playing volleyball and were standing on either side of the net, looking petrified, with their hands over their mouths, staring at the entrance to the boys’ locker room.

  Runt had barely managed to drag his body up the stairs on hands and knees and had collapsed halfway through the door. Xavier dropped the basketball he’d been dribbling and bolted over to his friend. Ms. Porter made it there at the same time. The little fella had been worked over, all right. Left eye swollen shut, bottom lip split. And he was struggling to breathe.

  Ms. Porter yelled for someone to call 911.

  “Simon,” Ms. Porter said, “who did this?”

  Runt’s right eye popped open and closed just as quick. The gym teacher then checked his pulse. She said it was pretty weak.

  His right leg twitched.

  Xavier kneeled beside Runt’s body. “Runt, stay with us. Who did this to you?”

  Rudolph Jamerson, the bully Xavier had defended Runt from in the locker room during the beginning of the school year, walked through the door by the health classroom, wearing street clothes.

  Xavier met Rudolph’s gaze.

  The boy looked down at Runt and threw up his hands. “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with that,” Rudolph Jamerson shouted dramatically, backing away.

  Xavier didn’t attack because he knew the boy didn’t have enough heart to cross him.

  Moments passed as ambulance sirens could be heard pulling up.

  A few minutes later the doors by the health room burst open. In rushed two EMTs—one white, the other black—with a gurney and an orange medical bag.

  Xavier asked Runt one more time, “Homeboy, who did this?”

  The white EMT took a stethoscope out of the bag and listened to Runt’s chest. “Sounds like a collapsed lung. We have to get him to emergency, stat!”

  They both worked to secure Runt’s neck and placed him on a spine board before lifting the boy onto the gurney. The black EMT placed an oxygen bag over Runt’s mouth to help him breathe. They were about to race off when Runt found the strength to pull the bag off.

  “Don’t”—he gasped for air—“they wore masks, Xavier. Said that this”—Runt huffed—“is a message—they’re coming for you.”

  Xavier felt helpless as he watched them cart his friend away.

  Doug was leaning against a wall inside of his office, and the police were back and drilling Xavier with question after question. They were in Doug’s office. Two black detectives wearing dark suits and cheesy, cheap shoes took turns hammering Xavier about the incident.

  Xavier was still in his gym clothes and sitting in the seat beside Doug’s desk. “I keep telling you I don’t know anything.”

  The taller of the two stooped down, nose to nose, and yelled in Xavier’s face, “You know more than you’re telling us! We know that this thing has to do with you snitching on your former boss Slick Eddie and your friend Romello Anderson. So why don’t you cut the crap and tell us what we need to know?”

  Xavier wiped the spittle from his forehead that had found its way from the cop’s juicy mouth.

  These two clowns were hilarious to him. Xavier knew his rights and he wasn’t saying jack.

  The shorter detective with lips like bicycle pedals took his shot: “It must suck being your friend. They seem to be dropping like flies around you. We can’t connect the Hoover murder with this, but we’re sure that these two incidents are related, with you being the most common denominator. Now give it up and let us do our job.”

  It pained Xavier to know that Runt didn’t have anything to do with his ongoing beef with his former boss. The boy had simply gotten caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The bigger one decided to have one more run at Xavier. “You know how this is going to end, with you lying six feet under, right? What then? Maybe they don’t stop with you. They’ll probably go after other friends and then your family. You’re willing to let all of these people pay a price for your stupidity?”

  Doug was standing in the corner. They turned to him.

  The shorter cop said, “This is no use. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”

  The taller one added, “We’re gonna be around campus all day asking questions and conducting interviews. Let you know if something comes up.”

  After Doug saw the officers out, he took a seat at his desk.

  “First Felix, then that thing at LaMarcus’s house, Brenda, now Simon Templeton—”

  “Told you I didn’t have anything to do with Brenda,” Xavier told Doug.

  “That might be true, but people are starting to have a nasty habit of coming up hurt or dead around you.”

  “Peep this here, fam. You want to blame somebody, take a look in the mirror. Those clowns who did that to Simon were rocking masks. Meaning they were outsiders. The school ain’t as secure as you thought.”

  “Masks? How do you know that?”

  “Simon came to and managed to blurt it out before the EMTs took him.”

  “And why didn’t you feel a need to share that with the detectives?”

  “I’m telling you, you feel me? You need to check your security.”

  “No, you are not going to lay this on me and my team. I told you—let me take that back—I urged you to go to another school.”

  “No disrespect, but you’re crazy if you think me going to another school would stop these clowns from trying to break me off.”

  Doug looked him straight in the eye with a sad expression on his face.

  “Snap. You’re not concerned with me at all,” Xavier said. “I get it though. Looking out for the other students is something I would do too. You’re just doing your job and I can respect that. But I’m posting up right here at Coleman. Plan on getting my diploma here too, you feel me?”

  It was frustration that made Doug pinch the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Hunter, you’re going to die if you stay here. Don’t know why you’re not telling your father any of this. But it looks like I’m gonna have to call Noah myself.”

  “It’s not the thing to do. The old man ain’t the old man anymore.”

  “What do you mean by that? I mean I ran into him, but we didn’t have an in-depth conversation.”

  “Let’s just say when you holler at him, you’ll find out.” Xavier stood up to go. “By the way, any further news on Brenda Sanders?”

  “Her mother withdrew her from Coleman. Anything beyond that, I have no idea.”

  “No news on the baby.”

  “Told you that I don’t know. Her mother came up here one day after Brenda’s fall and unenrolled her.”

  This whole thing with her pregnancy was looking kind of shady. His next thought was harsh, but he couldn’t worry about Brenda right now. He was dealing with his own demons.

  Xavier left the office and closed the door.

  Once outside of Doug’s office Xavier tried Brenda’s cell phone again. He was shocked to find that her service had been terminated. The mechanical voice let him know that the number had been disconnected. Oh well, he thought. There wasn’t much more he could do.

  10

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11

  7:00 P.M.

  Xavier was in his bedroom reading. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn wasn’t actually a page-turner, but had enough colorful characters to hold his attention. Xavier couldn’t imagine living back when the book had been written. He didn’t really have a quick temper, but it was hard enough not to be taking it from white folks today. If he’d had to take it like the runaway slave Jim had in the story, he damn sure would’ve been chin-checking fools and going upside of domes back in the day.

  Xavier and Dex had gone to the hospital to check on Runt after school. Simon’s parents had s
hown the boy lots of love. Tons of flowers, balloons, and cards were everywhere from his folks. Homeboy had been resting easy. Tranquilized. Some type of sedation. He looked a lot better than he had after crawling out of the locker room. The kid hadn’t really gotten a chance to give Xavier the actual number of goons who’d put it on him. But if Xavier had to judge from the butt-whipping that was put on Runt, there had to be quite a few of them.

  Runt suffered a broken right arm, fractured jaw, a few broken ribs, and a collapsed lung.

  Xavier was really feeling bad. The walls seemed to be closing in around him and not offering any escape routes. On the way home from the hospital, Dexter and Xavier had kicked the game around. Xavier had warned Dexter to watch his back. He couldn’t understand the reason why Runt had been signaled out, but all the same he alerted Dexter to be on guard. It was the same conversation that Xavier had with Linus Flip and Bigstick. Any one of them could fall victim next. It was in their utmost interest to stay vigilant. First Felix and now Runt—Xavier didn’t possess the knowledge to look behind the message. But one thing was for damn certain—somebody’s wrath seemed to be focused on those around him.

  Too much drama. But he was resolved to not let these fools give him a case of nerves and disrupt his studies. There was a ton of homework he had to do. Tomorrow in lab biology the class would be dissecting dead bullfrogs. There was a test in world history Friday and one in his calculus class this coming Monday. On top of everything else, his seventh-hour art appreciation class would be going on a field trip to the Detroit Institute of Arts in a few weeks.

  Not wanting to be disturbed, Xavier had placed his cell phone on vibrate. When he looked up there were ten missed calls from Heather and almost double that in text messages. All of them marked urgent. He couldn’t believe he’d slipped up. She was only supposed to be a jump-off and not a full-time gig. Heather had sunk her hooks deeply in him, though. Every time he tried to walk away they’d end up somewhere smashing. Her temper was explosive and her moods swung back and forth like a child’s swing. Yet there was something about her unstable behavior that had him on lock. Xavier didn’t know if that was telling him something about himself.