The students were rolling with laughter—even Ms. Gorman was trying hard not to chuckle. Sally was the only one who didn’t think the mama joke was funny. But Xavier was about to split her weave with the next crack.
“And as for the apple, Sally, I took a trip down to the soup kitchen and found your homeless father. I traded his desperate, crazy behind a couple of gummy bears and a sandwich for this apple—what a loser.” Xavier gave one of his classmates a pound as he laughed his butt off.
The suffocating tension in the room between Xavier and Sally prompted Ms. Gorman to restore peace. “I believe that will be enough from the both of you.”
But Sally wasn’t done. Her face was beet red and her mouth was clenched so tight it was a wonder that her top and bottom braces didn’t interlock. She jetted from her chair and pointed at Xavier. “At least my father is not locked away in prison like some godforsaken animal.”
“Ohhs” and “ahhs” went up from the boys and girls who were sitting around the action.
“Sally,” Ms. Gorman said, slightly elevating her voice, “if you don’t take your seat I will make sure that you are suspended.”
“Nah, that won’t be necessary,” Xavier said to Ms. Gorman. “She got jail jokes—okay, bust this one: What about your uncle who caught a ten- to fifteen-year prison sentence? He’s up in the same prison with my father. My ol’ man was telling me about how your uncle was being treated. His name used to be Bernard, but now the homeys of C block call him Beatrice—”
“You broke punk! Don’t nobody talk about my family!” Sally yelled as she slowly started in Xavier’s direction.
“That sounds good coming from a wrought-iron-gate-wearing, trout-mouth chick like you,” Xavier cut back, holding his ground. He wasn’t about to fall back. If Sally wanted trouble he would have no problem with putting her on blast. Xavier had been so frustrated with life that he was ready to beat the brakes off anybody giving him the business. So he took a few steps toward Sally, down for whatever.
Almost every kid in Coleman High was down with seeing a good brawl between two students—it didn’t matter what type of financial background the brawlers were from. In unison, a few students chanted, “Fight, fight, fight!”
Ms. Gorman stepped in and pushed Sally back to her desk.
“X,” Cheese said, as he grabbed Xavier from behind to restrain him, “it ain’t worth it, man.”
The classroom was out of control. Kids were laughing and pointing at Sally as tears made their way down her cheeks. The loud banging of a wooden pointer stick made everybody jump, except for Xavier. He’d never threatened a woman before, but Sally was a heifer—and a smart one at that. The things that he wanted to do to her were not legal anywhere in the free world.
“Sally, sit down,” Ms. Gorman commanded. The girl did what she was told, and a girl wearing cornrows seated across from her handed Sally some Kleenex.
“And you, Xavier”—Ms. Gorman pointed to the blackboard—“this is Advanced English. It means that you guys are the brightest of the bunch and you deserve to be here, but what I have heard here today makes me wonder if you really appreciate this opportunity. The world is highly competitive and my task is to equip you with as much knowledge as possible to be able to score high on the SAT or ACT so that you can get into a good university. I’m not beyond expelling a student, but don’t push me.” She pointed the stick at Xavier. “You, come with me.” Before he knew it, Ms. Gorman had Xavier by the hand and was leading him into the hallway. The height difference had Ms. Gorman at a slight disadvantage. Xavier was nearly six-two and the teacher had to crane her neck to look up at her student. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve never seen you this worked up—about to put your hands on a young lady.”
“That ain’t no young lady. She caught me on the wrong day, Ms. Gorman.”
“Is there something going on at home that I should know about? Because this isn’t like you.”
Yeah, something was going on at home, but it was none of her business. Life at the crib was twisted for him. Xavier was a sixteen-year-old boy with more responsibility on his plate than any of his peers. He stared at a row of lockers that stretched all the way down the empty hallway. His anger was on bump. He needed something to take out his frustrations on. The next sucka who jumped in his face with any type of drama was going to get his eyebrows kicked in.
“Listen, I’m going to give you this hall pass to go to the lavatory and cool off. When you get back here, be ready to discuss Shakespeare’s play Hamlet.”
Xavier took the hall pass and bounced. He was ticked. His next-door neighbor, friend, and mentor, Billy Hawkins, would be upset at him for blowing his cool, especially the part about him almost knuckling up on a girl. Xavier knew how the old man had made it his number one rule to never get physical with a woman. It was a good thing that Billy couldn’t see inside Xavier’s mind right now. He seriously wouldn’t approve of his revenge fantasy against Sally. What had been so jacked up was that the girl had spit dirty on his family. Xavier didn’t play when somebody tried to style on his father. Bringing up the old dude was a surefire way of getting him angry.
The truth was that Xavier was a student who was carrying a 4.0 GPA. The hope for an academic scholarship to a promising university was the only thing that was keeping him from playing the ghetto games with those cats who chased paper by exploiting anybody with the ends to buy some product.
He stormed into the bathroom and headed toward the sinks, needing to cool off. He ran the cold water for a few seconds before cupping both hands underneath the faucet and splashing the coldness over his face. He was straight tripping, allowing a nobody with a bad weave to push his buttons. He really didn’t know if he was actually mad at Sally because she had been so close to the truth about how he came in possession of the flowers.
Of course Xavier hadn’t robbed anybody, but he had come across a crackhead on his way to school that morning who had stuck up a flower vendor. The merchant had just set up shop for rush-hour traffic when Xavier witnessed the jacking. The fiend, who had a long, thin scar traveling from the right to the left side of his forehead, had robbed the vendor using a knife. He had grabbed the frightened vendor from behind and stuck the blade to the man’s throat. He then demanded money, and oddly enough, a bouquet of flowers. If there was one thing that Xavier hated, it was a dope fiend who preyed on hardworking people to support his habit. To get the drop on him, Xavier hid around the corner of an apartment building in an alley while the crackhead was busy counting the loot he’d jacked. The junkie never saw him as he took the cash and bouquet. The apple he bought at a fruit stand on his way to school.
Xavier splashed more water over his face and began to feel its calming effects. He glanced down at his body. He wasn’t really tripping about the ragged condition of his clothing, and crusty-looking Nike Air Force 1s. But the reflection in the mirror cast no doubt on a boy who was lost inside the treacherous dark alleys of confusion. Sally had tried to earn comical points about him looking like a dark-skinned LL Cool J. The fact was that he did resemble the superstar rapper and phenom actor. But none of that mattered, because Xavier couldn’t see past his issues. Without the presence of a father, who had been locked up since he was six, to give him balance, structure, and discipline, his world was filled with utter chaos. His mother’s selfishness had forced Xavier to grow up prematurely. He was the older of two kids and the role of raising his little brother fell on his shoulders. At times, playing dad to his brother left him struggling to figure his real role in the family—son, brother, father figure? Could he ever get it right?
He had wondered on more than one occasion if he really belonged to the family. His mother, father, and baby brother were fair-skinned—which left him standing out in family photos like a chocolate dot and feeling as though his mother had had a disgusting romp between the sheets with the mailman. He did admit to himself that Rufus Jangle, the neighborhood letter carrier, was blacker than night. But he’d feel sorry for himself lat
er. He had to pee.
Xavier took the last stall next to the wall to handle his business. He had just finished when the lavatory door burst open like somebody had kicked it. The voices entering were highly recognizable: wannabe thugs.
Xavier quietly zipped and buckled while stealing a peek over the stall door. He knew all four knuckleheads and the dude they were disrespectfully pushing around. Some freshman geek named Sebastian Patrick. The fifteen-year-old boy was in Xavier’s fourth-period computer class. He was short and thin, with glasses almost thicker than car windshields. He was shaking so bad that Xavier felt sorry for him.
“So, nephew”—Xavier knew this voice belonged to Dylan Dallas—“it doesn’t look too good for you. My homeys here have told me that you don’t value our protection anymore. What is it? You think you’re too good for us? In this school you will find that freshman life ain’t nothing but nine months of bullies and beatdowns—that is unless the newbies get smart and get somebody to watch their backs. That’s where we come in. We provide a service and we expect to be paid . . . and you’re late with our money.”
Dylan Dallas was a seventeen-year-old Tupac wannabe—green bandanna tied around his bald head, oversize hoodie, jeans, and Timberland boots. He even had bushy eyebrows and a nose piercing like the late rap star. He used to drop straight As on his report card—that was until he came up with the bright idea that robbing other students would be easier than graduating high school and going off to get a life.
“That’s right, Dylan.” This voice belonged to Danger. He was a sixteen-year-old wannabe thug who had grown tired of getting beat up and hooked up with Dylan for protection. “Yup. Sebastian here owes you for an entire month. By my calculations, that’s a hundred bones.”
As Dylan ran down Sebastian’s list of offenses, Xavier stealthily removed his cell phone, ducked back down, and typed out a text.
When Xavier was a freshman, he’d had a run-in with these cats on the first day of school. Words had been exchanged, but before anything could jump off, school security moved in and squashed the beef.
Xavier was careful to peer over the stall door again.
There was a huge seventeen-year-old goon standing behind Dylan. This was his enforcer, an enormous dude who had earned the nickname “Knuckles” for his ability to knock guys out in one shot.
This wasn’t his fight, Xavier told himself. If he was going to be kicked out of school, it had better be worth it. He didn’t want anything to affect his GPA. Not to mention, being suspended for three days and having to be at home with his nagging mother would be enough to drive him crazy.
“I know about you, Sebastian,” Dylan prattled on. “I’ve been peeping you every day since school started, watched as your old dude picked you up in his expensive whip.... What model of Mercedes-Benz is that, anyway?”
“I believe that pretty mofo is an E-Class,” a tall, skinny guy sitting on one of the sinks answered for Sebastian. He was bug-eyed, with a huge, pointed nose and dressed in a black Dickies outfit and a Detroit Tigers baseball hat turned backward.
The fool with his baseball hat turned backward had been the clown who Xavier believed had bumped him purposely on the first day of school. Word around school was that he packed heat. He went by the nickname “Trigger,” and rumor had it that he’d spent time in juvie for shooting some dude who was talking smack while Trigger was trying to get the dude’s sister’s phone number at a house party.
“Now, nephew,” Dylan said to Sebastian. “You can’t expect to floss like that and not pay us for protection. I don’t know what school you came from, but this is Coleman High. And since you’ve been short with the bread, I’ve decided that your protection fee has just doubled from one hundred to two hundred. Oh, just in case you don’t get the picture”—Dylan pointed to the smallest boy in his crew. He was fifteen and went by the name Dirty—“show him.”
At the order, Trigger grabbed and pinned Sebastian’s arms behind his back, exposing his stomach. Dirty was wearing a pair of True Religion jeans, a gray Detroit Pistons sweatshirt, and Timberland boots. He stepped up and delivered a menacing Floyd “Money” Mayweather type of blow to Sebastian’s midsection. Tears trickled from underneath Sebastian’s glasses as the boy fought to fill his lungs back up with air.
“Dirty, I don’t think Sebastian is feeling us,” Dylan boasted.
Knuckles chimed in, admiring the heat being brought. “Damn, Dirty, I taught you well.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Dirty explained. “Take his glasses off. I’m about to give him something to really cry about.”
Xavier had seen enough. He was not gonna just stand by and let them beat an innocent boy senseless. One thing he hated more than thieves were bullies. He kicked open the door of the stall so hard that everybody in the lavatory almost jumped out of their skin.
“Get off him,” Xavier demanded of Trigger.
“Or what?” Knuckles asked, stepping to Xavier. The two boys stood eye level and both were powerfully built for combat. Xavier was looking for a reason—any reason—to just knock Knuckles out.
Xavier stepped closer to Knuckles. “I could say ‘or I would beat the ugliness from your face,’ but I am afraid that would be an all-day gig. But all the same, homeboy, cut Sebastian loose.”
“OMG,” Dylan said, smiling. “Xavier Hunter—nephew, why do you want to stick your nose in my business? I mean, we gave your freshman ass a pass on the first day of school last year as a courtesy to your old man. Noah Hunter was a legend in the streets, a true pioneer of the game. I grew up admiring your dad. But your old man ain’t in the game anymore—this is my show, playboy. As one last courtesy to Papa Noah, I’m gonna let you bounce.” Dylan nodded his head at Knuckles, who slowly and hesitantly backed away.
“Kill that, Dylan,” Trigger shouted. He slung Sebastian to the dirty floor and was about to rush Xavier.
“Trigger,” Dylan said, “I said let ’im bounce. Now, what don’t you understand?”
Trigger went off. “Man, let’s do this fool. Don’t nobody care about his old man. That junk is ancient history. This chump disrespected me last year—ain’t no way I’m letting it slide.”
Dirty said, “B has a good point, Dylan. We let this fool get away with dissing us, how long before all these other fools at Coleman start trying us on?”
“Well, nephew,” Dylan said to Xavier, rubbing his chin, “the majority has spoken. Looks like Sebastian won’t be the only cat limping out of here in pain.”
“Let’s do this,” Xavier proclaimed with no fear in his voice.
Dylan and his crew circled Xavier, but before fists could start flying, the bathroom door opened. In walked three students, two built like apartment buildings; the other one was of average height, wore expensive designer shades, and resembled Usher Raymond.
“Whoaaa, look what we walked in on,” Designer Shades announced. “Dylan, man, you’re slipping. Four on one—we can’t let you get down like that, you feel me?”
Xavier looked at the newcomers and then back to Dylan. “It’s your move, clown. Are you gonna let Sebastian bounce or are you gonna make a go?”
Dylan bit his lip in anger.
“Romello Anderson,” Knuckles said to the boy sporting the designer shades. “Homeboy, you are biting off more than you can chew.”
Romello laughed. “Don’t worry about how much I can chew. Like X said, we gonna do this or what?” Romello glanced up at his two enormous companions, sixteen-year-old Ray Taylor and sixteen-year-old Clyde McElroy, and then back to Knuckles.
Trigger looked like he wanted to say something, but the glare from the massive monster on Romello’s left side shut down anything cute that he had to say.
Xavier helped Sebastian up from the floor. “Go to class and I’ll holla at you later.”
Sebastian straightened his glasses, wiped away his tears, and left.
“From here on out your protection is no longer needed, Dylan. And if I ever catch you trying to step to Sebastian again,
I’m gonna stick my Nikes so far up your butt, homeboy, you’ll have the taste of shoe leather on your tongue for weeks.”
“This ain’t over, nephew,” Dylan ominously assured Xavier. He nodded his head at his crew and they all filed out of the restroom.
After they left, Xavier slapped Romello five. “Man, I thought you were never gonna show after I texted you.”
“Dog, I was trying to get up on some honeys in the gym when you texted. Luckily, big Ray and Clyde were getting their sweat on in the weight room.”
Xavier thanked Ray and Clyde for their assistance.
Before the two football players exited, Ray Taylor said, “Xavier, my father used to run with your dad. They’re both in the same prison and they told me to watch your back. So if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”
“Xavier,” Romello said, “you owe me. You can start by rolling with me to the State Theater on Friday—teen night, on me. ” He started moving his hips. “Dancing, honeys—the whole shebang. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
Romello was sixteen years old. Xavier had known Romello since junior high, where he had a two-faced reputation around school. Some said that he was only loyal to one thing—and that was getting paid. The boy belonged to Deuces, one of the many gangs inside of Weber Junior High. Dude stayed in trouble. The two had started hanging around each other after Xavier helped Romello fight off three rival gang members. And even though Xavier was up on Romello’s shady, ratchet rep, they became friends.
“Ain’t nothing to talk about,” Xavier exclaimed. “I’m there. Now get your Usher Raymond wannabe butt to class,” Xavier joked.
“Later,” Romello said.
But it was really no laughing matter. Xavier had just punked out one of the school’s shadiest thugs. He knew that someday, Dylan Dallas and his goons would try to return the favor. It wasn’t his problem, but Xavier had a big heart and he couldn’t let Sebastian get stumped out. If Xavier was trying to stay low key and lurk in the background to keep his grades tight, that plan was dead. Playing the hero had put him on the front line for an impending war. It was time for him to start surrounding himself with cats that would have his back when trouble stepped out of the shadows.
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