At the Crossroads

by Travis Hunter

  The boy grimaced and rubbed his hands over his face as if the harder he rubbed, the quicker he could come up with a solution to his current predicament.

  “Here,” the boy said, handing Franky the money. “A deal is a deal. You saved my life.”

  “What are you gonna do? You can’t stay here.”

  “I know,” the boy said. “Can you give me a little time to figure something out?”

  “Might as well. You’re here,” Franky said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But one of those dudes …,” Franky started, but caught himself. He didn’t know this guy, and he didn’t want him returning with the police to take Rico away.

  The boys sat in silence for a few minutes before Franky spoke. “Where did you get all of this money?”

  “I work,” the boy said. “I was over here trying to buy a car, but the guy kept giving me the runaround. Now that I think about it, it was a hustle the whole time,” the boy said, shaking his head. “No wonder they kept saying bring cash. Cash only. Cash only.”

  Franky knew exactly the hustle he was referring to. Take a picture of a nice car, something that young people would like—a Dodge Charger, a Chevrolet Impala, or somethinglike that—post it on a Web site that sells cars, and when the person comes to test drive it, the goons pop out. Some hustlers use a girl to distract the buyer and then they take his money.

  Franky held the guy’s money in his hand. He leaned over so he could see a little better, then counted the bills. He was holding three thousand dollars.

  “It’s like eleven o’clock at night. Why would you come to buy a car this time of night, in this neighborhood? Do you have a death wish? Or maybe you just wanna be robbed,” Franky asked.

  “Nah. I just got off work. I jumped straight on the MARTA,” the boy said, shaking his head. “Wow. I could be dead right now.”

  “Yes, you could,” Franky said, handing the boy back his money and standing up. “But you are not, so go home.”

  The boy held his hand up and refused the money.

  “Here,” Franky said, pushing the money to his chest. “Take your money.”

  The boy took a deep breath, then reached out for his cash.

  “Just be a little more careful next time,” Franky said.

  “Man, can I give you some of it? You don’t know what you did for me.”

  “Yes, I do,” Franky said, walking out of the room and leading the guy to the front door. “But I would want somebody to do the same thing for me. Take care, whoadie.”

  “Man,” the boy said, looking around when Franky opened the front door. “My name is Davante. I’m not going to forget this. I have to give you something. Here,” he said, peeling off about half the bills and handing them to Franky.

  “I already told you that I’m good, but since you insist that I take your money, then fine,” Franky said, thinking about the empty refrigerator, the bare cabinets, and the past-due rent as he took the wad of bills.

  “I’ma come back by here and … I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I wanna let you know I appreciate this,” Davante said.

  “Don’t sweat it, whoadie,” Franky said.

  Davante reached out his hand, and Franky shook it. “Be careful out there, ya hear?”

  “Yeah,” Davante said. He stepped out on the porch and looked around one last time before he took off running.

  Franky watched him as he ran straight down the sidewalk without looking back.

  The entire ordeal was crazy, but what bothered Franky the most was how normal he felt. He turned around, walked back to his room, and sat down on the bed. He counted his loot and smiled. He was six hundred dollars richer. He stashed the money in his sneaker and lay down on the bed. Before five minutes had passed, he was fast asleep.

  4

  The alarm clock sounded and Franky’s eyes popped open. He jumped up and almost ran to the bathroom to get his morning shower. Today was a school day—the first time he would attend school in almost three years. He was nervous and excited all at the same time. After his shower, he went back to his room and got dressed. He slipped his slender body into some crisp Levi’s and a blue-and-white-striped Polo shirt that fit nice and snug, and then put on his navy-blue Air Max 95s. He wondered how it would feel being back in a classroom after all these years of being stagnant.

  “Franky,” Nigel said as he walked into his cousin’s bedroom. “Where did you get this money?”

  “It should cover the rent, right?” Franky said, looking into the mirror as he brushed his hair.

  “Yeah, but where’d you get it from?” Nigel asked again.

  “I found it,” Franky lied.

  “When?”

  “Just now.”

  “Where did you find three hundred dollars just now, Franky?” Nigel asked, as if he were a stern father.

  “In the backyard. I looked out the window and saw it on the ground,” Franky said with a wide smile. “Why you giving me the third degree?”

  “'Cause I don’t want you round here doing nothing you don’t have no business doing, ya heard,” Nigel said.

  “Well, I looked out the window just like I do every morning. I saw that money, and I jumped out there and got it. Don’t complain. Just be happy we can pay the rent,” Franky said.

  “Boy, you better be glad I know that you haven’t left this house,” Nigel said. “This is just too good to be true. Don’t nobody just leave three hundred dollars lying around.”

  “You say you found that in the backyard?” Rico asked as he walked into Franky’s room.

  “Yep,” Franky said as he continued to brush his hair as if the curls were going to straighten up. “Hey, Nigel, I need some school supplies. Can we run to the store and get some paper and pencils before I go to school? I don’t wanna show up looking like I don’t have a clue.”

  “How much money did you find, Franky?” Rico asked, staring at his cousin with a squinted eye.

  “Three hundred dollars,” he said. “I gave it to Nigel.”

  “That’s my money, whoadie,” Rico snapped.

  “How?” Franky asked, finally stopping the brushing.

  “ ‘Cause it is,” Rico said. “Now give it up.”

  “You lost some money outside in the backyard?” Nigel asked his brother.

  “Nah,” Rico said as he walked up on his little cousin. Franky was taller, but he was a bag of bones. Rico was short, compact, and strong as an ox. “And it wasn’t no three hundred dollars—it was three thousand dollars, so where the rest at?”

  “What?” Franky said, feeling a little threatened.

  “You heard me,” Rico growled.

  “Man,” Franky said, “I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about. If I found three thousand dollars, I wouldn’t be asking Nigel to buy me some school supplies. I could buy ‘em myself.”

  “Yeah, you would,” Rico said as he slung open the closet and started throwing Franky’s clothes out. “ ‘Cause you think you’re smarter than everybody. You think you Einstein. Now where the money at?” Rico yelled.

  “Hey,” Nigel barked at his brother. “Cut it out and put those clothes back in his closet. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nah,” Rico said. “This fool holding out, and I want my money.”

  “Rico,” Nigel said in a low and threatening tone. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

  Rico continued to pull things out of drawers and closets as if Nigel was talking to the wall. Nigel went to his room and left Franky alone with Rico the madman. He stood watching his cousin, and it was as if something evil had taken over his body.

  “Empty your pockets,” Rico said, turning to Franky, his chest rising and falling as air fought to get into his lungs.

  “Rico, you trippin',” Franky said, pulling out his empty pockets.

  “Take your shoes off,” Rico said.

  Nigel walked back in the room with a baseball bat. “Rico,” he said. “You are my little brother and I love you, but ifyou don’t get out of here right now w
ith all this foolishness, I’ma try my best to Barry Bonds yo head across this room.”

  “This fool playing games, ya heard,” Rico snapped. “He holding out, and it’s my money.”

  “First of all, he paid the rent, which is more than you’ve ever done in all the time we been here. Second of all, how is it your money?”

  “ ‘Cause me and Stick had this fool set up last night. One of those car-sale deals. Old boy took off running. He must’ve dropped the money while he was getting up outta here. And he had three thousand dollars, not three hundred.” Rico poked his finger at Franky’s skinny chest.

  “So you think because you and Superdummy’s plan didn’t work out and the dude got away that you are owed some money?”

  “Yeah,” Rico said with a straight face. “If he dropped the money, then it’s mine.”

  “And what makes you think he dropped all three thousand dollars? Why couldn’t he just drop three hundred?” Nigel asked.

  “ ‘Cause he didn’t and Franky holding out,” Rico said, glaring at Franky.

  “No, I’m not,” Franky said, on the verge of tears. “I gave everything I found to Nigel so we wouldn’t be put out on the street.”

  “Man,” Nigel said, dismissing his brother. “Clean this boy’s room back up. I swear you gotta be the dumbest dude I know. If you weren’t my brother, I’d knock you across your head for this. Now, you know Franky ain’t even like that, and even if he was, you missed your lick. Get over it.”

  “I’ll clean it up when I get home. I don’t want him all in my stuff,” Franky said.

  “ ‘Cause you holding out, and you know I’ll find it,” Rico said. “Go on. Take your lil lame butt to school. I’ll have all the time I need while you’re up there getting your brain worked on.”

  “Even if you find it, it’s not yours, idiot,” Nigel said. “But I know you better not step foot in this boy’s room.”

  “Yeah,” Rico said. “Picture that.”

  “Get out,” Nigel said, walking up to Rico. All bets were off now, and Franky knew that Rico was about to get a major beat-down. Rico must’ve known it, too, because he put his hands up and backed out of the room. “And don’t you come back in here no more. This is Franky’s room. I don’t go in your room, so you stay out of his. Let’s go, Franky.”

  Franky looked at the mess of clothes that his cousin had thrown everywhere and shook his head.

  He could toss the room upside down and he wouldn’t find the other three hundred dollars, because it was stashed in the handle of his brush, which he just slid into his back pocket.

  “Rico, man,” Franky said. “That’s messed up what you did to my room and what you accused me of. You know I’m not a thief. If it was your money, I would’ve given it to you, but I gave it to Nigel to help pay the rent.”

  “Yeah,” Rico said, frowning his chubby face up. “Well, if you telling the truth, then I’m sorry, but if you lying, I’ll find out and I’ma whip that butt. Have fun in school.”

  “If I find out you been in this room,” Nigel said, “there’s gonna be some serious consequences for you, and you won’t have to worry about whipping no butt, ya heard?”

  Rico nodded. He couldn’t go against his big brother and win. He gave Franky the evil eye and walked to his room.

  “I gave you everything I had,” Franky said to Nigel with a straight face. He had plans for the other money. He wouldn’t be hungry again. That other three hundred dollars was for when his ribs threatened to kiss his back, and although Nigel always made a way, he was getting tired of living like that. The three hundred dollars was his insurance of always having a meal.

  “I believe you. And even if you didn’t, so what. Let’s get you to school.”

  5

  Favorite civil rights icons Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were shaking hands. The one and only time they ever met was forever bronzed and standing tall out in front of the school named to honor them. Malcolm Martin High School was huge, and once Franky was inside, he was tempted to turn around. The place was so chaotic that for some strange reason it reminded him of a jail more than a school.

  Before Franky and Mrs. Bertha could enter the building, they had to walk through a metal detector that was manned by two buff guys wearing tight-fitting uniforms complete with full pistol belts. Franky looked down at the belt of one of the guards and saw two sets of handcuffs, two cans of pepper spray, and one big black pistol. He looked past the metal detector and saw two more uniformed officers walking with two large German shepherds who were sniffing lockers and students as they walked by.

  What in the world have I gotten myself into? Franky wondered.

  Then there was another shocker. Everywhere he turned, he saw black faces, and they were loud and wild and unruly. Try as he might, he couldn’t find one white face in the crowd of what seemed like a million and one kids running around screaming and yelling. He even saw two kids fighting as people walked by as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Maybe this was ordinary, he thought. This was truly an all-black school. The teachers were black, the kids were black, the janitors were black, the security guards were black, and even the drug-sniffing dogs were black.

  At every school Franky had ever attended since he was a mere six months old, he had always been in the minority, and he’d never even stepped foot in a public school. He had gotten so accustomed to being the one of two or three blacks in school that Malcolm Martin High School was a complete culture shock. Even though he grew up in New Orleans, he had never really been a part of black New Orleans.

  You from New Orleans. We from Nawlins, Rico used to tease.

  Finally, he knew what he meant. This new school environment was going to take some getting used to. But he was here now, and he might as well get started. Nigel had asked Mrs. Bertha if she’d register Franky into the school. She was perfect for the job. She was old and wasn’t really in the right frame of mind to answer too many probing questions. They had their story down, which wasn’t that far off from the truth. Franky had come up from New Orleans after the storms in which he lost both of his parentsand was trying to find new traction in a new city. After a three-year battle with depression, he was finally ready to move on with his life. They even practiced what they would say if the school officials asked certain questions, but they were pleasantly surprised when the nice lady behind the desk didn’t dig too deep. She said they had an influx of people from New Orleans, and special arrangements were made for the displaced.

  “What grade did you last complete, Franky?” Mrs. Bromfield, the school’s registrar and secretary, asked.

  “Sixth,” he answered honestly. “But I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll test you and see where you fit in,” she said, reading the worried expression on Franky’s face.

  “He’s a smart boy,” Mrs. Bertha said. “Just been through a lot in his young life.”

  “I understand,” Mrs. Bromfield said, nodding sympathetically at Franky. “I can only imagine. You’ll have ninety days to get us a copy of his birth certificate, but if you need more time, just let us know.”

  “Okay,” Mrs. Bertha said.

  Franky wasn’t sure how he was going to go about obtaining any of his records, but he had time to figure it out. Right now he was only interested in hearing that he could stay in high school.

  “When can I take the test? I was already reading three levels above my class at my last school. And I was taking algebra in sixth grade,” he bragged.

  “That’s great,” Mrs. Bromfield said. “You will be fine. What is the name of the last school you attended?”

  “Jimrose Academy,” he said. “It’s a private school in New Orleans.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Bromfield said as she tapped away at her computer. “I’m sure this is a far cry from that, but it’ll be what you make it, Mr. Bourgeois. Some of our kids do very well academically and others not so good. It’s all about the work you put in and the people you associate with. I tell everyone who walks thro
ugh that door—association breeds assimilation. You hang with scholars, then more than likely you will be a scholar. If you hang with nutcases, well … more than likely you’ll be a nutcase. Pretty simple, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Franky said.

  He looked over at Mrs. Bertha, who only nodded at him as if to say he was doing fine.

  “Here is your schedule and your locker number and combination. You will use these numbers right for your lunch. There is a little box at the end of the line. You’ll see what I mean when you get there,” she said, pointing at the top of his page. “Now, if you will have a seat in that chair.”

  Franky sat in the chair situated in front of a white background. Mrs. Bromfield came out with a camera and pointed it at him. “Say cheese,” she said, snapping the picture. “Now, if you will fill out this information, I will get your identification card ready.”

  “When do I take the test?” Franky asked.

  “You will take the placement exam no later than Friday, and once we get your scores back, we may or may not change your classes,” Mrs. Bromfield said.

  “Okay,” Franky said, taking in all of the information.

  “Right now you are taking basic freshman classes. Good luck. Oh,” Mrs. Bromfield said. “I almost forgot. Do you need a bus schedule?”

  I wouldn’t dare get on one of those cheese buses, he thought.

  “No, ma’am. We live only a few blocks away. I can walk,” Franky said, taking the paper and standing up.

  “Well, Franky, you seem to be a very bright young man. Don’t let anyone influence you to change that,” Mrs. Bromfield said before handing him his identification card and reaching out to shake his hand. “Good luck, but I’m sure you’ll do well.”

  “Thanks,” Franky said, shaking her hand. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Make sure you wear your ID at all times. If you lose it, you’ll need to come see me right away. The security guards are pretty strict about not letting kids in without them.”

  Franky walked over and helped Mrs. Bertha to her feet. She was a heavy woman, and she seemed to put all of her weight on his bony legs as she stood. He led her over to the door and out of the office. They headed down the hallway, past the black German shepherd, past the metal detectors, and out the front door of the old building.