by Pearl Love
“Tyrell. Kevin. Did you boys grab your lunches?”
“Aww, Mama!” Kevin whined, undermining his attempt to look older. “Do we have to? I wanted to buy my lunch in the cafeteria this year.”
Tyrell winced and waited for the Jesus explosion.
Their mother didn’t disappoint. She stared thunderbolts at her youngest son, and put her hand on her hip as she raised her other to stab an index finger at Kevin. Tyrell beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, but his mother’s voice carried clearly.
“Kevin James Hughes, I know you are not trying to back-talk this early in the morning. The good Lord has provided so you can eat a healthy lunch and you want to eat that garbage they serve at school? Jesus Lord, help me with this boy!”
Tyrell mouthed along with that last sentence, having heard it so many times. He’d once wondered whether his mother was capable of ending a speech any other way. He glanced at the microwave clock and pressed his lips together as he faced the very real possibility that he would be late on his first day.
Kevin went to Chaplain Elementary, the same grade school Tyrell had attended. Since Joanne worked as a legal secretary in one of the downtown law firms, she didn’t have time in the morning to get Kevin to school and make it to her job on time. She had made a deal with Tyrell the summer before he’d started at Winton Yowell: he would get a later curfew if he agreed to walk his little brother to school every morning. Kevin usually had early morning baseball practice, so he started school nearly an hour before Tyrell. Tyrell had considered it a fair deal, and since Chaplain was on his way to the bus stop, it usually wasn’t a problem. Only now Joanne was throwing a monkey wrench into his entire timetable.
“But, Mama,” Kevin tried again, obviously not knowing when to leave well enough alone.
“Don’t ‘but Mama’ me, boy. Do you think I go to the grocery store every week for my health? Do you know how much money I save having you and your brother take your lunch? Do you think money just grows on trees?” Another favorite idiom. “Jesus Lord, help me with this boy!”
“Joanne, honey, it’s too early in the morning for all that noise.”
Saved by the Southern Belle. Tyrell sighed with relief as his grandmother’s dulcet Mississippi drawl, unaffected by over forty-five years of living in Chicago, provided a welcome interruption. He grabbed the paper bags holding his and Kevin’s lunches and retraced his steps to the living room. Instead of rejoining his mother and brother, however, he veered toward his grandmother’s bedroom. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning, and he was surprised she was awake so early. He paused in the doorway, peering into the darkness of her room.
“Tyrell, baby? Why you hoverin’ in the doorway?”
Tyrell smiled. He had a feeling that if she lived to see him turn fifty, she’d still be calling him “baby.” He stepped into the room and moved cautiously over to her bed, trying to avoid any of the misplaced shoes or books that usually littered the floor. It didn’t take long for his sight to adjust to the dimness, and when he arrived at her bedside without incident, he saw she was sitting up with her back propped against her pillow.
“I wasn’t sure if you were awake, Big Momma,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. Her skin was like gently creased satin beneath his lips.
“Now how could I be talkin’ to you if I was asleep?”
Tyrell’s grin broadened at the feisty retort. “Touché.” The fact that she’d picked up on the incongruity of his statement was a good sign. Ever since she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a couple of years before, Tyrell had stopped taking her lucidity for granted. But apparently this was going to be a good day, or so he hoped. “Watch your eyes,” he cautioned before turning the knob on the lamp sitting on the nightstand.
At sixty-eight, Lucille Wallis was still a beautiful woman. Her dark skin shone like mahogany beneath the muted light from the lamp, and her sweet smile erased even more years from her face. Her gray hair was done up in pink foam rollers, a wispy net holding the arrangement firmly in place. Lucille always insisted her hair be properly styled, since one never knew when company might be coming. Unfortunately, those occasions had become fairly rare. Aside from the other members of the Baptist church she attended with her daughter, Lucille didn’t get much company these days.
“You looking forward to school, baby?” Lucille asked. “It’s the first day today, isn’t it?”
Tyrell nodded quickly to dispel the uncertainty in her expression. “Yeah, Big Momma. I’m a junior this year.”
She pressed a hand to her face. “Blessed be!” she said on a gasp. “You are growing up so fast. Before I know it, you’ll be getting married and giving me a great-grandbaby.” She chuckled, and Tyrell could feel his face growing hot. He wondered if his blush was visible through his dark complexion.
“Come on, Big Momma. How about I graduate from high school first?”
“Tyrell!” Joanne called from the living room. “You and Kevin need to leave now so you’re not late.”
Tyrell groaned, though he was relieved the confrontation between Joanne and Kevin had apparently ended in less than five minutes. They were both so stubborn. Sometimes the standoffs between them could go on for days at a time. “Like it’s not her fault we haven’t left already,” he grumbled.
Lucille tsked. “Don’t roll your eyes at your mama. Even if she deserves it,” she finished on a grin.
Tyrell laughed. It was music to his ears to hear his grandmother talking like her old self. Though the good days outnumbered the bad, on occasion she couldn’t quite remember his and Kevin’s names. Fortunately, Joanne had remained a strong presence in her mind, at least for now. “Okay, Big Momma. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
“Don’t hurry home on my account,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll want to spend time with your school friends.”
Not likely, Tyrell thought. He wasn’t much of a joiner, so his main interaction with his classmates took place during the school day. He didn’t belong to any clubs, and he didn’t play on any of the many sports teams Winton Yowell boasted. There was no reason for him not to come straight home after the Opening Day assembly.
“All right,” he said instead, not wanting to get into yet another conversation with his grandmother about his lack of a social life. Her frequent lamentations that her sixteen-year-old grandson had never had a girlfriend—as far as she knew—were mortifying enough. He kissed her again and reached for the lamp’s knob.
Lucille shook her head. “No, leave it on. I’m awake now. And tell your mama to stop fussing at Kevin.”
Tyrell smiled wryly. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work.”
The sound of her chuckle followed him as he turned and left her room. When he reached the living room, Kevin was waiting by the door with a sour expression on his face. Tyrell smirked at him and handed his little brother his lunch.
“I don’t know why you bother,” he snarked. “You can’t argue with Jesus.”
“This is Madison and Halsted. This stop is Madison and Halsted.”
Tyrell sat up in his seat as the bus slowed to a halt in front of the bus shelter sitting on the corner. Though they’d had to hustle, he’d managed to get Kevin to school and still catch his bus on time. He had to transfer downtown to the #20 Madison, and he enjoyed watching the bustling crowds, imagining what it would be like when he someday joined the ranks of the gainfully employed. He still needed to finish high school and get through college, but he greatly looked forward to the day when he was no longer living under his mother’s roof. Jesus could be a really tedious housemate.
Under his breath, he hummed the melodic line underpinning 2 Chainz dope lyrics as the rapper waxed poetic about girls with big booties, which immediately brought to mind one big-bootied girl in particular.
Shaunteé Dubois. Tyrell’s father had been a dedicated fan of Motown oldies before he passed away, and Tyrell had gotten a decent grounding in those classics from the ’60s and ’70s. He was absolutely ce
rtain The Commodores had somehow met Shaunteé when they’d come up with that song “Brick House.” He’d first seen her, or at least had first really noticed her, the previous year during Homecoming when she’d performed on the dance squad. And as it had every moment since, the mere thought of her was enough to make his shorts feel tighter.
The woman in the seat next to him got up, and Tyrell breathed a sigh of relief, only to groan in dismay a second later when a much larger woman took her place. Tyrell grimaced as he was crushed between the woman and the side of the bus. Luckily, he was only four blocks from his stop. Maybe he’d just stand the rest of the way. It would be a lot more comfortable than dying of suffocation. He was contemplating the least offensive way to ask the woman to let him by so he could stand in the aisle when he heard a light male voice shouting from outside his window. He looked out but saw only a streak as the caller ran toward the closing doors.
“Wait!” the voice repeated from the sidewalk near the front of the bus.
Through the rearview mirror, Tyrell saw the bus driver roll his eyes upward. For half a second, the bastard clearly contemplated ignoring the request before he finally pressed the button to reopen the doors. “Thanks,” the voice said, breathy with exertion and relief.
The bus driver shook his head as he glanced at the newcomer. “Son, it’s dangerous to run for the bus. Best to just wait for the next one. They run pretty frequently on this route this time of day.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice said, the words growing more distinct as the speaker mounted the steps toward the driver and the fare box.
When Tyrell saw the kid who’d barely missed becoming the latest victim of the driver’s passive aggressiveness, he had two simultaneous thoughts. The first was what a fag. The second was so pretty. Both thoughts made him extremely uncomfortable, though he was hard-pressed to say which one disturbed him more.
Tyrell guessed the kid was around his age going by his general height and build. That lanky, scrawny look was common among teenage guys and could be hiding either extreme weakness or an incongruous whippy strength. Any similarities between them ended there, though. Tyrell, like many of his friends, did everything he could to be as individualistic as possible while taking great pains to look like everyone else. This guy on the other hand apparently didn’t give a shit what other people thought of him.
The kid was wearing battered jeans and a T-shirt that boasted a picture of some guy in a wig with frilly clothes, which was half-hidden behind the gaudy pendant hanging from his neck. Below the face, the words “If It Ain’t Baroque” appeared in a barely readable font. His skin was fair and showed signs of a mild acne breakout that was mostly healed. Tyrell caught a flash of brilliant green eyes as the kid searched around idly for a seat, but his hair was the feature that had prompted Tyrell’s knee-jerk assessment of his orientation. He was blond, which wasn’t unusual, but the way he wore it….
How fair art thou, my bonnie lass.
“What the hell?” Tyrell mumbled. He’d never had reason to regret his infatuation with English poets until that very moment.
The kid’s hair fell in an elaborate series of spiral ringlets that reached past his shoulders. They bounced and shimmied every time he moved his head and whenever the bus hit a patch of rough pavement. Tyrell had never seen anything like it, and he couldn’t look away, fascinated by the unusual coiffure. Of all the times for his mother’s insistence that he start studying for the PSATs over the summer to come in handy. Of course it was right when Tyrell was staring that the strange kid chose to look in his direction. Or maybe the guy had felt him staring. Either way, Tyrell found himself caught like a deer in headlights when the kid’s verdant gaze met his stare head-on. Damn PSATs.
Tyrell wanted to look away. He shouldn’t be staring. There was absolutely no reason for him to be staring. Except he had never seen such amazing eyes in his life. They were the color of trees right at the end of spring when their leaves were lush and green, unscorched by the onrush of summer’s intense heat. Something about that gaze reached deep into Tyrell and refused to let go. And then he heard music, soft and ethereal like nothing he’d ever listened to but so profound he felt his chest tighten with emotion.
Disturbed by his peculiar reaction, Tyrell shut his eyes briefly and shook his head, attempting to clear it of wayward thoughts. When he looked up again, the kid was still looking at him, albeit curiously, as though Tyrell was the one who’d done something odd. The music had vanished, and the kid once again seemed to be nothing more complex than an utter weirdo.
Fag. Pretty.
The adjectives vied in Tyrell’s brain for prominence, and he’d just about made up his mind that the former was the better response. He didn’t necessarily care that some guys found other guys attractive. He just wasn’t particularly interested in being one of them. Shaunteé Dubois was pretty. This kid was just… bizarre.
Feeling confident in his decision, Tyrell hurriedly fixed his face, adjusting his expression from slightly nervous awe to a cool glare into which he injected just the right hint of nastiness. The kid blinked, apparently caught off guard by Tyrell’s show of hostility, but in the next instant, he’d clearly moved on, sliding his gaze away as he continued his hunt for an empty seat.
Tyrell didn’t know if the kid was successful in his search. He stared determinedly out the window, refusing to look at the weirdo any longer. It wasn’t his concern whether some fag had to stand for the rest of his ride. Tyrell moved his shoulders in an uneasy shrug, that word sitting less easily in his thoughts than it had a second ago. Whatever, he grumbled silently. It wasn’t like he’d ever have to see the kid again to be concerned about his conflicting reactions. Keeping his gaze firmly glued to the passing scenery, Tyrell prepared himself to maneuver past the large woman next to him so he’d be ready when it was his turn to get off the bus.
“Next stop, Madison and Aberdeen.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Tyrell thought his grandmother would be proud of him, even though politeness was the last sentiment he was feeling toward the lady who’d tried to turn him into a pancake in his seat.
The woman shot him an annoyed glance, but she apparently couldn’t find a legitimate reason to object. She maneuvered her bulk so he could slide past her. He’d been sitting toward the front and made his way to the door, two years of practice helping him keep perfect balance as the bus hit a pothole with bone-jarring force. Movement near the rear door caught his eye, and he glanced over to see the strange kid standing there. Was he about to get off too? Shit, Tyrell thought. He sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case. There wasn’t much at the next intersection except….
“This is Madison and Racine. This is the stop for Winton Yowell High School.”
Tyrell knew the bus driver had shared that information only to accommodate any new students who might be getting off there for the first time. As soon as the doors opened, he pounded down the steps and alighted on the concrete sidewalk, which was baked from the brutal summer that was finally coming to an end. The bus stop was on the northeast corner of the intersection, and the school was situated on a large patch of land immediately to the southwest. Tyrell was walking toward the corner so he could cross the first of the two streets he needed to navigate when something in the periphery of his gaze distracted him.
“Shit,” Tyrell repeated, this time aloud.
The weirdo had indeed gotten off at the same stop, which meant he was most likely a new student at Winton Yowell. Tyrell couldn’t claim he knew everyone in the nonfreshman classes, but he sure as heck had never seen this kid before. He definitely looked too old to have just graduated from grammar school, unless he was like Dunce and had been held back. Tyrell doubted that was the case. No one who’d had to repeat a grade wore T-shirts with frilly old dudes on them, which meant he was most likely a transfer student.
The kid was looking around, clearly trying to orient himself to his new surroundings. He spied the school sitting kitty-corner across the street and turned to head to
the curb where Tyrell waited for the light to change.
For some reason he couldn’t name, Tyrell decided it was best to avoid the new student. He quickly checked both ways for traffic and, seeing the coast was relatively clear, indulged in that favorite Chicago pastime: jaywalking. Bolting diagonally across the street to save time—straight lines and all he remembered from last year’s Geometry class—Tyrell sighed as his feet landed on the safe territory of the grass surrounding the school. “Our very own urban oasis,” the principal liked to call it. Tyrell was just glad to be back on familiar territory. It had been a long summer. He headed for the main entrance, never looking back to see whether he was being followed by bouncing blond ringlets.
Chapter TWO
“TYRELL! YOU finally decided to show up.”
“Give me my money, Gage.”
Tyrell rolled his eyes at Cynthia Parker’s triumphant demand and angled toward the group hanging out in front of the main building of Winton Yowell. The school had two: the Academic and Arts building and the one that housed the phys ed and rec facilities.
“Did you jerks actually bet on whether I’d miss the first day of school?”
Cynthia shot him a grin while holding her hand out toward the large boy to her left. Her relaxed, dark brown hair was pulled back in its customary ponytail—“track ready” she liked to called the style—and her skin glowed under the bright sun. Tyrell knew she’d probably been at school for hours already for morning practice. Otherwise they’d have taken the bus together. Due to the time she spent outdoors indulging in her passion, she was nearly twice as dark as she would be later on during the height of winter. She was a rising star on Winton Yowell’s track team and had been Tyrell’s best friend since kindergarten.