Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  “I have to go: the bus is down the street,” interrupted Tenesha.

  “Don’t think just because you are going to school; you can avoid me! I can always take you to school myself after I get you, or I can come to your school and give open house a whole new definition!” threatened Yvette as her sassy daughter and energetic son sprinted past her. Tenesha walked to the curb, as TC jumped onto it just seconds before a large, rectangular shadow covered them. The driver glanced in the mirror to see his late, stray passenger and opened the door. Tenesha almost kissed the pavement by an unseen shove before her palms pressed into the gravel and concrete. She glanced up to see a familiar, eight-year-old rushing to a stairway and jumping aboard the bright, yellow vehicle.

  “You don’t have any type of manners do you? It is usually good manners to let a girl go ahead of you,” volunteered Tenesha as she watched her ten-year-old brother running down the aisle from the street.

  “Like I said, ‘you have manners, and it hasn’t helped you.’ You say you’re a girl; I’d like to get a second opinion on that!” replied younger voice, screaming from the moving vehicle’s window. TC’s older sister stood with crossed arms and a frowning face as the bus pulled off.

  James rose from his bed as though he were awake. I do not know why I do not feel sleepy when I wake up during mornings. He suddenly buried his nose in his armpit. His nostrils tingled with minty soap from last night’s shower. He moved his head and thumbed through his textbooks’ pages to see his neatly arranged essays for class. The erudite, young man smiled at the glistening, golden trophies, plaques, and ribbons suspended from the walls. He retrieved a faded, well-starched, red blazer draped over some smooth, dark-blue trousers. He snatched some slacks from a hanger and donned them like a blanket.

  James' room would simply be a white, cubicle space without the awards and books it contained. The student slowly walked though the hallway to his father's room. His glance revealed a slim, beige man sprawled across the bed with a clear stream pooling near his mouth. James smiled as he walked away from the cracked, dingy door upon passing the room. His right hand swung passively beside his faded red blazer, blue slacks, and black backpack. The young man's fingers grazed the doorknob before his glasses reflected a thin man smiling at him. James noticed the man smiled at him whenever he opened a book, used a broom, rag, or a mop; or tutored other students his age or older. He immediately turned around to confirm what the glasses already revealed.

  Routinely, the guardian noticed James' lenses frequently reflected printed text instead of women in thongs, bloody images, and sweaty athletes shimmering on televisions, monitors, and screens. James would always have a bucket filled with water or soap when most teenagers his age would run away from chores after a gathering. A scowl appeared upon James’ face whenever his father insisted upon introducing him to other teenagers, especially girls.

  * * *

  The guardian and James sat upon a bench in the bustling food court of a mall with another man and his daughter. The young man turned away before his guardian stared at him with a furrowed brow and a threatening squint, but the daughter glanced at James, turned towards her father and said, “You expect me to talk to that?” The young man responded by saying, “Yeah, you usually have to have a vocabulary larger than shopping mall or money to hold a decent conversation.”

  “I thought you told me that your son was a desirable, young man! He looks like a test-tube baby.”

  “I thought your daughter had an I.Q. above single digits!”

  The fathers slowly stood at opposite ends of the table’s edge of the table with their fists clenched. They walked toward each other before each other until they were their noses almost touched. Their squinted eyes exchanged hostile stares before one of them took a quick glance at their children.

  “You know what? We need to allow them to make their own decisions. Lord knows I made enough bad ones of my own.”

  His opponent quietly chuckled and replied, “Choosing incompatible matches is one sin I refuse to pass onto my children. They can do that well enough by themselves.” The two men relaxed their stances with laughter before shaking hands, salvaging their friendship, and agreeing to never attempting matchmaking on their children’s behalves, ever again.

  * * *

  The man walked toward James, patted him on the shoulder, and locked the door from inside after the boy walked through it. The student snatched his backpack’s left strap and swung it upon his back as he strode past the brown, rusted mailbox. He thumbed through the pages of a textbook that was not related to any of his classes after securing his homework for school. The warm air of the dim morning grazed his cheek.

  The peeling, brown, oak-stained door seemed to stare at him before he turned around and walked away. He glanced at the aged, gray, concrete porch with many settling cracks spreading throughout the two-story house with faded, red bricks and plain, brown shingles on the roof. He took a deep breath, turned around, and walked to the curb. The young man thought about how much he liked reading books, spending time with his father, and helping other students. However, all of these things were diminished by one thing. A thought plagued his mind like cancer: If my nightmares are nothing more than recurring, random, images, then how come the same ones continue happening, repeatedly?

  Tenesha stepped off of her bus and became absorbed into the swarms of teenagers leaving other buses. The rushing, rainbow-painted river of students flowed into the gray, brick facility with volumes of noise filling the halls. The air was even more still when they entered the building. An array of odors attacked their noses at once. Expensive, excessive amounts of perfume struck their nostrils like obsessive boxers, while the smell of others lacking soap mixed with those who wore too much cologne.

  Many would have gagged and choked if they were not close to their destinations. The groups of students were so diverse in their appearances; they resembled the shimmering colors of a kaleidoscope as they entered into different rooms. Florescent bulbs illuminated the wide corridors with many sets of colored lockers covered by the fading paint and the occasional appearance of graffiti.

  James glanced at a few of his classmates walking into the classroom. The young man sneered upon watching other students, but he walked behind them and smiled with a glance at his completed homework. His teeth gleamed at the thought of having the last laugh because students who torment him would sweat profusely, drum their fingers into desks repeatedly, and toggle their eyes at each other when the teacher asked for their assignments.

  Tenesha scowled upon seeing some of the suspended students who were not even permitted on the school’s campus loitering in the hallways. She knew they still entered the building when they forced some of the smaller, weaker students to give them their badges. The guards on campus just glanced at the tags without looking thoroughly and permitted entry to them.

  Many nearly broke their necks to avoid them, but everyone ran the fastest away from Six Tres. He was already six-feet tall with dark skin, and he had a lot of extra padding over his muscles with some solid bulk beneath his baggy pants, black sneakers, sports jersey, and a small, gold chain with his gold-plated Seiko watch. He also had his own personal entourage of followers who regularly mimicked his behavior. The large, young man grabbed a small, skinny teenager and slammed him into the locker, repeatedly. Some gathered around him to watch while others left to avoid the same fate.

  The smaller adolescent struggled as helplessly as a bug in a clinched hand. He swung wildly at his attacker, but his blows were as effective gusts of air brushing his opponent’s clothes, mildly. The smaller of the two regretfully acquiesced, reached into his pocket, and handed him his money. Six Tres smiled, shoved his weaker opponent onto the floor, and greedily shoved the wrinkled bills into his pocket. The victim held his bleeding nose as he slid through the blackened gum, crumpled paper, and dirt upon the floor.

  He gratefully scurried away from his attacker on his other free limbs, while moving backwards in the debris. Most of t
he other students immediately cleared the hallway and skittishly moved a safe distance from the young criminal. The large menace walked through the hallways as his eyes glared through running students. He strode within the corridor with hunched shoulders and swaggering gait.

  Tenesha increased her speed, eased past them, and walked away, casually. She knew she did not wear the type of flashy clothes that usually attracted much unwanted attention, but her lower body always drew undesired glances, stares, and disrespect. She sighed and relaxed her stiff shoulders successfully until she heard one of them shout, “Look at how big her caboose is!”

  “I never thought I wanted to be a passenger so badly!”

  “Say baby! Let me get my saddle, so we can be in the rodeo!” Tenesha's cringed with her stomach feeling bloated, head feeling light, and mouth wanting to fill with vomit. She heard the juvenile ruffians’ footsteps approaching her before a more dominant voice silenced the others.

  “She is mine!” Their clamor filled the hallways before a furrowed brow with squinted eyes silenced their protests. They all receded like tides from a shore as he approached the frowning woman. Tenesha saw some of the other girls staring at her with furrowed brows and peeled eyes before smiling coyly at Six Tres. She would gladly sign over her unwanted attention to them if it were possible. The passer-by felt his breath upon her neck as he spoke to her.

  “Say, why don’t you hand me those digits? You know you want to.”

  “Sure, as soon as you learn how to count them!”replied the young woman, bitterly. Laughter erupted from behind him until his peeled eyes silenced his crew. He returned his focus to the young woman and placed his fingers in her face:

  “You gonna wish you hadn’t done that. I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson!”

  “That may not be necessary!”

  “Why not?”

  “Your breath is already kicking my butt!” The group’s knees buckled with laughter while pressing their hands against their mouths as some walked away snickering. Six Tres rushed away with his eyes squinting in her direction. Tenesha shook her head and walked away. She headed toward her class before a group of young women obstructed her path. Tenesha attempted to walk around them before they intentionally stepped in front of her while facing her. A gasp escaped her lungs as she shook her head. One of them looked at her from head to toe and commented.

  “She thinks she’s all that with those baggy clothes, lookin’ like Flava Flav in a dress! Where did you get them from…the trash bin behind a flea market?” laughed her tormentor.

  “Yeah, your mama sold them to me!” retorted the annoyed, young woman. The other young women slightly shook their head, pushed her in Tenesha’s direction, and made fists toward their potential victim.

  “Oh no, she did not!”

  “You better check her!”

  “She must think she’s the baddest bi…!”

  “You gone let this nobody talk to you like that!” commented one of the other young ladies. The dominant, young woman looked at her followers and responded.

  “Naw, I’m gonna leave Aunt Jemima, alone!” Tenesha looked at the rouge, mascara, and lip stick layered upon her tormentor's face like concrete. The antagonistic, young women laughed until their involuntary nemesis responded.

  “If you turn yourself in now, the police might go eay on you!”

  “For what?”

  “For stealing all of Ronald McDonald’s make-up. I think he’s ready to file charges against you!” snapped Tenesha. The antagonists quickly surrounded her, and they began to hit and scratch her. Many of the other students began to form a circle around the disturbance. Everything the introverted, young lady witnessed was a flurry of blows coming from all directions. Tenesha fell against the lockers. The commotion stopped as the bell shattered their activity. The crowd of students resembled windblown debris as they scattered to their classes. Tenesha slowly rose from the floor as she eased her hands against the lockers upon standing. She gasped and gratefully walked into the room toward her assigned seat.

  The young lady pulled a small compact from her purse, viewed her face, and sighed in relief because they did not induce a whole lot of damage to her except for a few scratches and broken skin. The mildly relieved individual settled into her desk and relaxed. It was rare for her to have a moment of solace and peace. She inhaled deeply, stretched her legs, and extended her arms. Tenesha slouched mildly until she turned her head to the left. Her muscles contracted just a few fibers short of spasms, and a broken pencil fell from her hands before she realized it snapped. A scowl appeared upon her face upon seeing her greatest-academic rival.

  A slim, dark-skinned individual with copper-framed glasses read diligently as he adjusted his spectacles until he saw his scholastic competitor. He shook his head lightly and began tapping his fingers on upon his desk. They immediately paused before frowning in each others' directions. James Richard Louis stared at his adversary until the bell rang, and both of them turned their heads toward the front of the class. A woman with mahogany skin, small waistline, and a very voluptuous frame walked inside the classroom. Most of the young men visualized her with lace, red-thong underwear as they fixed their ravenous gazes upon her like eagles spotting prey.

  “I hope you all have completed your homework assignments because there will be extra homework and a pop quiz ready for you if you have not,” exhorted the firm, curvaceous woman. Tenesha slouched in her seat with a wry smile as some of the other students cringed and stared at each other with toggling eyes and hunched shoulders. She glanced in James’ direction antagonistically to see if he was as anxious as the other students, but her rival’s posture resembled her own. The scornful adversary turned around with some mild disappointment at not being able to find a weakness she could use against him.

  The bell rang for lunch, and Tenesha jumped to her feet, dashed down the hallway, and rotated her head like a search light for familiar faces in the midst of screaming and conversing students. She smiled upon recognizing a cherubic, chestnut boy scanning tables before scuttling toward habitual friends. Everyone had multiple volleys of conversations vying for supremacy with the ferocity of piranhas until the clamor stopped with the table trembling. They all immediately glanced toward the arrival.

  "Lenny, do you have to shake the table like a rattle every time you sit down, man?!" protested one students.

  "It ain't my fault that my glory causes the hills to 'melt like wax!'"

  "That ain't yo glory: that's yo butt brakin' Richtor scales across the country!"

  Tenesha graciously walked past all of the other green, noisy tables of boisterous teenagers as she followed Lenny's path. She knew she reached her destination upon seeing Lenny Parker swallowing a greasy, brown, square-shaped excuse for meat down his throat. Her thin, pearl friend Samantha Nguyen sat with music blasting from her ears with her head shaking as though she were convulsing.

  A thin, mahogany boy just twisted some really dry pasta listlessly with his fork, pushing peas outside of his tray without really thinking about whether or not he wanted to eat it. He eventually gasped and fully swallowed the peas and pasta without chewing.

  “Hey, Stick,” greeted Tenesha.

  “What’s up?” replied Stick. Then, the joyful individual’s delight fell after she glanced to the other side of the table to see her cognitive nemesis, James Louis, reading a faded, red book with loose threading dangling from the cover. She glanced at him before rolling her eyes upward.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” James looked up and replied accordingly, “Look what the cat spit up.”

  “I wish the two of you would stop it!” interjected Samantha. Tenesha sneered at James, and James lifted a hand in the air with his palm facing his antagonist’s direction.

  “Have any of you done the homework assignment for Mrs. Tennyson?” inquired Lenny.

  “Yes” replied both James and Tenesha before glaring at each other with frowns and peeled eyes.

  “I don’t know why they don’t like
each other; one is practically like the other with the exception of the boy-girl issue,” observed Samantha.

  “Maybe that’s why. You know how you have fights if one male lion goes into the other lion’s territory? Have you ever heard the expression ‘you can never have two roosters in the hen house at the same time?’ It seems to be the same principle with nerds. If one poses a threat to the other’s territory smartness, then a scuffle is just waiting to happen,” speculated Lenny.

  “The only problem with your theory, if you can call it that, is that kind of fight usually occurs between two animals that are either male or female. One is not usually a female animal fighting a male animal,” explained Samantha.

  “Maybe the rules are slightly different for paper pushers. A nerd, regardless of being a boy or girl, is probably considered an alpha male if their smartness is popular throughout the hood they are in,” reasoned Lenny.

  “I think I agree with Samantha,” interjected James.

  “You mean about the bubble-gum logic regarding rivalry between two really smart nerds?” asked Samantha.

  “No, the theory postulating that such a conflict can only occur between two creatures of the same gender,” replied James. Then, he turned toward Tenesha and ridiculed, “How are you doing, sir?”

  “Why, that is a really stunning blouse you have on today (referring to the pink hue that developed on James highly faded, red blazer).” Both Lenny and Samantha laughed, loudly. James just conceded to temporary defeat as he scowled before turning his head. James’ rival smiled at being able to find a mild chink to exploit in her nemesis’s seemingly invincible demeanor.

  “Does anyone have Mrs. Tennyson’s history assignment completed? I need to copy it,” asked Lenny. James, Samantha, Tenesha, and Stick stared at Lenny with protruding eyes and frowns.

  “How come you don’t ever do your own work?” asked Tenesha.

  “I can understand one time, but you do it almost every day, man!” added Stick