by Mark Oshiro
“It’s fine, Moss, I promise. Was he there for … you know…”
In the silence that Wanda let hang there, Shamika looked from Moss to Wanda and back again. “For what?”
Moss pushed his food around for a bit. “I had another panic attack,” he said, his voice sheepish.
“Oh, honey,” said Shamika. “I’m sorry. Cops again? Or something else?”
“Actually, I’m surprised it wasn’t the cops,” he said, looking up at her. “There was a rally at the West Oakland station for some dude who got killed, so the place was swarming with ’em. But no, it’s cuz I got recognized again.”
Shamika’s cheery manner dropped off her. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “this community is too much.”
“Anyway, yeah, he was there,” Moss said. “Saw the whole thing.”
“Wait,” said Shamika. “Did you give him your number before or after that?”
“After. Why?”
“Whew,” she said, throwing her hands up. “Marry that man right now.”
Wanda swatted at her again. “Shamika!”
“Look, I’m just sayin’,” she said. “This boy already knows Moss is crazy and is still interested?” She turned back to Moss. “He’s a keeper. Trust me. I have to go through this whole routine to explain my medication to every person I date, and I hate it. Some people bounce the second I bring out one of those orange bottles.”
“Really?” Moss said. “That soon?”
“It’s already not easy bein’ depressed,” said Shamika. “Adding another person to that rarely makes it better. So take it from me: If he’s already cool with you and your head, that’s a step above most people I’ve met.”
“She’s not wrong,” said Wanda. “Though please don’t propose to this Javier just yet, honey.”
Moss chuckled. “I won’t.” He crossed his hands over his chest. “So what do you think? He lives over near Fruitvale, wants me to come over and play video games and stuff.”
“Will his parents be there?” Wanda asked.
“Parent,” corrected Moss. “It’s just his mom. And yeah, it will be supervised. I’m not that scandalous.”
She pursed her lips, then took another bite of one of Shamika’s biscuits. “Okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s time. I been wonderin’ if you were ever going to date anyone.”
“Mamaaaaa,” he droned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re hella cute, Moss, and boys should be throwing themselves at you,” said Shamika, and her earrings tinkled as she laughed.
“You have any condoms?”
The question from his mama hit him square in the chest, and he actually choked on one of the biscuits. Shamika roared with laughter as she passed Moss a fresh glass of water. He swallowed it down and glared at Wanda, who looked far too pleased for his comfort.
“We are not having sex, Mama,” he shot out. “Certainly not with his mom in the same apartment.”
“I feel like I would be remiss in my parenting if I didn’t bring it up,” she said. “I had sex by the time I was sixteen, and your seventeenth is next month. It’s not like it’s unreasonable to assume it’s going to happen soon.”
“I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Moss admitted, his voice dropping in volume. “I just don’t feel like I wanna hook up with someone without getting to know them.”
“A true romantic,” said Shamika. “You’re gonna have this boy swooning over you.”
Moss smiled at her, then his mother. “So it’s okay? You don’t have a problem with it?”
Wanda didn’t say anything at first. She was examining his face, and he saw her eyes well up and sparkle. “Of course it’s okay, Moss,” she said. “I just want you to be happy.” She sniffled. “Responsibly happy, I should add.”
“I promise, Mama,” he said, standing up and grabbing his plate. “I’m gonna go tell Javier, if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead,” she said, and she handed Moss her empty plate. He walked over to the sink to deposit them, and she added, “After you do the dishes.”
She’s evil, he thought. But I love her.
He listened to Shamika and his mama gossip as he did the dishes. Halfway through, Wanda came over and kissed him on the head. “Don’t stay up too late tonight,” she said.
“Where y’all headed?” Moss asked.
“I got the day off tomorrow, and I desperately need a night out,” she said. “Shamika got plans but won’t tell me them, so we’re gonna go pretend I’m still twenty years old.”
“Your mama swears she doesn’t look a day over twenty-five,” Shamika shot back from the table.
“Well, then you’re gonna help me with my good wig tonight, girl,” said Wanda. “My son’s getting more action than me these days, lord help me.”
Moss cackled though his face burned. “You’re too much, Mama.”
“Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
“Be safe, Mama,” he said, and he put his hands on his hips. “Don’t talk to strangers.”
“Oh, don’t you start, Moss,” she said as Shamika howled with laughter in the background.
She walked away and he called after her, “Wear your sweater!”
The sound of their laughter and conversation died as they disappeared into his mama’s bedroom to get ready. Moss concentrated on the dishes as his heart began to race again, as the thought of texting Javier to confirm their first date sent an electricity through him. Does this count as a date?
Maybe he’d have to ask. Moss dried his hands after finishing and hung up the dish towel on its hook near the refrigerator. He dashed over to his own room and shut the door behind him. The hanging globe lights, which lined the edge where the ceiling met the wall, cast a heavenly glow over his room, but Moss needed more. He switched on the large lamp that sat in the opposite corner, and it cast his wall of posters in brightness. He had a few gig flyers thumbtacked to a board, many of them for shows he’d attended with Rawiya in the last year. Next to it, his pride and joy hung framed on the wall: a signed Missy Elliott poster that he’d gotten for Christmas the previous year. She stood proudly and defiantly in front of her own name in graffiti, and her signature was down in the bottom right. His mother refused to tell him how she’d been able to get it.
Moss fired off a text to Javier: we on for friday. What time is good for u?
He powered on his computer and brought up iTunes to play some Prince while he went through his closet. As Prince sang about controversy, Moss began to pull out shirts and flannels. Which look would be best? He assumed that he’d be coming home first, then biking over to Javier’s after checking in with his mom, so he wanted to have a fresh outfit change ready.
Yet as he began to match up tops with jeans, his excitement waned. He held up a red-and-black-striped flannel to his torso and looked in the mirror on his closet door. Did it even fit anymore? He pulled it off the hanger and swung it around him. By the time he got his arms in the sleeves, he could already tell that he’d gained weight since the last time he had worn it. He could barely button one of the buttons on the front, so he dejectedly hung it back in the closet. Maybe you need to buy longer shirts, he thought. At least those won’t ride up if you raise your hands.
He thought that perhaps his bike riding would help keep the weight off, but he just kept growing. At least I’m tall, he thought, but it wasn’t much of a consolation.
He sighed, knowing he shouldn’t be so hard on himself. It wasn’t like his size was a mystery to Javier. The guy had seen him in the flesh. If he thought you were ugly, he wouldn’t have asked for your number, Moss told himself.
He took another deep breath. He set out a pair of dark blue jeans and a black V-neck on his desk, hoping the simple colors would be nice enough to make it seem like he tried. Before he climbed into bed, the sound of Prince’s voice still echoing in the room, he grabbed his maroon fitted cap and laid it on top of the clothing. That’s what that was missing, he thought.
Moss turned down his music, and then
snuggled into bed. He fell into a dreamless sleep.
7
They came in just before class ended.
There was no knock on the door. Mrs. Torrance had led the room in a discussion of the previous night’s reading of Things Fall Apart for nearly half an hour, and Moss was surprised that more of the kids had engaged in conversation than he expected for a Thursday morning. Maybe it’s because most of them have digital files, he theorized.
It didn’t matter, though. Moss did his best to pay attention, but the beginning of a migraine raged in his head, making it hard to keep his eyes open in the bright classroom. One of the fluorescent lights had started flickering halfway through class, exacerbating the pain, and Moss was eager to dart over to his locker and get his medication. Why the hell did I leave it behind? he thought. So he listened to Mrs. Torrance speak of Achebe, his history as a writer, and the themes they should look out for while reading.
The door swung open with no announcement just before the bell. Assistant Principal Stephen Jacobs offered a curt smile to Mrs. Torrance, whose head had swung toward him, her beads tinkling again. “Sorry for the interruption,” Mr. Jacobs said, and he ran a hand through his short brown hair, his eyes locked on the ground. He won’t even look at her, Moss thought. Serves him right. He could see the color seep into Mr. Jacobs’s face, and he was instantly thankful that he was never that obvious when he blushed. “I have a student who needs to come with me for … um … for a locker search.” The man seemed exhausted.
It was then that Officer Hull appeared behind AP Jacobs. Moss almost expected the students to groan, but they were dead silent instead. A chair creaked as someone shifted in their seat, and Moss looked to his friends. Njemile held her breath, and Kaisha fixed a scowl on her face. They all watched Mr. Jacobs unfold the yellow notice he held in his hand. He cleared his throat.
Please don’t let it be me, Moss said, a silent request to no one, and with everyone. He saw Hull’s eyes, hawkish and focused, sweep over the classroom, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
“Is … uh … is Mr.… Shawna Meyers here?”
There was a collective sigh of relief as Shawna said, “Miss. I told you yesterday that it’s Miss Shawna Meyers.”
He looked down at the paper he held. “Oh, right,” he said. “Yes, you did tell me that.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, crossing her arms.
Mr. Jacobs was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but you were randomly chosen. Please gather your things and come with me.”
“No.”
The entire class turned to stare at Shawna, whose black beanie was pulled low on her head as usual. Moss had never heard Mrs. Torrance’s class so quiet before, every student anticipating the fight that was to come.
“You can’t say no,” said Mr. Jacobs, but even as he spoke, Moss could hear that he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shawna glared at the assistant principal. “Is it against the rules to say ‘no’ now?”
Officer Hull pushed past Mr. Jacobs and cleared his throat. “You have to come with us now.”
“Did I break a rule?”
“Please gather your things and come with us,” said Hull, more forceful this time. His hand went up on his hip, right to the gun that sat in its holster.
It was like the air in the room disappeared for a moment, and Moss gripped the edge of his desk hard, sucking his breath in as he looked from Hull to Shawna. She’d seen the gesture, too, and all her anger evaporated. She didn’t say anything as she slowly pulled her bag up from the floor. She stood up and shoved her copy of Things Fall Apart into her backpack. “What did I do, huh?” Shawna demanded, but the fire in her voice was gone. “Why me? You trying to punish me for what I told you yesterday?”
“I promise you, it’s random, Ms. Meyers.” He turned to Mrs. Torrance, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Sorry for the interruption, Mrs. Torrance, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Hull stuck his hand out, taking it off the holster. “This way, please.”
There was no relief left in Moss, just a tired sadness as he watched Shawna make her way out of the room. “This is bullshit,” she said.
“Shawna,” Mrs. Torrance said, and her usual sharpness was gone, replaced with something closer to tenderness, “please watch your language in my classroom.”
She stopped by the door, and her face was full of despair as she looked back at Mrs. Torrance. “Yes, ma’am.”
“If you need anything,” their teacher continued, glaring at the men in her doorway, “you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” Shawna muttered, and her head drooped as she left the classroom. Mr. Jacobs raised his hand in goodbye, and he was soon gone, along with Hull.
The absence left in the wake of Shawna’s departure weighed heavily on the room. Moss’s headache had faded a little, which he would have been joyous about under other circumstances. But Mrs. Torrance stood speechless at the front of the classroom. She had nothing witty or insightful or illuminating to say; instead, she just shifted her weight from one foot to the other, avoiding the stares her students gave her. When she looked away from the door, she happened to lock eyes with Moss.
“I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled, her usually clear, strong voice reduced to almost a whisper. “I’m sorry y’all have to go through this.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Njemile said after a few beats of silence. She quickly had the rapt attention of the whole room. “It seems so unfair! Shawna didn’t do anything.”
“You know they don’t care about that,” said Kaisha. “Never have cared about safety or whatever excuse they make.”
The bell rang out just then, and everyone began to slowly assemble their things. Mrs. Torrance did not answer Njemile. She was still looking at Moss, and he looked down to avoid her gaze as he put his stuff away. When he passed her on his way out, she smiled, soft and weary. She saw my panic, he realized.
“You okay, son?” Mrs. Torrance said.
He shook his head. “Not really,” he answered. “Not much we can do about it, is there?”
“I don’t know,” she said, waving to a couple of students as they exited her classroom. “Depends on how long the school can keep up this charade before things go badly.”
He shrugged at her and bid her goodbye, then caught up to Kaisha and Njemile. They all headed to the middle quad together, and no one said anything. Moss was used to Kaisha’s silence. Like Bits, Kaisha did not speak unless she needed to. Njemile, on the other hand, was normally much more chatty. He couldn’t blame them, though. It was as if a toxic cloud hung all around them no matter where they went.
It was Kaisha who broke the silence. “I guess I never noticed how busted up our school is,” she said, and she pointed toward the ceiling above one of the classroom doors. They followed her gesture to a large rust-colored stain above them. “I mean, I knew it was messed up here, but it feels so much more obvious now.”
“Like the floor,” said Njemile, and Moss looked down and realized that the pale linoleum had chipped away in so many places that it looked like an intentional pattern. “I got so used to it that I don’t even notice all the cracks or places where it’s peeling away.”
“Or the lockers themselves,” Moss added. “Do any of yours lock anymore?” The others grumbled, which Moss took as a denial. “Yeah, mine either. I’m using an old bike lock to keep it shut.”
“Very crafty,” said Kaisha.
“Yo, you mind if we stop by mine, though?” Moss said. “I gotta get my history book.”
“You know, my parents were gonna try to put me in another school,” said Njemile after nodding at him. “Actually, that same one Esperanza goes to.”
“I’m sure it’s better than this,” said Kaisha. “You know those white schools are all fancy as hell.”
“I don’t know how Esperanza stands it, honestly,” said Moss. “She’s always complaining about
all the stuck-up kids she has to go to school with.”
They entered the quad, and it still looked just as yellowed as always. Moss cast a glance upward, and it was like the first time he had noticed the same cracks and plastered holes in the skylights. Dirty cobwebs hung in the corners, and a large crack ran from the frame of the southward skylight down to the area where the senior lockers were. While they walked toward the south hallway, Moss felt like a screen had been lifted. He’d gotten used to this, hadn’t he? After two full years at West Oakland High, he’d stopped noticing how the lunch tables in the quad were splintered and falling apart. Or that the soda machine near the east wing hadn’t been operating for over a year.
He was about to point that out to the others when Kaisha flung her arm in front of Moss. “Oh, no,” she said, and Moss saw what had alarmed her.
Shawna’s locker was wide open, and she was swearing up a storm. “Seriously, man,” she shouted. “Why you gotta do me like this?”
Mr. Jacobs was off to the side, and Officer Hull was rifling through Shawna’s locker. He seemed impatient, like he couldn’t wait to get this search done. He pulled a set of books out and dropped them on the floor without even checking through them.
“Come on, man!” Shawna yelled.
“I got twenty more lockers today, kid,” Hull said. “I don’t got time for cleanup.”
Shawna threw her hands up in exasperation, and she turned around to see Moss staring at her. “Bullshit,” she said to Moss, and it was the first time Shawna had ever said anything to him directly. “You see this?”
“Yeah,” said Moss, and he stuck the key in his bike lock. “I’m sorry.”
He focused on opening his locker, trying to ignore each new slam, each new item dropped on the floor. Moss yanked his locker’s door open right as Mr. Jacobs said, “Officer Hull, there’s no need to be rude.”
“Do I tell you how to do your job?”
Moss turned to stare after that, and Officer Hull was scowling at the assistant principal.
“I’m not telling you how to do your job,” said Mr. Jacobs with a sigh. “But you’re not making this easier on anyone.”