Street Soldier

by Silhouettes

  Street Soldier

  Silhouettes

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, thanks to God for ordering our steps. No matter what path You choose for us, we will be ready. To Urban Books, particularly Carl Weber, we appreciate the opportunity you’ve given us to share our talents with readers. To our agent and best friend in the whole wide world, Brenda Hampton, thank you for your years of support and guidance. We love you and you are truly the best!

  To all of the Jamal “Prince” Perkinses of the world, we understand your struggles, but always know and recognize that you don’t have to fall in line with what society deems you to be! There is a better life waiting for you to claim it!

  4M2H

  Silhouettes of a new generation . . .

  Chapter 1

  Yeah, I’m that nigga. Jamal “Prince” Perkins. You know, the one who makes you feel the need to lock your doors when I get closer and closer to your car. The one who makes the ladies grip their purse straps as I walk by. Or, the one who makes you walk in another direction only to avoid me. Yeah, I’m that one. I like putting fear in people everywhere I go, and it fucks me up when they think I don’t trip off their actions. Trust me, if I wanted to get at you, I would. It depends on what kind of day I’m having, so consider yourself lucky if you don’t find yourself being victimized by me.

  For as long as I could remember, my life was like a battlefield. The Taliban and Al Qaeda were right around the corners, and fights in my hood happened almost every single day. Seven times out of ten, I was bumping fists with niggas who didn’t know how to shut their mouths, or with fools who were hating on me. I’d always had this chip on my shoulder. At the age of seven, I wasn’t playing with toy cars or building blocks. I wasn’t eating dinner with my family at the table, or having father-to-son talks with my old dude. Fuck my deadbeat-ass father. I was hustling, trying to keep food in my mouth and clothes on my back by stealing shit and, sometimes selling weed. My homeboy kept me up on the game, and life was all about survival. A boy’s best friend wasn’t his dog around here; rather, it was a 9 mm he kept strapped to his side. Yeah, we were at war. With our own race and with anyone who dared to get in the way.

  All I could say was some black folks were lucky, but, then again, many were not. You can’t judge if you ain’t been there. Thing is, if you get to know me you just may understand or like me. Like Lil Wayne said, “A nigga like me sometimes be misunderstood. It ain’t about making excuses. This shit is the truth as I live it!”

  I was in my first-hour class at North High School in the deep city of St. Louis, resting my banging head on the desk and trying my best to stay awake. I had been up all night, listening to my mom and her whack-ass boyfriend argue. I hated that fool, Raylo, and the two of us couldn’t get along for nothing. He was on some kind of gangsta shit, trying to pimp my mama and impress her with shuffling a li’l crack cocaine around. The money he made wasn’t much to brag about, but he paid most of the bills and helped put clothes on my back. Their constant arguments drove me crazy. My mama be bitching all the time, and I hadn’t met a man yet who she hadn’t argued with. I’d interfered with her arguments before, but it was a waste of my time. She always went back to her abusers, and when one of those fools stabbed me in the shoulder with a knife one day, that was it for me. I got myself a lifetime soldier mark, and every time I look at it, I think of my mama. Yeah, she kicked the nigga out, but he was back in less than two weeks. I had to face his ass every single day, knowing that he could have taken my life. That proved to me that my mama didn’t give a damn about me, and from that moment on, I lost a lot of respect for her.

  Sometimes I didn’t even know why I went to school, and, for me, it was about getting free meals, seeing the dimes, and hanging with my boy, Romeo. We’d been down since the first grade and he was like a real brother to me. You rarely saw one of us without the other, but lately, things had changed. Romeo was into this new chick, Sabrina, and she had him wrapped around her finger. I didn’t expect for that shit to last long, ’cause, like me, Romeo had a reputation for sticking and moving. He had that Chris Brown swagga going on, and I referred to him as my “mellow-yello.” I gave his relationship with Sabrina two more weeks, and after that, she’d be history. Maybe by then, Romeo would have his head on straight and we could get back to what we did best—surviving.

  I heard myself snoring, and when Mr. Betts shook my shoulder, I knew I was in trouble.

  “What?” I said in a groggy tone, lifting my head from my desk.

  “Sit up straight and wipe the dripping saliva from the corner of your mouth,” he ordered.

  Everyone in the classroom laughed loudly, including that trick, Nadine, who I had been on the phone with last night. How dare she laugh at me? I wiped the corner of my mouth with my shirt, and gave a hard stare at Nadine so she would silence herself.

  “You’d better watch yourself,” I spat. “And I wish the rest of y’all would shut the fuck up.”

  The classroom erupted with a bit more laughter. Mr. Betts’s eyes cut me like a knife, but he kept quiet. Nadine’s neck started to roll. “And if I don’t shut up? What you gon’ do, Prince? Hit me?”

  Mr. Betts slammed a book on the floor, silencing everyone. “No more talking,” he shouted. “Pay attention or get out!”

  Nadine rolled her eyes, but I ignored her and focused on staying awake. My eyes were glued to the round, loud ticking clock on the wall. I watched the red second hand on the clock tick away, counting down how much time I had left in his class. Right on time, the loud bell rang and I rushed out of my seat to get to second hour. I couldn’t wait to see my algebra teacher, Ms. Macklin, she was one bad-ass chick! I was only seventeen, but from the way she looked at me, I could tell she didn’t care. Something about her made me feel close to her, and her seductive eyes were very addictive, like mine. Her body was like . . . damn! I dreamed about fuckin’ her and could barely concentrate on my work. She was only twenty-six, and one of these days I was going to make her my wife. She put me in the mindset of Nicki Minaj, but she was sassy as Meagan Good. I loved to see her upset with the class and I did my best to seek her attention. She stayed on me, but deep down, I could feel there was more to it. Her eyes always connected with mine, and during my football games I could see her watching me. Yeah, she wanted me. And it would be just a matter of time before I showed her how much I wanted her too.

  I tucked my wrinkly, outdated books underneath my arm, but before I made my exit Mr. Betts called my name.

  “Come back into the classroom so I can speak to you for a minute,” he said.

  I sighed, knowing that I was about to catch some heat for my behavior. “Yes, sir,” I said, slowly walking up to him and hanging my head down low. I kept my distance, as Mr. Betts’s breath wasn’t always right. He was an older black man, always preaching about doing the right things. Kinda had that James Earl Jones thing going on and his voice was stern as ever. He demanded respect, and, most of the time, he got it.

  He lowered his silver-framed glasses, peering over them. A frown appeared on his face, causing it to wrinkle. “Why are you always being d
isrespectful and napping in my class? I’m trying to teach you some important things about your history, and none of what I’m saying to you is sinking in.”

  Not intending to, I yawned. “I apologize, Mr. Betts, but I stayed up late last night watchin’ my li’l cousin. My aunt didn’t pick him up until three o’clock in the mornin’, so I didn’t get much sleep. Been kind of groggy, that’s all.”

  “Was your mother at home?”

  I thought of a quick lie. “Nah, she was at work. I got paid, so I really didn’t trip.”

  Mr. Betts touched my shoulder and squeezed it. “You got a D on your chapter test. I know you can do better, Jamal, and I’d hate to see you get kicked off the football team because you can’t make the grade. If you need some extra time to study, think about staying after school. I can help you, just like I help some of the other students around here.”

  I nodded, knowing damn well I wasn’t about to stay after school. Six hours was enough, and if I couldn’t learn what I needed to know then, too bad. Plus, I had practice after school. I wasn’t going to trade in football practice for no tutoring bullshit, but I appreciated Mr. Betts’s concerns.

  “I’ll let you know, Mr. Betts. But I gotta get to my next hour, or else I’ll be late. Ms. Macklin is good for writin’ niggas up for bein’ tardy, so I’d betta get goin’.”

  Mr. Betts released my shoulder and pulled a notepad from his desk. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but he gave me a pass to second hour, excusing my tardiness.

  “Control your use of the word ‘nigga.’ It has some disturbing history tied to it, young man, and I never want to hear you use that word in my classroom again.”

  I took the note from Mr. Betts’s hand and apologized again, this time for my choice of words. As soon as I left his classroom, I spotted my partna in crime, Romeo, at his locker. I boldly strutted my way through the noisy and crowded hallway, bumping shoulders with the fellas I didn’t like and eyeballing the girls who couldn’t keep their eyes off me. They say I resembled Trey Songz, and as much as I pumped iron, my body was uniquely cut like his, too. My thick braids were always neatly done, and the minimal, trimmed hair above my lip made me look sexy as ever. Yeah, I knew I was the shit, and there wasn’t a nigga up in this mutha who could pull it off like me. Tattoos covered the muscles on my arms, and my mother’s name, Shante, was inked on my chest. “Street Soldier” was tattooed up and down on it, too.

  Romeo had his back turned, so he didn’t see me coming. I poked my elbow in his back, getting his attention.

  “What’s up, nigga?” I laughed. We swiped our hands together, wiggling our fingers as well.

  Romeo smiled, placing the stash of weed he had in his hand back into his locker. “Man, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were the principal, Mr. King.”

  “Nah, but you’d better hide that shit. Before you do, give me one so I can go smoke that blunt in the bathroom.”

  Romeo peeked from left to right, then picked through a plastic bag for the thinnest tightly wrapped blunt he could find. “Here, man, I gotta get to class,” he said, hurrying to close his locker. “Tell Ms. Macklin I said what’s up, and give her my number so she can call me.” Romeo grabbed his crotch and licked his lips.

  We both laughed as he jogged down the almost empty hallway, trying to make it to his class. I stopped at my locker, retrieved my algebra book, and tucked it underneath my arm. Before going to class, I went into the piss-smelling bathroom and found myself an empty stall. I sat on the cracked, stained toilet seat and held the joint underneath my nose. The smell of pine trees hit me, so I knew what I was working with was good. After I lit it, I deeply inhaled, filling my lungs with smoke. I immediately felt the rush, and after I exhaled, I closed my eyes to feel the effects. I was at ease, and when a seed popped, I eased up on the joint. I glanced at my watch, realizing that I had already missed ten minutes of class. Time had flown by, and I knew Ms. Macklin would soon be wondering where I was. So, instead of finishing my festivities, I saved some for later. I wasn’t too worried about the smell that had attached itself to my clothes, only because the smell of smoked blunts was always in the air. I left the bathroom, tossing my white hoodie over my head and dragging my feet down the hallway in my untied Jordan tennis shoes.

  As I pulled on the heavy wooden door, Ms. Macklin was writing on the chalkboard and speaking to the class. When she saw me, her actions came to a halt and her eyes shot daggers. I laid the excuse note on her desk and made my way to the back of the class, saying not one word.

  “Sit up front and pay attention,” she snapped, facing the chalkboard. I turned around and searched for the closest seat I could find up front. It was in the last row, close by a window. Nadine’s seat was behind it, and she was all smiles when she saw me take the seat in front of her.

  I placed my book on the desk, and tuned in to Ms. Macklin’s backside as it faced me. She wore a red pencil skirt that revealed no panty line whatsoever. Her black silk blouse tightened over her breasts, and the three-inch heels she wore made her look like a professional stripper. She was classy, though, and I liked that shit. Her caramel skin was flawless as ever, and the makeup on her face was a work of art. Through my eyes, she was perfect, and I went into a trance staring at her as she spoke. Moments later, she laid the chalk down and headed to her desk. She picked up the note and took another glance at me.

  “Did you notice the time on this note, Jamal? I can’t believe it took you almost fifteen minutes to get from one class to the next.”

  I scratched between my thick braids, contemplating a lie. “Mr. Betts gave me the pass, but he kept on talkin’. When you see him, you can ask him. He forgot to change the time.”

  Ms. Macklin ignored my comment and asked the class to clear our desks for a test. I had forgotten all about it, and I’d have been the first to admit that I didn’t know what the hell was going to be on it. I watched as Ms. Macklin stood in front of each row, counting the number of papers for each student. When she got to my row, I sniffed her sweet-smelling perfume, and my eyes were glued to her perky breasts. Her hard nipples made my mouth water. I wanted to reach out my hands to grab them, but I had to be patient. I could feel it; my day was coming.

  I passed the papers behind me and Nadine whispered my name.

  “What?” I grumbled.

  “Do you have an extra pencil I can use?”

  “Hell, naw. Do I look like I got an extra pencil?”

  “No, but you look high as hell. I can smell that shit all over you, and you know Ms. Macklin can smell it too.”

  I cocked my head back and frowned. “So fuckin’ what? I do what the hell I wanna do, so shut up talkin’ to me.”

  As the words left my mouth, Ms. Macklin came over to my desk. She swiped up my paper and set it on a table next to her desk.

  “There’s no talking during a test. Come sit up here and take your test, before I give you an F for discussing the answers.”

  Her suggestion was in my favor, so I smiled. I stood, pulling up my sagging jeans that revealed a portion of my gray boxer shorts. I sat as close as I could to Ms. Macklin and did my best to pretend that I knew what the hell I was doing. Surprisingly, I knew some of the answers without even studying or paying attention. In no way was I a dumb kid, but school just wasn’t my forte. I was almost eighteen and was just a junior. I’d failed the eighth grade, because I had missed too many days of school. This school year, I had already missed eleven days and was falling behind. School had only been in session for three months, so that wasn’t good. Today, however, I wanted to impress Ms. Macklin, so I threw myself into the test, giving it my all.

  A half hour later, I was finished. Instead of turning in my test, I looked around the classroom and noticed the other students still working. Some of the students, however, were cheating their butts off, but Ms. Macklin hadn’t noticed because she was busy grading papers. It was so easy to cheat, and that’s why doing homework was such a waste of time. I often copied papers from other students, and many
of us did what we had to do to get by. I’d said it before and I’d say it again: school was just for fun. The environment itself was all fucked up, and anytime you had to sit in the cafeteria and eat lunch with roaches, it was pretty bad. To me, we were treated like criminals. Every day, we were searched by security guards at the door, our bags were searched, and there was always someone with authority lurking around, trying to tell you what you couldn’t do. The classrooms hadn’t been updated since the 1960s, and covering the cracking paint on the walls with more paint just wasn’t cutting it.

  On some days, it was too damn hot in the classrooms to try to learn anything. The humidity made the walls look as if they had sweat running from them, and the fans in the windows weren’t doing much but making the rooms hotter. By the end of the day, many of the students’ clothes were sticking to their bodies, and the girls’ hairdos were all fucked up. The hardwood floors were buckling, and the old desks that we sat in cramped my style. Graffiti was scribbled everywhere and we didn’t even have the appropriate books to learn with. We had to share books all the time, and if that weren’t enough, there were three people assigned to one rusty-ass locker. Nobody was to share shit with me, only because my locker was junky as hell and there wasn’t enough room. Romeo was sharing his locker with Sabrina. She was in Ms. Macklin’s class too, and when I looked up at Sabrina, she waved. I gave her a fake-ass grin. Simply put, I didn’t like the bitch. She seemed sneaky and was always up in my business, trying to see what I was up to. I had to admit, though, that Romeo had himself a dime. She was smart and was the captain of the cheerleading squad. Her mother was a teacher at a nearby elementary school. She wasn’t happy about her daughter hooking up with Romeo, but who cared? As far as I knew, Romeo hadn’t hit it yet, and I was so sure that’s why he was hanging on for as long as he had.

  I placed my test on Ms. Macklin’s desk. She picked it up to glance over it. Immediately following, she stood up and asked me to step out in the hall. I followed her, biting on my lip and agreeing with another boy in the class who had released a soft whistle.