by Silhouettes
Afterward, I got up to crack a window, trying to drown out the smell of sweaty sex. We lay in bed, listening to Lil Wayne spill his lyrics over the radio.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked.
Nadine nodded with glee in her eyes. My sheets were up to her breasts, and she kept them covered so I wouldn’t see them.
“It’s still dark in here so why are you hidin’?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She removed the sheets and moved in closer to me. Her head rested on my arm, and we were both pretty comfortable.
“How long are you goin’ to stay?” I asked. “It’s gettin’ late, and I know your mama might start lookin’ for you.”
“I told her I was spending the night at a friend’s house. When I leave, I’m going to her house. You ain’t ready for me to leave already, are you?”
Deep down, yes, I was. I wanted my bed to myself, and I had phone calls to return. I hadn’t spoken to Romeo all day, and, besides that, Mama told me not to invite anyone over. I still hadn’t played my new game on PS3, and now that I had been refreshed, I got out of bed to play.
Nadine remained in my bed, I guessed hoping for seconds. I had gotten so indulged by my game that I almost forgot she was there. That was, until Mama opened the door; her mouth hung open and she stared at me like I was crazy. I could tell she was fucked up; the glassy look in her eyes said so. She eyeballed Nadine on my bed, but lucky for me, I was sitting on the floor.
“Hello, Ms. Perkins,” Nadine said.
Mama ignored her. She came into the room, handing me a bag of fried rice from the Fried Rice Kitchen in Wellston, and a forty-ounce can of Miller beer to quench my thirst.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the beer. “I already ate, though. Can you put the bag in the fridge for me so I can eat it tomorrow?”
Mama ignored me and left the room. I knew she was tripping because Nadine was there, so I asked her to leave. Relieved, I watched as she put her clothes on and left without putting up a fuss.
The next day, I was in big trouble. Right before first hour, I was standing at Romeo’s locker, whispering to him about what had happened between Nadine and me. He told me that he and Sabrina had gotten into an argument last night, and said he’d spent the night on the phone, trying to make up with her. That’s why he hadn’t called me. Just as he was apologizing, Mr. King gripped the back of my neck and ordered me to his office. I hated that he was embarrassing me; as we walked through the hallway to get to his office, all eyes were on us. People were whispering, or, if not, they were laughing. I kept my cool and sat in front of Mr. King’s desk to explain my abrupt departure from school yesterday.
“My bad, Mr. King, but as I was waitin’ in your office, I called home to check on my mother. She was cryin’ and I figured she and her boyfriend had been scrappin’. I rushed home to see what was up. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight, but I knew that I had to get home fast.”
Mr. King sat across from me with his hands clenched together. I could hear the heavy breathing coming from his huge flared nostrils, and the intimidating look on his face said that he didn’t believe me.
“What in the hell am I going to do with a student like you, Jamal?” He opened a folder that had my name written on a label. He looked through some papers, shaking his head in disbelief. “Your grades are sinking, you’re skipping class, you’re around here smoking weed, and you’re sexually harassing my teachers. Then, on the bright side, you’re good at playing football, you’re polite to some teachers, and many of the kids at this school like you.”
“I can always bring up my grades, Mr. King, but I take offense to you sayin’ I’m around here sexually harassin’ teachers. If that’s the case, Ms. Macklin is harassing me. She around here dressin’ all sexy and shi . . . stuff, and I’ll be the first to admit that my testosterone levels keep me horny. Why should I be punished when she’s the one who asked me to tell her the truth? It’s not fair, and somethin’ about the whole thing just don’t seem right to me.”
Mr. King rubbed the top of his bald head. “Boy, what do you know about testosterone levels?” He chuckled. He then called for his secretary to buzz Ms. Macklin into his office. Five minutes later, she came in and closed the door behind her.
“Yes, Mr. King,” she said. “Did you call for me?”
Mr. King put on a big, bright smile, and the look in his lustful eyes implied that his testosterone levels were kicking it up too. How could they not, as once again Ms. Macklin was dressed to impress in gray pants and a button-down light pink shirt that squeezed her melon breasts. She looked a bit more conservative than usual, but if I’d had a pole, I’d have placed it right in front of her, just to watch her go to work.
Not intending to, I licked my lips, attempting to catch the liquids forming in my mouth. Ms. Macklin, however, never looked my way, and gave her attention to Mr. King.
“What do you suggest that I do with this young man?” he asked.
Looking pretty as ever, she swiped the long bangs away from her forehead, and folded her arms. “You’re the principal, but I would like for him to be assigned four to eight hours of detention. Maybe he’ll use that time to study, and, hopefully, he’ll think hard about what he said to me. I won’t stand for it, Mr. King, and Jamal knows better.”
My mouth hung wide open. “Four to eight hours! Come on, ma . . . Ms. Macklin, you trippin’. If I miss any more practices, Coach Johnson gon’ bench me. We playin’ those white boys this weekend and I gotta play in that game.”
She threw her hand back. “I don’t care anything about a football game. You need to get your act together, and from my understanding, you’ll be kicked off the team if you don’t bring up your grades.”
“She’s right,” Mr. King added. “And I think detention will do just fine. Starting today, you can do two hours after school until the eight hours are completed. Bring plenty of study materials, and I think you owe Ms. Macklin an apology.”
I was mad as hell. I started to tell both of them to go to hell, but that would have made matters worse. Instead, I cut my eyes and told Ms. Macklin, again, that I was sorry for what I’d said.
“If you can’t handle being in my classroom, Jamal, then maybe Mr. King should consider moving you to another class. My job is to teach, not to play around with you like these girls around here do. As long as you understand that, I think we’ll be fine.”
I kept my mouth shut, upset that Ms. Macklin was putting on a front. Deep inside I felt that she liked me, but I understood that she had to play it cool in front of Mr. King. He was suckered by her presence; I watched as he eyeballed her backside when she left his office. I started to call him on his shit, but what good was that going to do me? He’d deny it, and I’d get more hours of detention thrown at me. He wrote out my detention slip and asked me to sign it.
“This says only four hours. I thought you said eight.”
He winked. “Do your four hours, Jamal, and be done with it. Don’t say a word to anyone, but you’d better not be sent to my office again. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Coach Johnson about the game on Saturday and see what I can do to get you to play.”
I smiled and quickly signed the detention slip.
When I got to Ms. Macklin’s class the next day, I kept quiet. She walked up and down the aisles, returning the test we had taken yesterday. I got a 70 percent and was content with it. She acted as if I had done so poorly, but I guess her face was cracked when she saw I hadn’t done too badly. As she started to review the answers, Nadine tapped my back and handed me a piece of paper. I opened it and it read, CAN I COME OVER TONIGHT?
I jotted down, MAYBE, BUT WHAT WE GON’ DO, MA?
I secretly gave the folded paper back to her. A few minutes later, she returned it to me. It read, WE’RE GOING TO HAVE SEX AGAIN, THAT’S IF YOU AIN’T TOO TIRED.
I replied, SOUNDS INTERESTING TO ME. CAN I INSTRUCT YOU ON HOW TO SUCK MY DICK?
I gave the paper back to Nadine and she laughed out loudly. Ms. Macklin turned her
attention to us.
“Nadine, since you’re interrupting my class, why don’t you come up here and teach it. Bring that note in your hand up here, and share it with the class. I’d be interested in finding out why this piece of paper is so important that you and Jamal can’t pay attention to me reviewing the test.”
At first, I was slumped down in my chair, but I quickly sat up. Nadine attempted to get out of the situation, but Ms. Macklin ordered her up front. The students in the classroom were cracking up, especially when I raised my hand and asked Ms. Macklin if I could leave to go to the restroom.
“No,” she said, turning her attention to Nadine, who stood embarrassed as hell. “Now, go ahead, Nadine. Read what’s on the paper. If you don’t, I will.”
Nadine swallowed the lump in her throat and looked over at me. At this point, everybody knew what the hell I was about, so I really wasn’t embarrassed.
“Can . . . can I come over tonight?” Nadine stuttered. “Maybe, but what we gon’ do, ma? We’re going to have, uh . . . have you-know-what again, that’s if you ain’t too tired.”
The students cracked up, and a girl, Antonette, who I’d had a quickie with before, was pursing her lips and whispering, “Trifling.”
“Sounds interesting to me,” Nadine continued. “Can I instruct you on how to suck my D?”
Some of the boys fell out on the floor, laughing so hard. The girls were shaking their heads, and Ms. Macklin stood up. “Quiet,” she yelled, as Nadine took her seat.
“Nadine and Jamal, if you think this is a sex education class, you’re in the wrong place. Save the poetry for another time, and do not pass any more notes in my classroom. As a matter of fact,” she said, pulling back the chair at a table that sat next to her desk, “Jamal, make this your permanent seat. I need to keep my eyes on you, and I want to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.”
I pretended to be upset, but having a permanent seat next to Ms. Macklin was fine by me!
Chapter 3
The football game was close—twenty-one to seventeen. I couldn’t believe that we were losing to West High School, but going against cocky white boys was tough. Our whole team was black, and so were our cheerleaders. Earlier, I fucked up and fumbled the ball on the twenty-yard line. The two touchdowns I’d made helped me feel good, but there was nothing exciting about being down four points.
For whatever reason, I guess I wasn’t taking the game seriously enough. I’d stayed up last night rocking Nadine’s goodness to sleep. She wore my jersey to the game, and the continuous female distractions in the stands caused me to lose focus. She was flaunting herself around, and I saw her and one of the other chicks in my classroom arguing about something. In addition to that, West High had a cold-ass black cheerleader named Monesha. She was a dark buttered brown, and had slanted catlike eyes that melted a nigga’s heart. Her smile threw me off, and I fumbled the ball again!
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Coach Johnson spat, looking angry, like rapper Ice Cube with a goatee. I walked off the field. West High had recovered the ball and I was pissed. “Get your head on straight, fool! If not, stay on the goddamn bench!” Coach said.
Coach Johnson took football too seriously. I didn’t mind getting cussed out by him, but his words didn’t encourage me to step up my game. What did, though, was when one of the players from West High started talking shit to Romeo, who was a defensive tackle. The player slipped right through Romeo’s arms and laughed about it. Romeo removed his helmet and came over to the sidelines, because Coach Johnson had pulled him out of the game.
“Man, this some bullshit,” Romeo said with a heaving chest. “Them white boys be playin’ dirty. The referees ain’t being fair, and didn’t you see number twenty-four jump offside?”
I nodded, and after three plays, West High was out. It was our turn again, and I waited for Coach Johnson to put me in the game. On the first down, he didn’t.
“Come on, Coach Johnson,” I said, following him along the sideline. “Let me back in the game.”
“Get that damn butter off your fingers and I will. That’s some serious shit out there, Jamal, and this team don’t have time for you to be out there playing like a Girl Scout.”
“I ain’t playin’, all right? Let me back in the game, and I promise you a touchdown. Besides, I owe it to you.”
Coach Johnson looked at me and cut his eyes. He yelled for the other running back to come out, and put me in.
Waiting for the play to begin, I stood behind the quarterback and eyeballed West High’s defensive line. Those white boys were hungry for some black meat. Sweat dripped from their foreheads and their faces were lined with wrinkles. Their teeth were gritted, and it seemed as if every last one of them was growling at me. I took a quick glance at Monesha, but she was busy kicking her legs up high. My train of thought left me for a minute, and before I knew it, the quarterback tossed the football into my hands. After gaining one yard, I was stood straight up and slammed to the ground by a player weighing way over 250 pounds. My head was spinning, as I only weighed about 180 pounds. The crowd booed, and my back was hurting like hell. I felt as if I couldn’t move. I blinked my eyes to clear them, only to see one of West High’s defensive players standing over me.
“You ain’t shit. Get yo’ weak punk ass up.” He pounded his chest and walked away.
This muthasucker was sounding like my mama. That was the last thing he should have done; his words pumped fire into my heart. I jumped to my feet, and when I looked over at Coach Johnson, he was shaking his head.
“Come on now, Jamal!” he yelled. “Get your shit together!”
I was trying, but damn. These white boys were strong as hell, and I knew that in order to overpower them, my strength had to come from within. So, for the next play, I got mad. I thought about my deadbeat-ass father, who I saw every now and then on the streets, but never spoke to me. Then my thoughts turned to my whack-ass mama, and the many nights I’d lost sleep from listening to her get her ass kicked. I thought about the overcharging sly-ass Arabian man at the corner store, and the black couple sitting in their car yesterday who I’d robbed. The black man had tried to get gangsta, but his braveness got him smacked across the face with my Glock. His woman spit in my fucking face, and I ain’t never slapped a bitch so hard in my life. He managed to drive off, and even though I wanted to take a shot at his ass, I didn’t. My stomach was still growling from hunger pains, and since that nigga Romeo been tied up with that trick Sabrina, I felt as if I was in this world alone! Yeah, I was mad. Now, I was mad as hell! I was too young for this shit, and it felt as if the world had been resting on my shoulders.
The quarterback slammed the ball into my midsection, and I let loose. I bolted down the field, feeling like a tiger, roaring through the crowd and knocking down everyone in my way. All I could hear was the screaming crowd yelling, “Prince,” and telling me to go. At the nineteen-yard line, I was tackled from behind, but that was after a gain of forty-five yards.
I hurried to my feet and threw the ball to the ground, spiking it. I purposely jogged by the white boy who had stood over me talking shit. “Who the weak muthafucka now, nigga? It’s time to get this shit on the road.” I bumped his shoulder, and the referee threw up his yellow flag. My personal foul set us back fifteen yards, and Coach Johnson was livid.
“Wise up, Jamal! They playin’ you, man. Playin’ you like a fiddle. Get it done this time! We got two minutes left in the game and it’s time to step up or step out!”
I looked at the coach and nodded. This time, though, my eyes slipped to Ms. Macklin in the stands, who was on her feet. I could see her smiling at me from a distance, and that made me feel good. The next down was for her, and when I gained back the fifteen yards from the foul, I felt even better. Still, it was third down and I didn’t need a first down, I needed a touchdown. The bilateral pass came my way, but before I could catch it, a defensive player from West High stepped in and intercepted the ball. He swiftly ran down the field, an
d even though I tackled him from behind, they were now on the verge of making another touchdown.
My spirits were crushed and feelings were bruised. Coach Johnson was mad as hell, but more so disappointed. As the seconds wound down on the clock, my stomach turned in knots. I had the audacity to pray for God to turn things around, but He obviously didn’t hear my call. The ten-second countdown came, and before I knew it, the game was over. The people on West High’s side were on their feet, jumping for joy. This was a bad-ass feeling. The white boy who I’d scuffled with throughout the game had the nerve to walk over to me and hold out his hand.
“Good game,” he said, then patted me on the back twice.
I shook his hand. As I walked off the field, the girls from our school were chanting, “Prince.”
“Good game, Prince,” they said. “You still the best!”
My head stayed low. If it hadn’t been for those damn girls, maybe I would have played better. That went for Ms. Macklin too, and as soon as I started thinking about her, things went downhill. I cracked my knuckles from frustration, and that’s when I saw Romeo run to catch up with me. “We should have won that fuckin’ game. The refs were bullshittin’, man, and them white boys wasn’t shit.”
“Yeah, I know. But a win is a win, no matter how you look at it.”
“I agree. But, uh, what up for tonight?”
“Not a damn thing. I take it you have plans with Sabrina, right?”
“I did, but I’m gon’ cancel. I need to move some of these herbs my uncle gave me and I want you to go with me. I’ll hit you with a li’l somethin’-somethin’, so be ready by eight.”