My Life as an Ice Cream Sandwich

by Ibi Zoboi

  When I try to catch up to Daddy to make another request for a toolbox and some broken radios, I spot the boy in the green shirt—Pablo Jupiter. He’s standing at the edge of the sidewalk outside the shop kicking a fire hydrant as if trying to make it spew out flying water.

  I walk over to him and say with a big smile, “Doesn’t it look like R2-D2?” But then I remember that this is No Joke City and that he’s really a nefarious minion and that the doors to my imagination location are supposed to be closed. I wipe the smile from my face.

  But he smiles with big white teeth and deep dimples. “It does look like R2-D2. Except, I’d call him . . . FT-125.”

  I let my whole face smile, but I push down my soulshine because the doors to my imagination location are still a little bit closed. “FT-125? That’s outta sight.”

  “Yeah. FT for Fire Trooper and one-two-five for 125th Street. Even though I’m from the Bronx, I gotta rap rhymes about Harlem now. In the Bronx, the Fire Troopers were like Storm Troopers because of all the burning buildings.”

  I swallow hard and say, “I don’t call this Harlem or New York City. It’s No Joke City, because . . . ”

  “There’s nothing funny about this city, right?”

  I’m real quiet as I stare at Pablo Jupiter, trying really hard not to smile. The Afro on his head looks like the surface of the moon with its curls like craters. But it’s his smile that makes his whole face shine. He’s digging up a piece of broken concrete with the tip of his dirty sneaker. “Yeah,” I say even quieter. “So you think the Genesis Device can work here?”

  He looks up at me. “But we ain’t all dead. I mean, things are still alive. Maybe the Bronx. But still . . . ”

  “The Prime Directive. We can’t really mess with the stuff that’s already here, right?”

  He stops digging at the concrete and turns all the way to me, sticking the tips of his fingers into his jeans. “Yeah, we can. It’s our planet, right. We’re not aliens.”

  “Yes, you are. I’m not.”

  “What planet are you from, then?”

  “Planet . . . ” I have to step into my imagination location now because I’ve never ever thought about this question. “Earth. Planet Earth.”

  “This is Planet Earth.”

  “No. I already told you. It’s Planet No Joke City.”

  “Okay then. What are you doing on Planet No Joke City? You’re the alien.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been taken prisoner by King Sirius Julius and his nefarious minions. And you’re one of them.”

  “A nefarious what?”

  “Minion. Nefarious minion.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not a nefarious minion. I’m one of the good guys. I’m a rebel. The rebel lord.”

  “So you’re the leader of the rebellion?” I step closer to him, eyes wide.

  He nods. “I’m going to take down the king. King . . . what again?”

  “King Sirius Julius, like the bright star in the sky. But he’s also very serious, too.”

  He looks around and spots my daddy who’s talking to the first person on the line—a man holding out a cardboard box of spoons, forks, and knives. I can’t tell from here if they’re like Nana’s fancy silver or just the cheap stuff, as Momma would say.

  “But he’s a good king,” Pablo Jupiter says. “Look at all those people. He helps them out sometimes. I know he’s helping Bianca’s grandmother out by letting her stay there.”

  I shrug and say, “I must go back to my home planet. But I have to save my captain first—Captain Fleet of the Mothership Uhura. Will you help me?”

  “Hey, Ice Cream Sandwich!” someone yells, and it echoes all throughout the block and maybe even Harlem, too. I look up and of course it’s Mint Chocolate Chip Monique’s gigantic mouth.

  “Is that what you go by?” Pablo Jupiter asks.

  “Ebony-Grace Norfleet Freeman. But really, I’m Cadet E-Grace Starfleet of the Mothership Uhura,” I say, holding out my hand to shake his. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Nuh-uh! You can’t be making deals with the enemy, Outer Space Ebony-Grace!” Rum Raisin Rhonda calls out as they all cross the street headed toward me and Pablo.

  But he shakes my hand anyway. “E-Grace Starfleet of the Mothership . . . It’s a rocket to Mars but it ain’t no trip,” he says as cool as a midnight breeze. He steps away, glaring at the 9 Flavas as they start to surround us.

  “You better get away from her, Pablo Jupiter. We know you were asking her about our moves!” Coconut Collette says.

  “We already won, Nine Flavas!” he says while walking backward to Daddy’s shop. “Genesis Ten ain’t clucking with no hens. We’re the roosters, storm troopers, brand-name boosters, b-ball hoopsters, slam dunk in your face. I’ll see you in outta space, Ebony-Grace!”

  The 9 Flavas break out into a bunch of “oooohs!”

  “You like PJ?” Monique asks.

  Then they all start yelling with their gibberish at the same time.

  I hold up my fists and send out protective laser beams. “Pew! Pew!”

  But Bianca grabs one of my arms and flings it down. She only stares at me while Monique blurts out, “You betta stay away from Pablo Jupiter. That’s Bianca’s man. And plus, he’s the enemy. You’re on our team, Ice Cream Sandwich.”

  Bianca and I just stare at each other for a long, whole minute before she says, “I thought you were gonna help me.”

  “I thought you were gonna help me,” I say to her face.

  “I’ve been helping you! You just can’t see it!” she yells.

  All her friends say “Mm-hmm” and “You-know-it!” and “Got that right” and “Tell her, Bianca!”

  I stand back to take a good look at this 9 Flavas Crew. For a moment, I start to see them as a real crew. There’s a captain, all right, and it’s Mint Chocolate Chip Monique. Then I realize that Butter Pecan Bianca has been her First Officer all along. Mango Megan and Strawberry Stacey are untangling the telephone cord. Rum Raisin Rhonda and Coconut Collette are showing Pistachio Paula how to do something with her hands—a robot dance move or something. Cookies and Cream Christine is helping Vanilla Fudge Vanessa tie her sneaker laces.

  Maybe they’re working together like a real crew.

  And then, in the distance, in front of the auto shop, something catches my eye. The line of people has disappeared, and now Daddy is crouched down behind a streetlamp with a screwdriver in hand. A group of other men stand and crouch down behind him as if they’re about to somehow take down that tall streetlamp with just a screwdriver.

  All the 9 Flavas turn around to see what I’m staring at.

  “Aww, yeah!” Monique blurts out. “Your daddy is about to hook up the sound system.”

  “Sound system?” I whisper to myself.

  Then, Rum Raisin Rhonda steps in front of her and yells, “Hey, Mr. DJ Jule Thief! Make sure you pump up the bass nice and loud!”

  “Pump up the bass nice and loud?” I repeat real quietly.

  Daddy looks over at us and gives us a thumbs-up.

  “DJ Jule Thief?” I ask.

  “Uh-huh,” Monique says. “Don’t you know your daddy’s other name?”

  I can only shake my head. I can’t even close my mouth right to make any words come out.

  Bianca adds, “He’s not a famous DJ like Kool Herc or Grandmaster Flash or Afrika Bambaataa. But he got all the equipment plus lots of records, so he does our block parties. See? You don’t know nothing, Ebony-Grace.”

  The 9 Flavas step away from me as I stand there, watching Daddy and his friends open the bottom of the streetlamp revealing a tangle of colorful wires. Other men are bringing in tables and boxes that look like the control boards on the Uhura. Daddy tells the men where to put things as he pulls out a bunch of wires—blue, red, yellow, and green wires. Someone hands him pliers.
The men put more control board machines on the table, and another man unravels long black wires from those machines and hands them over to Daddy, who starts disconnecting and reconnecting wires like Han Solo when he tried to hotwire the door to the Endor shield generator bunker. Daddy connects a red wire to a black one and suddenly a few sparks fly and then the speakers behind me start to hum and pop.

  Behind me, I hear the Flavas cheering, “Aw yeah! DJ Jule Thief on the wheels of steel!”

  Then, something washes over me like storm winds, and my head starts to spin like Granddaddy’s records on a turntable. I close my eyes and take a deep breath so I’m not knocked off my feet by what I’m seeing and hearing. Then, all I can manage to say out loud is “It’s the Sonic King!”

  CHAPTER

  30

  Cadet E-Grace Starfleet to Captain Fleet: Do you copy?

  Cadet E-Grace Starfleet to Captain Fleet . . .

  I’ve been compromised, Captain Fleet. The Uhura is unmanned and I’ve been teleported by the force field Sonic Boom and I cannot escape!

  Location: Planet Boom Box.

  Captor: The Sonic King.

  Do you copy, Captain Fleet?

  King Sirius Julius and Planet No Joke City were carbon copies of the Sonic King and Planet Boom Box. There’s been a malfunction with the transporter caused by an ionic storm. This is a mirror universe, Captain. No Joke City is Planet Boom Box! King Sirius Julius is the Sonic King!

  The Sonic Boom is all around me, Captain Fleet. It hovers over the planet like a gigantic bubble floating over Momma’s Calgon bath. And yes, it is the Atomic Sonic Boom—louder and prouder than James Brown at a Black Panther rally. That’s what you would say, Granddaddy. As loud as a Hendrix guitar solo, yessir! As proud as Aretha’s big, bellowing voice singing R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Sure is! Bass so low you can’t get under it. Lemme say it again. So low you can’t get under it! And volume so high you can’t get over it. Say what now? So high you can’t get over it!

  Tiny sound bubbles float out of the Sonic King’s mega speakers and explode like fireworks all over the block. You should see it, Captain Fleet. The boom, the bip, the bap, the ratatat combined with the crack-crack-pop-pop and you don’t stop, body-rock shock waves all over the ground making everybody get down. So I tap my feet and bop my head even though I don’t want to, really.

  I can’t lose control. I can’t lose my soul.

  The Sonic King shouts into a mic and everybody calls him DJ Jule Thief. He says my name over the music for the whole block to hear. “Shout out to my baby girl, Ebony-Grace!”

  Then, he scratches the record and the boom-bip-bap-ratatat sounds go backward, sideways, and inside out. And out comes the “Planet Rock” and Soul Sonic Force and “Jam On It” like shooting stars, meteors, and asteroids landing on the buildings and sidewalks and right on the people’s heads. They all lose control—swinging their arms and kicking their legs and moving their hips—dippin’ and trippin’.

  They gather around the Sonic King like moths to the lantern that sits out on our porch at night down in Huntsville. They cheer him on, pumping their fists in the air like Muhammad Ali fighting the Sonic Boom itself. They call out names like Fab 5 Freddy, Afrika Bambaataa, Grandmaster Flash, Whodini, the Sugar Hill Gang, Warp 9, and Run-DMC.

  “DJ Jule Thief, can you play ‘Planet Rock’ one mo’ time?” Diva Diane yells out from behind the food table across the street.

  I don’t leave Daddy’s front gate. Even though it’s not locked, I still feel like I’m stuck here, that if I try to step out, there’d be a greater, more powerful force to keep me even more trapped, more imprisoned, more frozen in this ice-cold place. Still, a little drop of the Sonic Boom gets to my foot and I tap it against the ground. Tap, boom-boom, tap. A little of it lands on my head and I bop. I snap my fingers once until I spot Pablo Jupiter. He’s waving at me to come over. I don’t dare move because directly across from him, in front of another building, is Bianca Pluto staring at him, then she turns to me. She starts to walk over. A few of the ice cream flavors follow her. But it’s Mint Chocolate Chip Monique who opens up her big mouth first.

  “Your daddy is deejaying, so you should come out here and dance. He just gave you a shout-out over the mic, so the least you could do is show him some of your moves, Outta Space Ebony-Grace.” She says this with her arms crossed as if this invitation were a threat.

  “I can’t. I’m a prisoner,” I say.

  “You’re a what?” Rum Raisin Rhonda asks.

  “She said she’s a prisoner,” Monique answers for me. “You don’t know nothing about prison. I gotta cousin in prison. Ain’t nobody stopping you from coming out that gate except your own doggone self.”

  Bianca is about to say something but a louder and newer sound makes everybody freeze and turn toward the Sonic King—that scratching sound that makes everything go backward, sideways, and inside out again.

  “Come on, party people, crowd around!” Daddy says into the microphone with a deeper voice I’ve never heard him use before. “Crowd around, party people, come on!”

  Then everybody starts clapping to a beat and Daddy repeats his rap again. “Come on, party people, crowd around. Crowd around, party people, come on!”

  Bianca and the rest of the ice cream flavors leave me behind as they follow the king’s orders. Everyone is hypnotized by his Sonic Boom voice and that rap and that clap. Then he stops. It’s suddenly quieter than it’s ever been on this block.

  “Are y’all havin’ a good time?” the Sonic King asks, his voice echoes over the buildings.

  Everyone cheers, breaking the silence.

  “All right now. So we’re gettin’ ready for this contest. There’s a new and improved grand prize: two hundred and fifty bucks and a chance to compete at the world-famous Apollo Theater along with the Rock Steady Crew, and a new kid on the scene, Harlem’s own Doug E. Fresh, the human beatbox.”

  Everyone loses their minds. This isn’t like with the Sonic Boom music. They cheer and jump up and down as if every single person on this block had just won the jackpot after playing the numbers.

  “So One-Two-Six got two crews competing,” Daddy continues.

  I step outside of the gate because this is the battle the 9 Flavas were talking about. This is the moment they’ve been practicing for and I’ve been messing it up for them all this time.

  “Y’all gotta come correct if y’all gonna represent my block. Born and raised in this hood so don’t make us look bad now,” the Sonic King adds. “Okay, who we got here today?”

  Some people in the crowd surrounding Daddy start shouting, “Genesis Ten!”

  I watch as Pablo Jupiter rushes to find the rest of the nefarious minions. He gathers about five of them, but Calvin is nowhere in sight.

  “We got the Nine Flavas Crew over here, DJ Jule Thief!” Diane shouts as I watch Monique round up her team. “They’re going up against Genesis Ten!”

  But Daddy ignores Diane and starts calling over Pablo Jupiter and them as the crowd parts to make way for their cardboards. They all pose with their arms folded across their chests, and some crouch down on the ground as if they’re ready to do karate with Bruce Lee.

  “All right now,” the Sonic King says. “It’s Genesis Five over here. Ladies, lemme hear you scream!”

  “Five?” some of the 9 Flavas say out loud, rolling their necks and looking over at Pablo Jupiter.

  All the girls in the crowd scream just like the Sonic King ordered. Everybody looks around. They’re Genesis Ten. There are ten of them, not five.

  But the crowd parts in the other direction and in comes Calvin and four of the other nefarious minions. Everybody claps and cheers them on as they drag an even bigger cardboard in front of the Sonic King’s control boards. Calvin walks over to the Sonic King and whispers something in his ear.

  “All right now,” Daddy says again. “We got Cold-Crush
Calvin . . . ”

  The crowd claps and cheers some more.

  “And the Fresh Four! That’s Cold-Crush Calvin and the Fresh Four! A new team on the scene!”

  Pablo Jupiter and his crew don’t make a move. But Bianca, Monique, Rhonda, and Diane are trying to get Daddy’s attention.

  “Mr. Freeman, they were supposed to be the other team! All of them!” Diane yells out pointing toward Monique and Bianca. But people only glance at her until she walks up to Daddy and tries to grab the microphone from him. Bianca and Monique are right behind her.

  The microphone screeches, and everyone covers their ears until it stops. I keep my hands over mine because if the loud music is the Atomic Sonic Boom, then this screaming sound is the Mega Atomic Sonic Boom. I’m sure it’s done something to my brain at this point, as loud as it was.

  Daddy puts the microphone behind him so no one could hear his conversation with Diane and them. And that’s when I decide to step out of the gate and get closer to the very top of the radio tower on Planet Boom Box—the source of the Sonic Boom. I ease my way through the crowd until I get to the Sonic King, and I can’t help but stare at his control boards with its spinning records and knobs and buttons and blinking lights.

  “But, Mr. Freeman, they purposely split up just so they could compete against one another and whoever ends up winning, they’ll still get the prize. That’s not fair!” Diane says.

  “Y’all just gonna have to wait for the double-Dutch contest. We’ll have it right after the boys finish,” the Sonic King says.

  “But we didn’t sign up for no double-Dutch contest. We wanna break-dance like Calvin and ’em. And we wanna get on the mic, too!” Monique adds.

  “Mr. Freeman, I could rhyme better than all of ’em,” Bianca says.