“I’m hurt,” Sneaky says, pretending to be sad. “There will be no business operations at this party, Gabriella.”
“Good!” Aliya says, like it’s her party.
“But yo, Isaiah, we should make our own dance! Call it the candy boy shake!” Sneaky grins.
“Yeah, thanks for the idea, Aliya!” I say. Aliya groans, but I can tell she wants to watch what we come up with.
There’s already loud music playing, so me and Sneaky start the dance with our handshake.
“Then how ’bout this?” Sneaky says, making a motion like he’s counting dollars. I add a move that’s like popping M&M’s into my mouth, and then we do one where we throw candy to the audience. No lie, everybody stops what they’re doing to watch us, especially when we try it the second time and it’s much smoother. Greg, Kiki, and Jules are the first to try the candy boy shake, then Gabi and Mike O. Aliya stands with her arms crossed, telling us how bad we look, until she realizes she’s the only one not dancing. Then she’s got no choice but to join us. Even Sneaky’s mom tries out our moves, which is pretty funny.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” Gabi tells me after we’re all done.
“I got some moves,” I say, shrugging.
“Yo, y’all should let me record you and upload it to YouTube!” says Jules, pulling out his iPhone.
“We tired, man; hold on,” says Sneaky, flopping on the floor all dramatic.
“I’m just sayin’,” Jules tells him, “y’all could blow up!”
“Ugh, don’t tell them that, Jules,” says Aliya, rolling her eyes. “That wack dance wasn’t all that.”
“Hater!” laughs Sneaky. I laugh, too, cuz Aliya really is hatin’, and she knows it.
“Well, if this was gonna be a dance party, I could’ve done that in my living room!” says Sneaky’s mom. “What did I pay this place for?”
“It’s all good, Ma, we’re gonna play,” Sneaky assures her, pulling me to arcade games.
Sneaky’s definitely better at air hockey than he is at basketball. We play three games, and he gets me every time.
“You need some lessons!” laughs Aliya when she takes my place at the table. She’s good like Sneaky, and they both win a game before Sneaky takes the tiebreaker.
“Okay, you and me,” I tell Sneaky, heading toward the basketball game.
“Nah, I’m tired,” Sneaky says, faking a yawn.
“Tired of getting beat!” I laugh. I beat Sneaky, then Jules, then Aliya. It’s a close game with Gabi, but I beat her, too. I stuff the tickets in my pocket, already thinking about what I’ll get for Charlie.
“Pizza time!” calls Sneaky’s mom, and we all take off for the tables.
“Bet I can eat the most pizza,” says Jules.
“Yeah, whatever,” says Sneaky, his mouth already stuffed.
“How ’bout this,” says Mike O, “whoever wins gets everyone else’s tickets.”
“I’m not in it,” says Gabi.
“Yeah, you not getting my tickets,” Kiki says.
“What about you?” Jules asks me. I feel the pile of tickets in my pocket and think about a prize for Charlie. But then I think I could get her something really good if I win more tickets.
“I’m in,” I say, picking up my second slice.
“You guys are gross,” says Kiki as we pile the pizza into our mouths. “Please don’t puke all over the table!”
Sneaky pretends to cough, and Kiki moves to another seat.
“How many slices you on?” Mike O asks.
“Four,” says Sneaky.
“Five,” Aliya says, sticking out her tongue at Sneaky.
“What about you, ’Saiah?” Sneaky asks. He looks like he’s slowing down, so I’m glad to share my number.
“Seven.”
“What?! No way!”
“For real,” I say, laughing. What they don’t know is that I didn’t eat breakfast, and I haven’t had pizza in months!
“Aww, man, I’m done,” groans Aliya. Her eyes bug open when I grab my eighth slice.
“Aight, aight, Isaiah wins,” Sneaky says. “I never wanna eat pizza again!”
Everyone hands over their tickets, and I feel like I just won in Vegas. Yes!
We sing “Happy Birthday” to Sneaky and watch him open his presents. Before we leave, I head to the prize counter and try to imagine what Charlie would want.
“What about that dog?” Sneaky says.
“Nah, that ain’t Charlie,” I say. I keep looking, and then I see the perfect prize. I hand over all my tickets for a pink notebook and pen set. The notebook kinda looks like Angel’s, and I wonder if she got hers from here, too. I hope Charlie likes it as much as Angel likes hers. At least now Charlie can stop scribbling in all my stuff.
“What is it with you guys and notebooks?” Sneaky asks.
“Don’t hate,” I tell him.
We do our handshake before I walk outside, heart thumping a little cuz I wonder if Mama will be on time. I breathe a sigh of relief when she pulls up a few seconds later.
“ ’Saiah, what you get me?” Charlie asks, bouncing in her seat.
“Aww, man!” I slap my hand to my forehead. “I forgot all about that, Charlie!”
Charlie pouts and crosses her arms in front of her chest, all attitude. Can’t help but laugh.
“I’m just messin’ with you,” I say, handing her the notebook and pen.
“Whoa!” Charlie squeals. “This is spectacular!”
Me and Mama laugh, cuz Charlie’s started this thing where she hears a big word and then repeats it as much as she can.
“Thanks, Isaiah Dunn, Superhero,” she says.
I gotta admit, I do feel like a hero the whole drive back.
April 24
THIRTY-EIGHT DOLLARS AND fourteen cents.
That’s all I got crumpled up in Daddy’s sock. I pour the coins and dollar bills back onto the bathroom floor of 109 and count it again. Nothing changes. Thirty-eight dollars and fourteen cents is nice, but it’s not enough. I gotta get more money. Only problem is, I have no ideas. Sneaky’s mom gives him an allowance, plus money on his birthday and at Christmas. Combine that with his candy hustle, and he’s set. I know for sure Mama won’t be giving me any kind of allowance, and my birthday’s two months away.
Selling candy to the fourth graders has been okay; but Mrs. Fisher doesn’t always give me a pass for the bathroom, so I have to sit in class, watching the minutes and the chances for dollars tick by. Sneaky says we have to come up with a good reason for me to leave the class every day, like a doctor’s note or something. I know I can’t depend on just the candy money, though. I need an idea that’s all mine.
I sit with my back to the door and Daddy’s notebook in my hand, and it makes me feel close to him, like if I need anything, I’ll get it in the notebook.
“So what would you do if you needed money?” I ask quietly, flipping through the pages. I start thinking about Daddy’s job, and how he worked a lot at night, making sure buildings were clean. I stop flipping pages when I see some words that have nothing to do with “The Beans and Rice Chronicles of Isaiah Dunn.” The words kinda look like the words I write. Poems. I run my fingers over the words Black Sand and read:
Who tucks these tiny jewels of light
In a perfect blanket of Black Sand
Every night
The same way
I tuck my precious jewels in tight?
I wonder if Daddy got tired of stories for a second and just let his words come out differently, the way I do. I read his poem over and over, and think about how he used to tuck me and Charlie in and say, “Good night, my precious jewel.” I would groan and beg him not to call me a jewel, cuz that’s for girls, so then he started saying, “My strong prince.”
Thinking about all
of this makes me remember asking him once how he could stay awake all night, and he told me he was used to it. “When I was your age,” he’d said, “I was already working two jobs. And here you are, complaining about waking up for school!”
That’s it!
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember what Daddy’s two jobs were when he was my age. I picture us at the kitchen table, me drinking hot chocolate, about to go to sleep, and him drinking coffee, about to go to work. I see his smile, the way he moved his hands when he talked, the sound of his voice.
And then I remember.
Daddy delivered papers in the morning, and helped in a barbershop after school.
Yes! I grin at the notebook as if it was Daddy’s face. Now I have a plan, at least.
“ ’Saiah, open up, I gotta use it!” Charlie’s annoying whine yanks me from my thoughts. She bangs on the door, and I feel the pounding in my back. She’s gonna wake Mama up with all that noise.
“Hold on!” I tell her, stuffing the notebook and money sock into my backpack and zipping it up. When I open the door, she’s standing there doing the potty dance, sucking on her fingers. She darts in around me and doesn’t even close the door.
“Gross, Charlie!” I say, hearing her grunt. I shut the door, but she starts complaining.
“No! Leave it open! It’s scary in here, ’Saiah.”
Charlie was never scared in our other bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, peeking in. “We won’t be here much longer, Charlie. No more scary places.”
I leave the door cracked and fix the sofa bed, storing my backpack underneath. I think about Daddy’s words in the notebook, the words about the jewels in the blanket of black sand. And I wish he was here to tuck me in, even if he wanted to call me a jewel.
April 25
I’M PRETTY SURE they don’t do the paperboy thing anymore, so instead of walking to the library after school, I go three blocks over to New Growth, the place where Sneaky gets his hair cut. I figure I can still try Daddy’s other job.
A dude with bulging muscles gives me a nod when I come in. He’s busy shaping up somebody’s baby fro, and there are a few people waiting in chairs.
“Here for a cut, li’l man?”
“Um, no,” I say. “I’m looking for Rock.” At lunch today, Sneaky told me the only barber he knows is Rock. He said Rock is all about the business, and out of everyone in the shop, he cuts hair the best.
The guy looks up at me, then back to his customer’s head, a smirk on his face.
“You lookin’ for Rock? And why would you be doing that?”
“Uh.” I swallow hard, noticing the skull tattoo on the guy’s arm. “Cuz I need to make some money.”
The guy—I’m pretty sure he’s Rock—switches off his clippers, narrows his eyes, and stares at me. A lady who’s braiding hair looks up like, “Uh-oh, look out!” and shakes her head.
“You need to make some money? What, you got bills to pay and mouths to feed?”
“He probably tryin’ to buy that expensive phone,” says an old guy waiting for a cut. “That thang ’bout as much as my mortgage!”
People in the shop chuckle, and the guy goes back to his haircut. I don’t move from where I’m standing. I’m thinking about Daddy and wondering if it was this hard for him to get his barbershop job.
“That what it is, li’l man?” asks the guy, leaning in as he lines his customer up. “Cell phone or sneakers?”
I shake my head, decide to be honest.
“Gotta help my mama,” I say. I watch the black tufts of hair falling to the floor. “I could come after school and sweep up hair and stuff.”
The guy doesn’t say anything right away. He cuts his clippers off again, brushes off his customer’s neck, and hands him a mirror. “Check that out, D.”
The guy named D studies himself and grins, gently patting his fro. He gives his barber some green.
“It’s nice and crispy like always, Rock,” he says, all smiles. I smile, too, cuz now I know that Rock is Rock.
“That’s how I do, brotha,” Rock says. D leaves the barbershop, checking his reflection in every mirror he walks by. Rock brushes his clippers off and sprays them before saying anything else to me.
“Come over here, li’l man, I don’t bite,” Rock says, arranging his equipment nice and neat. I take a few steps closer and notice that Rock has some gray hairs in his beard, just like Daddy did.
“So, you helping your moms, huh?” he asks. Once he’s done with his clippers, he sits in the chair and studies me.
I nod, not really sure what I should say.
“That’s what’s up. I respect that,” Rock says, holding out his fist to give me dap. “But listen, li’l man, around here, we sweep up ourselves, you know?”
“Oh,” I say, and suddenly the hole in my sneakers is real interesting to look at.
“I’ll tell you what, though,” says Rock, leaning in close to me. “Don’t tell her I said this, but my wife? She’s the real boss around here. She ran down the street to get some wings, but when she comes back, you can pitch your idea to her. If you can win her over, man, we’ll see what we can do. Fair enough?”
I nod again, hoping his wife isn’t like Mrs. Fisher at school.
“You gonna have to do more than nodding with her, though, aight?” Rock stands up, grabs a broom, and starts sweeping up the hair. I take a deep breath and mentally tell my stomach to relax. I don’t have time to figure out what I’m gonna say, cuz just a second later, the door opens and in walks a lady holding a bag from Wings2Go. Gotta be Rock’s wife. Rock opens his mouth to say something, but Isaiah Dunn, Superhero beats him to it.
“Mrs. Rock, do you see what your husband’s doing?” I say, a little louder than I should have. Feels like the whole shop is staring at me now.
“What?” Mrs. Rock raises an eyebrow, and even Rock looks a little confused, like, “Dude, what are you doin’?”
“Your husband,” I say, pointing to Rock. “You see what he’s doing?”
“Uh, yeah.” Mrs. Rock gives Rock a who-is-this-kid? look. “He’s cleaning up all this hair.”
“Yeah, but do you know what he should be doing?” I ask.
“Rock, who is this?” Mrs. Rock asks.
“I’m tryin’ to figure that out myself, baby,” Rock answers. I swallow hard.
“He should be about to eat those wings with you,” I tell her. “And if you had somebody to sweep up this hair, that’s what he’d be doing right now!”
The room goes library quiet, and then all of a sudden, Rock cracks up laughing.
“I see you, kid!” he says, holding his fist toward me again. “You ain’t playin’, are you?”
“He came with it!” calls out the old guy who said I just wanted a phone.
Mrs. Rock still looks clueless, so Rock tells her I’m looking for a job to help Mama out at home.
“What’s your name, li’l man?” Rock asks. I open my mouth to answer, but somebody beats me to it.
“Isaiah?”
Me, Rock, and Mrs. Rock all turn around and see a lady in the back poking her head out from underneath a hair dryer. It’s Miz Rita! I didn’t even notice her over there.
“Hi, Miz Rita,” I say.
“I didn’t know that was you, baby,” she says, waving me over. “How you been?”
“Good,” I tell her.
“Miz Rita, you know this young man?” asks Mrs. Rock.
“Do I know him?” Miz Rita makes a pssst sound. “Only since he was in Pull-Ups.”
I groan and put a hand over my face. “C’mon, Miz Rita!”
“So I shouldn’t be worried that he’s trying to get a job in my shop?” asks Rock.
Miz Rita’s eyes bounce to mine.
“A job?”
I nod. She do
esn’t say anything, but she studies me real hard.
“Well, he’d be a good worker for you, that’s for sure,” Miz Rita says. “His friend, Sneaky, though, that’s another story!”
“You friends with Sneaky?” asks Rock.
“Yeah,” I say.
“That kid is something else! Came here selling candy one day before I cut his hair.” Rock laughs and shakes his head. “I will say this, though, it’s good to see y’all young guys hustlin’ the right way.”
Rock hands me the broom and grabs his wife’s arm. “We gonna make sure these wings are talkin’ ’bout something, and then you and me can talk business.”
I start sweeping up the hair, and I can’t help but grin.
April 28
MY STOMACH FEELS like Jackie Chan is inside, kicking up a storm. Me and Angel have to present our poetry project, and even though it only has to be three minutes long, that seems like forever to me! We met up at the library a few times to practice, and Mr. Shephard kept telling us we’re gonna do fine. I think he’s just saying that cuz he has to.
“You aight?” Angel asks me. I can’t lie; the whole Rocket ReStore thing did help me and Angel. We’re not best friends or anything, but we don’t feel like enemies, either.
“Yeah,” I say, but the truth is, I’m feelin’ real nervous, like something’s not gonna go how we practiced. Mrs. Fisher calls our names, and we walk to the front and set up our giant poster, which is filled with the words from all the poems we liked. The words are big and little, some typed and some written in Angel’s bubble letters, and in all colors.
“When we’re little, one of the first things we learn is the alphabet. Those twenty-six letters make up the millions of words we use, and those words can form anything we want, including poems.” Angel starts off our presentation, and it doesn’t seem like she’s nervous at all. She reads some of the poems we picked, and the sound of the words helps me calm down.
I picture the words we pulled from “Snowball” by Shel Silverstein: Snowball. Pillow. Sleep. And from “Harlem” by Langston Hughes: Dream. Sugar. Sun. Explode. The class laughs when Angel reads “Poor Old Lady and Homework! Oh Homework!” I spot the words on our poster board: Fly. Bird. Lady. Die. Horse. Wash. Dark. See. Bomb.
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