by Paula Chase
Dre mean-mugged, refusing to take it. Cappy shrugged and laid it in the folding chair where he’d been sitting.
“Nobody want play me?” Derek whined.
“I play you,” Dom said, hopping up.
“I wanted to play Cappy, though,” Derek said.
“He already said he ain’t want play. Stop crying like a little girl,” Simp said.
Derek pouted. “I ain’t crying.”
“Then play Dom or turn the game off,” Simp said.
Derek sat, shoulders sagging, facing the TV. Dom slid into place next to their little brother, anxious to keep the peace. “Come on, Stink. You can pick your team first.”
Derek brightened. “I want be the Lakers.”
“Dre, go check on Little Dee,” Simp said.
“We can hear him on the monitor,” Dre said, scowling.
Simp didn’t have to ask twice. Dre stalked up the stairs. When he came back he sulked in the corner away from the action of the more quiet game between his younger brothers. Simp played a game on his phone. He had three messages from Tai. He didn’t look at them. Cappy sat on the other end of the couch, the beatdown already forgotten. He pulled his phone out, grinned, and shone the screen in Simp’s direction.
“Ay, yo, Mo just hit me up.”
Simp snorted. “For what?”
“That’s my bidness,” Cappy said, showing every tooth in his mouth with his smile.
Simp didn’t bother to bust his bubble. Mo didn’t check for dudes like him and Cappy. Mo was boughetto—half bougie but more ghetto. She was the only girl in a house of three brothers and never had a problem putting you in your place. She never let nobody talk bad about her brothers being in and out of jail, but something about her made it clear she was trying be above their thuggery. He couldn’t see her ever paying attention to Cappy.
His dark chocolate skin stayed so ashy, the team had once gave him a lotion bottle labeled Cappy Cream. It was probably still somewhere under the bleachers where Cappy had kicked it. His eyes were like two dark marbles set real far back in his face. His fade stood nearly half a foot high off his head. He said he was trying grow locs, but Simp figured he just liked how his hair made him taller.
Like Simp, Cappy was thirteen but only in seventh grade. Dude could be annoying, but it was never no doubt he had your back in the streets or on the court, and when the rest of the squad moved on he’d be all Simp had.
Simp caught himself. It was the first time he had thought about Rollie leaving the team without a streak of panic zipping down his chest. If Rollie was on the come up enough to try out for TRB, it was gonna happen sooner or later anyway, wasn’t it?
It wasn’t none of his business. He had his own problems.
Instead, he taunted Cappy’s grinning face.
“I can’t even see Mo messing with no hood dude, for real,” he said.
Cappy’s eyes disappeared as his face crinkled in confusion. “She from the hood, how she not gon’ mess with no hood dude?”
Simp hesitated. Everybody was changing, these days. Maybe Mo would let Cappy get at her. He played it off, trying to change the subject. “Don’t even worry ’bout it. You know how Tez feel about females—” He lowered his voice imitating their coach. “If you out here chasing the cat, you ain’t chasing the cash.”
“Yo, you sound just like him.” Cappy laughed and put his fist out for dap. “But, for real, Coach Tez got, like, three girlfriends. How he gon’ talk?”
“I bet you won’t ask him that,” Simp said. He sneered at Cappy’s openmouthed silence. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know about you, but right now I’m about chasing that cash.”
“Word to that,” Cappy said.
They slapped hands twice then slid the hand down the side of their head.
The door swung open, crashing against the wall. Cappy jumped up, fists clenched. Niqa Wright walked in, arm full of grocery bags, fussing.
“Why ain’t nobody answer my damned text? I told you I would be here in ten minutes and to meet me at the door to get these bags.”
Simp and his brothers grabbed the bags.
Cappy’s eyes darted past their mother like he expected trouble behind her.
“How you doing, Kevin? Your arms broken? You can’t grab a bag?” Niqa said.
Cappy grabbed the last bag. “Sorry, Ms. Niqa.”
She sat down on a small love seat, her seat and the cleanest piece of furniture in the house. “I tell you what, I’m about to strip phones away if y’all not gonna answer me.”
“Ma, can I have whoever phone you take?” Derek asked.
Niqa threw darts, with her eyes, at her two older sons. “Um-huh. You sure can, baby.”
“We ain’t see your text, Ma. We was into the game,” Simp said, praying she would let it be. He didn’t want Cappy to see them get into it. He was grateful when she kicked her shoes off and directed her anger elsewhere.
“These damned shoes cute but they hurt my feet. Derek, bring me those canned green beans,” she said.
He was up and back with the can in seconds. “Can we finish playing, Ma?”
She waved him off, the closest thing to a yes she ever gave when she was settling into a bad mood. She sat the can on the floor and rubbed her feet over it as she complained about the living room being a mess.
“Ay, Ma, Dre worked out with the team the other day,” Simp said. He was relieved when his mother’s head lifted in curiosity. “Dre did real good. Tez already calling him Pitbull.”
“Ma, I was balling my tail off,” Dre said. He came and sat on the arm of the love seat.
Niqa shoved him off. “Boy get your butt off my sofa,” she said, then just as quickly praised him. “You did good, huh? That’s good, Boo.”
“Coach Martinez said I’m the one to watch at tryouts,” Dre said, beaming.
Their mother sucked her teeth. “Tryouts? He saw what you got, what you need try out for?”
“Everybody got try out,” Simp said.
“First of all, watch how you talk to me.” Her finger stayed pointed in Simp’s direction a second longer than necessary. “Second, that raggedy team need my boys. Martinez better recognize.” She opened her arms. “Give me a hug, Dre Dre. You know you got this. Them tryouts for the wannabes that show up thinking they can ball. You as good as on the team. Ain’t he, Deontae?”
Simp’s jaw worked. Why his mother have to say all that in front of Cappy? If Cappy went back and told anybody that Dre ain’t need try out . . .
But just as quickly as his mother had started it, she pushed herself up, sending the can rolling across the floor toward the kitchen. It clunked against the dirty tile floor before thudding quietly against the wall.
“I bought the groceries. Somebody else can cook ’em,” she said, before heading up the stairs. Dre followed her, asking if he could get new basketball shoes. Her reply, more rant than answer, was lost as they disappeared upstairs.
Cappy found his voice the second she left. “That’s cool how your moms want Dre be on the team. My mother been wanting me to quit. She act like ’Rauders is why I be failing.” His shoulders straightened. “But it ain’t. School be hard.”
Simp could only nod. Everything except math and PE bored him. He had gave up trying to explain to his mother and the guidance counselor that no matter what he did, he couldn’t keep up with how fast everything moved. The class would be halfway through a book and he’d still be on the second chapter. They’d cover a chapter in another class and be expected to take a quiz on it the next day. He didn’t understand how everybody moved so fast. And if he asked, they would think he was stupid. So he left it alone, did what he could, and hoped it was enough. When it wasn’t, it wasn’t.
“My mother told me if I failed again, then basketball a wrap,” Cappy said.
Simp laughed, hard. “Shoot, mines probably make me knuckle up if I ever tried to quit the team.”
“My moms don’t like Coach Martinez.” Cappy’s voice lowered, forcing Simp to lea
n in to hear over his brothers’ growing trash talking. “She know about the side hustle.” His eyes pointed upward toward the stairs. “Your moms know?”
Simp wouldn’t say it aloud, but him and Cappy exchanged a knowing look.
“Man, one day she made me go to his house with her. And she laid him out. Like, for real cussed him out. I was scared he was gon’ pull out a heater on my moms, son.” Cappy’s head shook side to side at the memory. “Told him it was disgusting that he was using basketball to sell drugs. And laid into him about how he the reason our hood always the first community they name when they talking about crime.”
Simp’s heart raced like he was reliving it with Cappy. “Tez ain’t do nothing?” he asked.
“You know how he do. He kept calling her ma’am and saying she had it all wrong.” Cappy chuckled. “For a minute even I believed him. But then she asked him was he using me to hustle. He looked her dead in the eye and said no. So, she asked me was I doing it—” He shuddered, blinked himself out of the memory, then shrugged. “And I lied too. Said I wasn’t.”
“And she believed you?” Simp asked.
“For real, I don’t know. But she told him I better only be playing basketball or she would call the cops herself on him and me. Ain’t that wild? Calling po-po on her own son.” Cappy’s eyes shifted to the game away from Simp’s gaze as he cleared his throat. “I figured Tez wouldn’t put me on the road anymore after that. But he put me out there when he know she at work, and he find other stuff for me to do so she don’t catch me.” He eyed the stairs. “You lucky, though. Your moms know and she down with it. Shoot, if Dre get put on to the hustle, y’all gonna be icy with cash.”
It didn’t feel like luck to Simp.
Rollie
Lunchtime was the kind of chaos Rollie liked. The babbling of two hundred eighth graders mixed with a few shouts of reprimands from the on-duty teachers was a familiar song. The drum line in his head beat to it: boomp boomp boomp boomp tat-ta-tat-tat-tat.
Then, like a record being scratched, every few minutes the teacher in charge jumped on the mic to settle a situation ready to get out of control. The squad cross-talked one another, adding their own bar to the beat. Chris sat across from him, his head bent over his lyric notebook, scribbling. Every now and then, he’d gaze up and look off past Rollie before dipping his head again. Rollie had learned to savor the few snippets of conversation Chris offered.
Mostly Rollie caught pieces of talk with people who stopped by their table, or he listened to the girls go on about everything that came into their heads.
The clock read twelve thirty. In ten minutes Simp would wander in, chill, then roll out before a teacher noticed he was in the wrong lunch. Since Rollie had stopped playing referee between him and Chris, Simp never stayed long. But his appearance was part of the rhythm.
Rollie straddled the bench seating, watching Mo play with Mila’s thick wad of braids. Tai slid into place, blocking his view. She sat with her back to him as close as she dared so a teacher wouldn’t come by and scold about inappropriate touching. She smelled like baby lotion. He didn’t mean to but his nose wrinkled. It didn’t stink, but it reminded him of diapers.
“Mo, put it in Bantu knots,” Tai said.
“I have too much hair for that. They’re gonna look like alien pods,” Mila said, eyes bugging.
Tai laughed hard and leaned back into Rollie’s chest. She lingered a few seconds, her head resting just below his shoulder. She grabbed his hand from under the table and laid it on her thigh, where it was mostly hidden from the teachers across the room. The warmth of her leg spread through his fingers. He scooted back an inch, letting his hand drop, as the sensation moved through his body. It felt too good. Plus, he knew Mila didn’t care about Tai being up on him, but he kind of wished she did.
He’d been thinking about telling her he liked her. Every time he came close, when they were texting, he thought about seeing his words screen shot. Not that Mila would do that but . . . girls shared too much. What if Tai had Mila’s phone one day and saw it? It was drama he didn’t need.
For now, him and Chris were cool again. He wasn’t icing Rollie the way he did Simp—so, it was probably good. Rollie wasn’t about to ask. He just rolled with it.
Bottom line, he needed the squad. They’d been even tighter since the Choral Review. He didn’t want to mess that up.
Tai’s hair swayed gently as his breath blew on her neck. She inched back and he didn’t move away this time. Just then, Zahveay slid onto the bench beside Chris, who gave him a look before going back to his book.
Zahveay reached his fist out across the table and bumped fists with Rollie. “What up, y’all? How the TAG table doing today?”
“Um, hello, everybody here not in TAG,” Tai said, raising up.
“You not in it?” Zahveay asked, face pinched in thought.
Tai sucked her teeth. “What gave it away? Me saying everybody here not in TAG.”
“Tai dancing with H3 now,” Mila said.
“Ay, that’s cool. Their videos be popping,” Zahveay said, properly in awe. It appeased Tai enough for her to relax back into Rollie.
“Mo, that one knot too big,” Tai said as she rolled her eyes at Zah.
“I got this,” Mo said, even as she took some of the hair out and redid the knot.
Simp walked up and stood at the far end of the table beside Mo. Zahveay’s shoulders sank and he leaned back as if Chris could hide him. His eyes searched everywhere except where Simp was.
“What up, fam?” Simp asked to nobody in particular.
Rollie gave him a head nod. Chris went back to his lyrics.
“Hey, Deontae,” Chrissy said. She split open an orange and held it up, inviting anyone to share. Sheeda was the only taker. The scent filled Rollie’s nose, thankfully replacing Tai’s baby smell.
“Simp, how do you be getting out of class every day to come down here?” Mo asked. Her hands flew over Mila’s head, wrapping the braids into tight balls.
“Nunya,” he said.
“Real mature answer,” Mo said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t with you.”
“He got Ms. Jackson. All she care about fourth period is getting her nap in,” Tai said. She snored then peeked one eye open before closing it again, sending the squad into a fit of laughter.
“Youn got be putting me out there like that, Tai,” Simp said, unsmiling. “People don’t be needing to know my secrets.”
“Who don’t know they can’t creep out Ms. Jackson’s class, though?” Sheeda said.
“Exactly,” Tai said.
Feeling safe in the laughter, Zahveay struck up the nerve to speak. “What up, Simp?
Simp folded his arms. “Ay, yo, what you doing at the Cove table?”
“Simp, don’t do that,” Mila pleaded. “People should be able to sit whereever they want. Plus Zah used to be Cove.”
Simp’s lips turned up. “Used to be.”
Chris looked up from his book. “This not even your lunch. Why you care where somebody sit?”
The air was sucked from the entire table. The girls all froze.
Rollie inhaled deep. He nudged Tai. She understood and scooted up so he could swing his leg and sit up right at the table. His knee jiggled as he waited for something to pop off. He’d have to jump in this time, whether he wanted to or not.
He glanced around the room in time to see Marcus and three of his boys roll up beside Simp. They all wore silver-and-black Puma jackets. All of them weren’t on the team, but they rocked some kind of silver and black anyway. It was hard to tell if they were a gang or just supporting the team. Anybody with sense knew there wasn’t much of a difference.
Zahveay’s eyes widened. He sat up straighter, looking from Marcus to Simp.
“We got a problem here?” Marcus asked, eyeing Zahveay then Simp. “I saw you kept looking back at our table. You got something say? I’m right here.”
Simp squared his shoulders. “Nah. Just ready put your snitch, Zahvee, up
on game and let him know he could run back and tell you—y’all got come better than you did at the J. Martins if you trying win the ’Peake.”
Marcus’s Adams apple bobbed. It looked like he was ready to unleash. Before he could speak, Zahveay stood up. “Man, look, ain’t nobody snitching. Y’all gon’ mess around and get in trouble.” He nodded his head in the direction of two teachers in conversation then dipped off, feet moving him far away from the thick tension.
“He right, y’all. Ms. Anderson just looked over here,” Mo said, pointing.
“Aight den,” Marcus said, walking past Simp almost close enough to bump shoulders. His boys followed, doing the same. Simp never flinched. His body was tense, waiting for the slightest touch so he had an excuse to throw hands.
Rollie didn’t breathe until the last dude walked by, blessedly far enough away to avoid the brewing fight.
“Why you so mean to Zahveay, Simp? He always been okay with everybody,” Sheeda said.
“Then let him be okay with the rest of them marks from the Crossings,” Simp said. His head shook in disgust. “Y’all tripping.”
“Not me,” Tai said, cosigning. “If you hadn’t said something, I would have, Simp. Zahveay always been low-key sneaky.”
Mila gave Tai a light-lipped frown. Rollie liked how she tried to keep everyone friends. He wanted to do the same thing. But he couldn’t keep jumping in and disagreeing with Simp. He flushed with shame when Chris continued to stick up for Zahveay.
“Dude was just sitting here chopping it up. Why y’all care what neighborhood he come from?” Chris asked.
“I mean, I don’t,” Mo said. She tapped Mila’s head to signal she was done. “But the beef between Crossings and the Cove is real. My brother Lenny got suspended off the bus a whole month for fighting DeMarcus, that time. Y’all remember that?”
“But, that was a fight. Do you really not like him just because he moved to a different neighborhood, Deontae?” Chrissy asked.
“I need another reason?” Simp said.
“I mean, kind of.” Chrissy tried smiling through her knitted brows. “He seem nice enough.”