September 25: Manny

Manny

“Coma sus huevos.” My grandma stares at me from across the tiny kitchen. Her eyes are dark and tired. That’s the third time she’s told me to eat my eggs.
“I’m eating, Grandma,” I insist and shovel a spoonful of the hot eggs in my mouth. I take big bites of the pork that was left over from my cousins birthday party last week. There was so much food, so many balloons, so many people.
Puerto Ricans are always over the top.
“Tienes todas para escuela?” She drinks her extra-hot coffee without taking her eyes off of me.
“Yes, Grandma.” I hurry and finish my breakfast and put my plate in the sink. I wish my mom was here to make my breakfast; she doesn’t nag as much. But she’s already gone to her slave job, so I’m stuck with Grandma.
“Ricardo,” she says when my older brother walks into the kitchen. “No se olvide su cita hoy.” 
“I know, Grandma.” Ricky rolls his eyes. That’s the fourth time since yesterday that she’s reminded him about the meeting with his parole officer. As if he would forget; one miss and he’s back in jail.
“What’s up, Ricky?” I ask before chugging my orange juice.
“Nothing, boy.” He shakes my hand and stands next to me while he drinks a glass of juice too.
Grandma just stares at both of us, her arms crossed. We don’t look back at her and a thick, disappointed silence tightens around the room.
We look almost identical in our dark jeans and baggy white t-shirts. Our matching gold chains are hidden beneath our shirt. Grandma doesn’t like them out in the house. We have the same close-cut fade, same eyes. Except his are a little older than mine; they’ve seen just a little more. He’s a little bit shorter than me, and his skin is lighter. But besides that, we could be twins.
“I’m out.” He puts his glass in the sink and pounds my fist. “I’ll see you later. Have fun at school.” He laughs and I flip him off.
“Have fun with your parole officer,” I say back.
Grandma shakes her head and I ignore her. “Don’t give me that look, Grandma.” I hug her tightly and she relaxes.
“Te amo, nieto.”
“I love you too, Grandma.” I ruffle her white hair and she smiles weakly at me.
I’m not exactly the model grandson that she can tell all of her church friends about. When they ask about me, she says I’m doing just fine and leaves it at that. She won’t even talk about Ricky. What good can she say about her two gangster grandsons when one of them just got out of jail and the other is barely staying out of it?
I go to my room and look at myself in the mirror. Fresh haircut, just shaved, new white t-shirt. I’m looking good and I feel good. I put my wallet in my back pocket, then pick up one of my knives and put it in my front pocket. Security purposes.
I walk into the living room and pick up my book bag that my mom packed for me. This house is too damn small, but at least we’ve got a place. And at least we aren’t in the projects like most of my family.
“Bye Grandma,” I say before leaving.
Outside, someone is playing Casual’s Puerto Rico. I wave to Mr. Diaz, who is washing his car. All of the houses in the neighborhood look the same, beige and small. Everyone has ugly plants on their porches and their dogs run around the neighborhood all day.
This is Little Puerto Rico, the bad side of Humboldt Park. Everybody around here is Rican, and we show it. We’ve all got flags hanging from our porches, stuck to our cars. To an outsider looking in, it may look like a friendly neighborhood where we barbeque pernil and play football in the streets. But that outsider would be wrong; and he would probably end up shot before he got to the end of the street.
We don’t like strangers here. Everyone who lives here has been here for years. If you aren’t Puerto Rican and you aren’t wearing your chain, you’re a dead man walking. It’s shitty, but it’s true. I pull my gold crown chain out from behind my shirt and walk a few houses down to get my best friend Malachi. He’s waiting on his front porch for me.
“What’s up, nigga?” He smiles when he sees me and stands up. “Ma,” he calls through the screen door “I’m leaving.”
His mother comes to the door and smiles at us. “You boys behave. Do you understand me, Malachi?”
“I got it, Mama.” Malachi hugs her and hops off the porch.“Dude, fuck this school bullshit,” he says once we are a few feet away from his house.
“I know, man.” I shake my head. “I’d rather be doing the business, making some money.”
“We can still do that afterwards,” Malachi insists. “I know some guys who need some good shit.”
“Alright,” I say. Malachi and I have been selling for a while now. It’s the only way to get money around here.
We were initiated when we were thirteen. Most of the kids around here become Kings when they turn thirteen. You wait for that moment for years, and when it finally comes, they beat you in the middle of the night. They beat you so bad that you are broken on the inside too. Then they burn you on your shoulder with a cigar. It burns with such tension that your body freezes on the inside. Instantly, your heart is made cold. Finally they blindfold you and dump you somewhere to sleep overnight.
When you get home, you lie to your mom about where the bruises and cuts came from. She pretends she believes you and ignores the thin gold chain you have hanging around your neck. For the next few weeks, you learn all of the ropes. You carry your first knife, shoot your first gun. You learn all of the rules and swear by them. You learn not only how to fight, but how to never lose. You spend time with your new brothers, learning the history of the gang and what it means to be a part of it.
You pay your dues, doing the dirty work, cleaning up after the bloody messes, making sure no trace of a Puerto Rican is left behind. You build yourself back up, and when you do, you are a different person-- cold, hard, evil, according to some. Then once you’ve proven yourself strong enough, hard enough, loyal enough, to be a member, they put a thick gold chain with a heavy crown on it around your neck. Then they give you a gun: a .45 ACP, nine millimeters, semi-automatic. The weight of that cold, poisonous pistol is heaviest in that moment.
The moment when you become a King.
Nothing is the same after that. People fear you, they avoid eye-contact, they walk on the other side of the street. They respect you. Where I come from, it’s all about respect. I do what I have to do to stay alive. And although I’ve been successful for the last seventeen years, something inside of me is still dead, still broken.
“I don’t wanna do this school shit, man.” Malachi sighs and kicks a few rocks on the sidewalk.
“Me either.” I shake my head. “We ‘bout to be out though. If we do our shit this year.”
We get to the front of the neighborhood, where our friends are all waiting on the street corner. They are being loud, as Puerto Ricans always are. Most of the guys are wearing baggy white t-shirts and dark jeans like me. The girls are wearing tight black wife beaters and v-necks; most of them are members too. And of course we’re all wearing fresh new tennis shoes.
“What’s up, fools?” I ask as we approach them. They all look over and go crazy when they see me and Chi. I’ve become the leader of this neighborhoods newest Kings. They look up to me, answer to me, and listen to me, even though I have my own authority to listen to.
“Hey,” they all say excitedly.
I throw my book bag down and pull the white t-shirt over my head. The rest of the guys do the same. Now we are wearing our black wife beaters. We all used to be scrawny, nappy-headed little Ricans. Now we are all ripped with big, tight muscles, some of them have tattoos (my mom would kill me if I got one before I’m eighteen), and any normal person would be terrified if they rolled up on us.
Even the 808s, who are standing on the other side of the street. We hate them; we are designed to. Folk Nation is our biggest rival. And the 808s, right across the median on Division Street, are my biggest problem. They look at us with cold, black eyes. But we stare right back. I keep an eye out, making sure nothing is going to go down.
“How’s that tat feeling, Anthony?” I ask one of my friends. He’s got muscles as big as mine. On his left shoulder, is the King’s crown tattooed in thick black ink. His skin is still a little red; he just got it when he turned eighteen last week.
“Good as gold, baby.” Anthony smiles and flexes his muscles. Our colors are black and gold. But if we wear them at school, we’ll immediately get suspended, no questions asked. If I get suspended again, I’m going to juvie. So we settle for black tank tops and t-shirts while we’re at school.
“You look good, Manny.” Celia, one of my girls, puts her arm around my waist.
“You look good too, girl.” I put my arm around her shoulders and whisper Spanish in her ear. She giggles.
I won’t pretend that she thinks she’s my girlfriend. She knows how it is. Someone like me doesn’t have just one girl; I have options. For now, she enjoys being an option. Because she knows she’s getting taken care of. Protection, she doesn’t need that. That girl has better aim than most of the guys in our generation of Kings.
I look at all of them, the people I grew up with. Celia and Malachi, Anthony (Antonio, as his mom calls him), Cruz, Eva, Damaris, Xavier, Freddie (Alfredo), Zara, Migdalia (we call her Dali), Ivan, Quito, and Ray (Ramon).
This is the 2006 King generation. Even the girls, with their thick eyeliner and tight jeans, look hard. Eva and Damaris fix each others’ makeup. The guys show off their knives and fight playfully. These are my people, my family. I stand and talk to Malachi about business stuff, until I all of a sudden I hear Xavier yelling at someone.
“What the hell is your problem, boy?”
“I- I’m sorry,” It‘s some white boy that I‘ve never seen before. He must be new here. His face gets red and he starts stuttering. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m late and I need to get to school-”
“What are you doing on this side of the street anyway, pendejo?” Asks Freddie.“You trying to get killed?”
“Look,” says the white boy. “I’m new here. I’m a freshman at Five Points, and I’m late-”
“Freshman!” We all laugh and say it over and over again.
Damaris walks over to him and runs her hands over his sweater all sexy. “So you’re new here, huh?”
“Yes,” he mumbles.
She shrugs. “I think he’s kinda cute.” She goes back and stands next to Zara, who laughs.
I decide to step in. “Cállate, Damaris,” I say to shut her up. Then I get real close to the white boy’s face. “I’m gonna tell you this once, and one time only.” I touch my finger to his cheek, knowing he won’t do anything about it. “Are you listening, boy?”
He just nods.
“Bueno. Now I’m gonna let this slide because you say you’re new here.“ I look him up and down once. “And believe me, boy, you’ve got ‘freshman’ written all over you.”
We all laugh for a second. Then I turn back to him, as serious I cab be.
“But this.” I point behind my to my neighborhood. “Is Humboldt Park. You know what that means?”
He shakes his head.
“It means Little Puerto Rico,” I inform him. “That means if you aren’t Puerto Rican, you stay away from this side of West Division Street. You got that?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry man, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m your friend,” I say, getting a little irritated. “I’m just warning you. ‘Cause next time, there will be trouble.” He’s lucky I’m in a good mood today.
“I got it.” He nods quickly. “I’ll walk on the other side of the street next time.”
“You don’t wanna do that,” Anthony says before I can.
“Yeah,” I agree and point to the 808s on the other side of the street. “That’s where the 808’s stay. You don’t wanna fuck with them either.”
He looks over and another dose of fear goes through him; it’s all over his face. “So how am I supposed to get to school then?”
I shrug and laugh. Does he think I care how he gets to school? “Guess you better walk back that way and go around.”
“But that’s ten extra blocks.”
I know he’s not getting loud. The fighter in me starts to creep up my throat.
“Don’t raise your voice to me, son.”
The way he flinches, I know he’s not going to be anymore trouble. Before I can say anything else, the bus pulls up next to us.
“Guess I’ll just ride the bus,” he says matter-of-factly. He starts towards the steps, but I pull him back, shaking my head.
“Trust me, white boy. You don’t wanna do that.” Does this kid not see I’m trying to help him out? The 808s are next to us now, and I know the white boy understands what I’m saying.
“Again, I’m sorry.” He holds his hand out like I’m going to shake it. Like we are friends.
“Don’t apologize, boy.” I don’t shake it. “Just learn. This is Chi-Town. It ain’t your dad’s country club. Watch yourself.” I think he understands. But at this point, I don’t care. He has been warned. And if he is ever on my street again, I will let the guys have at him.
The 808s get on first and fill up the front of the bus. Then we get on and go straight to the back. I look at a few of the 808s, growl at them a little bit. They stare back just as hard. I sit in the last seat and Celia sits next to me.
“You should’ve let me beat that kid’s ass,” Xavier says and sits in the seat in front of me.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Wasn’t worth it, man. You look too good today to get messed up with some rich white boy.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you know your mom will kill you if you get sued by another one,” Anothony says and we all laugh.
Xavier likes to fight. Most Kings enjoy a fight, but Xavier will fight for no reason. I don’t like to fight as much, even though I’m the best fighter in our generation. I only fight if I have to, which is why I let that white boy off with a warning. If I would have let Xavier have his way, he’d be sitting in a cell right now. And the cops would’ve scooped up the rest of us just for looking like a threat. Wouldn’t be the first time.
We ride to school, loud and cutting up. When we get there, my mood immediately changes. I’m not home in Little Puerto Rico anymore. Now we’re at Five Points. I’m starting to reevaluate not letting Xavier beat that kid up so all of us got arrested.
I’d rather take my chances in prison.
“Home sweet home,” Malachi says sarcastically.
“Fuck this, man.” I follow them off the bus and we all go inside together.
In the lobby, people stare at us. The freshmen avoid eye contact and whisper to each other. We’re like a pack of angry dogs, abandoned by their owners and left on the street to learn how to survive. Only the strong survive in my world. The blacks take their stand on their side of the lobby; we do the same on our side. There are two old wooden benches separating us from them; they are wise and stay on their side.
I see Jeoffrey Kente talking to his boy Marcus. He looks upset. I’m sure Marcus is probably telling him about their friend Drake. Some of my boys over at the Peaks got him when they found out he stole money from them. Never trust an 808. Both of our gangs have people all over this city. Whoever is dumb enough to mess with a King deserves to die.
Celia puts herself under my arm, and everything is as it should be. We stand around, keeping our eyes open. But nobody dares come into our territory. Even the freshmen understand without warning that they aren’t to come near us. When the bell rings, I shake hands with everyone, kiss Celia, and reluctantly go to homeroom.
Homeroom is a waste of time. My teacher passes out our schedules and locker combinations. I’ve got Algebra Two, English, Spanish (seriously), and Physical Science. Definitely should’ve taken my chances in prison.
Mrs. Hill turns on the announcements. Everybody loves our president, Ruby St. Clair. I think she’s just another rich white girl who gets everything she wants because she can. White people think they deserve everything; especially the rich ones. And most of them don’t even work for their money. Not like my mom, who slaves every day from some rich family that doesn’t even appreciate her. She’s barely home to clean my house because she’s always across town cleaning theirs. I hate rich white peole.
Once the announcements are over, Mrs. Hill smiles at all of us. “I hope you all have a great first day. Go boomers!” A few people groan but that’s about it.
When the bell rings, I go out into the hall to find my locker. It’s number 243. I get on the left side of the hall, where the odd numbers are. 237, 239, 241. I stop at 243 and check my card again. Some tall, skinny boy with glasses and red-blonde hair is standing at locker 243 with it open.
“What the hell?” I step next to him.
He turns to me, looks at me for a second, and smiles. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I in your way?”
He kicks his bag out of the way and moves to the other side of the locker.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s my locker.”
“Really?” He looks at his card and shrugs. “I guess we’re sharing then. Sucks, doesn’t it? We are so overpopulated.”
“What do you mean ‘sharing’?” I ask.
“Didn’t you hear the announcements?” His voice is too girly and his jeans are too tight. Gay. “They said some people would have to share this year. So I guess we’re two of the lucky ones. I’m Gabe.” He holds his hand out.
I don’t shake it, but he just smiles and starts stuffing things into his locker. How could he possibly have that much stuff on the first day, before our first class even?
“Well, I’m very organized, so you don’t have to worry about the locker being a mess. I have a lot of theater stuff, so I hope that’s okay. I was thinking that I could take the top and you could take the bottom.” He looks at me. “Since I’m taller than you, that will work out great.”
He talks so fast that I can barely understand what he’s saying, let alone get anything in. He is way too enthusiastic for eight-something in the morning on the first day of school.
“Do you have any questions or anything?”
“Nah, you good.” I put my book bag in the bottom of the locker. “Don’t touch my shit.”
Gabe looks a little shocked. “I won’t,” he says softly.
“Good.” I start to walk away.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he says once I’m turned around. I turn and face him.
“What did you say?”
“Just so you know,” he says, still smiling. “I’m not afraid of you. So don’t waste your time with the macho, bully stuff. It won’t work on me.”
I don’t know if this kid realizes that I could literally snap him in half in a matter of seconds. But the look in his eyes tells me that he is completely serious. It’s not a hard look, not a threatening look. His eyes are calm and completely fearless.
“Alright,” I say and shrug. I don’t really know what else there is to say. That’s the first time anyone has ever said anything like that to me. The kid might be gay, but I’ve got to admit he’s got balls stepping up to me like that. I’ve got to give him props.
“Okay.” He smiles and continues putting stuff in the locker. I turn away and head to math.
Algebra Two is the worst class in the world. I thought geometry was hard, but I can tell this is going to kill me. Too bad that little redhead isn’t in here for me to cheat off of her. I’m barely on track to graduate on time. If I want to make it out in June, I’ve got to find someone who’s really good at math and easily scared. That should be simple.
At the end of class, Mr. Clark hands me a card. It’s for after-school tutoring. I guess he’s already lost his faith in me. Before second period, we get a five-minute break. I go to the lobby where all of my friends are.
“What’s up,” Freddie shakes my hand. “How was your first class?”
“Math, dude.” I shake my head. “And I have to share a locker with some faggot.”
“I gotta share a locker too, man.” Anthony shakes his head. “That’s some bullshit.”
“Whatever.” I shrug. “Not like I’m gonna be using it much anyways.”
The girls come up with fresh coats of lip gloss on. Celia kisses me and I hold onto it for a second. The break goes by too fast and we all head to our second periods.
I’ve got English with Quito and Ivan, so we all sit together. Everyone looks at us, including the teacher. I lean back in my seat and ignore them. I know I’m in the English class for the not-so-smart seniors.
“Welcome to senior English,” the teacher says once the bell rings. “I’m Misses Graybeal, and I’m very excited to work with you all.” English teachers are always excited. She starts passing out books, handing one to each other. I sink a little lower in my chair.
“The first novel we’re going to read is called Anthem, by Ayn Rand. It’s going to be a challenge, but I know you all can do it. It’s one of my favorites.”
She puts a book on my desk and smiles. “Could you take the hat off, please?”She looks at Quito and Ivan. “You too, boys.”
I sigh and pull my black Steelers cap off. I should’ve known I wouldn’t get away with it for the whole day.
“I want you to read the first chapter tonight.” She stands back at the front of the classroom. “And be prepared to discuss it.”
A few people groan. I push the book to the side of my desk and try not to doze off. It’s easier than usual, because Mrs. Graybeal is beautiful. I look at Quito and Ivan, and I know they are thinking it too. When the bell rings, she asks to see the three of us after class.
“I don’t want any trouble from you three,” she says softly and leans over her desk.
“Of course not,” I say sarcastically. “We’ll be perfect little angels.”
Quito and Ivan laugh, but Mrs. Graybeal doesn’t. “I know you boys have got a lot of potential. Don’t make me regret having faith in you. And don’t wear a hat in my classroom again, understood?”
“Yes ma’am.” Quito bows playfully.
“Go on.” Mrs. Graybeal rolls her eyes, but I see a bit of a smile in them.

Spanish is a total waste of time. You’d think our administration department might be smart enough to put a Puerto Rican kid in a foreign language different from his primary one. But it works out perfectly for me, because I know this is one class I could actually pass.
When the lunch bell rings, I am starving. I meet the boys outside in the lobby and we walk into the cafeteria together. We jump the line, going straight to the spaghetti. Nobody stops us from passing; I don’t blame them. I pile my tray with spaghetti, a baked potato, and peaches. It’s not my mom’s good Puerto Rican food, but it’s good for the first day.
We sit in the back left corner, opposite of the blacks. They are loud and crazy, listening to music and dancing. We kick back, sitting on the tables, throwing food at random freshmen and nerds. Dali comes and sits next to me. I know Celia would be pissed, but she had B lunch, so I don’t worry about it.
“What’s up, girl?”
Dali rubs my leg and I put my arm around her. She’s the perfect girl for a good time, but she’s not girlfriend material. My mom hates her; she wants me to marry some nice Puerto Rican girl from the upper side of Humbodlt Park. But that’s probably never going to happen.
The cafeteria is divided as always. No matter what, this place never changes. The rich white people sit up in the front. Samantha West, Miss Prom Queen, and her dumb boyfriend, Anderson Stone, think they run this school. They don’t run anything. I hate him, and she’s a bitch. My brother works for her dad’s landscaping company, the only place that would hire him. Nobody wants to hire a felon.
They pay him less than they pay the other employees. Like Crash, the short white guy who looks like he’s getting into some trouble with Jamal, one of the 808s. I finish my spaghetti and play with Dali’s hair. Nobody talks much. The Puerto Ricans are the chill ones. We don’t say much; until you cross us wrong.
When the bell rings, I head to my last class. Physical Science has a bunch of freshmen and sophomores in it. But I’m not on the college path, so thank God I don’t have to waste my time with Chemistry. I fall asleep after the first three minutes, and I don’t wake up until the final bell rings.
“Here you go,” someone behind me says as I’m leaving. I turn around to see some emo girl with a bad dye job and raccoon eyes.
She hands me a piece of paper. “You dropped this.”
“What is it?”
“Tonight’s homework.” She holds on tightly to her book and doesn’t look me in the eyes.
“Oh, thanks.” I stuff the paper in my book and start to turn away from her.
“You’re my lab partner.”
“What?” I turn back around.
“Just so you know.” Her voice shakes. “I know you were sleeping most of the time. We’re lab partners.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” I laugh. “I’ll try to stay awake tomorrow. Science, you know.”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t laugh. “Well, I’ll see you.” She walks away quickly. She seems a little weird, but I just hope she’s good at science.
I head outside to the bus lot. It sucks to be a senior and not be able to drive yourself to school. But my mom won’t let me get my license because I messed up so much. So I’ll have to wait until I’m eighteen.
At least the rest of my friends have to ride the bus too. We sit in the back as usual. Everyone is relieved that the first day is over. When we get to our stop, we follow the blacks off the bus. They walk too slow, so we push past them.
“Watch where you’re walking, fool.” Keyan, one of the 808s, says to Malachi.
“Who you talking to like that, nigga?” Malachi immediately gets angry. “You better watch your mouth.”
“Then you better watch where you put your feet.” Keyan points to his shoes. “Somewhere besides my new kicks.”
Malachi gets right in Keyan‘s face. “I’ll kick your ass if you don’t back the fuck down.”
Everyone gathers around, knowing that a fight could break out any second. We are all prepared to step in and fight if we have to. But I know Chi can hold his own. Suddenly, Jeoff steps in front of them.
“Whoa, calm down.” He puts his arm between them. “Why don’t ya’ll just go back to your side of the street?” I can’t stand him. He’s the Martin Luther King Jr. of West Division. He thinks he’s better than all of us because he plays basketball and does good in school. He doesn’t represent where he comes from.
“Yeah, I think I hear your mami calling you.” Jamal, another one, imitates a Spanish accent.
I hate Jamal. And now they are ganging up on Chi, so I step in. “You want some too?” I get in his face. “I’ll kill you right now, little bitch.” I reach for the knife in my pocket as a scare tactic.
“No!” Jeoff pushes Jamal. “Everybody go home. We don’t need this shit today.”
“Your boy’s right,” says Malachi. “You should take his advice.”
Keyan gets right in Chi‘s face and stares him down. “Get off my corner, bitch.”
“You better watch your back, cabrón.” Malachi stares back just as hard.
Zara takes ahold of Malachi’s arm. “Come on, Chi.”
“Shit, bicho estupido. Bendejo.”
I bump into Jeoff hard, but he doesn’t do anything. We get across the street and MalachI is still furious.
“Fuck those niggas, man.” He walks quickly and I struggle to keep up. “I swear I’ll kill Keyan if I ever see him alone.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him. “Go get changed and let’s go to Dino’s.”
“Alright,” he agrees.
When I get home, nobody is there except my grandma. Ricky and my mom are at work. She’s sitting on the couch knitting. I don’t say anything to her, just go into my bedroom and throw on a yellow t-shirt. I put a black one on over it and put on a black hat with a gold crown on the side.
“De donde vas?” Grandma asks as I pass the living room.
“Out,” I mumble and open the screen door.
“Manuel,” she calls to me.
“Puede que traerme algunas pilas por favor? Las necesito.” She smiles, all small and old on the worn couch.
“Yeah, Grandma. I’ll bring you some batteries.”
Malachi is waiting for me outside. We walk the thirteen blocks to Dino’s place. There are always at least ten people at Dino’s house. He is our leader, the one we all report to. He’s sitting in his living room, listening to Biggie Smalls and smoking a cigar. We walk in without knocking.
“What’s up boys?” He smiles at us from the ugly blue couch.
“Nothing man,” I say. “First day of school and everything, you know?”
“Oh, that’s right.” He nods and sets his cigar down. “How was it?”
“Don’t ask,” we both say. Everyone in the room laughs.
“I’m guessing you guys came by to get some stuff?”
“Yeah,” Malachi says. “Got a couple of guys who need some. What you got for us?”
“Only the best,”Dino assures us. “I had these boys bag everything up, so it’s all taken care of.” He points to Dani and Miguel, a new generation. They’re still going through initiation; Dani’s eye is still black.
“Alright.” I nod. “We’re meeting them down at the gas station on Cope Boulevard. There shouldn’t be any problems.”
“Shouldn’t be,” Dino repeats. “Miguel, give them the stuff.”
Miguel gets up quickly and hands me a few bags of good weed. I don’t smoke the stuff much anymore, but Dino always has the best.
“Thanks man,” I say to Miguel. “I’ll bring the money by at the end of the week.” I turn back to Dino.
“No rush,” he assures me and gets up to shake my hand. Afterwards, he hugs me. “If you need anything, just let me know. Me entiendes? I got you.”
“Claro.” I nod.
“Okay.” He turns to Chi, hugs him, and whispers something in his ear. “I’ll see you boys in a few days. Everything is good over in Little, right?”
“Yeah,” we both say.
“Alright, go make some money. Get out of here.” He shoos us away with a smile and we head down the hill to the gas station.
Cruz and Freddie meet us there, just for security purposes. We meet outside of the gas station and wait for the guys we’re supposed to be selling to.
“They better get here, son.” Malachi checks the time on his phone. “I’m not waiting around for nobody.”
“They’ll be here,” Cruz assures him.
“I’m gonna go in the store for a minute,” I say. “My grandma needs some damn batteries.”
They laugh and I go into the store. The clerk is some terrorist-looking dude with a comb over. He’s reading a magazine and not paying me any attention. I go to the back of the store and look through the batteries.
I hear the bell on the door and look up. In walks Riley Sutton. He goes to Five Points; he rides a motorcycle and thinks he’s a badass. I’d squash that real quick. He looks at me too, while I slip the pack of batteries in my back pocket. I know he won’t say anything. I walk out a few seconds later.
“Where are the batteries?” Freddie asks.
“Where do you think, dumb ass?” I punch him playfully and we all laugh. A few minutes later, Riley comes out of the store. He looks at us a little funny and starts to walk away. The dominance in me surfaces.
“You got a problem?” I take a few steps closer.
“If I had one, you would know it,” he says without hesitance.
“Oh, tough guy, huh?” I tease. “You think you’re a badass with your cigarettes and that leather jacket?” I look him up and down. He’s just a greased up, Harley-Davidson wannabe badass.
“Whatever, dude.” he mumbles and starts to walk away.
“That’s right,” I say. “Keep walking.” It was kind of a pointless altercation, but I brush it off and turn to my friends.
A few seconds later, he rides past us on his motorcycle. He comes so close to us that I feel the wind off of him. Freddie and Cruz stumble backwards a few feet.
“Motherfucker,” Cruz mumbles.
He’s going to pay for that one.
We get our deals done a few minutes later. It is quick and quiet. We walk quickly back to Little Puerto Rico. By the time I get home, my mom is there. I go into my room and change into sweatpants. I put my hat up in the closet and shut the door.
“Hey Mama,” I say when I get in the kitchen.
“Hey baby,” she says softly. Her English used to suck, but it’s been getting better since she started working for those rich people several years ago.
“How was work?”
“Great,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s lying. “How was school?
“Great,” I say. And she knows I’m lying. “What are you cooking?”
“Arroz con gondulas,” she says with a smile.
“Oh, thank God.” I throw my hands up and sit at the table. That’s my favorite. She cooks it up and the smells make me crazy. For a few minutes, I don’t think about the deals or the guys or anything. I just sit back and smell the good food my mom is cooking while she hums.
“Where’s your brother?” she asks without turning around.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe he’s still at work.”
“Probably off getting into trouble somewhere,” she mumbles and piles my plate with hot, seasoned rice.
“Thanks, Ma.” I take the plate and she hands me a glass of chocolate milk.
“You’re welcome, mijo.” She pats me on the head and sits down next to me. A few minutes later, my grandma comes in and fixes herself a plate, then sits down on the other side of me. They chatter away in Spanish. I don’t say much, listen a little bit. I eat two plates of the arroz con gondulas, which makes my mom happy. This is how it is, just me, Mom, Grandma, and sometimes Ricky in this tiny house. My dad’s not here. And that’s the end of that.We get along just fine; my mom works hard for us.
Once I’m done eating, I go to Malachi’s house. My mom tells me not to be out late, and Grandma reminds me to pray before I go to bed. I make promises to both of them.
His mom feeds us chocolate cake. We do pushups and his brother’s ab workout in the living room. Then we play with his pitbulls in the backyard. The dogs are a lot like us, angry but calm.
Later on, we all get together at Dali’s place. Her mom works the night shift, so no parents are around. We drink a little bit of her mom’s tequila, some of them smoke weed. I count the money I made from the deals earlier, a hundred and fifty dollars. That will buy some new shoes; but I better wait a while, or Mom will start asking questions.
I get home around three. That’s one promise broken. Seven o’ clock is going to come way too early, but I try not to think about it. My mom and grandma are sound asleep. Ricky still isn’t home. Something in me starts to worry, but I push it away. If Ricky needs help, I know he’ll call. And he knows we’ll come.
I lay in bed, my own angry pitbull, Dulce, next to me. He snores in my ear, but that’s not what’s keeping me awake. I think about everything that happened throughout the day and wonder what I’m doing here. Will this be my life forever? Smoking and dealing and killing, like Dino? A few years ago, it sounded like the ideal life. Now that I’m starting to live it, I’m not so sure. I want my grandma to be able to look me in the eye again. I want my teachers to stop losing their faith in me. I want my mom to talk about me to her friends, not have to lie. I want her to be proud of me, since my brother is already a lost cause. I want to graduate. I want to live to twenty.
I think about my sweet grandma and her reminder earlier. I decide I can’t break two promises in one night. Besides, maybe it will do me some good. For the first time in years, I get down beside my bed, put my hands together, close my eyes, and bow my head.


Then I pray to God.