September 25: Gabe

Gabe

The air is still cold at 5:30 in the morning. I like it, the way it pricks the skin on my arms. The burn coursing through my legs is a pleasant balance to the chilly air. I run in long, even strides through the neighborhood. No one is stirring yet, the sun is starting to peek out over the trees. I breathe in and out as evenly as I can and push through. I run around the entire neighborhood, back to my old white house that is a little too big for a family of four. I jog up the sidewalk and the porch steps. I take my time stretching on the porch, my legs, my arms, my back and shoulders. There’s no greater feeling than the one you get after a good run.
“Gabriel, wake up this instant!” An hour later, my mom is banging on my bedroom door. I step away from the mirror where I am fixing my hair and turn down my Glee soundtrack.
“Mother,” I say after I open the door. “I’ve been awake since five this morning.”
She looks me up and down, fully dressed in my new skinny jeans (which fit great), a turquoise v-neck, a black vest, and black converses. I know I look great; I also know she doesn’t approve. She doesn’t say anything, though, just grabs on to the gold cross hanging from her neck.
“Alright.” She nods her head and sighs. “Breakfast is in ten.”
“Great, I’ll be out in a few minutes.” I don’t wait for her to say anything, simply close the door and lock it.
I turn the music back on and sing along to Don’t Stop Believin’ while I finish my hair. Nobody really knows if it’s red or blonde; it’s somewhere in between. I call it raspberry blonde. I check myself out from all angles in the full length mirror. I look great, maybe a little too skinny, but I can’t gain a pound to save my life.
I grab my bag, full of stuff for theater, and turn the music off. I look at myself in the mirror one last time.
“You’re a star,” I remind myself with a smile. Then I cut out the light and head into the dark of my house.
My mom is in the kitchen buttering English muffins and peppering eggs, sunny side up. My twin brother, James, is choking down the muffins faster than she can hand them to her.
“Good morning,” I say in a song.
“Sup,” James says without looking up or swallowing his food. He is such an animal, better known as an athlete. He got all of the muscle between the two of us. He’s over two hundred pounds, maybe pushing two-fifty. But I definitely got all of the brains. He slings back a glass of grape juice and my mom pours him another one.
I sit down across from him at the table. My mom puts a plate in front of me with two eggs, an English muffin, and half of a grapefruit.
“I’ll have coffee,” I say.
She looks at me for a second and shakes her head, then reluctantly pours me a cup of hot coffee. She splashes some hazelnut creamer in it and hands it to me.
“Thank you, Mother.” I cut into the eggs.
“Say your grace, Gabriel.“ She winces as I take a bite.
I put my fork down, close my eyes, and pretend to bless my food. I hate this place. Get me out, now. Thanks, God. I run my fingers from my head to my chest and across my shoulders like a good Catholic boy.
My mom seems pleased, so I continue eating my eggs. They are hot and good. I eat them quickly, but not as quickly as James.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask between bites.
“He’s already left for the pharmacy.” My mom stands at the counter drinking her own cup of coffee. “I’m going to leave for the office in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure you boys were taken care of.” She comes over and rubs James’s back, then takes his plate and puts it in the dishwasher.
I take my own plate.
“I’ve got work today, too.” I say while I rinse my plate off. “I’ll be home around ten.”
“On the first day of school?” My mom raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should ask if you can get off a little early tonight.”
“I need the money, Mother.” I dry my hands off and set the towel on the counter. “College isn’t cheap, you know.”
“I know.” She nods. “Maybe you could get a scholarship like your brother.”
James gets up from the table and laughs. “Yeah right, Mom.”
“I could play football if I wanted to,” I assure him. “I’d just rather spend my time doing something other than rolling around in the mud with a bunch of big dudes.”
James starts to say something, but he holds his tongue. Immediately I regret what I said. I know he could have just destroyed me. Maybe he’s got half of a heart after all. Still no brain, though.
“Alright, that’s enough.” My mom shakes her head. “You’re brother is very good at what he does.”
“So am I,”I say quickly. “So tell me why you haven’t missed a single football game since we were in the seventh grade, but yet somehow you always seem to forget about my plays?”
“That’s not fair,” my mom says. “I’ve been to several of your plays.
“Three,” I say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been to three. And actually, the second grade Thanksgiving play doesn’t count, because he was in it too.” I point to James.
“That’s enough, Gabriel.” Her voice gets stern. “You will not speak to me that way, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mother.” I roll my eyes. “Honor thy mother and father, I forgot.”
“Just shut up, Gabe.” James comes back into the kitchen with his book bag and cleats. “Let’s go.”
“Fine,” I mumble.
“I’ll be home late tonight,” James says to my Mom. “A bunch of the guys are going to eat after practice to celebrate the new season. Don’t wait up.”
“Okay, Sweetheart.” My mom nods.
“Are you kidding me?” I nearly laugh in her face. “You expect me to ask to leave work early, but he gets to stay out as late as he wants? That’s not fair.”
“Go to school, Gabriel.” She turns around and starts wiping off the counters.
I’m tempted to scream some sort of horrible profanity at her. That would really drive her up the wall. But as Pastor Dan taught us, temptation is the Devil trying to bring you into the dark. So I tell the Devil to shut up and follow James outside to the truck.
“Can I drive?” I ask, already knowing what his answer will be.
“Yeah right.” Jock vocabulary isn’t very extensive.
“I’m driving tomorrow,” I insist.
“We’ll see,” he says and opens the door on the driver’s side. He’s thirteen minutes older than me, and he will never let me forget it. We won’t get separate cars until after graduation. So for now, I’m stuck riding shotgun next to my meat head brother who can barely focus on the road for five seconds at a time.
“You know I could’ve busted your balls in there, right?” He says once the truck is started and we are pulling out of the driveway.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
“Whatever. It’s going to cost you.”
I wonder what he’ll make me do. Probably his chores, like I haven’t been doing them since we were in third grade. I mentally punch myself in the throat for being so stupid as to let myself get caught, a minor lapse in judgement that will never happen again.
James knows I’m gay. He found me two years ago with Dakota Wilder, the only openly gay guy at Five Points. People know I’m gay, but we don’t talk about it. And if my super strict-overprotective-die hard Catholic parents found out I was gay, I’d be kicked out and disowned in a matter of seconds.
I think my mom knows, and I’m sure my dad does too. But they ignore all of the warning signs and bury their noses farther into the New Testament. They drag me to church and I force a smile on my face. It’s hard to be happy in a place where they keep preaching that you are damned to Hell. Not me, though. Because I’m not gay. At least not until I’m eighteen and in college hundreds of miles away from this place.
I had to beg James not to beat the life out of Dakota, who promptly fled the house as soon as he could. I then had to beg him not to tell our parents. I was pathetic, literally on my knees begging him to show a little bit of humanity. He loved every second of it, ate it up. Then finally, with a quick shrug of his shoulders, he said,
“I won’t tell.”
If we weren’t distant before, we definitely were after that. He barely spoke to me for the longest time. Whoever said twins share some special, unexplainable mental connection lied. The only thing we share is a birthday, and barely even that (I was born at 11:58 PM). We don’t even look alike. He got the real red hair, like old pennies. I have blue eyes, he has brown. He’s big, I’m small. He tackles other boys, I kiss them (well, only one so far). He thrives on the field, I live to be on stage. How we are two beings formed from one cell is beyond me. I don’t think he gets it either.
The rest of the drive to school is silent, except for James’s horrible rap music blaring from the old speakers. When we get to school, he parks near the front, next to all of his friends’ fancy cars. He gets out and walks ahead of me. I don’t mind.
We both go in through the side entrance. His friends are all gathering in their corner, the prep hallway, as it has been dubbed. I walk past all of the blonde and muscled Hollister clones and go to my spot. Me and my friends hang out by the auditorium. It’s perfect really, the theater kids hanging out there. There are steps that lead to the upper part of the auditorium, and we sit there. The stairs are tucked away, so we are kind of secluded, which is nice. People don’t pay us very much attention anyway.
The whole theater crew is there by the time I arrive. I’m sure they are all wondering where I am. When they see me, they run up and hug me. Even within our big group, there are mini-cliques. Megan, Rachel, and Clint are the costume and makeup clique. Devin, Mara, Lynn, and Kyle are the lighting and equipment clique. Then there is my clique: Cameron, Jessica, and Alana, the leading roles. Of course there are other people who always join the costume and equipment crews every year, and plenty of people audition for parts in the plays we put on. But these are the people like me. The people who eat, sleep, and breathe the theater.
“It’s about time!” Jessica squeezes me extra tight. She’s my best friend and an amazing actress.
“Sorry, you know I like to arrive fashionably late.” I smile and hug the rest of them.
“Did you hear?” Cameron asks once I’ve greeted everyone. “Misses. Mashburn is thinking about doing Rent for the spring musical.”
“What?” I say, immediately excited. “You better not be messing with me, Blondie.”
“It’s true,” Alana confirms. She ruffles her dark curls. “And we all know who’s going to be Mimi.”
“And of course, I’ll be your Roger.” Cameron picks her up, spins her, and they kiss. An item since freshman year. Heteros make me sick.
“If anyone goes out for Maureen, I’ll kill them.” Jessica leans against the wall. “And you can be Mark. It’s perfect!”
Thinking about it, it really is perfect. We all fit the Rent characters perfectly. We’d need a few more people to complete the full cast, but if Mrs. Mashburn allowed us to do Rent as our spring musical, the final production of my high school career, I would be so excited.
“Good luck getting it past Mister Hall,” I think out loud.
“True,” Jessica sighs. “I guess we didn’t think about that.”
“Speak of the Devil,” Mara says. We all look over and see Mrs. Mashburn, the amazing theater teacher, walking towards us. Her gaudy jewelry jangles around her neck and she’s staring right at me.
“Gabriel, there you are.” She smiles, and has lipstick on her teeth like always.
“Hi, Kay.” I greet her by her first name, and she doesn’t seem to mind very much.
“I need you,” she says, a little out of breath.
“Anything.”
“I need you to be my guy.” She just looks at me like she expects me to understand. “To film the announcements in the morning.”
“Anything but that,” I say and shake my head. I belong in front of the camera, never behind it. “Why don’t you get Kyle to do it?”
“Don’t volunteer me,” Kyle says quickly.
“Gabriel,” Mrs. Mashburn says excitedly. “If you want to be a well rounded performer, don’t you think you need some experience with the behind-the-scenes aspect of things?”
“I don’t know,” I say hesitantly.
“Alright, you can film for me, or I put you on stage crew for the fall play.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll do it.”
“With a smile,” she says musically.
I push a smile onto my face and bat my eyelashes.
“Great, I’ll see you in the studio in ten minutes. Don’t be late.” She claps her hands, spins around, and leaves before I can say anything else.
“That woman is going insane, I swear.” Jessica shakes her head. “Have fun on camera crew.”
“Shut up,” I sigh and the others just laugh.
“What if we did Wicked for the spring musical?” Alana suggests. “I could do a great Elphie.”
“No way, honey.” I shake my head. “Then there’s nowhere for me and Cameron.”
“You could be Fiyero!” Jessica looks me up and down. “You’d make a great Fiyero.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to be in Wicked unless I get to sing Defying Gravity.” I push Clint out of the chair he is sitting in and stand up on it. I belt out a few lines from one of my favorite songs and the others watch excitedly.
Although it’s just my friends watching, I perform the song as if I am standing in front of a sold out audience on Broadway. I’ll make it there one day. I lied. There is one greater feeling than the one you get after a good run: the one you get when you’re on stage.
I see Ruby St. Clair heading to the resource building, and I decide I better leave too.
“I guess I better go film,” I say with sarcastic enthusiasm. “I’ll see you beautiful people after class.”
“Bye Gabe,” they all say.
I hurry to the resource building. When I get in there, I see Dakota. He’s with his best friend (only friend), Audrey Oliver. They are sitting at a table drinking coffees and laughing about something. I wonder what they are talking about. I miss Dakota. The most horrible feeling is wanting someone that you know you can't be with. I go around the long way to the studio so I don’t risk them seeing me.
“I’m here!” I say enthusiastically once I get into the studio. I always like to make a good entrance.
“Ah, Gabriel, you’re here.” Mrs. Mashburn claps her hands and smiles. She turns to Ruby, who looks nervous. “Gabriel volunteered to do the filming this year.”
“Actually, she’s forcing me.” I smile. “But I don’t mind, it’s all a part of the theater.” I do a curtsy and Mrs. Mashburn laughs.
“Maybe you can do something about the camera adding ten pounds,” Ruby says nervously. I look her up and down. Not skinny. Not fat. Perfect, maybe.
“Oh please, honey.” I shake my head. “You look great. I would kill for that bone structure. And those curls.”
I tug lightly on one of her perfect black curls. She really is beautiful, with a round face and pretty skin. She’s got glasses like mine, thick and rectangular. She’s a total cutie.
“Are you sure I look okay?” She pulls on her shirt. Insecurity is something I despise.
“Stunning,” I assure her. Then I pinch her cheeks lightly. She looks at me like I‘m crazy. “Just for a little color,” I tell her. It’s an old theater trick.
“Okay,” Mrs. Mashburn says a few seconds later. “Everyone take your places. We’ll be starting in just a few.”
Ruby paces back and forth nervously. I fill a small paper cup up from the water fountain and hand it to her.
“Just read the teleprompter and smile. You’ve got nothing to lose; you’re the student body president.”
“Thanks, Gabe.” She swallows the water hard. She‘s still nervous, I can tell. Some people just aren‘t naturals. But I know she‘ll get it.
“And here we go,” says Mrs. Mashburn. I get behind the camera and look through the lens. “In five, four, three, two…”
Ruby takes a deep breath and then smiles, a perfect theater smile. “Good morning Five Point Boomers…” Once she gets started, she’s great. The camera loves her, and she doesn’t stutter once. Ruby St. Clair, perfect as usual.
Once the announcements are done, Mrs. Mashburn stands next to me. “And cut,” she says a little too loudly. “That was marvelous.” She claps. “Gabriel, isn’t she a natural?” “She is,” I agree.
“Thank you,” Ruby says nervously. I can tell she’s dying on the inside. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ve got to get to Mister Surratt’s room so I can get my schedule and get to class.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Mashburn smiles and hands me two cards. I look at them. One of them is a schedule, the other is my locker assignment.
“You are an angel,” I say with a smile.
“I told you I would always take care of you, Gabriel.” She hugs me and her perfume nearly chokes me. “Thank you for helping me out.”
“Anytime,” I assure her.
Since it’s the first day, they give us extra time to get to our classes. I decide to go ahead and find my locker so I can put up some of my theater stuff. Locker 243 is located in the main building and I find it quickly. I spin the combination and get it on the first try. I put away my stuff: a few screenplays that I plan to go over with Mrs. Mashburn, audition materials for NYU, musical scores.
The tune I’m humming is interrupted by someone with a deep voice and an accent.
“What the hell?”
I look over and see Manny Aviles. I don’t know him, but I know he’s some sort of gangster around here. Most people are scared of him. But I’m not most people.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I in your way?” I kick my bag to the other side and scoot over a little bit.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s my locker.”
I check my card. “Really? I guess we’re sharing then. Sucks, doesn’t it? We are so overpopulated.”
“What do you mean ‘sharing’?”
What is he, an idiot? “Didn’t you hear the announcements?” I keep my cool and a smile on my face. “They said some people would have to share this year. So I guess we’re two of the lucky ones. I’m Gabe.” I hold out my hand, but he doesn’t shake it. I’m not too surprised, but I don’t let it bother me. just continue putting my things away.
“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 look him up and down. He is several inches shorter than me. “I was thinking that I could take the top and you could take the bottom. Since I’m taller than you, that will work out great.”
He doesn’t say anything so I just keep going. “Do you have any questions or anything?”
“Nah, you good.” He puts his book bag at the bottom of the locker. “Don’t touch my shit.”
“I won’t,” I say. I’m a little shocked that he said that. As if I would want to touch anything of his.
“Alright.” He flinches a little before he turns away, I guess to try to scare me.
I figure I should tell him upfront that he doesn’t scare me. That might make this whole locker-sharing process a little easier.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say. I don’t mumble it; I say it loud enough for him to hear as he is walking away.
He turns around quickly. “What did you say?” I know he wants me to think that he’s going to pounce on me, but I know he won’t. I’ve seen his records. One wrong move and he’s in juvie. He won’t waste his last chance on me, not on the first day of school.
“Just so you know, I’m not afraid of you,” I repeat. “So don‘t waste your time with the macho, bully stuff. It won’t work on me.” I stand up tall, letting him know I’m not going to back down.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then finally shrugs. “Alright.”
I wasn’t expecting it to go that smoothly, but I simply nod and smile. “Okay.”
There are a lot of bullies around here. They used to be able to get to me. But I learned that if you stand up for yourself and stay true to who you are, eventually they will leave you alone. Most of them, anyways. Puerto Rican gangsters are a piece of cake. Jocks are another story.
My first class is Pre-Calculus. I’m not the best at math, but I do okay. My teacher, Mr. Estes, seems pretty cool. He hands out homework and says if we don’t do it, it’s no skin off his back. I think I’m going to like him just fine.
We get a break between first and second period. I go into the lobby, past the mob of preps, and meet up with my friends for a few minutes.
“Is it fourth period yet?” Jessica asks and puts her arms around me. We all have theater together for our last class of the day.
“I wish,” I say.
We compare the rest of our schedules and I’m pretty sure I have the easiest one. Besides Pre-calculus, I’ve got French Three, Office Assistant (also known as a bird course), and Theater Four. This semester will be a piece of cake, which will give me plenty of time to work on my audition material for college (as if I haven’t been getting ready since I was in the eighth grade).
When the first bell rings, I kiss Jessica and Alana on their cheeks and head to French class. Madame Casler is a cute old lady with glasses and an ugly violet sweater. She’s a great teacher and she reviews the importance of ‘making our mouths into a cheerio’ when we pronounce certain words.
A few people laugh at her, but I take everything in. French is a beautiful language, and I know this will be a class that I’ll pass with no problem.
For third period, I am an office assistant again. It’s an easy class for people who have gotten almost all of their credits. I basically get to sit outside of one of the guidance counselor’s offices and file papers and waste time. I’m working for Ms. McConnell again, the sophomore counselor.
“Hey Miss McConnell,” I knock on her door to let her know I’m here. “I’m back.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She smiles. She has cut her blonde hair into a cute, polished bob. “I’m so glad you’re here, Gabe. My second period assistant had no idea what she was doing.”
We both laugh. “Well I’m here. What have you got for me?”
“Not too much today.” She gets up from her desk. “I’m just trying to get everything situated, you know.” She hands me a stack of papers. “Could you just put these in alphabetical order? That will probably take most of the period.”
“Sure thing,” I assure her. I have a small desk right outside of her office. I sit down and start to arrange the papers in alphabetical order.
A few minutes later, someone comes up to the desk. It’s Evelyn Rhodes. She’s beautiful, but she wears way too much makeup. She was here a lot last year, and I know she’s got some problems. So I look past the makeup and smile at her.
“Hey what’s up?”
“I just wanted to see Irene--” She stops herself. “Miss McConnell.”
“No problem, girl.” I put the papers down and go into Ms. McConnell’s office. “Evelyn Rhodes is out here. Are you busy?”
“Tell her to come in!” Ms. McConnell puts her pen down and smiles.
I turn to Evelyn. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” She half-smiles and walks past me. I close the door behind me, but it’s hard not to hear through these thin walls.
I know a lot about Evelyn, probably more than she thinks I know. I know about her syphilis, all the guys, her problems with Lena Havens (the biggest bitch in school). I know about her mom struggling to make ends meet. I know about her uncle. She’s a sad girl with a lot of problems. I’m sure I could help her, if she didn’t think I was just some weird theater geek.
She leaves in a hurry, but waves at me on her way out. I alphabetize the rest of the papers, which takes just about the entire time. When I’m done, I pull out my iPod and lean back in the seat.
The bell rings me out of my Sound of Music trance, and I walk slowly to the cafeteria. Everyone has their place in the cafeteria, no one oversteps the perfectly outlined boundaries. I wait for my friends at our table, next to the nerds. We sit at the left outside round table in the center of the cafeteria. A few of them had lunch earlier, but luckily I have Cameron, Jessica, and Alana. Clint, Rachel, Devin, and Mara are here too.
Most of them bring their lunch from home. They empty sacks of hummus, celery sticks, peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I get in line for a turkey sandwich, then buy a salad with Alana.
“What are your plans for tonight?” Jessica asks once we are all sitting down and situated.
“I’ve got work.” I cover my salad in Italian dressing and take a big bite.
“Sucks,” Alana mumbles.
“But you guys are more than welcome to come and keep me company for a few hours.” I smile at them and wink.
“I could go for some ice cream,” Cameron says. “I need to work on my monologue, though.”
“Do it at the shop,” I insist. “I’m going to be feeding ice cream to toddlers for six hours. Please.”
“Alright, we’ll swing by.” Alana rubs my back. “I don’t know why you’re working anyway. You’re parents have plenty of money.”
“Because musical theater is not a real major and Broadway is not a real career,” I say, imitating my father. “We’ve been over this, Alana. My parents won’t give me a dime if they know I’m going for theater.”
“Which is why he’s saving his money, he’s going to get an amazing scholarship, and he’s going to tell his parents to kiss his ass on graduation day.” Jessica kisses my cheek. “Isn’t that right, Gabe?”
“I don’t know about that last part.” I laugh. “But yes, I’m going to do it. I’m going to be a star.”
“Nobody here is stopping you,” says Cameron. “I’m gonna be right there with you.”
“Broadway or bust,” Alana recites our motto.
“And we’ll keep trying until the day we die.” Jessica puts her arm around me. I love these people. Always smiling, always singing. They are always putting me in a good mood and pulling me out of the bad that stirs inside me, struggling to keep me down.
When the bell rings, we walk together to theater class. We’ve all been waiting for this moment for most of the summer. Mrs. Mashburn is just as excited as we are. It’s nice to be in a class with only people who want to be there. People who are just like you. People who don’t judge you. People who love you.
“Okay, let’s go!” She closes the door when the bell rings. “We have so much to discuss, so let’s get started. First things first, I understand the rumor about Rent has already gotten around.”
The class cheers. She waves her hands to settle us down.
“Somehow, yours truly was charming enough to convince Mister Hall that Rent was perfectly suitable for a mature high school audience.”
“Thank you, God.” Cameron throws his hands up.
“But.” Mrs. Mashburn halts our excitement. “We will have to make a few adjustments. That means no cussing, and nothing too sexually explicit.”
“What does that mean?” Alana jumps out of her seat.
“That means we’ll have to hold back a little on a few of the scenes. For instance, the scenes with Maureen and Joanne.”
“Of course,” Jessica rolls her eyes. “God forbid they have two girls kiss each other for five seconds on a stage. It’s called acting, people.”
“Relax,” Mrs. Mashburn calms her. “We’re still going to be able to put on the production, and we will do a very good job of it. Just be glad I convinced him to let us do it.”
“Fair enough,” Jessica mumbles.
“Now.” Mrs. Mashburn changes the subject. “We’ll talk more about that later. Right now, we need to decide what we are going to do for the fall play. Any suggestions?”
“I wrote something over the summer,” Clint says. “It’s nothing amazing, but I thought it would be fun for our crew.”
“We’ve read it,” I tell her. “We want to do it.”
He hands Mrs. Mashburn a copy of a screenplay. She puts on her glasses and flips through the pages.
“This seems very interesting. Let me look over it and I’ll get back to you guys in a few days.” She sets the screenplay on her desk. “We’ve also had a few budget cuts this year, as I’m sure you all know.”
“Let me guess,” Mara sighs. “We have no money?”
“We have a little bit,” Mrs. Mashburn assures her. “But we’ll have to do some fundraisers, especially if we want to be able to pull of Rent in the spring.”
“We should do a car wash,” Jessica suggests.
“What about a talent show?” asks Cameron.
We spend the rest of the class period discussing potential fundraisers and just talking. Mrs. Mashburn’s classes are always the best, so relaxed and fun. The time flies by and when the bell rings, we all stick around and keep discussing things. I am excited for this year’s productions.
I walk out to the parking lot with Cameron, Alana, and Jessica. Cameron drives himself and Alana to school every day. Jessica usually takes me home since my beefcake brother has to stay after school for football practice. But today I get to take the truck since I’m going to work.
A motorcycle zooms past us and Jessica’s hair flies in my face. It was Evelyn Rhodes on the back of Riley Sutton’s bike. That kid has problems.
“We’ll ride over to Scoops,” Cameron says.
We all get in our cars and drive the few miles to Scoops ice cream shop, where I’ve been working since I turned fifteen. After two years of scooping cones, you start to get sick of it. But it’s better than being stuck at home, and the kids are cute. The shop is owned by a family that I go to church with, so I make sure to stay on my best behavior.
When we get there, the guys order sundaes and cones. I eat a handful of gummie bears and we sit outside. When it’s time for me to get changed and clocked in, they decide to leave.
“I’ll text you guys later,” I tell them. We all hug and I go inside and put my Scoops t-shirt and apron on.
“What’s up, Joel?” I ask the guy behind the counter. He’s sixteen, the owner’s son. I’ve known him since we were kids.
“Nothing much, man.” Joel refills the chocolate ice cream tub and smiles at me.
“How was your first day of junior year?”
He hangs out with the preps, so I don’t see him around school very much. He’s on the soccer team, and he looks good. Hence, certified prep. At the shop though, we can be friends and talk to each other. The six-year-olds and the elderly couples aren’t going to judge us here.
“It was alright. I’m ready for soccer to start up.” He dumps the empty chocolate container in the back and comes back out. “What about you? Senior year, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll see how this goes.”
“Have you picked out your college yet?”
“I’m still exploring my options,” I explain. “I’m definitely going somewhere with a good musical theater program.
The conversation stops for a second. We both lean against the counter, praying that a customer will walk in and break up the silence.
“I saw Cats once,” he says all of a sudden.
I can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t get it, but he laughs too. I throw an M&M at his head and start wiping off tables.
We get several customers within the next couple of hours. It is always busy after school. Grandparents come in with their grand kids, who order the flavors with the most sugar and pile their bowls high with candy and syrups. I would hate to be their parents when they get dropped off at home, hyper with sticky fingers.
Once the rush is over, I clean up the gooey messes left everywhere. It is quiet for a while. I hear the bell ring and in walks Janey Boyd, a girl I know, but I wouldn’t call a friend.
“Hey Janey,” I say with a smile.
She’s got a kid next to her, squeezing her hand tightly. He looks maybe six or seven. Then I realize it’s Crash’s little brother, and instantly my heart warms up.
“Hey,” she says softly.
She’s dyed her hair again. Last year it was black. Now it’s dark blonde with a bunch of random brown streaks. Her bangs are black and red. Her black jeans are tight and ripped at the knees. The black vest over her striped long-sleeved shirt is a little too big. Everyone’s got their own personal style; no judging here. One of the few lessons I actually learned at Catholic Mass.
“Ice cream!” The little boy jumps and down.
“Yes, Davie.” Janey smiles at the kid. “We’re going to get some ice cream.”
Joel is in the back getting more cups, so I get behind the counter and wash my hands.
“What can I get for you, buddy?”
“I want chocolate!” He points to the tub of chocolate. Funny, I would have pegged him for a cookies and cream kind of guy.
“Do you want anything on top of it?” I scoop up the smooth ice cream into a paper bowl. “Gummie bears? Nuts? Cherries?”
“Cherries,” he squeals.
I put extra cherries on top of the big scoop of ice cream and put it in his greedy little hands.
“Anything for you?” I ask Janey.
“No thank you,” she mumbles and pulls out her wallet. “How much is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you,” she smiles plainly.
She and Davie sit in the corner of the shop. He eats and talks quickly, she sits there and listens. I think maybe she is half listening. She stares out the window and I can see that she, like me, is a dreamer. I wonder what she is dreaming about.
They leave about thirty minutes later. We are dead for a solid hour, maybe more. Joel is working on his homework in the corner. I put in my iPod and dance while I sweep. My dance is interrupted by the bell on the door and a boom of male laughter.
In walks James and his best friend, Anderson Stone. And the entire football team. Maybe not the entire football team, but at least the starting lineup.
“What are you doing here?” I pull the buds out of my ear and put the broom in the corner.
“We just came to get a little treat after practice,” James insists. “Don’t freak out.”
“I thought you were going out to dinner. Shouldn’t you do that at a restaurant?”
“We decided to have our dessert first,” Anderson says and gets too close to my face.
He’s hot, but he’s also the world’s biggest asshole, even bigger than my brother. He enjoys making fun of me, turns it into a sport for him and his sweaty friends to compete in. I recognize Nick, Tommie, and Ethan. They’ve been to our house plenty of times, devouring my mom’s lasagna and playing football in the back yard.
Joel hops up from the table and gets behind the counter. “What can I get for you guys?” I can tell he’s trying to be a mediater.
Anderson continues to stand in my face. “I want pretty boy here to make mine.”
“I’m sweeping,” I say and grab the broom again. “Joel can scoop a cone just as good as I can.”
“I don’t care.” Anderson shrugs. “I want you to make mine. I’ll wait.” He sits down at a table and crosses his legs. “Go on.”
I start to sweep the floor, my face hot. The other guys laugh, even James. A few of them order and Joel makes their cones quickly.
“Look at you in your apron. You look like a perfect housewife.” He pauses for a few seconds. “I want you to dance. Like you were before we came in.”
I just stare at him.
“We saw you out there.” He points to the parking lot. “Now dance for me.”
“In your wildest dreams,” I saw without hesitation.
“Oh, you been dreaming about dudes, Anderson?” Tommie sits down next to him and takes a bite of cookie dough ice cream. “Why didn’t you tell me, man?”
“Shut up, Tommie.” Anderson throws a spoon at Tommie’s head. “I have a girlfriend. You got a girlfriend, pretty boy?” He looks back at me.
“No,” I mumble.
“Why not?” Anderson persists.
I keep quiet, sweeping quickly and avoiding eye contact.
“I’m talking to you, queer,” he yells. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
That’s it. I throw the broom down and stare him right in the face. A few of the guys jump at the sound of the broom smacking the floor.
“I guess because they’re all sluts. You would know about that, right, Anderson? Why don’t you tell me about Evelyn Rhodes?”
He gets up and is across the room and in my face in less than a whole heartbeat.
“What did you say to me?”
“Anderson.” Ethan steps in and pulls him away. “Calm down, man. Get off of him.”
Anderson walks away with much hesitation, pushing Ethan away from him. I know that I struck a nerve, and I realize that could’ve ended a lot worse than what it did.
I smile at him as he sits down. “What kind of ice cream would you like?”
“Fuck you, faggot.”
My heart starts to pound harder and harder. I feel my face getting hot. Goosebumps pop up all over my arms. I open my mouth to speak, but my mouth is too dry. The words stick to my tongue like Velcro.
Everything is silent. Joel looks at me, willing me to say something. The guys stare down at the table and eat their ice cream.
“Let’s get out of here,” James says a few seconds later. He stands up, looks at me, and shakes his head slowly.
The rest of the guys follow him outside. Anderson looks at me, but his eyes dart away quickly. They pile in their cars; James gets in Anderson’s truck. Then one by one, they pull out of the lot. When there is no sight of their cars anymore, I sit down in the middle of the shop.
And I cry.
When I get home that night, James still isn’t there. My parents are in the living room. My mom is knitting and my dad is reading his bible. I don’t speak to either of them. I go straight to my room and lock the door. I throw my clothes off and go into my bathroom and turn the hot water on all the way. I sit down in the shower and cry some more. I’d made Joel promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about what had happened at the shop. He said he was sorry, that he knew those things weren’t true, and that he would pray for them. And he would pray for me.
I consider praying, too. But then I figure, what is the point? Why would God want to talk to someone like me? Someone who, according to him, is just a sinner? That book of rules has dictated my entire life for as long as I’ve been in existence. It’s not okay to be me at home. It’s barely okay for me to be me at school. And when I am, I run the risk of being bullied and tortured all day because of it.
Maybe I’m not normal. Maybe I am different. Who decides what normal is? Instead of praying, I wish. I wish that my parents would accept me. I wish they would stop shoving religion down my throat and let me decide what I believe. I wish they would stop pretending I don’t exist. I wish people at school wouldn’t judge me for my clothes, or for the way I talk, or for doing what I love. I wish something would happen that gave me a reason to have faith, a reason to believe. I wish my brother would stick up for me. I wish it could be okay for all of us to just be who we are. I wish for a lot of things.


Does it count if you have more than three?

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.

September 25: Riley

　

Riley

“Wake up!” Something hits me hard on my shoulder. It feels like one of Art’s work boots. I ignore the pain and keep the blanket over my head.
A few minutes later, my mom puts her hand right on the throbbing spot. She puts her face close to mine and whispers through the blanket.
“Riley, please wake up.” She rubs my shoulder. “Wake up before he gets mad.” 
“I’m up,” I whisper back.
She stands there with her hand on my shoulder for a few more seconds, then leaves. She probably took the boot with her.
I pull the covers off a few minutes later and get out of bed. The clock reads seven-thirty. I run my hands through my hair and stretch. I’m going to be late.
Fuck the first day of school.
While I’m in the shower, I hear Art yelling at my mom. I hurry up and get out and dry off. By the time I’m out of the bathroom, Art is already gone to work. My mom is sitting at the table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in front of her. She’s staring out the window.
“You alright, Ma?”
“Yeah. I’m alright,” she insists. She continues to stare. “Go get yourself ready for school.”
She’s a zombie, a walking dead person. She has no emotion, no life. I hate this person she has become. I hate the person he has made her.
I go into my room and pull on a pair of old, black jeans and a white v-neck shirt. I put on my dad’s leather jacket and my converses. I comb my hair and splash on some cologne. When I look at myself in the mirror, I know I look good. At least everyone else will think I do.
I’m hot by today’s standards. My eyes are big and brown. I think they make me look like a baby, but apparently girls dig that. My teeth are pretty white and I’ve got good hair. I get that from my dad. I guess I’ve got a pretty decent body, but that’s only because I do pushups and box. So I can kick the shit out of my step-dad one day.
“Whatever,” I mumble and laugh at myself. I look at the bottle of pills on my dresser and consider taking one. There’s no point in it; they haven’t helped my mood swings in three years. Bipolar disorder my ass.
Everything is an emotional low when you live here.
I grab my wallet and keys and close the door behind me. My mom is still sitting in the kitchen when I get out there. She’s still staring out the window. I touch her coffee mug; it’s cold.
“Ma, are you sure you’re okay?” I pour a glass of orange juice and chug it.
“I’m fine,” she insists. “I’ll be just fine.” She taps her fingernails on the table and sighs.
“I’m going to school now.” I kiss her on the cheek.
“Did you take your medicine this morning?” She finally looks at me.
“Yeah,” I lie. I consider asking her if she took hers, but I don’t. “I’ll see you this evening.”
“He really does love us, you know.”
I stop in the doorway and turn to her. Her eyes are a little watery, but her breathing is steady.
“I know,” I lie again. I swear she’s going insane in this house.
Outside, the air is cool. I take in a big breath of it and smell car oil and trash. That’s the smell of summertime coming to an end. I pick up a rag from the garage and run it over my motorcycle.
The bike, my baby, is the only thing I care about. It’s an old Harley-Davidson that I fixed up myself at my uncle’s shop where I’ve been working since I was thirteen. Her name is Scarlet, and she’s the only thing I’ve got.
I get on her and rev her up. She purrs like a big cat and I’m instantly gratified. I know my mom is watching me from the window, so I put my helmet on. She doesn’t really like me riding a motorcycle to school, but I do it anyway.
I speed out of the parking lot. Scarlet glides over the streets, and I feel like I’m flying. What was once a slight breeze is now full force wind hitting me from all angles. It feels good. I already know I’m going to be late for my first period, so I don’t waste the time in going. I’m in no hurry to get to school anyway.
I park my bike a few minutes later at the prison. My dad’s been there for six years now. Drugs. Always drugs.
Only the last time, he was innocent. He’d been clean for over a year, because my mom threatened to take me away if he didn’t stop using. So he stopped cold turkey. Then one night, he got arrested outside of a bar. He says he was innocent; I believe him.
Mom used to bring me to visit him. But when she married Arthur, he made her stop. And since I’m not eighteen yet, I can’t go in there alone. I haven’t seen my dad in four years. I hope he knows I still love him.
I sit on my bike and smoke a cigarette in the parking lot. Maybe I could just go in there. I pass for eighteen at the gas station where I buy cigarettes. But it’s a lot easier to fool an old Arab guy than a prison guard.
I smoke two more cigarettes and reluctantly start the drive to school. When I get to Five Points, I immediately regret even coming. I hate this place and everything about it: the ugly cinderblock walls, the people, the evil teachers, the cramped classrooms, the way they strip you of all your rights when you walk in the front doors.
High school is my prison.
I park my motorcycle at the back of the lot and walk slowly inside the school. I have to get my schedule card from the front desk, and I know Jean is going to give me that look.
“Hey, Jean,” I flash a smile and lean on her desk.
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “Late on the first day, Mister Sutton?”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get my bike to start this morning.”
“You shouldn’t be driving one of those things in the first place.” She types my name into the computer. “They are very dangerous, you know.”
“I know,” I insist. “But what’s the fun in life if there’s not a little bit of danger to keep things interesting? I’m sure you took plenty of risks when you were my age.” I smile.
She blushes and I know I’ve got her. “Maybe a few,” she admits. “But you’re a senior this year. You’ve got to really push yourself if you want to graduate on time.”
“I know,” I assure her. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.”
She prints a copy of my schedule and hands it to me. “I’ll email Mister Briggs and let him know why you didn’t make it to English. You’ve got about six minutes until the bell rings. You better make it to statistics.”
“Yes ma’am.” I put my hand over my heart and smile. “Have a good day, Jean.”
I go out into the lobby. It is empty, for now. But as soon as the bell rings, it will be full of kids standing around on break. I go to the wall where I usually hang out during break. I look at my schedule. Since I missed English, my first class of the day is Statistics. Then I have Psychology, lunch, and Woodshop. The schedule seems pretty easy. I know I need to do pretty well if I want to make sure I get out of this place in the spring.
The bell rings a few minutes later and I lean against the wall. I know Evelyn is probably wondering where the hell I am. She is not my girlfriend, although I’m sure she’d like to be. Maybe one day we’ll become official. But for now, she is something that keeps my mind off of things and looks good next to me.
The lobby is almost instantly full of kids. The black people and Latinos fill up most of the back lobby. A few freshmen wander around aimlessly. I don’t offer to help them. The preps make their way to their lobby, and I stand and watch them all.
A few seconds later, Evelyn is next to me. She’s wearing a really short skirt and sheer, black leggings. Her shirt is showing way too much and her makeup is thick. She looks like a slut; I guess because she is the school slut. If she’d take off some of that make up and cover herself up, I might consider making her my girl.
“Hey,” I say once she’s next to me.
She puts her arms around me and kisses me. I wasn’t expecting that. She’s a good kisser and I have to force myself to push her away.
“Relax,” I mutter.
She looks up at me with her pretty brown eyes. “I just missed you, that’s all.”
She wants me to tell her I missed her too. But I don’t know for sure if I did. I just saw her last week. Girls are so dramatic.
“I know.” I nod.
I know what’s going through her head. She thinks I’m being mean, distant. She thinks that I’m only using her for sex. She doesn’t know that I hold back because I know what girls do when you give them your heart. Girls lie. They hurt you.
“How was your first period?” she asks.
I shrug.“I didn’t go.”
“You missed your first class of senior year?” Her voice does that annoying high-pitched girl thing. “That’s not a very good idea.”
“What are you, my mother now?” I grumble. I put my hand around her wrist and squeeze it a little bit. “I just didn’t feel like going.”
“Okay, Riley.” She pulls her arm away and instantly I’m sorry.
I put my arm around her waist and pull her in close to me. I take a lot of stuff out on her, and I feel bad for it. I don’t know why she sticks around.
“I’m sorry, girl. I just hate this place, you know? I hate this fucking school.”
“Me too.” She nods. I know she hates school just as much as I do.“That’s why we’ve got to stick together. You’re all I’ve got in this place.”
“I know,” I assure her.
She leans up to kiss me again, but I barely notice. Something catches my eye. I see a girl sitting on the bench outside of the principal’s office. I’ve never seen her before, but I can’t stop staring at her. She has the reddest hair I’ve ever seen. It’s so red I don’t think it can be real. She’s tiny, with glasses that are too big for her face. She’s looking down at the ground. I don’t know why, but I cannot stop staring at her.
The bell rings and Evelyn grabs my hand, snapping me out of my daze. “Walk me to class,” she insists.
“I can’t.” I force myself to stop looking at the tiny redhead. “I’ve got to get to my class. It’s nowhere near yours.” I don’t even know where her class is, but I don’t worry about it. I can’t do boyfriend-type things with Evelyn and give her the wrong idea.
“Whatever.” She pulls her hand away and storms off. I’ll deal with her later. I head off to statistics and try to get the red out of my mind.
Math is one of the few subjects I’m good at. I try to stay awake in Statistics. A few seats away from me, two girls are passing notes. Every few minutes they look up at me and giggle. I ignore them just like I ignore the other girls staring at me. I get that I’m hot, and I admit that the attention used to be nice. But these girls steal my face every day, and sometimes I’d like to keep it to myself.
When the bell rings, I hurry out of the classroom.
“Hey Riley,” says Haley, my Monday girl from last year.
“What’s up?” I mumble and keep walking.
“Riley,” someone says from behind me and runs their hand down my back. I turn around. It’s Liz, my Friday girl.
“Hey Liz.” I smile at her and keep walking.
“How was your summer?” She takes long, quick strides to try to keep up with me.
“Good.”
“That’s good.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I lost all of my contacts,” I say smoothly. World’s greatest excuse. “I’m sorry, girl.”
“It’s cool.” She shrugs. “Maybe we can get together sometime this week and catch up.” She squeezes my arm.
I look at her for a second. She’s wearing way too much makeup, and her fake tan is ridiculous. I can’t believe I was actually interested in that a few months ago.
“Yeah, maybe.” I pull away from her and start to walk away. “I’ll see you around.”
I go around to the back of the building where the cafeteria is and light a cigarette. Nobody is back here, thank God. I take slow drags from the cigarette and let my mind settle.
Two more class periods and I’m out of here. The late bell rings and I ignore it. I’ll go to class when I feel like it. I smoke the rest of the cigarette slowly and toss it in the grass.
My third period is Psychology. I know it will be easy, but I’m still not excited to sit in the classroom for ninety minutes. Mrs. Parker is a little old lady that never assigns homework and sometimes has cookies.
But when I walk in the classroom, Mrs. Parker isn’t in front of the class. It’s some twink with a sweater vest and glasses. I stand in the doorway for a second and make sure he notices me.
“Oh,” The twink picks up the roster.“You must be…”
“Sutton,” I interrupt him.“Riley Sutton.”
A couple of people laugh. All of the girls are staring at me.
“Okay, great.” He puts a check next to my name. “Could you try to be on time for class tomorrow, Riley?”He smiles wide with his expensive-looking teeth.
“Sure thing,” I mumble. I look around the room and see a seat in the back, right next to Samantha West. I smile a little and sit at the empty desk. Disappointment is written all over her face.
“Looking good, West,” I say to her and laugh quietly. I love messing with rich peoples’ heads.
“You smell like cigarettes,” she says spitefully.
I smile.“Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t need a smoke break to keep yourself sane in this place.”
She doesn‘t look at me.“I’m doing just fine in this place, thank you. Maybe if you’d come to class, you would be doing fine too.”
“I’m here aren’t I?” I shrug. I stare at her, but she doesn’t look back.
“For now,” she says. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“I’ll be here every day,” I insist. “I’ve got something to look forward to now.”
I can tell she‘s getting antsy. She wants to look at me.“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell Anderson that you talked to me.” She stiffens when I mention her boyfriend. “It’ll be our little secret.”
“Shut up,” she whispers.
She doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. I stare at the twink at the front of the room and wait for the bell to ring. When it does, I follow closely behind Samantha. Her hair is too blonde and her shirt is too pink, but her ass looks good in those tight jeans. And I know I’m making her crazy.
“Stop it, Riley,” she says without turning around.
“What am I doing?” I play innocent.
She stops and turns around quickly.“Just leave me alone. And tomorrow, don’t sit beside me.”
Before I can say anything, Evelyn is behind her.“Why are you talking to her?” She crosses her arms and stares hard at me.
“We weren’t talking.” Samantha speaks before I can. “I’m leaving now.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” Evelyn doesn’t take her eyes off of Sam.
“You can have him.” Sam insists. “I have a boyfriend. You know, the one who you thought you could steal from me by sleeping with him when he was drunk.” I have to admit, the girl’s got fire. But so does Evelyn.
She laughs a little bit. “He wasn’t that drunk,” She says. “And besides,” Evelyn gets right in Sam‘s face. “Drunk or not, he knows I was better than you’ll ever be.”
I’ve had enough girl drama for one day, so I take ahold of Evelyn’s arm and pull her away from Sam.
 “Ladies.” I put my arm around her waist and we walk down the hall. Her skin is hot and I can tell she is pissed.
 I cool Evelyn down with my smooth talk, but I won't deny that I would pay money to see those two go at it. I'm sure there will be another time.

When we get to the cafeteria, I’m immediately uncomfortable. I hate this place. It’s a bunch of wannabes and posers trying to fit their labels.
“What are you going to eat?” I turn to Evelyn.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? It’s the first day. You may want to take advantage of the good food while it lasts.” I look her up and down; she’s way too skinny.
“No,” she insists. “I’m fine.”
“Alright,” I sigh. “I’m going to get a chicken sandwich.” I leave her standing there and jump in line behind a few freshmen. I can tell they are freshmen; you can smell it on them.
I pass them and grab a chicken sandwich and a baked potato. They look at me for a second and I stare back. Neither of them say anything, just like I knew they wouldn’t.
I pay for my food and find Evelyn. She’s waiting just where I left her. She looks upset about something, but I don’t really want to hear about what I’ve done wrong this time so I don’t ask.
“Come on.” She follows me to the back of the cafeteria, past the rich assholes, the band nerds and the drama queers, and the black people.
She puts her arm around my waist and I tense up a little. “You’re killing me with the PDA.”
“I’m sorry,” she sneers and pulls her hand away. I know I’m pissing her off but I also know I’m all she’s got. Likewise.
We sit at a table in the corner and I scarf down my sandwich. I want to have time to smoke at least two cigarettes. Being in this room is driving my anxiety up. We don’t talk. She sits there and fidgets with her fingernails and I eat.
When I’m done, I chug my orange juice and wipe my face. “I’m going to go smoke a cigarette.”
“Okay.” she hops up. “I’m going to go freshen up.”
I thought for sure she would ask to come with me, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed that she didn’t. Oh well.
“Cool. I’ll see you in woodshop.” I dump my trash and leave the cafeteria through the back. My spot is empty again, and I’m lucky no one has found it yet.
I light a Camel and smoke it slowly. I lean up against the wall and close my eyes, trying to calculate the days until graduation. If I graduate.
I light another cigarette. I hear someone kicking rocks a few feet away. Three guys come up and stand next to me. I guess someone found my spot. I recognize one of them as Crash, some wise guy.
“What’s up, man?” One of the guys pulls out a cigarette and smiles.
“Nothing much,” I stare ahead and take a drag off of my cigarette.
“I’m sick of this place already,” says the guy. He smokes Camels too. The other guy is smoking a Marlboro.
“You and me both,” I agree.
“Just a hundred and seventy-nine more days,” says Crash.“Piece of cake.” They all laugh. I don’t.
The bell rings and I take the last hit off of my cigarette and put it out. “See you around,” I say to them. 

Woodshop is the only class I am actually excited about going to. The woodshop room is my safe haven at school. When I’m doing something with my hands, it keeps my mind off of all of the other pointless shit.
I get to class early and find a seat near the front. Mike is standing around talking to all of the regulars and I join in on their conversation. For the first time today, I feel at peace. The smell of chipped wood and machine oil puts me at ease.
The bell rings and Mike gets started, just as enthusiastic as he was in June. I can tell he’s glad to be back. That makes one of us. I look around; Evelyn still isn’t here, but I know plenty of people in the class. I see Brian Phillips sitting a few seats away and imagine myself punching him in his jaw. His dad put my dad away this last time. Not his fault, I know. But somebody’s gotta pay. Just like my dad did.
“Well, it’s about that time.” Mike’s voice brings me back to reality. “So let’s get started. I am Mister Henley. You can call me Mike. I’m your teacher, yes. But I’m really just here to make sure nobody loses a finger.” We all laugh and I zone out a little bit; I’ve heard these introductions before.
Finally I hear Mike say my name. “You will be working with Riley Sutton for the remainder of the semester. You two will start at station six.”
I stand up and look to the back, where Mike is looking. My partner is the only other girl in the class; Audrey Oliver. She’s the redhead that I couldn’t take my eyes off of earlier. Her hair is just as red as it was before, and she looks just as awkward as she did before too.
Her cheeks turn pink when she sees me, and my heart stops for a second. I don’t know who this girl is, but I force myself to walk over there and find out.
“You coming?” I ask cooly.
She doesn’t say anything, simply nods. I’m not completely shocked by that, but it makes me smile. She follows me to our station and we sit down on the hard stools.
“So, let me guess.” I smile at her. “You are the advanced student and I’m the beginner.”
She laughs a little bit and both of us relax.
“I think it’s the other way around.” Her voice is soft, but strong. She’s smart, I can tell.
I laugh too.“You’re probably right. I’ve been taking these classes since freshman year. They’re the only ones I’m good at,” I say honestly.
“Cool.” She finally looks up at me. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m kind of scared.”
“Don’t be,” I assure her. “I’ll make sure we get an A.”
She smiles and looks down at the work table. She is wearing a red sweater. Her makeup is barely there, a pleasant difference from Evelyn’s. Her face is different. She has high cheekbones and perfect blue eyes that are shaped like almonds. Everything about her is small, except for those eyes. They scream at me.
Mike goes over all of the rules and safety regulations, but I don’t pay attention. I try not to stare at her, fearing it will make her even more nervous than she already is. She messes with the buttons on her sweater.
I see Evelyn at her station with some kid I’ve never seen before. He’s skinny with blonde hair. She’s looking at him funny, and I don’t know if I like that very much.
“Go ahead and discuss with your partners when you can get together outside of class to work on your projects.” Mike finally finishes his lecture and the class shuffles around.
I turn to Audrey. “So, when is a good time for you to work on stuff?”
She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’m not sure. I’m pretty busy.”
Busy with what?
“Okay." That's all that I can come up with.
We sit there until the bell rings. That is the first time I couldn’t think of something to say to a girl. When the bell rings, I pick up my book bag and smile at her.
“See you around, Audrey.”
“Bye,” she says softly.
Evelyn comes up to our station in a huff. She walks past me and bumps into Audrey.
“Watch it, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.” She stares hard at Audrey.
“I’m sorry.” Audrey struggles for words.
“Yeah,” Evelyn agrees. “You are. Nice sweater.”
“Thanks,” Audrey mutters and walks past us with her head down.
Evelyn is such a bully. If anyone knows what it’s like to have people hate them, it should be her. I shake my head and sigh.
“What?” she asks innocently.
“You need to relax,” I inisist. “You are getting way too jealous.”
“Jealous of who? Bloody Mary?” She laughs loudly. “Yeah, right.”
“She’s cool.” I know that will piss her off.
“Oh, really?” She pushes me. “Yeah, she seemed really cool with the way you were staring at her.”
“Look who’s talking?” I raise my voice. We are out in the parking lot now. “Every time I looked at you, you were lost in old boy’s baby blues. And I saw you writing in his notebook. What, were you giving him your hours?” My face gets red and I can tell she’s hurt.
“Fuck you!” she yells. People turn and stare at us. She pushes me again, harder this time, and I instantly feel bad.
“Wait, wait, wait.” I pull gently on her arm and she turns around.“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was just pissed because you disappeared after lunch and I didn’t know where you were. Why were you late to class?”
She seems pleased that I apologized. “Girl stuff,” she says.
I don‘t say anything else about it. Girls and their ‘stuff.’
“Do you want to come over to my place?” she asks slyly.“Nobody’s home.”
“What about your step-brother?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t call him that. And he’s riding the bus; he won’t be home for a while.”
“Okay, sure.” I shrug. “I’ve got work at five, though.”
“Can you give me a ride on your bike?” She smiles.
“I don’t know about that.” I never take girls on my bike.
“Come on, Riley.” She slides her arms around me and puts her hands in my back pockets. “Please?”
“Fine.“ Sometimes the only way to get a girl to shut up is to give her what she wants. That way I get what I want, too.
We get on my bike and I give her my helmet. When I start it up, people look at us. I zip through the parking lot, smiling, all eyes on me.
I’ve only been to her house a few times, but I know the way. When we get there, the house is quiet. Her place is a little smaller than mine, but it’s cleaner. We go straight down the hall to her room. 
Sex with Evelyn is always amazing. The girl never disappoints and today is no different. Afterwards, she tries to cuddle, but that’s not my style. So we lay there, naked. I don’t say anything; I don’t like to talk right after sex.
Finally, I‘m cooled down. “That was a good way to end the first day of school,” I say and laugh.
“Agreed,” she says and sits up. “I should get back soon so I can get my car.”
I look at the clock. It‘s almost four. “Yeah. I should get to the shop.”
I get dressed quickly and she follows me outside. Her freshman step-brother is rubbing my bike.
“Hey kid.” I hurry down the steps. “Keep your hands off my bike.”
“Sorry,” he says softly. “She’s just beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn says sarcastically. “Now get lost, freshman.”
He rolls his eyes. “Do you have to call me ‘freshman’ when we’re not at school?”
“Shut the fuck up and get in the house. You’re giving me a headache.” Evelyn really can be a bitch sometimes.
I put my hand on her shoulder and she breathes out. “Leave the poor kid alone.” I look at the kid. “I’m Riley, by the way.”
He shakes my hand. “Hey, I’m-”
“Not important,“ Evelyn exclaims. “We have to go, Riley. I gotta get my car before they close the gates.”
She pushes me towards my bike and I give up. “See ya around, kid.” I give him a sympathetic look, and I know he understands.
We ride to school and she squeezes my waist. The wind feels good against my face and her hair whips around my neck. When we get to school, she hops off the bike and hands me my helmet. Her hair is all crazy in dark waves around her face and in this moment, she looks so beautiful.
I pull on some of her hair. “You should be nicer to that kid. You know he’s probably having a shitty time right now.”
“Whatever,” she says. “I’ll try.” And I know she won’t.
“There you go.” I pretend that I believe her and give her a kiss. “What are you going to do?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably go for a drive. Stay out of the house as long as I possibly can.”
“Okay. Be safe.” I give her another kiss, suddenly feeling in a good mood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gets in her car and we both pull out of the empty lot. She goes right, I go left. I’ve got a little bit of time before I have to be at my uncle’s car shop, so I ride around town with my helmet off. I remember that I am almost out of cigarettes and pull over at a gas station to get more.
I park at the side of the store. Around front, a few Hispanic guys are standing outside. They are leaned against the ice machine, trying to look bad ass. I recognize them from Five Points. One of them is Malachi; I don’t know who the other two are. I wonder what they are doing out without their leader, Manny.
I go inside the cold store and my question is answered. Manny is walking around at the back of the store, looking at batteries. I see him pick up a pack and slip them in his back pocket. I look up front; the store clerk is completely oblivious.
Manny stares hard at me, as if daring me to say something. I shake my head and grab a soda from the cooler. When I get up to the counter, Manny has left. “Can I get a pack of Camel Menthols, please?” I pull out my wallet, and he doesn’t card me. They never do.
I pay for my stuff and when I go outside, Manny and his boys are still out there. I look him up and down once and keep walking.
“You got a problem?” He takes a few steps towards me. He hates me for whatever reason; always has.
“If I had one, you would know it.” Unlike most people at school, I’m not afraid of these guys. They carry weapons because they don’t know how to fight. I do.
“Oh, tough guy, huh?” Manny smiles. “You think you’re a badass with your cigarettes and that leather jacket?”
They always bring up the leather jacket, like it’s some big deal. I don’t think I’m a badass; other people do. I don’t wear this jacket because it’s good for my ‘image.’ It was my dad’s. It still smells like him.
“Whatever, dude.” I shake my head. These guys aren’t worth my time. I walk away and he keeps talking.
“That’s right,” he says angrily. “Keep walking.”
I get on my bike and start it up. I put on my helmet and ride around to the front of the store. I rev the bike up and push on the gas. I whiz past them, so close and so fast that a couple of them fall backwards. I’m sure I’ll pay for that later, but for now, I just smile and enjoy winning.

My uncle’s shop is a little garage on the corner of Evans Street. It’s not the nicest place, but all of the locals know that Uncle Eddie is the best mechanic in town. And he’s teaching me everything he knows.
I park my bike in the back by a window where I can keep an eye on it. Eddie is in the garage, his head buried deep in the front of an old Honda.
“I’m here, boss.” I punch in my time card and pull my blue jumper over my clothes. It smells like grease and sweat, and I am immediately at peace.
“What’s up, Spinner?” Eddie pops his head up from the engine. He’s been calling me that since I was little.
“Not much, man.”
“How was school?” He asks while he patches up some wires.
“It was the shits,” I state. “Just like always.”
Eddie laughs and so do I. He’s my dad’s brother. He’s got a bald spot at the top of his head and a big smile on his fat face. Everybody loves Eddie around here.
“Well stick with it, son. Just a little bit longer.”
“I know,” I assure him. “What have we got?”
He wipes his hands off and heads to the back of the garage. “We’ve got this old Dodge back here with a couple of leaks. One of the Sheriff’s deputies brought it in, so I told him we’d have it done tonight. I figured you could take care of that in no time.”
“Yeah, of course.” I grab my tool box and slide under the truck to get right to work.
We listen to heavy metal while we work. We don’t talk much, but I work quickly and have the truck ready in an hour. I help Eddie out with some of the other cars and deal with a few customers that come in.
About an hour before close, a girl walks in with a confused look on her face. Most of the girls who come in here have that same look. She looks really young and I wipe off my hands and head up to the front to help her.
“Can I help you?” When I get closer, I realize that I know who she is. It’s Janey Boyd, a girl from school.
She recognizes me too, and instantly gets awkward. We had a thing last year, just one time.We didn't exactly end on good terms, although she was a good time for a virgin. I had heard she was crazy, some sort of a cutter. But I ignored that when my friend Cordelia introduced us. I was high, she was high, and things happened. A few months later, she claimed she was pregnant. She wasn't the first freshman to pull that one. Crazy is an understatement. That was the last time I ever hook up with a freshman. Now, her hair is dark and she has on a lot of dark makeup. Her clothes are weird. I wouldn’t look at her twice these days.
“Uh, I just came to get my dad’s truck.” She looks down at the floor. “He brought it by earlier.”
“Oh, the dodge.” I take the keys off the hook and hand them to her. “I fixed up your leaks and made a few tweaks on the engine. Everything should be as good as new now.”
“Okay,” she mumbles.
What a weirdo. She takes the keys and pulls out of the garage slowly.
“If you have any other problems, tell your dad not to hesitate to call us.”
She doesn’t say anything else and neither do I. Eddie and I close up shop and he locks everything down.
“You want to go to Tony’s and get a sub?” Eddie points to the sub shop right across the street.
I realize that I’m starving and I’m sure whatever Mom is making isn’t as good as one of Tony’s subs.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We eat big meatball subs and I tell him about school. He talks about my cousins and his wife, my Aunt Trish. We’re silent for a lot of the time; I never talk much. After washing everything down with rootbeer floats, we head back to the shop where we say our goodbyes.
“Take care, kid.” Eddie pats my back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s dark now, and I take the long way home. A few stars peek through the sky, and I ride without my helmet. When I get home, Mom is in her chair watching Wheel of Fortune. I wonder how long she’s been sitting there. Art is in the kitchen getting himself a beer. I wonder what number that is.
“Where the hell have you been?” He growls at me. The way his words are slurring I’d say it’s at least number nine.
“Work,” I say plainly. As if he doesn’t know that.
He chugs half of the beer and walks past me. I can smell it on him. He goes into the living room and I hear him yell at my mom.
“Turn this shit off. You watch these game shows all damn day.”
I walk into the room quickly and see him changing the channel. My mom rests her head on her hand and doesn’t say anything.
“Ma, you can watch it on my TV.” I smile at her, but she doesn’t look up.
“It’s alright, Sweetheart.”
“You can watch it if you want to,” I assure her. “Don’t let him tell you what you can watch and when you can watch it.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Art turns around and looks at me.
“My mother,” I stare back at him.
“You better watch your tone, boy.” He gets close to my face and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Or what?”
I stare hard at him, daring him to touch me. But he would never do that. Because he knows that I could kill him. It’s because of him that I am the way I am.
I turn away from him and go downstairs to the basement. I turn the radio to a heavy metal station and put on my boxing gloves. Then I have my way with the old, worn punching back hanging from the low ceiling.
I hit the bag hard, over and over again. When I can’t breathe anymore, I stop and sit down on the cold cement floor. I turn the music down and close my eyes. I stay down there until I know that Art is passed out. Then I creep upstairs, strip my clothes off, and fall into bed.
I think about Evelyn a little bit. I think about Audrey a lot. I think about those idiot Puerto Ricans. I think about how much I hate school. I think about Art, and how much I want him dead. I think about all of the negative things. And I hope for something positive, something good. You play the bad guy for so long, eventually you start to wonder if there’s any good in you at all. And then I wonder…


Does good even exist?