by Dwayne Reed
“Yeah, Notorious D.O.G.,” C.J. agrees, cracking himself up. “Time to let out that big ol’ bark!” He even barks, like I’m some kind of joke.
“Yeah… aight… next time. I gotchu.”
CHAPTER 9
“YOU KNOW HOW SUNNY BE SINGING IN the street all the time?” Five minutes after the recess bell rings, the three of us are at our spot. The swing set farthest from the building with the wood chips. It’s the most boring part of the school yard, but it’s just right for us since nobody else hangs out here.
“Yeah! He be like shoooo-DOOP!” Maria yells from up above us just before flying backward on the middle swing. C.J. and I crack up at Maria’s attempt at old-folks singing. C.J. leans against the swing post and uses his elbow to shove Maria forward again while I chill back on the swing next to hers.
“Happiest homeless dude I ever seen,” C.J. adds, Cheeto crumbs flying through his teeth. “I thought having no real house to live in was sad. But Sunny seems like he’s happy all the time.”
“Yeah, he stood up in front of everybody and sang that song he always be singing when he sweeps leaves around my house. And then he said he wanted to hear ME.”
“Whaaat?” Maria flies off the rubber seat in midair with open arms and walks back in between me and C.J., reaching out to slow the swing so she can sit. “He did all that? My tío Phillip does that sometimes when we go over to his and Tía Laura’s house for dinner. It’s kinda corny but him and Tía look so mushy dancing around the kitchen holding each other all close and stuff,” Maria explains with a big smile on her face. “With the salsa playing and the pernil in the oven, everybody is so happy. That’s how it was in the shelter? Did you rap? They had pernil in there?” Maria always asks one million questions at the same time when she gets excited and always wants to know if people eat the same food she eats at her house.
“I don’t know about no pair-knee, but they had chicken. He sang a whole song and then everybody clapped for him. For a minute I forgot he was homeless.” I feel bad for thinking this. But I don’t ever hear people saying good things about the people I see living on the streets. Adults always act like we gotta walk faster when they see them and make sure, no matter what, we don’t touch them or else we might catch some type of cooties. I mean, they do be stinkin’, but after talking to Sunny at the shelter more than I usually do, something feels wrong about looking at him like that.
I GET IT… SOMETIMES HOMELESS PEOPLE SMELL
BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN WE SHOULDN’T TREAT THEM WELL.
THEY GOT FEELINGS, TOO, AND THEY WANT TO BE SEEN
SO IT REALLY DOESN’T MATTER IF THEIR CLOTHES AIN’T CLEAN.
TAKE SUNNY—I LIKE HIM, CUZ HE’S SO NICE
AND I’VE LEARNED A LOT ABOUT HIM, SINCE I’VE SEEN HIM TWICE.
AT THE SHELTER, HE WAS TELLIN’ ME ’BOUT HIS LIFE.
I JUST WISH ALL ADULTS WOULD TAKE MOMS’ ADVICE:
“TREAT OTHERS LIKE YOU WANT TO BE TREATED.”
C.J. shoots his empty Cheeto bag into a trash can next to the swings, wiping the front and back of his fingers on his jeans. Red dust everywhere. His mama is gon’ be mad but she’s probably used to it by now.
“My pops says we shouldn’t talk to bums on the street.”
“Homeless people,” Maria and I say at the same time.
For a minute C.J. looks embarrassed. “You know what I mean. Bu—homeless people always be askin’ for money. Pops says they don’t never use that money for anything but they always asking. He says kids shouldn’t be talkin’ to grown folks on the street, anyway.” We all get quiet for a second. Sunny never asked me for any money. And he looked so happy sitting at his table when everybody was eating their food. When people give Sunny money for food, I think he uses it for food.
“Sunny told me that hurts his—”
“Wow! I can’t believe it. Big Head Barnes actually talks!” Bobby and his sidekicks crash into me like they didn’t see me standing here, almost appearing out of thin air. But I’m the first one Bobby calls out. They look back and forth between each other and laugh. “Continue your little story, shorty. No need to get quiet. We want to hear it, too. Pretend we’re not even here.” Bobby stands to my right only a few inches away, towering over me. Pretending he’s not here ain’t even possible. I wish he wasn’t, though. “Hellooo, anybody in there? Or are you too stupid to understand what I’m saying?” I keep my eyes low. The bad part about having our own spot on the playground is that we’re just far enough for the teachers to miss things. Like how Bobby’s arm suddenly around my shoulders don’t mean he’s suddenly my friend.
“Oh, shut up, Bobby! Don’t you have anything better to do?” Maria stands just as close as Bobby now but on the left side of me.
ALL THIS ACTION? THINGS GON’ HAPPEN!
VICTOR, JUSTIN, RIGHT THERE LAUGHIN’,
BOBBY’S MOCKIN’, C.J.’S WATCHIN’,
RI-RI’S MAD, SO SHE STARTS TALKIN’.
I WISH I COULD GET TO WALKIN’
OR SPEAK UP, BUT THAT’S NO OPTION
SO I’M PLOTTIN’, THINKIN’, PLANNIN’,
FEEL LIKE SCREAMIN’, BUT I’M STANDIN’… STILL.
THINGS JUST FEEL TOO REAL.
I WANNA DIP, I WANNA PEEL,
I REALLY WANNA LEAVE THIS SCENE.
THEN BOBBY WOULDN’T BE SO MEAN!
I KNOW MY HEAD’S THE BIGGEST SHAPE
BUT ALL OF US HAVE THINGS WE HATE
ABOUT OURSELVES, THAT WE WOULD FIX
IF WE KNEW MAGIC, OR SOME TRICKS.
AND I WOULD STAND ON FIFTY STICKS
IF IT WOULD MAKE ME SIX FOOT SIX.
I’M HAPPY FOR MY FRIENDS WHO HELP
BUT I WISH I COULD DEFEND MYSELF!
WOOF!
I wish I could say something. Anything. But it’s like my voice climbed back down into my throat and is splashing its legs around in my stomach. Plus, I don’t want no drama. It’s only the first week of school!
“What’s better than hanging out with Stuck on Stupid over here? The little guy makes me laugh.” Bobby squeezes tighter and takes a look over his right shoulder toward the school building, flashing a smile at Mrs. Leary. Mrs. Leary smiles back, adding a clueless wave.
“Look who’s talking,” Maria says. “The main one calling names should probably be in recess study hall asking for extra credit right now. I don’t even know how you made it to the fifth grade, Bobby.” Bobby’s smirk drops along with his arm. “Don’t think I forgot about how you had to repeat kindergarten at Bell.” Bobby’s sidekicks start to giggle until he elbows one of them in the stomach and snaps his fingers at them. They turn and follow behind him like puppies as he starts to walk away.
“You better watch yourself. Might get hurt talking to me like that.”
“Yo! I ain’t never seen Bobby Sanchez lookin’ like that! That was CRAZY, Maria!” C.J. says. Maria dusts fake dirt off her shoulders, looking proud, and we all bust out laughing. “He didn’t know what to say after that stuff about kindergarten!”
“Yeah, how’d you know all that?” I knew Bobby looked too big to be in the same grade as us. But I always brushed it off, thinking it was just me that was too small. Just like how I feel right now. I can’t believe somebody had to say something for me again. I know Maria and C.J. are my squad and all, but I wish I knew what to say when Bobby comes around. Or when everybody’s staring at me waiting for me to speak. I just don’t want to say anything stupid. I don’t want everybody to see when I say the wrong thing. I feel like I know all the right words when I’m rhymin’, but that’s different… right?
“You know my mama used to work in the school office. I hear stuff,” Maria says, staring at me for too long. “But Simon. Why didn’t you say anything? It was like you weren’t even here. You gotta say something back to that fool or he’s gonna keep tryna play you.” The bell rings and we all head back into the building.
It was like I wasn’t even here. Like I was invisible. Like Sunny. But Sunny’s not really invisible. People just
treat him like he is. But when he sings… everybody knows he’s there. Everybody. Maybe the same can happen for me.
CHAPTER 10
IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT MR. JAMES IS talking about the scariest thing ever. No matter what, he makes it seem like doing an oral presentation is the coolest, walking around the room asking us all kinds of serious questions that sound way too deep so early in the school year. Who IS this guy and WHERE did he come from? It’s only been three days, but I’ve already learned that he does this thing where he asks a question, stops in front of somebody’s desk, and smiles at them until they say something. Today it’s me.
“Think about it, scholars,” he says, touching his bright red bow tie. “What is something you see all the time—and you think you know about it, but not really? Like, if someone asked you how it all got started, would you be able to tell them?” He pauses in front of my desk, smiling all corny at me while he kneels down to look me in the eye. “What don’t you know about the man you wrote about on your topic sheet? How did he get there?” I bust out laughing. Being put on the spot makes me feel awkward and I start cracking up. I don’t know if Mr. James wants me to say something back or if this is still a part of his speech. I laugh some more, looking around, waiting for him to walk over to somebody else. He knocks on my desk with his fist two times before he keeps walking. “Think about it.”
Maria turns and shoots me a look, then crosses her eyes while sticking her tongue out at me. It looks even funnier when she does it because of her pink glasses and the fact that Mr. James can’t see his best student scrunching up her face behind his back, looking like a cross-eyed fool and a smiley Mr. James twin. I cover my mouth before I lose control. Mr. James weaves in between a few more desks, finishing his speech, and the thoughts in my brain get too loud for me to hear anything else. What don’t I know about Sunny? I start to write some stuff on a sheet Mr. James gives us for notes. Maybe I should write some stuff I already know. Yeah, I’ll do that.
SUNNY IS A COOL DUDE WHO GREW UP IN THIS HOOD.
HE WAS IN A BAND, CUZ HE SANG REALLY GOOD.
HE SHOVELED SIDEWALKS AS A KID TO MAKE MONEY.
NOW HE SWEEPS SIDEWALKS, AIN’T LIFE KINDA FUNNY?
HAD HIS FIRST REAL JOB WHEN HE WAS EIGHTEEN,
DOESN’T LIKE THE INTERNET (HE KINDA HATES SCREENS),
WEARS BAGGY JEANS, HIS CLOTHES AIN’T TOO CLEAN,
BUT HE’S JUST LIKE US, CUZ HE WANTS TO BE SEEN!
SUNNY’S REAL FUNNY, HE JOKES WITH HIS FRIENDS.
HE MAKES PEOPLE LAUGH, AND EVERYBODY GRINS.
HE’S BROWN LIKE A PENNY, TALL, AND HE’S SKINNY
AND HE’S USUALLY UPBEAT WHEN I SEE HIM ON THE STREET!
That’s a lot! I think. I mean, I don’t want to be all up in Sunny’s business anyway. Moms and Dad always tell me I need to stay out of grown folks’ business, and Sunny is the grownest. He’s like one million years old. Besides, wouldn’t getting in his business even more make him feel bad? Last time I saw him, he started to look a little sad before he started to sing. Just after he told me he lost his old job. Mr. James starts to blur out even more as I remember the look on Sunny’s face, until I realize I’ve been holding my pee for way too long, having staredowns with Mr. James about timely things. It’s about time I go handle that before the Notorious D.O.G. soaks his seat.
One of the first things Mr. James told us on Monday—besides the fact that we’re gonna do the scariest thing ever—is that being in fifth grade means we don’t have to raise our hands to go to the bathroom anymore. As long as there’s a pass, we can go handle our business, because he trusts us, he says. I spot the bright red hall pass dangling from the hook that matches Mr. James’s favorite bow tie, nailed into the wall next to the door, and hop out of my seat as fast as I can just in case somebody else is close to peeing on themselves, too. Luckily Bobby isn’t around to try funny stuff, and Maria’s face is almost glued into her work sheet with her pencil flying down the page. I slip out of the door before Mr. James has a chance to smile at me again. I don’t know how he knows we’re going to have such a great year when he just met us.
The fifth-grade hallway of Booker T. feels so big when nobody’s in it and it takes forever to get to the bathroom at the other end. The walls are made of an ugly green shiny tile with pictures of kids in classrooms learning stuck all over them. I ain’t never seen kids look that happy to be here. And I didn’t know any of those kids. Teachers’ voices boom all loud through the walls about homework and assignments and rules. What’s weird is that nobody else is out here with me, but I guess it’s because, besides this being the fifth-grade hall, it’s where the main office is. Too easy to get caught and too easy to get sent there if you get in trouble. A good chance somebody could see me on the way to the bathroom.
“What do you mean you don’t have another number we can use? There’s got to be another one, Robert. It’s too early in the school year for these kinds of games, young man.” I hear this loud voice boom before I see it, and I know it’s coming from the principal’s office because it’s the only door that’s always wide open when we’re supposed to be in class. “Now I’m going to ask you one more time. Is there another number we can use to contact your father? We need to speak to him immediately.” Then nothing. Just before I reach the door that says BOYS on it, I see Bobby sitting in a chair across from Principal Berry’s desk with his head down, staring at his fingers even though he doesn’t have anything on them. “Go on about your business, Simon.” Principal Berry’s voice cuts at me before I even notice I’m walking too slow in front of the door. Bobby’s neck pops up and he gives me a look just before I remember the Notorious D.O.G. can’t pee on himself.
In the empty bathroom surrounded by even more ugly green tile, Ms. Berry’s voice just sounds like somebody humming, and I can’t tell if any of the noise is coming from Bobby. For the first time ever, the Bobby Sanchez actually looked too scared to answer her. And I just know it’s serious because nobody calls him by his real name. Nobody. Who knows what he did this time? But one thing I know is that I’d be in so much trouble if Dad ever had to leave his job to come deal with me in the middle of the school day. Even worse if it was Moms. The whole school would know what was up, and I’d be stuck doing everybody’s chores for weeks! But I can’t get the look on Bobby’s face out of my head while I’m washing my hands. For the first time ever, he didn’t have that mean smirk on his face he usually has when he’s calling me some new dumb name he’s made up. He sort of just sat there with his head down, ignoring the question. Like he didn’t know how. But what do I know? Maybe he was scared of what would happen if he told the truth.
CHAPTER 11
“GET YOUR STUFF AND LET’S GO,” AARON orders from the door of Mr. James’s classroom with his eyes glued to his phone. “Mama told me to make sure to get you home ‘in one piece,’ and I gotta be somewhere.” Whenever I can’t walk home with Maria and Ms. Estelle, Moms pays Aaron five dollars to get me home safe, but he’d usually rather text his friends all the way home than watch me. Even though Maria told me this morning that Ms. Estelle was gonna pick her up early to go to the doctor, seeing Aaron in the hallway waiting for me makes me drag my backpack all the way out the door. “And pick yo’ bag up off the floor. Mama’s gon’ get on me if I bring you home lookin’ like you been rollin’ around in some dirt.” I throw it onto my back and groan loudly so he knows that even though I heard him, Notorious D.O.G. don’t like being told what to do. Aaron walks off toward the front entrance so fast he probably doesn’t even hear me.
There’s three ways to get home from Booker T. You can go back down Locust Street, where everybody be out after school, you can go on the other side down Linden Street where don’t nobody be, or you can cut through the Creighton Community Park. Mom and Dad said we’re never allowed to do that.
For some reason, Aaron jets down the sidewalk to the left of the front doors toward Linden, even though that’s not what me, Maria, and Ms. Estelle usually do. I try to
tell him, but he already has on his headphones and is halfway down the parking lot sidewalk in his own world, trying to earn his five dollars as quick as possible.
From this side of Creighton Park, our hood, we hear less people talking and more of the neighborhood sounds. Sirens scream over my head in between the ice cream truck’s songs. Bass booms so loud from the cars that drive by that the sidewalk concrete shakes under my sneakers. Moms always says that’s why old people are so hard of hearing. Listened to their jams too loudly when they were younger. Jams is Moms’ word, not mine. Walking down this street so far behind Aaron makes me feel like I’m walking by myself, so I play a game where I concentrate real hard, trying to guess each song blaring from the car speakers, but they all just sound like shaky car doors with the same beat. I want Aaron to play it with me, but he’s too far ahead of me to care.
THAT ONE WAS EASY, IT’S OLD-SCHOOL KANYE,
AND WHAT’S THIS SOUND LIKE? OH YEAH, BEYONCÉ.
“POP GOES THE WEASEL” STARTS LOW BUT GETS LOUD
AS THE BRIGHT YELLOW ICE CREAM TRUCK ROLLS AROUND.
AND THERE GOES THE SOUND OF THE GREEN LINE TRAIN!
BUT I’M USED TO IT NOW, OH SHOOT, LIL WAYNE!
AND IS DRAKE ON THAT ONE? THAT MUG SOUNDS HARD!
CAN’T WAIT TILL MY SONGS SHAKE EVERYBODY’S CAR!
