My gaze drifted across my room to my white marble desk, where vase after vase of flowers from him used to sit. Now, there was only the photo of us from last year’s homecoming.
When he let his ego go, Troy was amazing—sweet when he wanted to be, and just as stubborn and persistent as well. He was my first boyfriend and my first kiss. It would only make sense if he were my first...first as well. A part of me wanted him to be, but another part just didn’t know.
Troy caressed my cheek. “I want to show you how much I love you. Don’t you want to do the same?”
“I’ll try.” I nodded, noncommittal. Thinking about it wasn’t as hard as actually going through with it.
Troy sniffed the air. “What’d your mom cook?”
“Beans, I think. Probably some corn bread, too.”
Troy sucked his teeth, clearly not liking what was on the menu. “Yeah, I better go home. I hate beans.”
“They taste good.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He made his way toward my bedroom door. “I’ma dip out and see what my mom made back at the crib.”
Relieved, I led him downstairs, stopping in the TV area so he could say goodbye to my parents.
“Night, Mr. and Mrs. London.” Troy politely kissed my mother’s cheek and shook my father’s hand.
“Another game tomorrow, eh, Troy?” my father said. He was such a huge fan of our school’s team. If Troy hadn’t been Troy Jordan, the next big thing, I was positive my father wouldn’t have allowed me to date him, as strict as he was. I often wondered if he would approve of our relationship if he knew how much Troy wanted to sleep with me.
Troy grinned. He was a star athlete destined to go the distance, aka the NFL. High school football wasn’t a challenge for him anymore. “Oh definitely, sir, can’t wait to beat Ellet.” He turned to Avery, who was sitting on the opposite couch, playing his handheld video game. “A’ight man, see you later?”
Avery nodded, briefly looking up from his screen.
I showed Troy to the front porch and gave him a hug good-night.
“Enjoy your homework, Rey,” he teased.
It was an excuse, a pitiful one, but it had worked.
“Yeah, you prepare for your game tomorrow, okay?”
“You coming to that party afterward?”
I always ended up going to a party after one of Troy’s games. It was tradition to celebrate the Panthers’ win and another step closer to Troy’s greatness. I couldn’t stay out too late, though; I spent a lot of my time on weekends volunteering at the Briar Park Community Center, where my mother worked. Juggling that on top of school left very little energy for partying.
But I didn’t tell Troy that.
“Yeah, of course,” I agreed.
He kissed me, then pulled back and held me at arm’s length. “I love you, you know that, right?”
“Of course, Troy. I love you, too.”
But taking in his dark brown face and dark brown eyes, my gut churned with unease, and something I’d started to feel whenever he was with me.
He wasn’t the problem.
I was.
Guillermo
My probation officer didn’t play. From the moment we met, I knew he wasn’t to be messed with.
Harvey Hudson was his name. He was built like a linebacker and could probably break me in half if he wanted.
Harvey was fair, though. He gave respect where respect was given. He didn’t judge the rehabilitated for our crimes and pasts—hell, he told me he might’ve done the same had he been in my shoes. But of course, with Harvey being a smart guy, I was positive he would’ve never put himself in the position I had.
The judge had been lenient considering the circumstances. I had six months’ community service, and the rest of my two-year stint on probation would be spent meeting with a therapist to work on my anger.
I guessed it was better than juvie.
I could imagine my record and what it potentially said about me.
Name: Guillermo Javier Lozano
Age: 17
Crime: Simple Assault
Punishment: Keep away from society. Do NOT feed the monster
Maybe it wouldn’t be that extreme, but with the way my parents hadn’t eased up, I wasn’t holding out on a brighter day anytime soon.
Meeting Harvey meant meeting him at his office, which was in the juvenile courthouse—the last place I wanted to be again.
After spending my summer in the detention center, caged like some animal, I could honestly say juvie was a place I didn’t like being. I’d deserved it, yes, and it was the reality check I didn’t mind cashing. Some guys were in there for some real deal shit, drugs, larceny, grand theft auto—you name the crime, there were kids in there for it. Kids who had no guidance and were planning on getting out to start the cycle all over again.
Why I had turned to the streets could be tied to stupidity and taking my life for granted. Even at my lowest, my parents had been in my corner, including in that courtroom, where they’d made sure that my case wasn’t an open-and-shut sentence on my future.
When I arrived at the courthouse, Harvey was still meeting with another probationer. The small waiting area was empty, so I grabbed a seat near the front doors, itching to be outside again. As soon as my butt hit the cushioned chair, I heard it.
Soft rock music was playing. Old-school. Or so I assumed from the singer’s voice and the tone of the upbeat song. Rock wasn’t my vibe. At all.
The receptionist didn’t seem to mind. She was bobbing her head along as she scribbled something down, all while the male singer was going on about being a hero, just for one day. Whatever that meant.
I felt my fist ball up and hoped Harvey wouldn’t be much longer.
It was just my luck that he came down the hall escorting a boy about my age.
The kid was scowling, his buzzed head hanging low as he listened to whatever it was that Harvey was saying. In his plain white tee and jeans, he looked kinda scrawny next to Harvey—but who didn’t look scrawny next to that guy?
Harvey patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’ma keep my eye on you, Zach. We will do better!”
Zach nodded and walked out the exit, his head slowly lifting with each step.
Harvey set eyes on me and cocked his head. “So he made it back?” He held his hand out for me. “Come on, let’s catch up.”
I stood and went to him, that rock song still playing from the radio on the receptionist’s desk.
I wrinkled my nose. “What the hell are you listenin’ to?”
Harvey tossed me a look. “First of all, it ain’t me. Second of all, watch your tone and step inside, tough guy.” His heavy hand fell on my shoulder, with enough force to sting. We both knew he’d done it on purpose. “What you got against David Bowie anyway?”
I followed him down the corridor to his private office. “Is that who that is?”
“The one and only. It’s called ‘Heroes.’ Not a bad song, even if I wasn’t a major fan.” Harvey claimed his seat in the plush chair behind the large metallic black desk. I took my seat in front of it expectantly.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the song wasn’t so bad.
Tough guys don’t listen to Bowie.
Harvey tapped a few keys on his laptop before facing me and settling back in his chair. “So, how was Mexico?”
My grandfather had had a serious bout of pneumonia, causing my parents and uncle and aunt to panic. We’d rushed there as soon as we could to help. My grandparents ran a cocina económico, and while my parents and grandmother attended my grandfather, I had bussed tables and washed dishes at the diner.
Seeing my grandfather like that, so weak and sick, it ate at me, kept me worried even while I worked. Even now with the worst over, I still found myself shaken up about it.
“Thank you for
letting me go and do that. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he didn’t make it and I didn’t get to see him,” I said.
Harvey nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “Missing school isn’t a good look fresh out, but given the crisis, I understood. If it were anybody else, I would’ve denied the request.”
Harvey liked me, and I guess it could be worse, because at least he believed I’d come out of this probation a changed individual.
“I gotta be honest with you, Mo,” he began, “I got some faith in you. You’re angry as shit, I will admit, but from what I read about your stay at the detention center, and the fact that you’re back from your trip in one piece, I see a good turnout. I won’t say I’m holding my breath with you, but for the most part, I’m hopeful you’re someone that will change.”
I hadn’t expected that from him. “Thank you, Harvey.”
He nodded and took a breath, seeming to get back to business. “How’s your family?”
“Bien,” I said sarcastically.
Harvey narrowed his eyes. “Lozano.”
“I don’t think my pops will ever stop resenting me, my ma pities me, and I feel like a lousy brother to Yesenia. It’s shit.”
“So, let me run all this back, just so I’m clear on what I know.” Harvey gestured widely around us. “You spend a good portion of your youth doin’ stupid shit, this last incident resulting in your being locked up. Your parents had to pay legal fees and now probation fees, and not only that, they decided to go through the grueling process that is moving and transferring their jobs just to give you another shot, and—” he was really layin’ it on thick “—on top of that, your grandfather gets real sick, so sick you had to drop everything and leave the country to go and see him. All that stress, most of which could’ve been avoided had you made smarter decisions, and you’re sittin’ here talkin’ about you feel like shit? Huh. I wonder why.”
The sarcasm wasn’t needed. “Harvey. I get it.”
“Yeah, well, you were shit, for a long time, and if it takes a long time for them to forgive you, you brought it on yourself. Ain’t nobody gon’ hold your hand and baby you on that, Lozano.”
No matter what, Harvey always gave it to you straight, no filter—raw.
“You ready for Briar Park?” he asked.
Now that I was back in the States, I had to start my community service. I’d be working at a place called Briar Park Community Center. Chances were it was going to be hell no matter what, so I told myself to just get it done. “Looking forward to it.”
“You are very, very lucky to be free, Guillermo, and I can only hope this experience makes a responsible man out of you. Gloria London and I will be best friends, she will be my eyes and ears, and don’t think she’s going to be the nurturing kind, ’cause she ain’t.”
Wouldn’t expect anything less.
Harvey handed me a pamphlet for the community center, which thankfully wasn’t too far from where I lived.
As I reached out to grasp it, he held it back, meeting my eyes, looking serious. “I know what it’s like to just do shit because there’s nothing else to do, but I also know what it’s like to watch the effects poor decisions have on those not involved. Your family’s going to take a minute to come around, but that’s on you. Take this time to reflect and grow. No more lousy friends, no more anger, and please, to God, no more girls.”
That last one was a particularly brutal reminder of my recklessness.
I accepted the pamphlet and lifted my chin at Harvey. “Yes, sir, and thanks, again, for believing in me.”
Unlike with the other boy, he didn’t offer to walk me out. He faced his laptop, poised to type something up. “All right, gon’ and get over to Briar Park, don’t want to be late on your first day.”
That moment, I made it a personal goal to always be on time or early for my community service, to show that I was taking it seriously.
The drive from the courthouse to the center wasn’t long, thankfully, and I pulled into the lot fifteen minutes later. Immediately I could guess my job description. There were flowers planted along the borders of the lawn, sprinkles of trash here and there. I heard commotion behind the center, where I figured their playground and skating area were, and I knew more trash awaited. Briar Park Community Center was outside the bounds of the quiet and clean setting of Briar Pointe.
A plaque out front said An Asylum for All. Beneath the inscription were two hands shaking in front of a solid heart.
I got out of my car and appraised the building, noting that, unlike a lot of the businesses I’d driven by on the way over, it was devoid of graffiti and had no broken windows, no sense of carelessness. This was where the lost became found.
At the front desk, I asked for Mrs. London. She was in charge of the center and oversaw the community service program I’d been placed in: Respect.
Mrs. London turned out to be a tall, gentle, but assertive-looking Black woman. She studied me silently before offering me a handshake and gesturing for me to follow her.
Before I’d left the house, Yesenia had slipped me a blue hair tie, para la buena suerte. Maybe I should’ve worn it in my hair rather than on my wrist like a bracelet.
No matter. This morning, I’d made sure to dress clean: powder blue button-down shirt, dark jeans, and white tennis shoes, along with a touch of cologne. In his younger days, Tío Matt used to be a lady’s man. He told me that cologne was a great opener in all things; it aroused the senses and helped people warm up to you on first impression, sending a message of sorts.
I couldn’t tell what kind of first impression I was making on Mrs. London.
She cleared her throat. We sat opposite each other at a long oval table in a conference room on the second floor. Mrs. London’s stoic expression almost made me nervous, but then it didn’t. With my own parents branding me American Psycho, nothing could get to me.
“The Respect program was established to teach juvenile offenders patience, responsibility, accountability, and most important, respect. We take in one to two probationers at a time to make this transition intimate. You will work here five days a week like a part-time job, nonnegotiable, and once you’ve been in our program for three months and have shown promise, we have an arrangement with the local Goodwill on Waterloo Road, where you’ll spend your remaining time volunteering while the next probationer works here. Is that understood?”
It could be worse. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The point is to rehabilitate you, Guillermo, to give you a shot at a better future. A lot of our probationers who’ve made it through the program end up finding employment at Goodwill, or at Henry’s next door.”
I knew the places she was talking about. The Briar Pointe subdivision was just off Waterloo Road, and before you turned onto a long route that led into little suburbia, there was a shopping plaza with a Mexican restaurant and the local supermarket, Henry’s, and beside that, a Goodwill. One positive thing about this move was how convenient everything was; there was no need to leave this side of the city to wander back to where I’d come from, even though Rowling Heights was only twenty minutes away.
“Here at the facility you will answer to me, and if I’m not here, you can go to our co-lead, Daren Goldberg. He’s usually on-site in the afternoons.”
I noted she was in control. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It says in your file that you just moved to Briar Pointe?” Mrs. London said this more as a question than a general statement. Her gaze held curiosity and...something I couldn’t quite name. “At 226 Leona Drive?”
That must be my new address. I hadn’t memorized it yet. I nodded anyway. “Yeah.”
Mrs. London blinked and drummed her fingernails on the tabletop momentarily. “And you’ll be attending Arlington High?”
“I guess that’s the name of my new school,” I said. “I start Monday.”
“I see.” Mrs. London pro
cured the file in question and set it on the table in front of her. My answers to her questions seemed to have sparked a mood. Again, she cleared her throat. “I’ve read over your situation.”
I almost chuckled at her wording.
“You think it’s funny, Mr. Lozano?” Mrs. London arched a brow, challenging me.
I settled back in my chair, nearly wincing. None of this was funny. I tipped my head toward her. “My file says I’m a monster, and now I’m here to repay my debt to society—and him.”
Mrs. London appeared thoughtful. “Do you think you’re a monster?”
Flashes of the “situation” came to me. My fists caked in Shad’s blood. The echoes of Tynesha screaming and crying. The sounds of the guys pleading for me to stop. The red haze of rage that had coursed through my body.
I could’ve killed Shad if the cops hadn’t shown up and pulled me off him and thrown me to the ground.
Blinking, I came to. “Maybe I am.”
Sympathy washed across Mrs. London’s face. “While I understand you were provoked, what happened wasn’t acceptable. But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the line for you.” She shifted in her seat as she leafed through the file. “Now, these three arrests leading up to here is what’s concerning. After every incident, your behavior escalated. The loitering, the weed, and the violence—it’s a very alarming path. You ever study Greek mythology in school?”
“A little bit.” Not that I had paid too much attention.
“You’re like Icarus, remember him?”
The name vaguely rang a bell. “Kinda.”
“In the myth, in order to escape Crete, his father designs wings for him and Icarus, made of wax and feathers. His father warns him not to fly too low, to avoid the sea so water won’t clog his wings, and not to fly too high, so the sun won’t melt the wax. During the flight, while they’re getting away, Icarus is feeling such a rush, he’s so exhilarated, he soars higher and higher, and you know what happens? He gets too close to the sun. The wax melts and he falls into the sea and drowns.” Mrs. London fixed me with a serious look. “Moral of the story? Don’t be reckless, respect your limitations, and don’t get too close to the edge. Don’t get burned.”
The Right Side of Reckless Page 2
