by A. J. Byrd
“Here we go,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I thought we already agreed to leave all the prenatal stuff to me?”
That’s starting to annoy me. “What? Now I can’t ask anything about the baby? Is that it?”
“How about you ask about me? You ever thought about that?”
“Oookay,” Shadiq says, jumping up from his seat. “I gotta run and do something.” He waves me off. “I’ll catch up with you a little later.”
On cue the other brothers on the team stand and follow, leaving me to deal with Phoenix on my own. When I look back over at her, she cuts her gaze away.
“What’s going on with you?”
“What do you think?” She works her neck a bit and then folds her arms. “I’ve never been in this position, and here you are stressing me out and treating me like something that stuck to the bottom of your shoe. I feel like I’m all alone in this.” Her eyes start filling up with tears. “It’s not fair. And to be honest, I never thought that you could be so cruel.”
“Me?”
“Look at what you’ve done to me. I’m turning into a joke in this school, all because I had the audacity to get pregnant. You want to walk away and go play house with your next bitch.”
I plant my elbows on the table and release a deep sigh. “Phoenix, we’ve been over this—”
“Yes. And we’re going to keep going over this until you come to your senses. Yeah, maybe I was a bitch and a tease before, but now things have changed—I’ve changed. I’m going to have your baby now. And I think we at least owe it to our kid to try and work things out. If it doesn’t work out down the line—fine.”
Her pleading eyes are getting to me, and I find myself longing for something strong to drink instead of this damn carton of milk.
Phoenix reaches for my hand. “Romeo. We’ve been together a long time. You can’t sit there and tell me that it’s always been bad. You used to be crazy about me. You’re the reason I got kicked out of private school, because you used to sneak into my dorm room. We have history. We had plans. Whatever you do, don’t abandon me now.”
As I stare into Phoenix’s hazel eyes, old emotions start tugging on my heart. We have had some rather fun and wild times together. And there was a time when I thought that one day she’d be my wife, after college and a few years in the NFL. But things changed—my feelings changed when we started high school, a full year before Anjenai came onto the scene. Suddenly we were fighting more, and she was always pulling one outrageous stunt after another. They were all designed to get a rise out of me, and they all succeeded.
“I don’t know, Phoenix.”
She squeezes my hand. “Don’t you? I’m telling you that I’ve changed. Carrying this baby has changed me. And I know more than ever that I want us to bring this child up in the world together. You loved me once. I know that you can love me again and our child.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Anjenai and her posse stroll into the cafeteria and stop in front of Kwan. She’s all smiles and looking happy. She’s moved on. Admitting that to myself is like suffering a death.
“Okay,” I whisper, returning my attention to Phoenix. “We’ll give it another try.”
Phoenix lights up and pops out of her seat. Before I know it, she’s throwing her arms around my neck and smothering me with kisses. “You won’t regret this. I promise!”
I hope she’s right. I pull back with a smile and glance back toward Anjenai, only for our gazes to lock…but only for a brief moment.
twenty-five
Tyler—My Day in Court
Leon and I are not talking.
After he embarrassed me last night trying to kill Kerosene, I pretty much decided to shut down all communication. I absolutely refuse to talk to him, so much so that I slam my bedroom door in his face. Then, two minutes later, I hear a drill. Next thing I know he’s completely taken my door off by its hinges and he’s shouting that I no longer have privacy privileges.
Asshole.
I didn’t even want him driving me to court, but it’s not like I really had a choice in the matter. During the entire drive he’s trying to coax me into talking to him. When that doesn’t work, he starts swearing and hitting the steering wheel. It doesn’t matter what he says, I will never forgive him for what he did last night. Never.
As far as walking into the courtroom, my nerves don’t really hit me until I have to go through the security check when you first walk through the door. The tall, bulky officers, waving metal detecting wands and searching through my personal items, irk me a bit. I don’t like this sense of helplessness that comes over me.
Leon inquires where we need to go, and we follow a lady officer’s directions to a tall wooden door at the end of a long corridor. I chug in a few deep breaths, but feel my knees start to buckle as I get closer to the door.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this.
I want to pause and wait a minute, but Leon is right behind me, and he pulls the door open and reveals this huge wood-paneled courtroom. That’s when I feel the first wave of tears burn my eyes.
“Come on,” Leon says, pushing me forward. “No point in getting all scared now.”
I hate him. Walking into the courtroom I stroll down the aisle, thrusting up my chin and feeling like I’ve just been cast in an episode of Law & Order. We’re told by one of the clerks to just take a seat in one of the pews. I see Michelle and Trisha in the front row and start to head in that direction when my father grasps me by the elbow and steers me in the opposite direction.
“I don’t think so, little girl,” he says grimly.
That’s his problem. He still thinks of me as a little girl. Now with my butt planted firmly on a dark wooden pew, I sit ramrod straight, arms folded and doing my best to ignore Leon. I hope he can feel just how much I hate him right now.
“I can’t believe I’m missing time at work for this crap,” he swears under his breath.
Work, work, work, work. That’s all he cares about.
I feel his eyes shift toward me. I know that he wants to say something—probably the same lecture he gave me in the car, this morning in the kitchen and yesterday in my bedroom after he chased all my friends out of the apartment. I mean, really. How is he going to bitch about me smoking weed when he still tosses back alcohol when he thinks I’m not looking. Everybody knows that alcohol is far more worse than marijuana.
“You know, I’m halfway hoping that the judge does give you a little time in juvie. Maybe that’s the only way you’d see just how good you have it.”
Good? Maybe I should ask whether he’s high. I turn in my seat and see the pews are filling up pretty fast. Will all these people hear about what I got caught doing? They just discuss everybody’s business out in the open like this? My stomach starts twisting into knots.
“Psst, Tyler,” someone hisses from behind me.
I jerk around and then perk up in surprise to see Kerosene two rows back, waving and winking at me.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Leon demands with his face twisted in rage.
I smile and break my code of silence. “Maybe he’s here to lend support. I doubt that you know much about that.”
Leon refocuses his glare on me, but I just smile smugly in his face.
The clerk stands as the bailiff moves to a corner of the court and instructs, “Everyone rise to your feet for the honorable Judge Daphne O’Connor.”
I stand and watch the porcelain-white female with fiery-red hair piled into a bun on top of her head stroll into the courtroom draped in a black robe.
More knots twist in my gut. I don’t have a good feeling about this.
“Please have a seat.” The judge’s stern voice slices through the silence.
My knees fold without me thinking much about it, and for the next hour I’m left to stew in my nervousness and fear. When my case is called, Leon has to tug on my sleeve to draw my attention. I take one look over my shoulder and receive a thumbs-up signal from Kerosene and, remarkably, I fee
l just a tiny bit better at least until I make my way up to the defendants’ table. The charges are rattled off, and I feel as if I’m standing in the center of a bright spotlight.
“Shoplifting, huh?” Judge O’Connor repeats, I guess for the people in the back row.
My court-appointed attorney enters my plea and then proceeds to inform the judge about how this is my first offense and blah, blah, blah. It turns out that the facts that I’m not some model student or have much of a do-good community service track record mean that I don’t receive much leniency.
“All right, Ms. Jamison, I’ve heard enough. After reading both the report of the mall’s security guard and the police report and taking into consideration the amount of goods that was stolen from the department store, I’m sentencing you to serve six months in juvenile hall.”
Six months!
After she bangs the gavel and then two officers start toward me.
What? Right now? I glance over to Leon only to see him hang his head. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m going to check and see when visiting hours are.”
Visiting hours? One of the officers directs me to turn around, and the next second I feel the cold, hard steel of handcuffs being locked around my small wrists. Again, my gaze floats toward the back of the courtroom and I see Kerosene, pushing his chin up and reminding me to be strong. I smile, and in return he kisses two fingers and then holds them up as I’m being pulled to the side door.
“It’s going to be all right, baby,” Leon says; his voice trembles with emotion. Even then, I can’t help feeling anger and resentment. I really do think our relationship is broken for good.
I remain silent as the cops pull me across the threshold and then close the door. Juvenile hall, here I come.
twenty-six
Kierra—A New Friend?
I’m bone tired. Between school, cheerleading and my responsibilities at home, I truly feel like that candle I’m burning at both ends is dangerously close to meeting in the center. I think I’d be able to sleep better if I knew where Deborah was. I haven’t seen her since the evening she dropped McKenya and me off in front of the Rite Aid. Usually she’s in bed asleep when we get up in the morning and just leaving for work when I get home from cheerleading practice. But her bed is empty in the mornings, and McKenya is sitting home alone when I get in from school to start dinner. I asked McKenya once where Deborah was, and she just shrugged her shoulders and kept on watching her cartoons.
What the hell?
I’ve really been trying not to panic, but that’s not working anymore. I’m starting to think that she pulled the same stunt as Tyler’s mom. I can’t tell if she packed anything because she has so much shit, I can’t tell if something is missing or not. Yesterday, I called the Champagne Room, but trying to get information out of management about one of their dancers was impossible. Maybe she’s been getting in after we leave for school and leaving earlier for some reason or another. Calls to her cell phone go straight to voice mail, and pleas for her to call home go unanswered.
So many times I have picked up the phone with the intention of calling the police to report a possible missing person, but each time I had to hang up when I thought about Child and Family Services showing up at the door and marching us to two separate foster homes. We have to stick together.
But food is running low at the house, and I’m going to have to figure out some way to get some money. I hope I won’t have to get a job or something. Where on earth will I find the time to squeeze in a job?
Because of my lack of sleep last night, I conk right out in the middle of algebra class. Just when my trip to la-la land starts getting good, I feel a nudge at the back of my chair.
“Go away,” I groan. For some reason I think it’s McKenya waking me up because she wants some breakfast. The nudge becomes a kick at the back of my chair.
“Ms. COMBS!”
My head jerks up from the desk at the sound of Mr. Griffin’s raspy baritone. “Yes, sir! What?”
Everyone snickers because I’ve just been busted. My face burns with embarrassment while my gaze drifts toward Chris. His smirking face makes my blood boil.
Mr. Griffin, a Morgan Freeman look-alike, is clearly annoyed as he crosses his arms and stares down over the tops of his glasses. “I was asking you the answer to the problem on the board that you’re supposed to be working out.”
“Oh.” I rub the side of my face to make sure that I wasn’t slobbering on myself. “I, uh—”
He shakes his head and I feel thoroughly chastised. “Mr. Hunter!” He pivots around and focuses his laser-like stare on Chris. “What about you? Surely, you’ve been working diligently on the correct answer?”
Chris becomes as ash-faced as I feel while nervously licking his thick lips. “Nah, nah. I got stuck working it out.”
Mr. Griffin sucks in a deep breath. “Let me remind you kids. The key to solving every problem is just following steps. You don’t have to understand it. You just follow the steps.” He turns and moves down the aisle, finally calling on Miss Know-it-all, Allison Hart, who’s having a conniption fit waving her hand at the back of the room, for the answer.
Minutes later, the class bell rings and I struggle to drag myself out of my chair. Just a couple more classes and then I can catch some Zs while Nicole drives us back to Oak Hill. Of course then I’ll have to cook dinner and then find the strength to host a pajama/makeover party. I roll my eyes. I wonder if it will be considered rude if I fall asleep in the middle of my own party.
“Ms. Combs?” Mr. Griffin calls out to me before I’m able to escape his classroom.
Drawing a deep breath, I slowly turn around and face him. “Yes?”
He plops behind his desk and waves me over.
My shoulders drop. I’m really not in the mood for a lecture. I thread through a stream of kids going in the opposite direction until I reach Mr. Griffin’s desk in the corner of the room.
“Is everything okay with you?” he asks, getting straight to the point.
“Yeah,” I lie effortlessly. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look like he’s buying it.
“Is there a problem with you not getting enough sleep at home?”
This time I just shake my head.
Mr. Griffin cocks his head and stares me down. “Since you don’t seem to have much to say on the matter, maybe I should just discuss this with your parents?”
“Humph! Good luck with that. You’ll need a Ouija board to talk to my father, and you’ll need to be put on the visitor’s list at the prison to speak to my mother.”
The smug expression slides off his face. “Grand-parents?”
“Never met them.” I cross my arms.
“Who is your guardian?”
I pause.
Mr. Griffin shrugs. “I can just get the information from your school records.”
This is the last thing that I need. “Look, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry about falling asleep in class. I just stayed up too late last night talking on the phone. I swear that it won’t happen again.” I level him with my best puppy-dog eyes. It’s not like I’m doing badly in this class, and I don’t make a habit of falling asleep. I’m sure this is what’s going through his mind while he studies me, because he finally starts nodding. “All right, then.” He waves a finger directly in my face. “I’m going to be watching you, Ms. Combs. No more sleeping in my class.”
“Yes, Mr. Griffin.”
“All right. Off to your next class.”
I quickly hightail it out of there before he changes his mind and decides to insist on meeting with Deborah—wherever the hell she is.
“Mr. Griffin giving you a hard time?” The voice floats out to me from my right, and I turn in time to see a skinny boy who looks as if he should be in junior high and not high school.
“Excuse me?”
He rocks his head toward the classroom. “The teach. He wouldn’t have to worry about people falling asleep in his class if he’d
at least make the damn thing a little more interesting.”
I bob my head in agreement. “I didn’t know you were in my class.”
“Most people don’t notice me,” he says with a casual shrug. “That’s the price I pay for being so short. Kierra, right?”
“Yeah…and you are?” I ask as we start strolling down the hallway.
“Drake. Drake Brown,” he answers with a head nod, and I smile. “I think I know what you need.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“To stay awake,” he says. “I used to fall asleep in class all the time. Between school, the school newspaper, the chess team, the track team—”
“You’re on the track team?”
“I’m may be small, but I fly like the wind.” He turns up a smile. “Not to mention, I have piano lessons, karate lessons and I do work with the VolunTeen program at the children’s hospital.”
“Wow.”
“Volunteer work looks good on college admissions,” he says. “I’m planning to go to Harvard.”
“Impressive.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know. Probably something like the Art Institute. I want to be a fashion designer.”
“Better start researching that stuff now—and aim to get into the best schools for that sort of thing.” He shrugs. “Maybe I can even help.”
Is he hitting on me? “Yeah…maybe.”
Clearly my answer disappoints him because his smile evaporates from his face.
“Well. I didn’t mean to bother you or nothing. I just thought I could help you out with your problem. I guess I’ll just see you around the way.”
“Whoa. What’s up?” I’m confused by the sudden change. I don’t know the dude, but I’m both intrigued and suspicious about how he wants to help me. “So what did you do to keep awake in class?”
He glances around, and I do the same thing—not sure who we’re looking out for. The next thing I know he’s sliding something into my hand. When I start to look to see what it is, he hisses, “Hey, wait ’til you get to somewhere private before you peek at that.”
