by Paul Langan
I started walking down the other end of the court toward Steve. He was still showboating.
“Don’t do it, Martin,” said Eric from behind me.
There was no stopping me. I had to do something. I just didn’t know exactly what.
“Morris, give that ball back,” Mr. Dooling said. It sounded to me like he was begging.
“Just one shot, Mr. Dooling,” answered Steve.
“Slam it, Steve!” Clarence chanted. “Dunk it!”
I can’t stand that kid.
Steve glanced up at the basket and began to dribble toward it slowly, setting his steps right so he could dunk it. I couldn’t let that happen. Not on me.
I picked up my pace toward Steve. His back was still to me while he worked to set up his shot. I knew he had no clue where I was. Suddenly he started jogging to the basket. If I was going to stop him, I’d have to move quick.
I broke into a full sprint. It was a race against time, but I was faster because I didn’t have to deal with the ball.
Steve took two big steps, following a curved path that would lead to the right side of the basket. I charged straight in, making my trip shorter. We were like two meteors streaking to the same point.
Just as he took his third step and was about to jump up, I crossed his path. His arms were on their way up, but I came crashing down on the ball, knocking it free from his hands. It bounced hard off his leg and hopped back into the court. I flew out of bounds and nearly smashed into the cinderblock wall of the gym.
“Man, what are you trying to do?” Steve said as I steadied myself.
“Trying? Homes, I just did it. ”
I raised my hands over my head and looked back at my class. Instantly, the whole place erupted in hoots. It seemed like everyone, even the other gym teachers, stopped to see what was happening. I would have stopped too. It’s not everyday the star running back of the football team gets shown up by a kid like me.
“All right, that’s enough, you two,” Mr. Dooling said from somewhere behind me.
I walked back to my classmates without another word. I had nothing else to say. But Steve wasn’t done.
Chapter 7
“You gonna stand for that, Steve?” Clarence said. I could hear his voice behind me.
“Yo, Steve. I don’t know who that kid is, but he just schooled you, man,” another kid said.
I picked up the ball and moved back to center court. I wasn’t going to back down from Steve, but I wasn’t going to get in trouble for him either.
“All right, everyone. Enough. Steve, get off the court,” Mr. Dooling said. Steve had this disgusted look on his face, like he had just swallowed a rotten egg.
“Yo, that was awesome, dog,” said a kid on my team. Other kids stared at me oddly as if I was the one that did something wrong. I just don’t understand some people. It don’t matter, though. It was the best day I had in school in years.
We played our game until the bell rang. But just as everyone started heading back into the locker room, I heard footsteps coming up behind.
“Look out!” someone yelled.
I braced myself.
Suddenly something exploded against my shoulder, and then I was rolling to the ground, my face smacking off the hard wood of the basketball court. Several people stood around me for a few seconds, blocking the view of teachers. I still remember their shoes. Adidas and a pair of high top Nikes.
And then there was Steve’s grinning face.
“Don’t mess with me, Martin. I don’t lose,” he said, and walked away. No teachers were in sight. Everyone was in the locker room.
It took me a while to sit up. When Steve blindsided me, the impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I gasped like a fish out of water for several seconds. At home, my boys would have had my back. But in Bluford’s gym, I was alone. Almost.
“You okay?” said a voice from behind me. I looked up to see Eric. He offered his hand to help me up.
“That’s it,” I said, grabbing his arm. As soon as I got up, I headed straight to the locker room.
“Let it go,” Eric said, following me.
Many kids were already lined up to go home, and they stared at me as I stormed in. They were the ones too scared to confront Steve even though they knew he was a jerk.
I heard Steve’s laughter as I neared the section where my locker was. My blood was boiling.
“I don’t care what he looks like, Clarence. That dude can transfer back to Zamora for all I care. He don’t belong in this school anyway. He’s the dumbest kid in my English class,” he said.
Clarence cackled loudly, like he had never heard something funnier.
“Martin, don’t do it,” Eric whispered. He was right behind me.
“Stay out of my way,” I said. Nothing would stop me.
Steve spotted me approaching him. I moved right into his face before the others even saw me.
“Oh you comin’ back for more, Looney?” he said, trying to play cool. Again, Clarence snorted.
I knew neither of them expected me to come back. They were used to people backing off.
Steve stepped forward, that big grin wider than ever. He was performing for the people in the locker room. “You got something to say?” he said. He was easily six inches taller than me. Probably had thirty pounds more muscle too.
But he wasn’t smart. His hands were down, and I was close. It all happened so quickly that Steve didn’t have a chance to react.
I sent an uppercut hammering into his jaw. The blow was strong enough to knock Steve back against his locker with a crash that sounded like a van smashing through the locker room.
“Fight! ” someone yelled.
People began jumping over benches and scrambling to get a good view of us. It was the same thing that would happen in Zamora. No matter how nice your school is, people always want to see a fight.
“Martin, stop! Martin! ” I heard Mr. Dooling yell. Many hands gripped my shoulders. One of the kids that grabbed me was Clarence. He tried to hook my arms so I couldn’t punch back.
“Get up, Steve. Get him!” someone yelled. The voice came from one of the kids who stood over me in the gym.
But Mr. Dooling stepped in between us, and another gym teacher pulled Steve away from me.
“Boy, you’re done,” Steve said, wiping his hand against his swollen lip. “You are done!”
“Both of you are done,” Mr. Dooling said. “Let’s go. We’re going to the principal’s office. Now. Move!”
“But I have football practice,” Steve begged.
“Well, that’s something you can talk with Ms. Spencer about,” Mr. Dooling said.
“But he didn’t even do anything, Mr. Dooling,” Clarence said. “Steve was just standing here, and this guy comes over and punches him. ”
“Tell that to Principal Spencer, not me. Come on. ”
Mr. Dooling and the teacher dragged us through the crowded hallways. People were rushing to go home, but many stopped to watch Steve and me being pulled to the main office. It was like we were criminals being arrested in public.
Once when I was a kid, my mom and I were outside of McDonald’s when a bunch of undercover police surrounded a car and dragged the driver out. Everybody at the restaurant rushed out to watch as the guy was taken away in a squad car.
“They’re taking the bad man away, mijo, ” my mother had said to me. Now I was one of the bad people. I could almost hear my mother’s voice as she got the call from the principal’s office.
Don’t throw your life away, she’d say. And no matter how many times I would explain that it wasn’t my fault, that Steve hit me, she wouldn’t believe me. Neither would the principal. I was sure of that. I guess I can’t blame them, but it still ain’t right.
We turned a corner and headed down the main corridor that led to the office. Up ahead, looking right at us, were Vicky and Teresa. My face burned when I saw Vicky. She saw my reaction and raised her hand to her mouth in concern.
I’m not going
to lie to you. I’ve been in trouble in school many times. Back in the day, it was cool to get yelled at by teachers. We all used to laugh about it. No big deal. But when I saw Vicky, I felt embarrassed. I wished she’d never seen me like that.
“Do you believe me now, Vicky?” Teresa said as I passed. “I told you he’s no good. ”
I wanted to argue with her, but what could I say? A few seconds later I was staring at the steel door with the tiny sign that said “Main Office. ” Mr. Dooling brought us into a conference room where Steve and I had to wait in fake leather seats that made a hissing sound when we sat down on them. We waited for ten minutes while Mr. Dooling and the principal talked in private.
“They’re gonna bust you, man. You’re outta here,” Steve whispered at one point. I notice the office staff watching us, so I just bit my tongue.
“All right, Ms. Spencer is ready to see you, Steve,” said Ms. Bader, the secretary in the office. Maybe it’s me, but I could swear she smiled at him and frowned at me at the same time.
After ten minutes, Steve emerged with a wide grin on his face. “Bye, Ms. Spencer. I promise we’ll win on Saturday,” he said as he passed me.
“Go on in, Martin,” Ms. Bader said.
An L-shaped desk with an old computer and stacks of papers sat in one corner of the office. A row of file cabinets lined the wall next to the desk. In the corner on the opposite side of the room was a small circular table with four chairs around it. A box of tissues and a pen rested on the table. I bet it was a place people did a lot of crying. Mostly parents, I’m sure.
In the middle of the room was a skinny woman with wire-rimmed glasses and lips so tight her mouth looked like the thin scar on Frankie’s stomach. I knew I was in trouble.
“Hello, Martin. I’m Ms. Spencer. Just have a seat at the table,” she said, grabbing a file from the cabinet and reading it quickly.
I slumped in the chair, grabbed the pen, and started clicking it. I was nervous.
“What’s the problem between you and Steve Morris?” she asked. Her eyes focused on my face like she was looking for evidence of a crime. Like I told you at the beginning, I wasn’t going to rat out Steve. Where I come from, you don’t do that, even when you probably should.
“Nothin’,” I said.
“Then why did you punch him?” I could hear an edge to her voice.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “We were just playing around, that’s all. ”
“Martin, I’ve got Mr. Dooling and three other students who say you went up and punched Steve in the face. Now either you tell me everything that happened, or I am going with what they tell me. ”
“Look, Ms. Spencer. Me and Steve don’t get along. He pushed me around in gym class, and I was just getting him back, that’s all. ”
“By punching him in the face?” The edge to her voice got even sharper. She could almost cut you open with it if she wanted to.
I knew I was going down for the count, but I couldn’t stop it. There was no way I could explain to her everything that led me to hit Steve. Even if I could tell her somehow, I could see she wasn’t ready to hear it. Her tight jaw told me she was going to punish me no matter what I said.
“He was asking for it, Ms. Spencer. He pushed me first. ”
“No one reported this to me, Martin. Do you have any proof?”
I leaned back in the chair and dropped the pen on the table. Ms. Spencer watched me closely, stopping only to jot notes onto a pad of yellow lined paper. I knew all the kids who were witnesses were Steve’s friends on the football team. None of them would tell the truth. But then I remembered Eric. He had witnessed the whole thing, and he hated Steve. If Eric told her what he saw, maybe Ms. Spencer wouldn’t punish me.
“Yes,” I said, ready to tell her about Eric, but then I remembered how scared he was of Steve. If I mentioned his name, and he told her the truth, Steve and his friends would probably go after him. After all, the two lived on the same street. The thought of Eric getting bullied turned my stomach. I was not going to be the reason another person got hurt. No more of that.
“Well, who is it?” Ms. Spencer asked me. Her patience was almost gone. I could tell. The lecture was coming.
“Never mind,” I said. “No one saw anything because it happened at the end of class. ”
“I see,” she said, writing something down and then putting the note into a folder that she quickly closed. “Look, Martin. I know you are new in this school and making a switch is difficult, but I can’t have you hitting other students. I don’t know what you experienced at Zamora, but you should know that at Bluford we do not tolerate that kind of behavior. ”
I wanted to get up and walk out. Ms. Spencer acted as if I didn’t know that fighting in school was wrong. Of course I know! But where I come from, when someone hits you, you have to hit back, or everyone will start treating you like you’re soft. Wherever he was, Steve had a sore jaw to remind him not to push me around.
“Yes, Ms. Spencer,” I said, just so she would stop lecturing me.
“Now I see you have already missed a day of school, and now you’re here for fighting. All this in one week. That’s not a good sign, Martin. Is there something going on with you that I should know about? Are you having problems at home?”
“No. ” Why do they always accuse your mother when you screw up? My mother couldn’t do more to keep me out of trouble.
“Okay, Martin. I’m going to say this once as a warning to you. This is a good school, and we would love to have you here. But if you continue this behavior, you and I are going to have serious problems. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Spencer. ”
She then handed me some papers and gave me a one day in-school suspension and a Saturday detention with Mr. Mitchell. The mention of his name reminded me that I had missed my after-school detention with him for the second day in a row.
Great. More trouble.
“One last thing, Martin. I have to call your mother and let her know what is happening. I am going to want to meet with the two of you in my office next week. ”
I squirmed in my seat. I knew Mom would be heartbroken to learn how much trouble I had gotten in at Bluford in less than a week. It would just be more proof to her that I was ruining my life.
Why are you doing this, mijo? You’re throwing your life away, I could just hear her saying. There would be more tears, more yelling.
What made the image so painful was that it was true. I was really screwing up, and I couldn’t seem to change it. Back home, I just didn’t fit in with Frankie and the boys. At Bluford, I didn’t belong either. No place felt right anymore.
“I told you he’s no good,” Teresa had said. Her words began to crawl under my skin like painful splinters. Even Vicky probably thought I was just a troublemaker from the hood.
What else was I?
Looking at Ms. Spencer’s wire glasses, I couldn’t answer that question. My problems weren’t just about Frankie, Steve or Bluford. They were also about me.
Huero died in my arms on the street outside my friend’s house. He was shot in the back of the head by a bullet meant for some one else. His blood ran through my fingers as I held him like I did when he was a baby. He was just an innocent kid who never hurt anyone, never stole anything, never got in any fights. Not like me.
I wasn’t always nice to him, but I was still his favorite person. Usually, I chased him away when I was with my friends. I did that the day he was shot. He was on his way home when the shooter came down the block. Huero was so brave, he tried to warn me of the danger. I know he was scared. I could see it in his eyes, and I tried to protect him. But I was too late.
Huero would still be alive if he didn’t follow me that afternoon. I wish I could replay that whole day because I would do it all differently, but I can’t. On that summer day, my little brother Huero died trying to protect me. Though he was just eight years old, he is the biggest hero I know. And now he’s gone because of me. There are no other heroes in my
life.
I wrote the words sitting in the small yellow cinderblock room next to the principal’s office. It looked more like a jail cell than a school room. There was nothing else I could do during in-school suspension except work. The only break from the hum and flicker of the fluorescent lights was when Ms. Bader brought me lunch, a plate of macaroni and cheese, a tiny carton of milk, and a chocolate chip cookie.
The paragraphs I wrote for Mr. Mitchell’s class were too painful for me to reread, but at least they distracted me from the conversation I had with my mother the night before.
“What am I gonna do with you?” my mom screamed when I told her about the in-school suspension I got for hitting Steve.
“There’s nothing you can do, Ma,” I said to her.
I could tell that she didn’t believe me when I explained that Steve and his crew had ganged up on me. “He hit me first, Ma. I was just hitting him back,” I said.
“There you go again. It’s always somebody else’s fault. Whenever you get in trouble, it’s ’cause someone said something or did something. When are you going to take responsibility for your actions and stop blaming others for the things that happen? And no matter how much I try to help you, mijo, you keep making dumb choices. You’re getting more like your father each day. ”
“Stop it, Ma,” I said. It felt like she just slapped me in the face. “I ain’t nothing like him. ”
She stormed down the hall and left me alone in the living room.
A couple hours later, I was laying in my bed listening to her talking on the phone to one of her friends. Her voice carried through the thin walls of our new place, so I could hear exactly what she was saying.
“Pray for him, Sonia. I love him, but there is nothing more I can do to control him. It’s like he wants to throw his life away. ” I heard her blow her nose and shift around in her bed. “Pray that I don’t lose him,” she said.
I stayed up looking through a box of old pictures of Huero and thinking that her prayers were already too late. Heuro was gone, and in a way, I think, so was I.
