What Lane?

by Torrey Maldonado

  Wes’s dad leaves for another room. Me and Wes go sit on the sofa.

  “So?” Wes asks. “Want to?”

  I nod. “Sure,” I tell him. “Halloween is what’s up.”

  On the table are a bunch of fist-size pumpkins, Sharpies in every color, and a huge pumpkin Wes’s dad didn’t even start cutting.

  I point at the Sharpies. “Want to draw faces on the small pumpkins?”

  Wes’s face lights up. He has an idea. “Has to be pumpkin-drawing videos we can watch.” He checks on his phone and taps one.

  The vlogger’s hair reminds me of Shawn Mendes. “Okay, let’s draw a pumpkin face to really freak people out,” the dude says. “Got your Sharpies?”

  Me and Wes eye each other. “Word.”

  We watch teen Sharpie Shawn Mendes draw circles. I can draw those. Then he says, “Then, with your Sharpie, add this shading . . .”

  Me and Wes cock our heads sideways, trying to figure out what the dude is drawing.

  Sharpie dude keeps on. “Then swish these bags under the eyes . . . real easy to do, y’know?”

  No, I don’t know. He makes it look easy—it’s not.

  He keeps drawing and then holds up his finished pumpkin. “Boom. How fly is this?”

  My jaw drops. “He’s gotta do animation for Marvel or something.”

  Wes’s face is just as Stuck On Stupid as mine. “Or Disney. Who draws on his level?” He picks up his phone again. “Let’s find something easier. No disrespect.”

  “Nah. I don’t feel dissed. Go ’head.”

  Wes scrolls three under and taps on the link. “Boom.”

  This teenage girl might be mixed—Asian and something—and sounds like Peni Parker from Into the Spider-Verse. “Okayee. You’ll need glitter for theeeese pumpkins . . .”

  Glitter?

  Me and Wes say at the same time, “Skip.”

  Wes scrolls down. A video title says, Drawing pumpkins for kindergarten.

  Me and Wes slow-shrug at each other, half-jokey, half-serious.

  “I mean,” I say, “I’m down if you’re down.”

  Wes sigh-laughs. “Whew! Glad you said that.”

  He presses Play, and this video is just our speed. We grab pumpkins and Sharpies, aim our marker tips, and follow the video step-by-step.

  A face starts forming on mine. I check—on Wes’s too.

  We keep drawing. I want to say, Wes, bruh. Us hanging again is cool. Shy me holds back. Then I decide to go for it. “Wes, us chilling again is . . .”

  His nod and little smile back tell me I don’t have to say anything else. He feels how I do. He finishes my sentence. “Is cool, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He lifts his pumpkin, which looks like someone younger than kindergarten scribbled all over it. He chuckles. “Us hanging is better than my pumpkin.”

  I hold up my cross-eyed, jacked-up pumpkin too. “And mine.”

  We laugh and can’t stop for a while; then we lift up our hands for a fist bump.

  When we do, our bracelets touch and stay connected for a few seconds. BLM. WHAT LANE? Seeing these phrases together feels right.

  CHAPTER 18

  “THAT HOUSE IS all-the-way Halloweened out!” I tell Dan as I point at this brownstone building. It’s the day after me and Wes hung out. “That house wins.”

  We’re walking and ranking buildings with the dopest Halloween decorations.

  “Give me reasons why,” he says.

  “Boom. To start, see that scary-scary witch in the window?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Check out her hands and face. Her lizardy fingers with the long, sharp nails curling back like hawk claws grabbing prey? And the light shining on her half-rotted green face? Sonnnn!”

  “Yo!” Dan cups his fist to his mouth. “She is scary!”

  “Bam,” I say. “But peep her bulging eyes staring at what she’s about to grab.”

  Dan squints. “Is that a kid in front of her?”

  “Yup. And terrified, right?”

  “That’s wiiiild. He’s about to become dinner!”

  I put on a scary witch voice: “C’mere, little boy. You tasty-looking!”

  “This whole house is OD scary.”

  We keep on, taking turns pointing out more.

  Dan: “The whole thing is in cobwebs.”

  Me: “Cut-off heads hanging from different windows.”

  Dan: “Human-size zombies in her gate.”

  Me: “The signs saying, ‘This way to the afterlife.’”

  “Yep. That house is the scariest.” Dan sighs. “I wish Halloween was every day. I like that the whole world acts like us on Halloween. They get into fantasy stuff and act like your bracelet.”

  I look down at my WHAT LANE? bracelet. “What you mean?”

  “The whole year, everyone acts one way. In one lane. But for Halloween, everyone is in different lanes, being whoever or whatever they want to be.”

  “Facts.”

  We pass the comic store, and spooky Halloween masks stare at us through the window.

  “Hold up,” I tell Dan.

  Some comic stores be like, Look, don’t touch. Not this place. It’s lit. The owner doesn’t care if we stay for hours reading too many comics to name. He even lets us play with stuff. Once, me and Dan tried on Star Wars robes and dueled in the comic aisles with lightsabers, making sound effects.

  Only thing the owner says every now and then is “You break it, you bought it.”

  We go in and Dan tries on a werewolf mask. “Grrrr . . .”

  I point. “The front of the mask’s face is all crushed in. Our faces almost ended up looking that way.”

  He pulls it off. “When?”

  “In the factory. When Chad snapped photos of us at the top of the conveyor belt.” I point at the mask’s crushed-in face. “That would’ve been us.”

  Dan twists his lips to the side and gets kind of quiet. “Yeah.”

  I say, “We could’ve gotten hurt-hurt.”

  He hangs the mask back on its hook. “For real.” The way he soft-says it, I know he agrees, even though he wishes he didn’t.

  I’ve been wondering things.

  This is a moment: I feel it—I can do my New Year’s resolution or be the little nine-year-old me and not speak up. I look at him, wondering if I should. Whatevs.

  “Dan, you ever go with the crowd and do something and think it’s fun, then after you think back, you feel differently?”

  “Yeah. You know I felt that about when we raced up those conveyor belts.”

  “Can I speak my mind? Keep it a hundred?”

  He nods.

  “Did it look like I was having fun when I climbed that fence after Christopher did?”

  “Yeah, like Miles when he flipped off that building, all free and happy.”

  “I was, but wasn’t. I was trying to prove I wasn’t in one lane. That I could be in Christopher’s. But really, I did it for Chad.”

  His face wrinkles, confused. “Chad? He didn’t even climb that fence.”

  “Yeah, but he was the one to dare me. And then on the conveyor belt too. I talked to Jeremiah a little about it that day. We felt grimy because we were really just in Chad’s lane. So we weren’t free at all.”

  Dan nods slowly, over and over. “Chad’s lane . . .” He points at the werewolf mask’s crushed-in face and chuckles a not-funny laugh. “End up messed up in Chad’s lane.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I’M ON DAN’S swively chair watching Stranger Things the next afternoon when Dan comes back and hands me a huge bowl of chips. “Chad and his parents just got here.”

  “Word?”

  We didn’t plan for Chad to come chill, but I guess that’s what’s gonna keep happening if your cousin moves nearby. My mind r
ewinds to what Wes said about Chad’s parents. I haven’t met them yet, and my belly sort of flips from nervousness. I don’t even want to deal with Chad—now there are two super-size Chads here!

  I’m curious how they look. “Hold up, Dan. Pause it.”

  I get up and peek through Dan’s door into the living room. Wes described Chad’s parents as racist, and that made me imagine them as Draco Malfoy’s parents in the Harry Potter movies. I pictured them pale-pale white with bleached hair. Vampire-looking. But they’re just normal. I’m shocked they look so regular.

  I watch Chad and his family. Chad’s saying something, but his mom’s swiping on her cell and doesn’t even lift her eyes to him. Chad’s dad looks bored and doesn’t connect with him either. It’s like Chad doesn’t exist to them.

  For a minute I feel bad for Chad. How messed up is his family? Ignoring him. On top of his parents maybe being racist, they’re icy.

  I want to ask Dan about them, but I can’t, because all of a sudden Chad turns to walk to Dan’s room. Oh dang!

  I jet to the bed. “Press Play. Press Play!”

  “What?” Dan’s confused.

  “Press. Play. Chad’s coming.”

  “Look at you eavesdropping and now you don’t want to get caught.” Dan laughs as he presses Play.

  * * *

  It’s thirty minutes later, Chad’s parents are gone, and me and Dan are into-into Stranger Things on the screen. Chad isn’t.

  I glance at Chad and he’s not even watching the show. I want to be nice since I feel bad his parents were so cold—and I wouldn’t want to sit through a show I’m not feeling. I decide to speak up.

  “Dan, pause this.”

  He does.

  I keep on. “Chad, you not into this show?”

  He looks at me, confused. “What?”

  “This is me and Dan’s show, but we could watch something else if you want. Something we all like.”

  Usually, when someone’s friendly to you, you react friendly. But Chad stares at me stone-cold. There’s straight saltiness in his voice. “Why are you all in my face? Just watch your show.”

  Dan gets motionless-quiet and slits his eyes at Chad. His stare says, Chad, I don’t get you. Nasty now for what?

  Chad points at me, then at the screen, and throws me more shade. “What’re you, scared? This scene too scary and you’re using me as an excuse to pause it?”

  Really? After I’m nice to him? He’s grimy? I’m glad Dan sees how nasty—for no reason—Chad is to me.

  I feel my neck get hotter. I remember my dad’s advice: Fires don’t put out fires. Be chill to cool things off.

  I stand. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Okay.” Dan talks to his cousin. “Chad, maybe you should go too. Home. You’re killing our vibe.”

  I smile. That’s what I want. If Chad hasn’t bounced by the time I’m back, I will.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE NEXT DAY, right after school, Chad sits on someone’s car and looks like he’s telling a story to Jen, Christopher, and Jeremiah.

  On the sidewalk, kids go in different directions. Me and Dan stop to listen.

  “. . . So I told him, ‘How are you dissing me when your head is shaped like a football?’” Chad says. “And the school security guard,” he continues, “yesterday during the fire drill, he tripped and landed on the floor! How is he protecting us when he can’t walk?”

  Chad keeps cracking dis jokes. Being his usual nasty-for-no-reason. At least he’s not picking on me, I think. But he’ll probably start again.

  And sure enough—boom—Chad’s eyes zoom in on me. “Hey, Stephen, you’re into ghosts and monsters, right? You should come see the haunted house me, Andy, and Gabe are making in Andy’s basement. We found old Halloween decorations and props no one uses. Even a used fog machine is down there.”

  “For real?” Jen asks. “What about witches?”

  “Got that, and skeletons too. Come see it? Maybe help decorate.”

  Jen looks at her brother, and they answer at the same time, “Sure.”

  “Yeah,” Christopher chimes in. “Why not?”

  Chad studies my face, waiting for my answer, like he did the other day.

  Halloween is about a week away. I want to be less around Chad, but his haunted house sounds cool, and if my friends are in, I’m in.

  Chad taps me. “So you’re in?”

  “Yeah, Chad. When can you take us to Andy’s?”

  “Tomorrow,” Chad says.

  “Can’t,” Jen says. “My parents are taking us away after school for the weekend.”

  “So when?” Chad asks us.

  “Next week sometime?” Christopher asks.

  Dan finally speaks. “Sounds good. But, Chad, you want help fixing it? I’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Nah, no need,” Chad says. “I only threw in the idea of decorating it more because I thought you’d like that. But it’s a hundred percent haunted already. Let’s do this: next Friday. It’s the day before Halloween, so it’ll feel extra haunted Halloweeny.”

  We’re all down. Done. Decided.

  Everyone splits up to where it’s just me and Dan. No Chad for once. Word.

  We get to my building, and Leo, our doorman, shouts out to me, “Stephen Curry! How is your three-point shot?”

  Our doorman is the opposite of our super. Leo’s eyes smile when he sees me; Junior’s eyes slit when he sees me. One does his best to talk to me in English even though he speaks Russian or something; the other curses at me in Spanish.

  It’s always funny when Leo asks me about my three-point shot, especially since I’m trash in basketball.

  I smile. “Perfect!”

  He points to himself and asks, “Stephen, where am I from?” Ever since he first started working here, this is a thing we do. He quizzes me to see if I remember what he told me when we met.

  I say, “Kosovo.”

  “Where is that?”

  I answer, “Europe.”

  As we speak, Dan pokes his hand in the plastic jack-o’-lantern Leo has on his counter for candy.

  “Your Halloween decorations are nice,” I tell Leo while waving at the tables, walls, and mirrors. Smiling paper pumpkins are taped on walls. A sign with cobwebs saying HAPPY HALLOWEEN is draped on the wall-to-wall mirror. Leo does a good job of making our lobby Halloweeny but not OD scary for the little-little kids who live here.

  “You like my skeleton?” He points at the wall behind me.

  I turn around. I’d missed it. The legs are in the air in a split pose, with one hand holding a pumpkin up like the Statue of Liberty holds her torch.

  I ask, “Michael Jordan?”

  “You got it! I wondered if anyone would know his pose!”

  “Come on, Leo. Everyone knows that’s Michael Jordan’s move.”

  He smiles, proud of himself, and points to the plastic jack-o’-lantern of candy Dan just put down. “Take.”

  I peek in. Ugh. No gummy bears left. “No, thanks.”

  More people come into our lobby and Leo chats with them.

  “Why didn’t you take candy?” Dan asks me.

  I shrug. “Wanted gummies. None were left.”

  Dan holds out a mini pack of gummy bears. “This was Leo’s last.”

  I look in Dan’s hand. “You took other candies?”

  “Nah. Just these. But you can have them.”

  I feel it again. Dan has my back.

  CHAPTER 21

  WHEN I WALK in my apartment, my mom’s on her laptop at the dinner table and my dad’s on his on the couch. He’s watching a video and taking notes, probably working on a lesson plan.

  He winces at what he’s watching. “I’ll never get used to this crap!”

  I go toward him. “What crap?”

  My mom tells him,
“Turn it off, please. Stephen’s too young for this.”

  I stare at Dad’s screen. A cop aims a gun at a boy my size and the boy falls.

  “Stephen should see this,” my dad tells my mom. “He’s the same age as Tamir Rice. And I need to polish my lesson for tomorrow.”

  Tamir Rice? I read about him on that Black Lives Matter bulletin board! Now I’m more curious. I sit next to Dad.

  “And the cop,” my dad keeps telling her, “didn’t think Tamir was too young to be shot dead. The courts didn’t think Tamir was too young to get justice. They said those cops were innocent. If Stephen is young enough to get shot by a bigot cop, he’s young enough to know it’s happening.”

  Mom stands and starts talking about me like I’m not here, and like I don’t want to see this video when I do. “Honey, remember about protecting Stephen’s innocence a bit longer? He’s still just into fantasy and stuff.”

  “Do you know who else was probably just into fantasy and stuff?” he asks her. “Tamir Rice. He was a boy. Playing. With a toy gun. In a park.” Dad turns and puts me on the spot. “Are you too young to know about this?”

  I don’t want to make my mom mad, but I want to see this video. I tell her in a real soft voice, “I already know about Tamir Rice. White cops killed him in Ohio. Can I just watch a little?”

  She lifts her open hands like she says, I give up. She goes to their bedroom.

  Dad squints at the screen. So do I.

  “How do you know about Tamir?” he asks.

  “My class does this Reading Partners program with a high school, and they have a Black Lives Matter bulletin board. I read some about him there.”