What Lane?

by Torrey Maldonado

  On reflex, I throw my hands up, because when me and Dan do this, it’s an invite to slap-box. “Oh, you trying to slap-box? C’mon.”

  He puts his hands down. “Nah. Not here.” He lowers his voice so what he says is for us. “We the only Black kids on this block. We can’t slap-box in front of these people.”

  My mind rewinds to when me and Dan slap-boxed close to here and how that white couple reacted. Dang, how Wes can relate to that makes me feel even more that I need to hang with him with no long breaks. “Faaaacts.”

  CHAPTER 25

  I END UP telling Wes I’ll walk to school alone tomorrow morning, since Dan has the flu.

  “Nah.” Wes taps my arm. “Me, Devin, Erik, and Elijah will come for you.”

  “That’s three blocks out the way for you and them.”

  He shakes his head, waving me off. “Bump that. What time?”

  * * *

  The next morning, all four of them are in front of my building when I step out.

  Seeing them? It’s a feeling I can’t explain. I haven’t rolled-rolled with them for a minute. But does that mean they won’t roll with me? Nope.

  “Whattup.” I step toward them on the curb, realizing my super, Junior, did something he never does for me. Junior held the door open and then stepped out behind me onto the sidewalk. He stands at my building’s door, about a car’s length from us. At first I think he’s being nice to me, but I see how he hovers back there and eyes us. This random thought hits me. Maybe it’s not random. Junior looks at us like he stared down that thief who took his bike. Another thought comes: Is he trying to see if one of my friends’ faces matches the thief’s?

  Then I see something else. Some white people eye us weird, how Junior does.

  It’s all in your head, Stephen, I think. Dan told you you were imagining whe—

  Wes leans in to me, loud enough for us to hear, squinting at the white people. “They eye all Black kids who come to your neighborhood like we trouble?”

  What? He sees them eyeing us different than the white kids on the street?

  I had to point that out to Dan. And even then, Dan didn’t see it.

  For the whole day, chilling with them is like this. Things I have to point out for my white friends to notice, Wes and them spot instantly. We have some sort of ESP. But instead of extra-sensory perception, I’d call it extra-street perception. It’s an X-ray vision about stuff plus a mental telepathy/mind-reading thing we all have with each other. And it feels dope. Being with my white friends, they get me in some ways. Being with Wes, Devin, Erik, and Elijah, they get me in other ways. But I won’t front: During the day, I wish every now and then that both crews would chill together. I think they’d like each other.

  So before dismissal on the second day we hang, I ask Wes, Devin, Erik, and Elijah if they’ll go to the park with me.

  Elijah jumps in. “Wes, let’s do it.”

  Wes nods at me. “Bet. Right after school.”

  * * *

  The first twenty minutes of Wes, Devin, Erik, and Elijah with Jen, Jeremiah, and Christopher is chill. We hang how my mom said I used to play as a toddler—next to other kids in sandlots, but sort of doing my own thing: parallel play. My Black and Latino friends stay in their lane. My white friends in theirs.

  But the next half hour, Christopher does something that swerves us all into the same lane, fast-fast and good-good. He yells, “Someone time me climbing that fence!” and rushes to the one that I almost fell from trying to be in his lane.

  Devin calls to Christopher, amped, “Hold up. You nice at climbing?”

  Christopher points at me. “As good as Miles Morales. Stephen is the new Spider-Man, you know.”

  “No disrespect, Stephen.” Devin’s voice is a relaxed fun, the most he’s sounded since he’s been here. “But I’m Miles.”

  I tell him, “That’s cool.”

  “C’mon. Let’s climb,” Devin goes to Christopher, not competitive, just chill.

  Something in me makes the next thing come out, fast. I don’t know why. “No one time them. Let them just climb for fun.”

  And Devin and Christopher do. And my white, Black, and Latino friends become one solid group of cheering for them to get up to the top. Well, everyone except Wes.

  Wes isn’t awkward or obvious, but separate. I notice it and talk to him on the low. “You good?”

  “I don’t really be around white kids. With everything happening. Not since me and Chad played Hands. But your friends seem cool. I’m just looking, observing.” Wes just looks over, smiling. I get it. I get why he wants to make sure my friends are cool.

  Jen: “Go, Devin!”

  Erik, to me: “What’s your man’s name again?”

  Me: “Christopher.”

  Erik: “CHRISTOPHER! DEVIN! Go, bro! Go!”

  When Christopher and Devin make it to the top—YOoooo, they laugh so hard, you’d think they were friends since diapers. Us standing start laughing too!

  That’s when I see out of the corner of my eye: Chad.

  He stands at the fence outside of the stadium by the parked cars, looking at us. Is he mad? His eyes are tight. Who knows how long he’s been watching? Then Chad does what he did before, when he saw Wes. He U-turns and leaves.

  * * *

  I watch all of my friends while we play. Right now? I feel there’s no lane. I want to feel this every day, every minute. Then I look at Wes again. He’s in a lane, and he’s careful about stepping in ours.

  I hear my dad’s advice: You don’t want to be in prejudiced people’s lanes because that puts you in their hands, and if they have you where they want you, they’ll hurt you.

  I wonder if that’s what Wes is doing. Not stepping in this lane to make sure they don’t play him or hurt him.

  My Puerto Rican friend Elijah laughs so hard he’s crying with my white friend Jeremiah, who laughs just as hard.

  My Dominican friend Devin and my white friend Christopher sit elbow to elbow, pointing at one cell phone screen, smiling, and finishing each other’s sentences.

  At one point, Wes comes over and sits side by side with me. “Too bad Dan couldn’t be here. If you speak to him, tell him feel better.”

  Wes means it. When he goes off to practice his handball serves, I text Dan. How r u? Wes just said it b lit if u were here. Says 2 feel bttr.

  4 real? Dan texts back.

  We go back and forth for a minute; then Dan texts, Bruh, takin a nap. Zapped.

  * * *

  The next day, it’s like this too. Here and there, my friends on this side and my friends on that side swerve out of their normal lanes and into each other’s. And it feels good to mix it up and chill together.

  Wes is even playing Hands with Christopher and Jeremiah, and they don’t OD and smack and try hurting him the way Chad did. Each Hands game Wes plays, he doesn’t say it, but I see his face and body language. He trusts my white friends more and more. He relaxes with them more and more and likes them more.

  And Chad? I guess he feels that this really isn’t his group anymore, since Dan’s not here and Wes and my other boys are. Now Chad’s probably back to hanging with Andy and Gabe, and I like that.

  CHAPTER 26

  IT’S FINALLY THE Friday before Halloween.

  Dan’s still sick.

  Chad is extra on top of me all day. On the way into school, he smirks at me. At lunch, he comes up to me. “So, my cousin isn’t around. You’re still coming to my haunted house, right?”

  Jen jumps in. “Yes, we’re still coming. I need to see this haunted house with my own eyes.”

  “Cool, then. Be ready to be scared!” Chad points at me and does that Black comedian’s joke. “He wasn’t ready!”

  He leaves.

  Why’d he point at me? Maybe it was random. I’m going. It won’t be the same without Dan, though.
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br />   * * *

  Right after dismissal, me, Jen, Jeremiah, and Christopher meet Chad and Gabe in front of the school.

  We start walking, and I feel the Halloween vibe everywhere. People carry grocery bags full of candy. Little kids are in costumes from their school parties.

  Gabe walks over to me and says, “I’m surprised you’re coming.”

  “Why?”

  “Heard you can’t handle stuff.”

  “Who says?”

  “Chad used to,” Gabe says. “But he said you changed.”

  I don’t say anything, and for the next two blocks, Gabe brags about how creepy they made the haunted house look.

  We cut through the park to get to Andy’s and pass the handball court. I see Wes far-off, talking to some guys, maybe waiting to play. He turns his head and catches my stare. I raise my hand and nod whattup and he raises a whattup hand back at me. Now I wish he was with us too.

  Andy’s building is the first one after the park, and we head to the side where a ramp leads to the basement.

  To anyone not with us, this ramp is just a ramp to a door to the basement. To me, it feels like a door into the Upside Down world of Stranger Things or something. My heart beats faster and harder.

  I pull out my cell to text Dan. At ramp. About 2 go in. Gabe is acting kinda wack tho.

  My phone shows Dan starting to type something. Then he stops. Then he starts typing again. Then he stops.

  Chad’s voice comes from behind me. “Go in first.”

  Me? I wonder. Why me?

  Gabe teases, “Thought Chad said you weren’t a scaredy-cat anymore.”

  Jen, Christopher, and Jeremiah defend me with “He’s not scared,” and “You should’ve seen Stephen in the factory,” and “If he can handle the factory, he can handle this, easy.”

  From the top of the ramp, I look around me. People everywhere. Little kids are playing tag. Grown-ups sit on benches near the kids. What could happen with so many people out here?

  “He’s scared,” Gabe says again about me.

  I touch my bracelet. “Bet I’m not.”

  CHAPTER 27

  I SLOWLY START down the ramp.

  I think to myself, It’s just a door. Open it.

  I reach out and push it open a crack. Then some more and I peek in. Nothing.

  I stare harder into the darkness. Nothing moves. No sound.

  I step in.

  The only light comes from the open door behind me.

  Then something in the room moves. I see a shadow of someone about my height. Who is—?

  The shadow pitches something at me.

  BOOM!

  Something hits me hard between my eyes, and all I can do is cup my forehead with both hands.

  The room spins.

  The weird thing is, I don’t feel hit. I feel shock. Then wobbly. Then blood.

  My blood.

  I reach out my hand to feel for the door I came through.

  “I’m going in!” I hear Christopher run down the ramp, and then he’s there at the door.

  Jen is with him, yelling, “Oh my god! You’re bleeding, Stephen!”

  “What?!” Jeremiah rushes over too.

  I stumble out into the sunlight and open my eyes again. Blood is on my hands, dripping on my shirt.

  Jen grabs me by one side and Christopher grabs my other. They guide me up the ramp.

  “I think I’m good,” I tell them.

  “No, you’re not good!” That’s Jeremiah’s voice.

  I hear Gabe and Chad hoot and holler, laughing about what I look like.

  “He’s like a human unicorn, with a knot between his eyes instead of a horn!” Gabe says.

  “I guess the ghosts didn’t want him in there!” Chad laughs. “One must’ve thrown something at him.”

  Thrown something? Is that what they said? Like they know?

  “Just shut up,” Jen shouts at Chad and Gabe.

  “Yeah,” Christopher tells them, “it’s not the time to make jokes.”

  Then a crowd of grown-ups arrives.

  “What happened to that boy?” a woman asks.

  “Can he see?” a man asks.

  “Sheesh!” another man says. “If whatever hit him landed an inch to the left or right, it would’ve taken his eye out.”

  I’m kind of spinning when, all of a sudden, Gabe is in my face, taking a photo. He shows Chad. “Look at this shot!”

  Jen grabs his phone. “Are you crazy? You’re taking pictures when he’s hurt and bleeding?! I’m deleting these now!”

  A shout comes from the direction of the park. “Is that Stephen?!”

  “Is that Wes?” I ask Jeremiah and Christopher as I blink in the voice’s direction.

  “Yeah,” Christopher says. “He’s running over here with a lot of guys! And he looks mad-mad.”

  That’s when I hear Wes yell again. “Chad, if you and your friends did this to Stephen, you’re getting beat!”

  And guess what happens.

  Chad and Gabe run. They run away from us so fast, they don’t look back.

  Wes comes through the crowd to me, takes off one of his shirts, rolls it into a ball, and presses it to my head.

  “Ouch!” I wince.

  Wes snaps, “Stop flinching away. You need pressure on that.”

  I notice the Jordan symbol on his shirt. “You using that shirt?”

  “Look at your face! You bleeding and you care about my shirt?”

  His shirt cost a hundred dollars. I know because kids in school talk about wanting that shirt.

  I stop moving my head away and let him press it against my knot.

  That’s when I hear another familiar voice that shocks me. “What happened?!”

  I ask Wes and everyone, “Is that Dan?”

  Wes shouts at Dan, “Your cousin did this and ran! You knew he planned this?”

  “No way! I didn’t know. I’d never hurt Stephen!”

  Dan starts walking over. “Dang, Stephen. Your face.”

  I tell him, “I thought you were sick. Your parents said not to go out.”

  “I am. They did. But when you said you were coming here, I got a weird feeling it wasn’t right, and I ran out.”

  Wes asks me, “Where your parents now?”

  “Home.”

  Wes examines my head. “You’re bleeding less. I’m taking you there.”

  Dan grabs my other arm. “Me too.”

  We walk. On one side of me: Dan, Jen, Christopher, and Jeremiah. On the other side of me: Wes and a bunch of his friends from the handball court. On both sides, everyone talks about what happened to me.

  Dan and Wes take turns cracking jokes to cheer me up.

  Every time I laugh, I wince. “Y’all need to stop. My head hurts when I laugh.”

  But they don’t. Dan and Wes don’t stop trying to cheer me up. They keep telling me I’m lucky that whatever hit me missed my eyes.

  And I don’t stop thinking how lucky I am that they’re my boys.

  CHAPTER 28

  I STARE AT the ceiling of our kitchen and press an ice pack on my forehead. The cold hurts so bad, I move it away.

  Wes grabs the ice pack and presses it on my knot. “Keep it on, for real.”

  My dad tells me, “It hurts but it helps. You’re lucky the cut isn’t so deep.”

  I nod. I’m dumb happy I don’t need to go to the hospital for stitches.

  “Okay. So what happened?” My parents want to know everything.

  I keep it general, like it could’ve been an accident, leaving it to their imagination that maybe something fell on me or I ran into something. I say where it happened: “In a kid from school’s basement.” I explain why I went in: “Kids from school made a haunted house down there that I was amped to see.�
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  Saying it all out loud, I sound like a little-little kid and hate that I was so trusting—wanting to go in a haunted house so bad that I followed heads I knew I shouldn’t trust. Ugh.

  My parents don’t ask for more details. Whew! I speak, they just listen, and it feels good they’re not judging me. I don’t need more pain on pain.

  When I’m done, Mom finally says, “This is terrible. You just wanted to have fun and go into a haunted house. And this happened.”

  My dad starts laughing, and I look at him. It’s a laugh that lets out stress. “All because of a haunted house.” He chuckles at my mom. “And you worried about our son losing his innocence. Looks like we still have our innocent son.”

  She smirks back, then busts into a laugh too.

  It’s good to hear them laugh. The harder they laugh, the better I feel, because I hate stressing them. The more they laugh, the less stupid I feel . . . but I think about that word my dad used: innocent.

  Whoever threw something at me could’ve blinded me. But whoever threw something at me also opened my eyes, and I’m starting to see things that innocent me didn’t. Stuff I need to see.

  CHAPTER 29

  MY PARENTS FINALLY stop hovering, and me and my friends go to my room.

  “Bruh, shut the door?” Wes asks as we walk in my room.

  I do, and he steps face-to-face close with Dan. They look in each other’s eyes, and without using words, they say a whole lot to each other.

  Finally, Wes speaks. “You know who I’m thinking about.”

  “Chad,” Dan says.

  Wes nods. “And you know what I’m thinking.”

  Dan answers, “It was his idea. He got Andy to throw whatever at Stephen.”

  “Facts, Andy was missing.”

  “But why?” Dan asks. “Why Stephen?”