‘You made your mum cry.’
‘Shut up, man!’
‘But you did.’
Silence.
‘How do you feel?’
Silence.
‘Like crap, innit?’
Silence.
‘Yeah, I thought so.’
“Well, Dwayne,” Ms Walker continued, “I don’t expect you to tell me the ins and outs of your life outside school. What concerns me is your performance in school.” She looked right at me as she leaned back in her big leather chair. “Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time? Have you thought that far ahead?”
I looked at her, my face blank. How was I meant to answer that question?
“Perhaps you’ll have your own car, a ‘phat ride’, and a wardrobe full of designer clothes? You might even have your own business, hustling, selling drugs, dealing in stolen merchandise. Does that sound about right?”
Mum glared at me and I kept quiet. I wasn’t about to get caught out by that one.
“But then again, maybe you’ll be in jail by then, rotting away with thousands of other black boys that society has tossed to the side. Maybe you stabbed somebody, or shot someone’s son, or got caught during a robbery? Maybe you’ll be an addict yourself. What will it be? Heroin, cocaine? Or something less glamorous, perhaps, crack maybe?”
A crackhead? Me?
“Nah, Miss, I ain’t going out like that, no way!”
She raised her eyebrow again, her arms folded in front of her. “OK, then, maybe you won’t become a criminal at all, just an unemployed bum, signing on, drinking his Jobseekers’ Allowance on the street corner. Just another statistic. What will it be, Dwayne? What will it be?”
I said nothing. I just knew she wasn’t finished. She didn’t know that she was asking me all the questions I had been asking myself ever since I met Misha.
“Are you intending to continue your studies after GCSE?”
That was the biggie: the one that had been wrecking my head. Misha thought it was possible, said she knew I could do it... but who else from my sides was going down that road? No one, that’s who. But maybe... just maybe... I could be the one.... Maybe?
“Well,” I answered, choosing my words carefully, “I might want to get a piece of paper, just in case. But I don’t think I’ll be able to do the whole ‘A’ Level, uni ting. My marks ain’t been great so far, plus I don’t think I’m cut out for all that...”
I heard Mum take a deep breath next to me. “No one in our family has ever been to university,” she explained to Ms Walker. “I try to teach my boys to be realistic and practical. What are the chances of my children getting into university – with all those posh people? It’s better they keep their feet on the ground and not get carried away with wild dreams.” But the way she was looking at me was different from the way she normally did. Like she was seeing me for the first time.
Now it was Mum’s turn to get the raised eyebrow treatment. “If you truly believe that, Mrs Kingston, it’s no wonder Dwayne is underperforming at school.” Then she turned to me, flipping through the folder on the desk in front of her. “You may need to retake some GCSEs next year, Mr Kingston, judging by your current performance. Are you prepared to do that?”
“I think so.” I couldn’t believe that I said it, but I did.
“Well, you need to be absolutely sure that this is what you want, Dwayne. It’s not going to come running towards you. You’re going to have to be hungry. Stand up.”
I was proper embarrassed then, but I stood up anyway, looking everywhere but at this lady in front of me with the fierce eyes and the straight talk.
“What I see before me is unfulfilled promise. Do you have what it takes to rise above your circumstances and fulfil your potential? Do you?”
I kinda nodded. What did she expect me to say?
“Hmph,” said Mum. “This I have to see.” But there was a smile forcing its way through her scowl and I thought, ‘That’s it, she’s chuffed. I’m not the wort’less Dwayne now, am I?’
Then Ms Walker clapped her hands together and marched round the side of the desk to stand in front of me. “So, you, Dwayne Kingston, will be entered in the higher-tier exams for Maths. You will take extra lessons with Mr Patel as well as helping the Year 8 children after school. I suggest you start serious work on your coursework, although it may be too late to get the kind of marks you need. But getting serious with your books will keep you occupied and, hopefully, out of trouble. You will also have to pay for the repairs to Mr Dawson’s car. And,” she added, wagging her finger at me, “if there is any more trouble, you will have me to answer to – and I may not be so optimistic next time, understood?”
I nodded. I understood perfectly. Crystal clear.
Ms Walker put her hand on Mum’s shoulder as she stood up. “Try to give him another chance, Mrs Kingston. He may surprise you. In fact, I am almost certain he will.”
Mum gave me a look and sniffed. “We’ll see, Ms Walker.” But she waved at Ms Walker as she left the office.
“Mum...” I wanted to apologise, to tell her I would do better, that I wouldn’t let her down.
She turned to face me. “What is it now, Dwayne?”
I could hear that irritation rising again and I fell back. I couldn’t say sorry. I just couldn’t. Plus, I didn’t want to disappoint her again. “Have a nice day, yeah?”
“Thank you, son,” she said, before opening her umbrella and stepping out into the rain.
I stood and watched her go.
‘You made her day now, innit.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Yeah, you did.’
‘That’s coz I look out for you, blud, standard.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘So, we cool?’
‘Yeah, we cool.’
‘And don’t even get me started on how pleased Misha is gonna be with you!’
‘Shut up now, man. Enough!’
‘A’ right.’
Silence.
Crazy In Love
MISHA
Dwayne had entered my bloodstream.
Without me even knowing how, that boy had worked his way into my head in such a way that, every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Every time I caught a whiff of peppermint gum, I thought of him. When he told me he would call later, I was jittery with nerves, literally jumping every time my phone rang. I was constantly on high alert, waiting for a text, for a phone call. And when it came it was like food to a starving woman: I just couldn’t get enough.
Suffice to say, I had it bad.
But I still hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell Mum. Ordinarily, I would tell her as soon as I met a guy. She had always encouraged me to be upfront about boys, anyway.
“I prefer to know what I’m dealing with,” she liked to say.
“How come you haven’t told your mum about Dwayne?” Aalia wanted to know.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, the fact that I met him at a party Mum didn’t even know about is a pretty big factor.”
“You snuck out to go to that party?” Aalia’s eyes were wide. Of course, she would never dream of doing such a thing, I thought. Her father would probably skin her alive if he caught her.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking out,” I replied. “We stayed over at Victoria’s house and her mum knew where we were going...”
Aalia gave me a look and put her hand on her hip. “Victoria’s mum knew where you were going?”
“Yeah, we told her we were going to a party in South London!”
“And was she actually awake at the time?”
I grinned sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders. “Hey, we told her, OK?”
Aalia flicked her ponytail. “Whatever you say, babe.”
I knew what Aalia was thinking. We both knew the real story about Victoria Adebayo, she of the Naomi Campbell looks, silky straight weave and fabulous house in Ladbroke Grove, next door to Richard Branson.
Sev
eral times a year Victoria’s dad, who was the latest in a line of wealthy chiefs, would visit his other wives and children back home in Nigeria in his private plane, often returning with one or two kids who were ready to start boarding school in England.
But every time he flew back to Nigeria, Victoria’s mum sank into depression and spent several weeks stoned on Prozac.
So I knew full well that Mrs Adebayo would not have had any clue about what party we had been to, or where. Which led to the problem I was now facing: Dwayne was becoming a huge part of my life and it was becoming impossible to pretend otherwise. For a start, Mum had started giving me very funny looks every time my text message alert sounded. Must have been the way I leapt to the phone as if my life depended on it, while trying to act casual.
“But I’m not sure what my mum will think of him,” I confided in Effie, my mentor in all matters of the heart. “He’s not exactly the kind of boy she encourages me to date: polite, well spoken and well brought-up, from a good family, a boy with ‘prospects’...”
“You mean boring as hell?” Although Effie was the daughter of two Ghanaian professors – Dr and Dr Mensah – she was probably the wildest girl in the school.
Amongst the other black girls at our school, Effie was most definitely the Queen Bee. Now that she had passed her GCSEs and was doing her ‘A’ Levels, she had cemented her reputation as a good-time girl – she lived hard and fast, although her parents had no idea.
“As far as I’m concerned,” she would say, “life would be unbearable without two things: hot guys and a healthy dose of excitement.”
“Don’t you mean living dangerously?” I was constantly in awe of Effie’s double life – and the risks she was prepared to take.
“Yup, I’ll own up to that. You only live once, right? What’s the point if everything is boring and predictable? In my book, there is no such thing as ‘safe sex’. It’s either maximum excitement or a cold shower, sweetheart, so deal with it!”
Effie remembered Dwayne from the party in South London so she had been impressed when I told her that we had been talking on the phone and that I was considering going out with him.
“Oooh,” she crowed, “baby Misha is finally growing up, huh? A roughneck boyfriend, eh? Congratulations, darling!”
I ignored her patronising tone.
“Not quite as rough as your latest, I see,” I said, eyeing the two purple lovebites on her neck. Her shirt collar wasn’t quite high enough to hide them.
“I’ve been wearing a lot of scarves at home,” she smirked. “Anyway, don’t change the subject! I want to know if you’ve asked your mum’s permission. You know what a total control freak she is...”
“I prefer the term ‘caring parent’ myself,” I remarked, shooting her a look. “And anyway, I don’t even know whether anything will come of it so I’m not going to mention anything yet.”
My initial plan was to keep Dwayne a secret for a while, just to see how things turned out. But the way things were developing, I was going to have to come clean. So, two months after I started seeing Dwayne, I told Mum about him, and how I felt about him.
“Mum,” I began while we were having our regular Saturday morning coffee at Starbucks, “I’ve met this guy.”
“Really?” said Mum, taking a sip of her latte. “Tell me about him...”
“Well, his name’s Dwayne, Dwayne Kingston and, oooh, he’s wonderful!” I practically shivered with delight, causing Mum to raise an eyebrow. “I swear, Mum, this is it, I know it! He is ‘the one’!”
“Oh, really?” Mum smiled, amused by all the giggles and girly emotion. “So when do I get to meet this young Romeo?”
“Whenever you like, Mum,” I responded breathlessly. I was so high on Dwayne-love that I was sure Mum would be as taken with Dwayne as I was, that she would see what I saw: a diamond in the rough.
Closing In
DWAYNE
After weeks of bugging me, my little brother Jay finally cornered me as I was coming out of the shower on Saturday morning.
“You’ve got to take me bowling today, bro,” he said, his arms folded across his puny little chest. “No excuses.”
I mentally checked my diary: all good until six. There was a jam happening up in Tottenham and I wanted to go down and spit some bars. I preferred to leave my endz to do my music: mans around here were hard to please and every local jam I’d ever done had ended with man cussing each other and someone throwing a fist, a bottle or both. Jukkie loved the excitement and went out of his way to start a fight, but for me it was about the beats, not the beef.
“OK, little brother,” I said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re on.”
“Jerome!” Mum called from the kitchen. “Come and eat your breakfast, boy!”
“What about me, Mum?” I cocked my head and listened, then smiled when I heard Mum kiss her teeth. I knew that she wasn’t going to cook breakfast for me. She had stopped doing that long ago. “Thanks, Mum,” I called back. “You sure know how to make a man feel special.”
Then I saw Jay look away and I felt bad. He hated it when Mum and I argued. “Sorry, little man,” I said softly. “Don’t watch me, yeah? Me and Mum are cool.”
Jay looked up at me, his face all doubtful. “Are you gonna get chucked out of school, Dee?”
“Nah, man, nah! Nothing like that, man. Nothing like that.”
Jay shrugged. “It don’t make no difference anyway, does it? Spaz told me that he’s gonna make mad loot when he joins RDS for real. Then he won’t need school and he can do what he likes.”
“Oh, yeah?” I squatted down in front of Jay, my back against the wall. “What else did little Spazzie say?”
“He says mans like be makin’ about a grand a week, running errands for Trigger. A grand, y’know! Can you imagine how many kicks you could get for that money?” Jay’s eyes glazed over and I could see him imagining himself in a phat ride, maybe a red Lamborghini, gold chains swinging, diamond rings twinkling, driving round the estate, a big man.
“With that kind of money, who needs a job, man?” Jay continued. “I say school’s for losers who ain’t got no sense.” And he walked off down the corridor, all hard now, bopping in the exact same way as his best friend, Spaz.
I looked at my kid brother’s back, ten years old and already wise to the ways of the street. Had I been so clued-up at that age? I couldn’t help thinking of what Ms Walker had said, earlier in the week. I wondered what she would make of little Jay, a street-life apprentice before he even knew his times tables.
Then I kissed my teeth. Enough of this crap. I had a day to get through.
On the way to the bowling alley in Streatham, Jay was in hyper mode, chatting about everything and nothing. Poor guy was stoked because I had agreed to take him out. I definitely needed to be there for him more. Streatham seemed a safe enough area, I thought to myself. No risk of running into any beef there. At first, I tried to keep track of all his stories but after a while, I zoned out and began to think of other things, trying to sort through the crap that was clogging up my brain.
‘Dwayne, man, what’re you doing?’
‘What do you mean, ‘what am I doing’? Ain’t it obvious? I’m taking my kid brother to the bowling alley.’
‘Nah, man, I ain’t talking about that. I mean what’re you doing with your life?’
Silence.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But why don’t you know, tho?’
‘I don’t know, I’m confused, innit!’
‘What are the choices?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Don’t act dumb, man, you ain’t in school! What are your choices, Dwayne?’
‘Well...’
‘Yes..?’
‘I ain’t good at a lot of stuff, y’know.’
‘Spare me the sob story, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. We’ve been hearing it since forever! It’s time to flip the script. Tell me what you can do.’
/>
‘Well...’
‘Yes...?’
‘Well, I’m good at Maths, innit. I can take a set of numbers and spin it on its head and make it come alive and start dancing like it’s on fire or something... I can do that.’
‘OK, that’s a start. That’s a good start.’
‘I can spit too, like a maestro.’
‘True dat...’
‘Thanks.’
‘Shut up.’
‘OK.’
‘I said, ‘Shut up’!’
Silence.
‘Good. Right, what about these GCSEs, man, what’s up with them?’
‘Nah, man, I can’t be dealing with those exams! Ms Walker may think she’s got it all figured out but she don’t know my reality.’
‘What about Misha? She definitely seems to know what she’s doing...’
‘Dem people’s different, man, we ain’t the same.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know, they’re just different. Kinda like white people... I can’t explain it. All I know is, yeah, there ain’t no teachers at my school who believe that any of us are even gonna pass our exams, let alone go to college or university. It just ain’t gonna happen, blud.’
‘Says who?’
‘Everyone knows that.’
‘Everyone?’
‘Yeah... no.’
Silence.
‘Not everyone.’
‘So what do you know?’
‘I know you need to get the hell out of my head, that’s what I know!’
Silence.
‘So that’s it?’
Silence.
‘Really?’
‘I’ll say one last thing...’
‘Ha, I knew you was still there!’
‘I’m out, mate, I’m just gonna say one last thing: you need to check this beef with Trigger and Larkside mans. Before it’s too late.’
‘That’s it?’
Silence.
‘OK.’
We had reached the bowling alley. We bounced off the bus and on to the curb but, as we walked towards the large yellow building I slowed down, my heart hammering in my chest. I caught sight of a green bandanna under a hood and, as if in slow motion, the boy wearing the hood turned towards me and I saw the scowling face and the scar running like a silver ribbon across his forehead.
Black Sheep Page 6
