by Sheela Chari
“Are you sure?” Nike didn’t believe it either. “These are million-dollar diamonds?”
Smith looked amused. “Well, not quite. They’re heavily included. That means, they have flaws inside them that would make them hard to sell. But these roughs still give you an idea of what your grandmother did. She took stones that look like these, and made them into the kind of jewelry you see at Tiffany’s.”
“Wow.” I was impressed.
“Here.” She picked one up and gave it to me.
I held it to the light but I didn’t see anything inside. I didn’t have the gift my grandmother did. But I was appreciating the work. I gave it back to Smith.
“Then these aren’t worth much,” Nike said. “Like with the includings.”
“Inclusions,” Smith corrected. “No, not worth much at all.”
“So we could take them home, right, like souvenirs.” He winked.
She gave a little laugh. “No, I’m sorry, they’re still worth something to us here. Sometimes we practice on them. Though we’ve really gotten good at what we do, if I say so myself.”
She put them back in the envelope. “And now I do have to get back to work, boys. I’m glad you stopped by, kind of nice to remember Rose before all that crazy stuff happened.” Her voice trailed off. “You know, we were worried when she disappeared. Then we heard the news about her car. That must have been very difficult, Peter.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, it happened.”
She looked at me gently. “Rose was extraordinary. Not too many female diamond cutters in the business, even now. She was one of them. You’re looking at the other.”
After she left, the guard stopped us on the way out. “Did Ms. Smith remember Rose?”
Nike shrugged. “A little bit.”
“You never know who remembers what.” His pudgy hands rested on a shoebox in front of him. “Now, this isn’t much, just a box I keep in my drawer with odds and ends. But there is one thing I have from Rose.” He pulled out a folded-up map. I looked at the words at the top: The Old Croton Aqueduct Trail.
“Aqueduct?” I said. “What’s that?”
“The old waterworks system,” said the security guard. “It runs to the city from Westchester County. Rose loved to walk on it. She was always telling me to go, she even brought me this map, but I never did.” He gave it to me. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d like to have it.”
I looked at the folded paper. “This all you have?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Nike said, “Thanks, Mister.”
Outside Rosen & Smith, we began walking again.
“So, Petey, what do you think?” Nike asked.
“Grandma Rose was a lover of the Aqua Guard. Whoopee.”
“Aqueduct,” Nike corrected. “Maybe it’s important. You never know.”
“Oh, I know all right. That big old guard isn’t ever setting foot on a trail. Neither am I.”
“Well, he was all gaga to see you, Petey Boy.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Bet he was crushing on your grannie all these years.”
I gave him a shove.
“But that lady was cool,” Nike said.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised because he was right. I’d liked how she trusted us to hold those roughs. Was it because I was Rose’s grandson? Or because she was decent?
“You heard what she said. She’s one of the few ladies around, she and your grandma.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
Nike nodded in approval. “Your grandma, she owned it, that’s what.”
The sun was dipping down in the sky when we got back to the gym.
“If I knew you were coming, I’d ask you to get me more spray paint,” I said. “I left Skinny’s number at home. It sucks I can’t buy myself.”
“Next time, bro,” Nike said.
“Want to come with Tops and me tonight?”
Nike shook his head. “Sorry, dude. Have to get back. I’m working at the church now.”
“What about Music Land?”
“Bunch of losers coming in there all the time. No peace, know what I mean?”
I saw his point. Nobody had peace these days, it seemed. At least Nike was searching.
After he left, I was about to open the gym door, when I was dragged back by my shirt.
“Hold on, Mr. Wilson.” Jimmy the Fencer shoved me against the outside brick wall of the building. “We want to hear all about your trip to Rosen & Smith.” Tyson stood on the other side of him as Jimmy held me up by the front of my neck. Not choking me but enough that it was hard to talk. Plus I was trying not to hyperventilate.
“Nothing happened, man,” I said between breaths. “If you followed me, you know that.”
“What happened inside?” He pushed harder so it felt like my windpipe was caving in.
“Nothing,” I wheezed. “The diamond cutter didn’t know anything.”
He pressed even harder and I thought I’d be sick, except there was nowhere for the sick to go. I shook my head until he stopped, but he didn’t let go. “So we went to CVS and I thought you’d like to see what we got developed there. Show him, Tyson.”
From his pocket, Tyson took out a photo.
“It’s your Om at 125th,” Jimmy said. “There’s a message below it. Read it to him, Tyson.”
Tyson made a show of clearing his throat. “It says ‘Find me in Dobbs Ferry—PW.’”
My mouth went dry. I knew where this was going. I tried to wriggle away, but Jimmy’s grip on me tightened. “That made me curious,” Jimmy said. “You got your face in the newspaper for tagging Dobbs. Then there’s this message from PW. Now, who’s PW?”
“It’s not him,” I whispered. “It’s somebody else.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“They don’t know anything,” I whispered.
“Which is why we’re going after you. Uncle Bern thinks asking gets results. But Bern is like an anaconda. You know those snakes, they squeeze their prey slowly to death. That’s Bern, squeezing Tops nice and slow.”
“What’s he got on Tops?” I wheezed.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jimmy said. “But listen, if Uncle Bern is an anaconda, then I’m a barracuda. I’m the fish that likes to cut, and I cut quickly.”
Then lucky for me, while he was flapping his trap, Jimmy’s grip loosened and I took off. I tore as fast as my fakes could take me. First I crossed Madison Avenue. Then Park Avenue. I kept thinking I’d lose them, that they’d get tired of chasing me. But they kept dogging after me.
Should I turn? Run inside a building? Then I saw it ahead, the Central Park wall on the other side of Fifth. I’d never done a vault without Tops spotting me. But here was my chance to put my practice to action. Of course, I didn’t know what was on the other side. I’d have to take my chances. But if I got over, I’d lose Jimmy and Tyson for sure. The light changed just as I got to the crosswalk, with them still on my heels. So I pulled ahead with the last energy I had. My hands went down on top of the stone wall, and I felt my feet pushing me forward. Over the wall I went. And I was flying.
I walked over to where Cheetah was standing at the top of the stairs, and grabbed the black book from him. “Thanks. But wasn’t it stolen from Myla’s room?”
Cheetah swallowed. “It was. Just not by the person you thought.” He looked miserably from Myla to me. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t want to take the book. But I heard what Kai said to Myla. She said the black book was the only way to keep Myla safe. When you came to our house, I didn’t want you to take it away. Myla wouldn’t steal your book unless she had a good reason. But this afternoon she said you were a good guy and that’s why you’re friends.”
Myla looked mortified. “You can shut up any time, Cheet,” she muttered.
“Seems like somebody from your family is always taking the black book,” I observed. “Maybe your dad will be next. He’ll be all, sorry, Peter, guess I needed it for a math problem.”
“Please don’t be mad,” Cheetah said to me. “This time it’s my fault, not hers.”
“What about the necklace?” Myla demanded from him. “Did you take that, too?”
Cheetah shook his head. “Why would I steal that from you?”
I sighed. “What is up with your family? You’re like a bunch of messed-up do-gooders. I bet you give each other Band-Aids for Christmas.”
“Actually, we’re Hindu so we don’t celebrate Christmas,” Cheetah said, all earnest-like, and got a shove from Myla. I knew that shove. I had a permanent bruise on my shoulder from Randall.
“It means Craggy still took the necklace,” she said. “But at least we’re down to only one thing stolen, thanks to my brother coming clean.” Then she and Cheetah chattered like squirrels, Myla scolding him and all.
Meanwhile, I looked through the black book. It seemed the same, and all the pages were there, including the one tucked in at the back with Skinny’s number on it.
“I have to go,” Cheetah said. “My dad and I are going to the library to get a book for spelling club. No hard feelings, right, Peter?”
“We’re cool, bro,” I told him. Then it’s weird, but the way he smiled back lightened me up.
After Cheetah left, Myla was very quiet, and I knew she was still feeling bad about her part in the black book’s disappearance. “Look, no hard feelings with you either, okay?” I told her.
She gave me a grateful smile. And I guess that lightened me up some more.
“Come on,” I said. “I have some other stuff to show you.”
I took her to my room and pulled out the duffel bag. At first I felt a pang. What would Randall say if he knew I was showing the bag to someone else? Would he say I was betraying the family and Pop and our brotherhood? But then I went ahead. It was too late to worry what Randall thought now.
Myla looked at each item carefully. She noticed things I hadn’t—like most of the clasps looked brand-new, but the ropes were old, and the pulleys were worn like they’d been used a lot.
I leaned back on my bed. “That’s it,” I said. “I’ve shown you everything. Now what?”
“Let’s go back to the necklaces,” Myla said. “Mine says ‘keeper.’ But that’s what half the other necklaces say in the box upstairs. Yours is different. We should focus on that. ‘Shouse.’ Is that a name? A place? A swear word?”
I didn’t know. I was feeling frustrated. “Meanwhile, everybody’s out there searching.”
“You really think your brother won’t come back ever?”
I looked down at my fake Jordans, my last tie to Randall. He always seemed to hate these shoes. Sure, we knew they were fakes, but that didn’t mean other people on the street did. And even if everyone did, something about seeing the Jumpman on my feet sent a thrill through me. I’d imagine that Jumpman could be Randall. “Randall’s selfish. He’s always been a little like that. Now he’s a lot like that.”
“But you still want him to come home,” Myla said.
“I just want him . . . around. He’s the older one. It’s wrong to leave a little brother behind.”
Myla wrinkled her nose. “Well, it’s not easy being the older one, either. With Cheetah . . .” She paused. “I can’t even explain. He’s around too much.”
“But Randall isn’t. Unless we find the diamonds.”
“You think that’s all he cares about? Doesn’t he want to see you and your mom?”
I looked away. I didn’t know how to answer that.
“Okay, then we have to find a way to stop everyone else,” she said. “From looking, that is.”
When she said that, I suddenly remembered MOST14. MOST had a hand style that would chill anybody. He could make his tag pop so you saw it across a busy street. Randall said he’d make space on a wall any day for that dude. Even the Points agreed MOST14 would be king someday. Until MaxD came along. I don’t know what his beef was with MOST, who’d done nothing to him. Maybe it was pure jealousy. At any rate, MaxD decided he would destroy MOST14. Not with his fists, but with his spray cans. When I remembered what he did, I jumped up. “That’s it!”
“What? What?” Myla stared at me.
The idea shone down at me as bright as one of Randall’s tags.
“I know what to do,” I told her. “I know what will stop everybody from finding that Om.”
Dinner was cauliflower-and-potato curry with rotis, my favorite Indian meal, even if it was from a place downtown. But all I could think about was the evening Peter and I had planned, and if it would go well or we’d get caught. I’d never been caught doing something illegal. Then again, I’d never done anything illegal. Tonight was a first, and even though I was scared, I was excited. All my life, all the words I had written down in my journal, and on scraps of paper attached to The Wall, seemed like training for this night.
Mom tore off a soft piece of roti and wrapped it around a piece of cauliflower and ate it slowly, watching me. She wasn’t stupid. She could sense something was up. She just didn’t know what, so she figured it had to be the bed.
“Myla, maybe you can read for a while before going to sleep,” she said. “There’s that new one from the bookstore you haven’t read yet that’s still on the couch.”
“Hmm,” I said.
“You like the new bed?” Dad asked. “Kind of nice to come home from school and find it all set up and ready to go.”
“Mom thinks she’s still scared,” Cheetah said.
“No, I don’t,” Mom said.
I ate my roti quietly. The bed wouldn’t be a problem. Because I wouldn’t be there to sleep in it.
“Dad, have you seen the Rock of Gibraltar?” Cheetah asked.
Dad pushed up his glasses. “To what do I owe this question?”
“Gibraltar, it’s a spelling word,” Cheetah said.
“I thought there weren’t proper nouns in spelling contests,” Mom said.
“It’s a common noun, too,” Cheetah said. “It means ‘an impregnable stronghold.’”
“Whoa,” Dad said. “Is ‘impregnable’ a spelling word, too?”
“Yes,” said Cheetah. “But have you been there?”
Questions like this—because of their randomness and complete lack of relevance to our lives—usually annoyed the daylights out of me. But today I was grateful, because while my parents and Cheetah were talking about the Rock of Where Ever and whether it was more impregnable than the Palisades, it gave me a chance to go over in my mind what Peter and I had decided.
Of course, at first he said no, he was totally not letting me join.
“You need someone to help,” I said. “Like, don’t you guys cover for each other, look for cops, be on the down low?”
Peter crossed his arms. “First of all, that’s not even right slang. Second, you’re scared of heights.” He held up a finger when I tried to protest. “Don’t even try to lie about that. Third, you don’t have a clue how to hold a spray can. You’d probably spray-paint your face.”
I bristled. “If I’m so scared of heights, who climbed down her window and warned your brother at the station? And who spray-painted her own bed? I got the paint from my garage, and there’s more of that stuff where it came from.”
Peter wasn’t listening to any of it. “It’s too dangerous,” he said. Then he called somebody named Skinny for help, and it was Skinny who said no.
“You’re eighteen. Come on man, I can’t get the paint without you,” Peter pleaded over the phone in his kitchen, while I listened. But Skinny kept saying no. Peter finally hung up, but not before saying he was going ahead anyway, and besides he already had plenty of spray paint. That’s when he turned to me.
“Plenty of spray paint?” I repeated. “I have maybe two cans.”
He sighed. “Well, it’s a start.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re not getting them unless I’m helping.” And that’s how I got i
n on the plan, whether Peter liked it or not.
“What difference does it make?” Mom was saying now. “The Palisades is probably just as old as the Rock of Gibraltar. So it isn’t as famous. They’ve both lasted.”
“What lasts, lasts,” Dad said.
“Who said that?” Cheetah asked.
“Me,” Dad said.
After dinner, Cheetah and I cleared the table while Dad made a pot of chai on the stove.
“What does Om mean, Dad?” Cheetah asked. “You never really said.”
Dad was measuring out tea leaves into the boiling water. “Om is a sound,” he explained, “that means everything, that’s all-encompassing. When you say it the right way, your mouth makes all the sounds there are to make. And in yoga, saying Om creates a vibration, a kind of movement inside you.” He added milk and sugar to the pot until the tea turned a rich golden color.
“Can I have some?” I asked as I handed Cheetah a plate.
“Can I?” asked Cheetah.
“There’s enough for everyone. But not too much. Or you’ll be up half the night.” Dad poured a steaming cup for himself.
“In other words, Om lasts,” Cheetah said.
Dad smiled. “But not like Gibraltar. There is a beginning and end to Om.” He carried his cup out of the kitchen to the study.
Cheetah and I continued cleaning up, the dishes clattering in the cupboards as we put them away. “It’s cool there’s an Om at the station,” he said suddenly. “Like it’s about us for a change.”
“What do you mean?” I asked nervously. Was this another case of Cheetah guessing what Peter and I planned to do tonight?
“Om. An Indian symbol. Us.”
“We’re not Om. Hate to break it to you.”
“We come from it,” Cheetah said. “So many kids were talking to me yesterday at school because they wanted to know about Om.”
I glanced at him as I cleaned the counter. This was a part of Cheetah I didn’t know. Like, I knew who his two best friends were: Manny and Jaden. They were spelling geeks like him, and they got together at each other’s houses to play video games or to quiz each other on spelling words. But I didn’t know who his other friends were, if he was noticed in school, or if he was invisible like me. Had this Om tag elevated his status? I still felt like no one saw me at all. No one but Ana. And now Peter. “I thought you said you don’t care if you’re noticed,” I said.
