“Yeah, right,” Ray-Ray says. “Why don’t I ever see him on the block?”
“’Cause he doesn’t live here anymore,” I say. Which is also true. Or at least, kind of true.
“Good thing,” Ray-Ray says. “’Cause my brother plays for the other side. You know—the one that’s winning? Your pops don’t stand a chance against my man Nicky.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Just shut up and pay attention, okay?”
After a while, Dr. Yetty comes in to check on us.
“What have you learned so far?” she asks Ray-Ray.
“This little man here is the king,” Ray-Ray says, and points at the queen.
“Not quite,” she says. “That’s the queen, but she is the most powerful piece on the board.”
Ray-Ray looks at her like maybe she’s lying. “Since when?” he says. “The whole game’s all about the king, right? Everyone works for him. No disrespect, Dr. Yetty, but that’s power.”
I’m kind of surprised, to tell the truth. Most of Ray-Ray’s classes are with the learning-disabled kids. But if I’m completely honest, he seems sharp enough. I don’t even know why he’s in those classes.
A little later, G-ma comes strolling in, too. When I look at the clock, it’s 4:20. I was supposed to meet her out front five minutes ago. How’d that happen?
“What do we have here?” G-ma says. “And who’s this?”
I can’t lie to G-ma in front of Dr. Yetty. That’s as good as getting busted.
But before I can figure out what to say, Dr. Y. speaks up.
“Kenneth is teaching Raymond how to play chess,” she says. “I asked the two of them if they wanted to give it a try, and they both said yes.”
It’s not exactly a lie, but still—I can’t believe it. Did Dr. Yetty just cover for me? She’s not only smart, and strict, and Beyoncé-fine, but she’s clever, too. Good lookin’ out, Dr. Yetty!
“Well, isn’t that wonderful?” G-ma says. “I’ve been trying to get Kenneth more involved. Now he’s gone and done it on his own.” She bends down and gives me a kiss, which couldn’t be more embarrassing, but that’s not what I’m worried about right now.
I’m worried about the way Ray-Ray’s looking at me. He heard me in Dr. Yetty’s office yesterday. He knows this is supposed to be a secret. Even though Dr. Y. just helped me out, it doesn’t mean anything if Ray-Ray snitches on me.
But for some reason, Ray-Ray doesn’t say a word. I don’t know why, but he covers for me, too.
So I open up that piece of cake, break it in half, and slide one half over to him.
“Mmm, good cake,” he says, giving that fake smile of his up at G-ma.
Ray-Ray Powell is smarter than I thought. He knows exactly how to get what he wants.
And now that he knows my secret, too, something tells me I’m in bigger trouble than ever.
It sucks when someone has something, anything, hanging over you. It’s like they own you.
Sucks.
MONDAY, RAY-RAY’S NOT in school, so I don’t have to teach his beggin’ behind anything. Then Tuesday at lunch I’m sitting there with Arthur, Dele, and Vashon, and guess who comes over and sits right down with us?
“What do you want, Ray-Ray?” Vashon says.
“I’m just sitting,” Ray-Ray says. “Why do I got to want something?” He even has his own lunch tray. So then what’s he doing here?
It doesn’t matter, though, because I can see Tiny and Jerome coming this way. Something tells me they’re going to want our table, and I’m not in the mood for another beat-down.
“Let’s just go, you guys,” I say, and start sucking down the last of my chocolate milk.
“Why? What’s up?” Arthur says. He’s got his back turned, so he can’t see Tiny coming up on us like a Mack truck.
But then the weirdest thing of all happens.
“Wassup, Tiny?” Ray-Ray says.
“Wassup?” Tiny says. He doesn’t even look at me. He and Jerome just keep on walking. A second later, I hear them somewhere behind me.
“Hey, ladies. We need this table. Now.”
I turn around and some other sixth graders are scrambling to get out of the way. Some of them move faster than others.
When I turn back again, Ray-Ray’s just sitting there, grinning away.
“You don’t have to worry about Tiny no more,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” I say. “Why not?”
“I told him about your pops. I made it good, too. I told him even my brother Nicky don’t mess with Kenny Wright.”
“What about your dad?” Dele asks me.
“Nothing,” I say. That’s another whole can of worms I don’t want to get into.
“Is your brother really Nicky Powell?” Vashon asks Ray-Ray.
“The one and only,” Ray-Ray says. And even though I’ve never heard of Nicky Powell, I can tell that Dele and Vashon have. All of a sudden, they’re looking at Ray-Ray a little different. Nobody tells him to get up anymore, either.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting there thinking, What just happened here? It’s like Ray-Ray wants to be…friends…or something.
And I don’t get it.
What’s the deal?
AFTER SCHOOL, I’M walking home when I hear Ray-Ray’s voice behind me.
I turn around and he’s coming up the sidewalk with Preemie, Quaashie W., and that girl Vanessa from G-ma’s tutoring group.
“Where you going?” Ray-Ray asks me.
“Home,” I say.
“We’re hitting the corner store for some hot chips. Preemie says she never had any,” Ray-Ray says.
“They’re good,” I tell Preemie. I don’t stop walking, though. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do right now. Quaashie and Vanessa are bringing up the rear, and all of a sudden, there I am, sandwiched between Ray-Ray and Preemie.
On the real…a brotha is uncomfortable.
“What’s going on?” I say. “Why’re you doing this?”
“Doing what?” Ray-Ray says. “We’re just hanging out. You keep on walking if you want to.”
I’m six blocks from home. On the days G-ma doesn’t tutor, she expects me there by 3:45 unless I tell her something else. It’s never worth being late. She just makes me read more, or do the dishes, or something.
Still, I figure I can stop for a minute. If someone’s hooking me up with free hot chips, who am I to turn them down? Then I’ll head on home after that.
When we get to the store, Vanessa goes inside, but Ray-Ray stops on the sidewalk.
“Hold up,” he says. “We’re just going to hang here a second.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Ray-Ray.
“Nothing,” he says. “We’re just getting some hot—man, shut up and just chill for a second.”
“I am,” I say, “but why—”
Almost right away, the door to the store opens back up, and Vanessa comes flying out of there like her butt’s on fire. I can see she’s got a big bag of chips in her hand. And I can see some lady inside coming after her, too.
“Run!” is all Vanessa says.
I get it now, but it’s too late to do anything about it. So I take off as fast as I can, just like all the others.
But I’m also thinking—
THERE’S NO WAY I’m stopping now. Why should I? This doesn’t have anything to do with me.
Luckily, the lady from the store isn’t very fast, because neither am I. I’m chugging up Minnesota Avenue behind Preemie and Ray-Ray, who are behind Vanessa, who’s behind Quaashie, who’s faster than all of us. He gets around the corner, and across Good Hope Road, then up between two apartment buildings, and straight onto Sixteenth until we get to W Street.
By the time I catch up to them all, I’m about ready to throw up a lung.
“Why’d you do that?” I say to Vanessa.
She looks at me like I’m super-lame. “You buying next time?” she says.
The truth is, I have a couple of dollars in my pocket, but I d
on’t say anything. I just shake my head. This felt like it could’ve easily been one of those “wrong place, wrong time” kinds of moments that G-ma lectures me about.
“Dang, this is good,” Preemie says. She throws a handful of hot chips in her mouth, and her eyes begin to water in seconds. That girl is crazy. She fans her tongue and then chomps on a few more like nothing ever happened. Ray-Ray passes the bag over to me.
“No thanks,” I say.
“Go on,” he says. “I owe you.”
I guess he means for all those after-school snacks. But even so, I probably shouldn’t take it. I know what G-ma would say.
Still, Ray-Ray and the rest of them are all staring at me, so I take one and shove it in my mouth. They’re mad hot, and they stain your fingertips for a day or two with an angry shade of red. But we love ’em.
Meanwhile, a bus is pulling up at the corner and Ray-Ray’s looking like he’s ready to take off. “There’s my ride,” he says. “You wanna have some fun?”
I don’t even know what he means. None of the others are going for it, so I just stay put. Next thing I know, the bus is pulling away from the curb and Ray-Ray’s running after it. He jumps up on the back bumper, grabs hold of a little grip that’s hiding there, and waves at us while that bus takes him right back the way we just came.
I’m not saying it doesn’t look fun, because it kind of does. Fun—but dumber than that dude in your math class who sits in the back, picks his nose, and eats his boogers when he thinks no one is watching. But you caught him one day, and all he could do was flash that goofy booger-eating grin. You know the dude.
G-ma would ground me for life if she ever caught me doing something as stupid as bus-surfing, or whatever Ray-Ray calls it.
And speaking of G-ma, it’s almost 3:45. I’ve got to get home—now!
CALL ME PARANOID if you want, but I scrub that bright-red chip residue from my fingers at a filthy gas station restroom before I even get home. You never know with G-ma.
When I get there, she’s all fired up about something else, though. She’s got her gospel music playing from an old radio sitting on top of the fridge. Her favorite group’s some old guys called the Mighty Clouds of Joy. She’s tappety-tapping away at her laptop, seated at the kitchen table. There’s a bunch of papers stacked in front of her, with lists of names and I don’t know what else. She even tells me to get my own snack.
“What’s going on, G-ma?” I say.
“We’re starting an action,” she says. “Myself, Dr. Yetty, and some folks from the neighborhood.”
“What’s that mean?” I ask her. “What kind of action?”
“An organized, peaceful—but forceful—march for better schools, for all the children in our city. Not just the lucky ones. Or the rich ones. Or the ones who live west of the river.”
“So, G-ma—why do this now? Why do we have to march and make signs and all that stuff? And why is Dr. Yetty getting mixed up with this?” I wonder aloud.
My G-ma could inspire a herd of gazelles to organize and rise up against a pride of lions.
“The truth is, I haven’t seen her kind of passion, especially from a woman so young, since I marched in Selma, way back when,” she tells me.
“What I mean is, isn’t she a part of what you—I mean we—are marching against? The people in charge?” It just seems weird to me to have her down with us. As far as we know, she’s going to be in and out like the rest of those bammas.
“No, baby. Not at all. I love what she stands for, and so does almost every other parent. But there’ve been a handful of parents claiming that she pays too much attention to the male students. Can you believe that? Some people don’t like the all-boy mentoring program she started in her first week on the job. God knows that’s what you boys need, but who am I?” She shrugs and then closes her laptop.
I guess G-ma has a point about Dr. Yetty. I mean, she did bring three new staff people along with her. First there’s Mr. Anthony, her right-hand man. He’s like a real serious administration-type dude. Then there’s Mr. Yarborough, the new head of security, who’s actually pretty cool. He’s one of those ex–Navy SEALs, but you couldn’t tell by looking at him. And there’s a man who grew up right around the corner from our house, Mr. Griddine. He’s what’s called a Director of Strategic Plans or something. I don’t know what any of those guys really do. I don’t. But you know what’s cool? They look like me. They look like Ray-Ray. They look like us and they’re in charge of stuff. They wear suits and tell people what to do. That’s something I’ve never seen at my school.
The way G-ma’s going, I can tell we’re going to be talking about this for a while. Which is fine with me. Anything right now is better than How was your day? or any of those other “essay questions” she usually asks. I can just see how that would go.
So I get busy making a peanut butter and banana sandwich while G-ma keeps on talking.
“We’re going to march up Martin Luther King Avenue,” she says, “and have a big rally right in front of your school.”
“Cool,” I say.
“I’m hoping for a thousand people, maybe more. Parents, teachers, and most of all, students—”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Which is why I want you to be one of our speakers. I think you’d make an excellent student ambassador, Kenneth.”
This time, I don’t say anything at all, because that peanut butter just got stuck in my throat like a ball of cement.
“I know it’s a little scary,” G-ma tells me. “But it’s no different than what I asked you to do at the neighborhood meeting.”
“You just said it was going to be a thousand people!” I say.
“That’s just more ears,” she says.
“Well…uh…I don’t think I’d make a very good ambassador, either,” I say.
“Nonsense!” she says. “If we see something wrong in the world, it’s up to us—not someone else—to stand up and be heard.”
That’s another one of G-ma’s greatest hits, if you hadn’t noticed. She always says you’re supposed to speak up if you see something wrong.
You know—like if someone steals stuff from a corner store.
Or gets detention and lies about it.
Or has to teach chess for all the wrong reasons.
Stuff like that.
And guess what else I realize? Ray-Ray Powell isn’t the big faker around here anymore.
I am.
DR. YETTY’S GOT A special assembly the next morning. It’s part of the history unit she’s teaching, called “The Cradle of Civilization.” That’s just one thing Dr. Yetty’s been doing different at UMS. She’s the principal, but she’s also teaching some. We call her the History Channel now. And today’s assembly is all about Egypt.
“I thought this was about Africa,” Ray-Ray says.
“Fool, Egypt is in Africa,” I tell him.
He just shakes his head like he feels sorry for me. “You should try not looking so smart once in a while,” he says. “Just sayin’.”
“Yeah, well…” I mumble as we shuffle into the auditorium.
I don’t sit with Ray-Ray, though. He hangs in the back, where it can get a little dangerous if you’re not careful. So I find Arthur, Dele, and Vashon, and we sit somewhere in the middle, close enough to see, but far enough away to not stand out too much.
Dr. Yetty shows a whole bunch of pictures and maps and stuff. It’s actually kind of interesting, and a lot of the kids are into it. She tells us that lots of important parts of things like medicine, astronomy, law, art, and music pretty much all started in Egypt.
“Which is in Africa,” she keeps saying. “That’s part of African heritage, too. A lot of what we see from ancient Greece originally came from Egypt…” she says, and puts a hand up to her ear.
“Which is in Africa!” a bunch of people say back.
“The Europeans, as well. They got a lot of what they’re famous for from Egypt…”
“Which is in Africa!” everyone sa
ys. They’re all kind of cheering and getting into it now. Why not? It’s one reason to walk a little taller, and I’m all for that. Dr. Yetty is pretty amazing at getting everyone into it, so nobody feels like they’re acting weird.
Check it out:
AT OUR NEXT chess lesson, Ray-Ray does exactly what I expect him to do. He comes on strong and attacks, attacks, attacks. It doesn’t matter to him if he gets my knight and I take his queen. He just likes the battles.
“You’ve got to figure out how to survive,” I tell him. “The idea is to try and take something without losing anything.”
“Huh?” He looks at me like I just spoke in Swahili, or the way I look at G-ma when she drops one of her old Negro spiritual quotes or African proverbs on me.
“If you can take something for nothing, that’s better than having to trade, right?” I say.
Now Ray-Ray sits back and looks at the board again like he hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Yeah,” he says. “I can see that.”
It doesn’t really do anything, though. On the next move, he leaves himself wide open just to get one of my pawns. I slide in there for a checkmate, and we have to start all over again.
“Hey,” he says when we’re setting up the board, “long as we’re talking, you want some free advice of your own?”
“Not really,” I say.
“Stop walking around like you’re afraid of people,” he says. “It’s so obvious, man.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks,” I say. This is the last thing I want to talk about with Ray-Ray. But it turns out he’s like G-ma that way. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you want to talk about something or not.
So he keeps going.
“You look at someone like Tiny,” he says. “You can just see it in his eyes. He’s not here to get knocked over. But with you and those geeks you hang out with—”
“Shut up about my friends,” I say.
“I’m just saying, it’s like you’re carrying around a sign or something. Says, ‘I won’t fight back, so go ahead and slap the snot out of me.’ You know? You’re like one of these pawns, just waiting to get picked off.”
Kenny Wright Page 4
