Tight

by Torrey Maldonado

  “ACE!!!” we both yell. “IN YOUR FACE!”

  I imitate how Luis swung and missed the ball. Then I fall to exaggerate how off-balance he looked.

  Mike busts out laughing.

  After we leave the stadium’s courts, me and him walk the long way around the edge of our projects to avoid Crazy Corner. Our projects has some wild guys to avoid and some of the wildest be on Crazy Corner. It’s in the middle of our projects and even though there is a church and a supermarket, the block is run by a group of No Joke guys who all dress alike and travel in a crew. You mess with one, you mess with them all.

  At the end of the block Mike taps me. “Want to do something fun?”

  I’m still amped from handball and from joking, so I say, “Yeah.”

  He turns and walks toward a random building.

  “You know someone in here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Nah.”

  We go in and into the elevator. He presses five.

  “Who we visiting?” I ask.

  He starts banging this sick hip-hop beat on the metal walls of the elevator with his pen and fist. He beatboxes to the beat with his eyes closed like he’s in a zone and can’t hear me.

  Out of the elevator, we walk up to the sixth floor. “You been on the roof?” he asks.

  I start remembering in my head when I first learned our buildings had roofs. “Yeah,” I say, “I—”

  “Cool. Then come.” He races up two steps at a time, and I follow.

  Busting onto the roof, gravel crunches under my feet, and the view is whoa!

  I see past our projects to Prospect Park in Park Slope. Prospect’s treetops look like broccoli. I start doing a one-eighty turn and catch the Statue of Liberty wave at us. “We can see the piers from here.”

  “And Staten Island.” Mike points left. Then right. “And New Jersey. And Manhattan.”

  I pinch the Empire State Building between my fingers. I get that feeling again. Like I’m bigger. Like I’m way above everything. I joke, “I’m lifting the Empire State Building.”

  Mike pinches the air too.

  “What you lifting?” I ask.

  “Our school.” He sucks his teeth. “Get outta here!” He pretends to throw our school away. “Pitch that bum-butt school right in the river.”

  I chuckle under my breath.

  Mike peeks over the wall. “You should look down,” he tells me. “Downstairs, people look like ants. You know Rick in eighth grade? The one taller than everybody? He’s down there and looks like a roach.”

  Rick’s an annoying guy who always pats kids on the head as if he’s their parent. He’s never done that to me and he better not, or I might bite his ankles off or something.

  I move to where Mike is. But standing on the roof is one thing. Standing at the edge is another. I don’t want to fall seven flights and SPLAT. I stop walking because my heart beats so hard and fast that I feel it in my throat.

  “You scared?” he asks.

  “Nah.” I pause. “I’m . . .”

  “My first time on the edge I was scared.” He faces me and leans on the wall, all relaxed, like it’s nothing to him to be at the edge. “I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. But it goes away. Look! Watch this!”

  He pulls himself up and sits on it. His feet dangle in the air.

  “C’mon. You soft?” he says. “I can hold your hand like a baby if you want.”

  He’s trying to punk me. I hate when people do that.

  Breathe. Breathe. Don’t let him punk you.

  I lift my foot from where I’m planted and I swear it’s like I’m lifting my foot out of cement. All my fear weighs my foot down. But I do it! I drag one foot forward.

  Mike starts laughing at me.

  Seeing him smirk like I’m a chicken makes me lift my other foot. I slowly walk to him like I’m some mummy. Then I’m right next to him . . . at the wall.

  “Now, look over,” he dares me.

  It takes my whole everything to look over the edge. And . . . Mike is right. Rick looks like a roach—a swagged-out roach because he always rocks Jordans and dip gear. He is right about heads down there too. They dots and scurry like ants.

  I’m about to tell him that the view is crazy cool, but before I can open my mouth, he pitches a pebble off the roof fast, then ducks out of sight.

  What did he just do?!

  I hear a car screech and I stare over the ledge.

  “Duck, stupid!” Mike hisses at me. “You want someone from the street to look up and bust us?”

  I duck, staring real angry at him. He rolls on the roof and starts laughing, like his throwing that rock was the funniest thing in the world.

  I want to punch him, kick him, for so many reasons, including calling me stupid. That’s disrespect.

  But mostly I wonder . . .

  What happened with that car that he just hit?

  Did someone get hurt?

  Do we know the person?

  What is up with Mike?

  It’s like all these feelings and thoughts are the fastest birds in my head and I can’t grab one.

  Mike gets up and brushes gravel off him. “Let’s be out before someone realizes we did this.”

  I want to yell, WE?! We didn’t do this. YOU did this.

  But he’s already sprinted across the roof. I follow him to a faraway door that we didn’t use before.

  He dips in. “Shhh. Always come off the roof quiet. Heads might be leaving their apartment to throw trash out or something.”

  We creep down the steps like ninjas, making no sounds.

  I go to press the elevator and Mike stops me. “You dumb? We have to take the steps. If someone saw us and traps us in the elevator, it’s a wrap.”

  But by the time we reach the fourth floor, we don’t sneak anymore. We hop down the flights, three, four steps at a time.

  Before we come out of the stairwell at the first floor, he puts his hand on my chest. “Be cool. Walk out like we just came from visiting someone. Matter of fact, let’s make it up right now. We came from Four-A.”

  “Four-A,” I repeat.

  “Visiting who?”

  I’m so stuck on his calling me stupid and dumb and afraid we’ll get caught, I don’t know if I can play it cool.

  Mike squints at me. “Wake up, bruh. Who we visited?”

  “Oh! Oh, um, Tim . . . No, Cameron. Cam.”

  He nods. “Cam then. We go to school with him, right. That’s the story.”

  “Bet.”

  He nods, we take deep breaths, then walk outside.

  Once on my block, we say peace and split up.

  After what just happened, I had enough of Mike to last me a week. I don’t need to see any more of him today.

  * * *

  • • •

  Everything that happened with Mike stays on my brain. It stays on my brain as I do my homework. It stays on my brain as I eat dinner. It stays on my brain as everyone goes to separate rooms to do their own things before bedtime.

  He has me all types of confused.

  I walk into the living room to find Ma but wanting to ask her if she really, really thinks Mike is someone I should rock with.

  Ma’s on the couch, looking tired. She looks up from her crossword puzzle and smiles. “So, how was your buddy Mike? Did you have fun today?”

  She looks so happy about our friendship, and I think she doesn’t need anything more to stress about.

  “Yeah, we hung. He’s fine.”

  Ma nods, still smiling.

  “I’m going back in my room.” I stuff my hands in my flannel pj’s pockets.

  “Did you want to talk about something?”

  “Nah.”

  I go stand in the doorway to Pa’s bedroom, imagining he’s here.
I imagine we could talk. But his bed is empty. He’s out hanging. Anyway, that wouldn’t happen—him giving me time to talk about stuff.

  I leave and find Ava in the bathroom, brushing her teeth.

  She knows I’m in the bathroom doorway but she doesn’t look at me. “What, Big Head?”

  “You think Mike is cool peeps?” I ask.

  She gurgles and spits. “You probably questioning him because you soft.”

  There that word goes again: soft.

  She turns and stabs her toothbrush in my direction. “So, what? You can’t handle hanging with Mike?”

  I grind my teeth. I stiffen my lip. I want to tell her everything he did. But she’ll probably just think he’s cooler. She’ll probably think I’m soft for not seeing that he was just having fun. Guys’ fun.

  A part of me wonders if she’s right.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Jessie! Jessie!” Someone bangs real loud on our apartment door, shouting Ma’s name.

  It’s 2:12 in the morning.

  Ma is already walking into the living room, tying her robe shut.

  Me and Ava join her, and Ma hugs us both close.

  “Who’s knocking?” Ma says.

  “Jessie! It’s Mina!” the voice screams through our door. “They arrested Joe!”

  I look at Ava. Ava buries her face in Ma’s robe, trying not to show her feelings.

  Ma opens the door to Mina. Ever since Ma helped Mina and her kids get out of a shelter and get housing here, Mina has done whatever she could for Ma. Mostly that means Mina hooks Ma up with gossip about people around here. Right now, the gossip is about my dad.

  Mina speaks so fast it’s kind of hard to follow. “Joe was hanging with Alex on the corner, you know. And I saw him walk away. Maybe coming home to you. So he was half a block away when Alex yelled at someone in a car about how he’ll smack the crap out of him. All the doors on the car flung open, and these guys jumped out. And they started beating Alex. Joe U-turned to help Alex out. Then those guys started to run toward Joe. And you know Joe’s not soft, so I heard he pulled out a knife. And then the cops got there, like”—Mina snaps her fingers—“this fast. I heard they yoked up Joe, but I also heard that as soon as they rolled up, he got rid of his knife.”

  Ma’s hand flies to her jaw. She tries holding herself together.

  “Don’t worry, Jessie,” Mina tells Ma. “They didn’t find no weapon on Joe and since he doesn’t have any priors, he should get out in a coupla days if you go to the precinct.”

  All of a sudden, there’s this silence in our apartment. A loud silence. A silence that hurts.

  Because I know and Ava knows and Ma knows the truth. Pa has priors that Mina doesn’t know about. Mina thought Pa was out of jail, period. He’s not. He’s on probation.

  This arrest means he’s heading back.

  * * *

  • • •

  After Mina leaves, Ma locks the bottom and top locks. Ava comes over and wraps an arm around me like everything will be okay. Then Ma comes over and hugs us both close.

  Later, I don’t go to bed.

  Not even after Ma clicks Ava’s door shut and leaves her room.

  Nah, I’m not sleeping because Ma’s not.

  I hear Ma’s chanclas slap the floor as she paces back and forth. Slap-slap-slap.

  It’s dumb early. They call it three “in the morning” but this type of morning looks like night. Lonely night. Bottle and can collectors aren’t even out digging through trash.

  Slap-slap-slap.

  Ma probably thinks her slippers are quiet, but, right now, each slap has surround sound, especially because our block is OD dead, and we’re all living with knowing Pa just got locked up.

  I go rest my chin in my crossed forearms on my window ledge and I stare out my window into the night.

  I turn and the Luke Cage comic that Mike loaned me is on my chair.

  Luke rocks a skintight tank top. Bullet smoke steams off his chest, shoulder, and arm muscles. The bullets’ shells are at his feet.

  He is unbreakable. I wish I was him.

  Now I wonder what Pa looks like in his jail cell, and I feel a tear streak out my eye. Then my other eye.

  It’s like earlier I had a dam in me, but now it’s cracked and I’m leaking.

  I lie on my bed on my side and grab a fistful of blanket and squeeze and cry. I can’t breathe. I grip the blanket harder, crying harder.

  I sit up and tell myself, “Breathe, breathe.” And I think, Mike is smart. If I could choose again, I’d be Luke Cage.

  CHAPTER 16

  The morning after Pa got arrested, I go to school more tired than I’ve ever been.

  In every class, I’m dog-tired.

  I stroke my chin; my face feels numb. I look at my fingers lying there all lifeless on the desk, and they don’t even feel like they belong to me.

  In gym, heads run and shout this and that way but it’s all dead to me.

  Lunchtime is hype as usual, but dead to me too.

  When school is done, I meet Mike and we walk into the crowd of other dismissed kids acting wild. I watch this kid Benny smack this kid Jonah’s neck real hard.

  “NECK!” Benny yells.

  Heads point and laugh at how Jonah got necked.

  I wish somebody would neck me because then maybe I could explode and break on somebody, break anything.

  Mike looks in my face. He scans it like he sees something he never saw before. “Bryan, you good?”

  “Why?”

  “You look kind of wild like your pops when he’s OD pissed or amped.”

  I say my next words and it feels like some voice outside of me speaks. “My dad is locked up.”

  His face drops and he stops walking. “Word?”

  “Word. He didn’t come home last night,” I say. “He was with that snake Alex.” I point at a random building. “You think we could get on that building’s roof?”

  “Why?”

  I’m already walking to that building.

  Mike catches up and grabs my forearm. “Stop. Let’s talk about your dad some—”

  I snatch my arm. “You coming to the roof? Or staying?”

  “Okay. Coming.”

  In the elevator ride up, he doesn’t try speaking to me and I like that. I can’t think straight so I can’t talk straight.

  Next thing you know, we’re on the roof of some building and I have no problem leaning over the edge of the wall. I watch the insect-size cars and people move around below. I feel monster big.

  I scoop up a handful of gravel and jiggle it in my palm. I like the sound and feel of the stones clinking sharp in my hand.

  “You think I could hit that car?” I ask.

  Mike isn’t in the mood. “Why you not letting me know more about your pops?”

  I point. “That brown car right there.”

  And before Mike can get his next word out, a man down on the street spots me. “Hey!” he yells. “There’s a kid on the roof!”

  Mike yanks me with all his strength down and out of sight. “You crazy?” He looks dead in my eye. “What the heck is wrong with you?”

  “What?”

  “Bruh,” he says, “if you throw a rock, don’t be Stuck On Stupid. Throw, then duck fast.”

  “I know,” I tell Mike real fast. “I’m just so hyped up with this Pa stuff. I don’t even know if I was gonna throw a rock. But you look like you get this release when you throw them and I guess I was thinking I might feel that too—”

  “I feel you,” he interrupts. “There’s this rush, this release, and a little like I’m getting back at the world. But you know what would mess that all up? If we get busted. Let’s dip.”

  CHAPTER 17

  When we’re off the roof and outside, I look across the street and see the man who sp
otted me talking to Ma’s friend Mina—the one who runs gossip to her. Did the old dude tell Mina that a boy was on the roof? Will she think I’m that boy? We move fast and I cover my face with my hand like I’m whispering something to Mike, hoping she doesn’t see me.

  As we head to my block, Mike says something I never knew. “My pops. My pops be in and out. Like yours. You know what I’m saying?”

  I nod to let him keep talking because I’m curious about his dad. But when he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “You want to say more?”

  As soon as I say that, Mike’s face tightens.

  “Nah.”

  It’s weird how he shut down, like he regrets even bringing it up.

  Something else is weird. Even though Pa is locked up, I expect him to be here as we approach his corner. Like he’s supposed to be free. It might be silly. But I feel that.

  Nicholas, the cool older dark-skinned dude with the all-white hair, calls to me. “You looking more like your pops every day.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and whispers in my ear on the low, “You heard anything from him? How’s he doing?”

  Another friend of Pa’s yells, “Little Joe!”

  “Oye! Joelito!” Another winks at me.

  Soon, almost every guy is calling me a mini-me of Pa, and my heart speeds up and it makes me feel good.

  “Same slim build as Joe,” Nicholas says, all proud like I’m his son.

  I look up and smile at him.

  “Same hair and cheeks too,” Pito says. I remember when he told Pa he’d look out for me and wouldn’t let anybody mess with me. Now he shakes my hand and slips me a folded five-dollar bill.

  And as my heart beats faster and harder with the rhythm of the action of Pa’s friends, showing me love and comparing me with him, another voice fires off: “Same eyes.”

  Same eyes. Same eyes. Same eyes.

  Me and Mike nod and leave and are halfway down the block when I check out our reflection in the windows we pass.

  Mike looks like Mike.

  But me . . . my eyes . . .

  For the first time, I’ll admit that my eyes look like Pa’s when he has that hyped, intense stare. It usually scares me when Ava or Ma says my eyes look like his, but now, Pa’s eyes on my face looking back at me shoots other feelings through me. It makes me feel like I can handle anything and man up while Pa’s locked up.