We sat there grinning at each other, ignoring the rest of the cafeteria, the rest of the school, the rest of the world. Then the trouble started. Halfway through lunch Rashad and Terrell, two dudes who hang with the gangbangers, stopped by our table. I remember both of them from kindergarten—they used to be silly and sweet, but they scare me now. It’s like they’re angry all the time. They walk around the halls with matching purple jackets and frowns. They never do homework, but even the teachers seem a little scared and don’t bother them about it. I’m not sure if they’re in the gang, because nobody comes out and says so, especially to somebody like me, but they all hang together on the corner by the bus stop after school. They take kids’ bus money and sometimes even push kids around or knock them down.
Anyway, they stopped at our table and just stared at us. They didn’t say anything. They just looked. Julio glanced at them, started to say something, but changed his mind and decided to ignore them. They left after a few minutes, but they looked real hard at me, as if to give me some unspoken message. They left a chill behind them.
The silly, friendly mood of our lunch conversation had been ruined. We finished quickly and promised to write tonight on E-mail. Neither one of us said much. It’s hard to know what to be afraid of when you don’t even know what the threat is.
19.
Julio and Ben
The final bell rang. All the band equipment was put away, and Julio and Ben headed out to catch their bus. Julio stopped by his locker to get his history book, and Ben, hair buttercup yellow today, put his history book away.
“Don’t you ever do homework, Ben?” Julio asked as he tossed his book into his bag.
“Not if I can help it, man. Homework goes against everything I believe in, like freedom and independence. How am I going to start a revolution like Sam Adams and his boys did back in 1776 if I don’t practice now?”
“But you get good grades anyway,” Julio noted in admiration.
“Ah, my friend who needs his nose pierced, I read all the time—much more than the teacher assigns. I go to the library and I get so involved with the stories and the lives of the people in the history book that I end up knowing enough to teach the class. But I’d never tell the teacher. He thinks I’m Ben the weirdo. That’s cool with me.”
“You’ve got enough body piercing for both of us. Is that a new one on your eyebrow?”
“Yeah, I was bored, and it drives my mother crazy. You know, I’ll probably end up being the corporate lawyer she wants me to be, but I’m gonna have fun on the journey!”
“Like the safety pins in your ears?”
“Why buy jewelry? I believe in self-expression.”
“For real. I bet little old ladies on the bus get up and move when they see you coming.”
“Yeah, I love it! Here I come—leather jacket, dog collar on my neck, blue or pink or green hair, and all my visible body parts pierced. I sit down next to one of them, and look real slowly over at her, and then I grin—showing lots of teeth.”
“Why you do that, man?” Julio asked, laughing.
“Why not? Life’s a trip—enjoy the ride. So, speaking of trippin’, how was dining with Miss Dynamite today, mi amigo?
Julio grinned at the thought of Romiette, then frowned as he remembered the rest. “Lunch today with Romi was great, at least at first. We laughed and rattled on together like we’ve known each other for years. We talked about her mom’s shop and her dad’s TV show. That Nannette Norris is a real trip.”
“Yeah, I saw it last night! She kept stumbling over words like ‘maintenance’ and ‘metropolitan.’ It would have been funny if it weren’t so embarrassing. Old Nannette is my kind of girl! Pretty—and stupid!”
Julio added, “It looks like Romi’s dad tries real hard to keep a straight face, but in those little sections just before the commercials when they have to make small talk on the air, you can see he’s straining to act like he likes her. It must be rough.”
Ben and Julio walked down to the corner, past the little store where kids bought chips and soda and illegal cigarettes. The weather was cold, but the sun was shining, letting them know spring would show up sooner or later. They had missed the early bus, so they knew they had at least a twenty-minute wait. They stood in silence for a few minutes, Ben’s corn-bright hair blowing in the chilly breeze. Ben said finally, “So, tell me, did you give Romi the lion?”
Julio laughed. “Yeah, I was scared at first, but I think she liked my little surprise. And even though it was just a small stuffed lion, she treated it like it was a gift from a king!”
Ben bowed down in mock reverence and announced, “All hail, King Julio!”
Julio punched his arm, chuckling. “Cut that out, Ben!”
“Oh, sire, tell me. Did the Princess Romiette honor you with a gift as well, or have you changed your initials to RRC and decided to advertise it on the loop of your jeans?” He wouldn’t stop bowing. Other students at the bus stop smiled, but they were used to Ben’s antics.
“Yeah, she gave me the key chain,” he admitted.
“Aw. How sweet.” He was still bowing, only now he looked more like a penguin than the subject of a king.
“I wasn’t sure if I should take it at first,” Julio began.
“Why?” Ben finally stood straight up. “You think too much, man!”
“But it seemed like she really wanted me to have it, so I thanked her and hooked it onto my own key chain, this one with the Texas Rangers logo on it.”
“Good man. Wise choice. So, a perfect day?”
“Not exactly. The Family is still in the house.”
“This ain’t good, Julio.”
“You telling me? Me and Romi were just finishing the last of the cafeteria chocolate milk, which is probably the only thing they can’t mess up, and these two dudes came up to our table and stopped. I looked up to say something, thinking they were friends of Romiette’s, but they didn’t smile. And they had on purple.”
“What did you do?”
“There was nothing to do. They just stared at me. I don’t think they liked me talking to her. They didn’t say anything; they just looked at me, looked at her, and walked away.”
“What you gonna do?”
“Wait and see. And watch my back—for now.”
“What does Romi think?”
“I don’t know. I thought I had escaped that stuff. She looked as scared as I was. I think she knew them, but they weren’t friends of hers. Why should anybody care who I have lunch with? Romiette is the only girl in the whole school who’s been friendly to me, and now we’re threatened because of it?”
“What did she say?”
“We didn’t talk about it after they left. We both left the cafeteria in a hurry. We promised to write each other on E-mail, but I wonder what she thinks about all this. I wonder if this will spoil something that hasn’t even had a chance to start yet. And I wonder if she’s as scared as I am.”
“Don’t let the Purple Panthers sweat you, man. Maybe they’re just showin’ off.”
“I don’t think so. They’ll be back—I’m sure of it.”
“Just chill, and ignore them. You coming to jazz band tryouts next week? You’re pretty good on the saxophone.”
“And you’re not bad on the drums!” Julio returned.
“Percussion is my life!” howled Ben as he pounded on his book bag like a drum. “I just love to make noise!”
“Do you play other instruments?” Julio asked. The bus, finally, could be seen in the distance lumbering slowly toward them.
Ben shrugged. “Clarinet, vibes, bongos. And I’m a drummer in a rock band on weekends. What can I say—I’m a musician extraordinaire, Señor Julio! You play anything else besides that sax?”
“I can play the mandolin,” Julio admitted sheepishly. “Not much use for that in a marching band.”
“For real? You got one?”
“Yeah, I brought it with me from Texas.”
“That’s phat. How good ar
e you?”
“Whenever you have an opening in your rock band for an extra mandolin payer, I’m your man, Ben! Actually, I’m pretty good. I played a little on weekends with a small Tejano band in Corpus Christi. I miss all that stuff.”
“It must be rough moving so far from home. I’ve lived here all my life. Maybe that’s why I try to liven things up around here. Everything’s the same, especially in the winter—kinda …”
“Gray!”
“You got it. So I wear yellow hair and safety pins and nobody knows all I want to do is make music.”
“You’re OK, Ben. I’ll bring my mandolin one day and show you how to play it.”
“Don’t worry about me—that’s the kind of thing that melts a girl’s socks off. Somebody like Romiette would think it was sooo romantic!”
“You make good sense even if you do have a ring in your nose!”
“It only hurts when I sneeze.”
“Or when somebody knocks it off your face!”
“Don’t remind me. Here’s my bus. Catch you tomorrow!”
“Later, man. Here’s my bus pulling up in the rear.”
20.
At the Boutique
Romiette sometimes complained to her friends, but she loved working at her mother’s store. She’d take the short bus ride from school to the shop, and always, just before she went inside, she’d stand a few yards from the door and watch the people who passed by, those who looked, and those who went inside. Downtown sidewalks were always busy with shoppers, commuters, and the thousands of nameless people who worked in the offices. Romi called them “the suits” and “the shoes.” “The suits” were the men in the office uniform—dark jacket, dark slacks (khaki on Friday), reddish tie, white shirt. They all carried briefcases and all of them believed themselves to be much more important than they really were. The really important ones didn’t have to walk where they needed to go. Someone drove them. “The shoes” were the women who wore variations of the men’s uniform, only they wore huge, white athletic shoes with their blue suits. They carried their stylish shoes in a bag, and walked purposefully in their play shoes to their destination, where they did not play. They were serious and focused, these women, determined to make it in a man-made world. Romi admired them.
People who usually had no time to notice whether the weather had changed, or the homeless person sitting on the corner, would often slow down at the window of the boutique. Lady Brianna Cappelle had a sense of style and drama, and her window displays were delightfully eye-catching. This month the display included three stained-glass windows crafted with intricate flower designs, a fountain from which bubbled clear, cool water, dozens of live tulips blooming two months early, and a sampling of outfits placed artfully among them. Sometimes people just walked in out of curiosity. Most of them left with a purchase or two.
Every time Romi walked into the store, she would stop to enjoy the sensory feast inside. Fountains bubbled, soft music soothed, and mild incense, blended with the smell of new cloth and old stories, made Romi grin with delight. It was here that she learned of all the African tribes—those of the past who established great kingdoms long before European kingdoms began, and those of the present who lived and worked with great dignity and pride. It was here that Romi had heard the wondrous folktales of the storytellers, and it was here that Romi and her mother had become very close. They worked well together, and as Romi got older she had been given more responsibility. She liked being in the store alone too, as she was today. Her mother had run to the bank for a few minutes, and Romi decided to rearrange the jewelry display since the store was practically empty. The door chimed as it opened, and Malaka Grimes walked in.
Romi and Malaka had been friends when they were much younger and lived near each other. But Malaka’s parents had divorced, Malaka had moved, and she had grown up facing lots of pain and unhappiness. It had changed her from the giggly, cheerful friend Romi remembered to a hard-acting, foulmouthed girl who smoked, drank, and wore her skirts very tight and very short. When they ran into each other at school last year, Romi almost didn’t recognize Malaka. They had exchanged phone numbers, promised to call, but there was very little to say anymore.
“Whassup, Romiette,” Malaka said coolly. She was wearing a body-hugging purple sweater, a short black leather skirt, and purple tights.
“Hey, girl. Not much. Just chillin’ here in my mom’s store.”
“Got any new stuff in?” Malaka fingered the jewelry, then tossed it back onto the counter as if it were junk.
“Yeah, some live Kente cloth dresses over there, and some jewelry to die for in that case over there.” Romi felt uncomfortable. Malaka had not come to shop.
“Doesn’t your mama give you whatever you want out of here?” Malaka asked.
“Give? You must be crazy! My mother is in business for the money. She pays me for workin’, so she expects me to pay for things I see and like. She takes it out of my check.”
“From what I’ve seen you wear, you must not get a very big check.” Malaka laughed sarcastically.
“Yeah, I had to learn to control myself.” Romi busied herself by dusting the jewelry case. She was trying not to treat Malaka with suspicion, but she couldn’t figure out what she wanted.
Finally Malaka let her purpose be known. “Hey, Romi,” she said innocently, “who was that I saw you eatin’ lunch with?”
Romi knew instantly where the conversation was headed. This she could handle. She paused a minute, looked Malaka up and down slowly, adjusted the water flow from the fountain, then turned to Malaka and said boldly, “That new boy, Julio. What’s it to you?”
“The Puerto Rican?”
“He’s not Puerto Rican, he’s Mexican. Actually, he’s Texan. He’s from Corpus Christi.”
“He’s kinda cute, if you like that type.” Malaka sauntered past Romi as if to look at the candle display.
“What do you mean, ‘that type’?” Romi could feel the anger building.
“Well, you know, Mexican—Hispanic-like.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Romi felt as if she needed to defend Julio. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt protective.
“Nothin’. Hey, why you gettin’ all salty? I just said—” Malaka was enjoying this. She knew she was irritating Romi. That was her purpose.
“You acted like something was wrong with me eating lunch with a Mexican-American.”
“I don’t see why you would want to—you know, you’ve always been heavy into African clothes and jewelry and stuff. It just seemed odd to see you giggling like a third grader with that kid that’s so obviously—let me see how I can put this—Spanish.” Malaka smirked.
“I was not giggling. He’s funny and clever and he makes me laugh. What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Ain’t nothin’ to me. Some other folks, now—they might give a care. Do what you want. Can’t even have a conversation with you no more. Catch you later. Peace.” At that, Malaka sauntered out of the store.
Romi stood there shaking and angry. “Peace? Doesn’t look like it. I wonder what that was all about. Something’s going on here.”
21.
Phone Call
Romi lounged on her bed and waited for the phone to ring. She’d finished her homework, taken her shower, talked to Destiny twice, and now, just before sleep took over, she knew that Julio would call. She picked it up on the second ring. No use letting him think I’m desperate! she thought.
“Hola, Romi.” Julio’s voice melted her socks, but she wasn’t going to let him know, at least not yet.
“What’s up, Julio? You dealin’ with that purple warning we got today?”
“So what was that all about? I could tell you knew those thick-lookin’ dudes, but they didn’t seem like they wanted to sit down and share a Coke and a smile.”
Romi sighed. “Julio, we got gangbangers like everybody else. They just never bothered me before.”
“I know. I can smell gangbangers from a distance, and those dudes
were stinking with their power and threat. They’ve been hassling me, but you’ve got nothing to do with that.”
“Hassling you? Why?”
“Because they can. At my old school, it got so bad that they’d walk into a hall and everyone would run inside the nearest classroom. Teachers too. One teacher, Mr. Cordero, tried to stand up to them last year. He insisted they take off their colors in his class and he refused to run the other way when they ‘walked the hall,’ as they called it. He would look them straight in the eye and tell them he was not afraid of them. He died in a car accident one weekend. His brakes failed. So they say. No one could prove anything, but the gangbangers walked the halls with more freedom after that. The principal, a timid little man, wrote letters and sent memos, but he would lock his office doors when it was time for ‘gang walk.”’
“Oh, Julio. That’s scary. Did you have a lot of gangs?”
“We had some. There was an all-girl gang who called themselves the Sisterhood—really just a bunch of little wanna-bes who wanted to be bad, and wanted to be noticed, and wanted to be seen with the dudes in the main gangs. The big gangs had organized crime connections from New York. I know because the gangs seemed to show up all of a sudden. We had about five new kids enroll in the school—hard-looking dudes who didn’t look like eleventh graders. They spent a lot of time hanging with the ‘fringe’ kids—you know, the kids who come late or skip school or hang on the corners after midnight. Before we knew it, there were meetings, and colors, and handshakes, and all of a sudden those kids had money and drugs and clothes and … power, I guess is the best way to say it. And those five transfer kids dropped out—just left. Our school was rough before, but it changed. Instead of fistfights, kids got cut with knives. I knew lots of kids who had guns in their book bags.”
“Guns in their book bags? But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I know the same kinds of kids. I bet they look the same. Not much nerve. No real friends. Scary. Like on the news. You got racial gangs? Or mixed, like in West Side Story?”
Romiette and Julio Page 7
