No such luck.
“Hey, Chanti, I’m going your way. Want a ride?”
“That’s okay. Thanks, though,” I say, holding up my bus pass. Ugh, I’m so lame.
Reginald pulls ahead a little, parks against the curb, and gets out. I’d probably feel a little stalked if I didn’t already know he really is a nice guy, has a massive crush on me (yes, I said massive), and that he came to my boyfriend’s rescue.
“Aren’t you going to block traffic?”
“There’s plenty of room to go around. Besides, what traffic? Everyone cleared out fifteen minutes ago, trying to get home so they can get ready for the game. You going?”
“So why are you just leaving?” I ask, ignoring his last question.
“I helped my mom out with some stuff after school. I saw you knocking on her door between sixth and seventh periods. You weren’t trying to get information about me out of her, were you?”
Reginald smiles when he says this, and I have to admit, it’s a killer smile. If I weren’t already with Marco, I would be completely tongue-tied right now. As lying is to Annette, flirting is to me. I’m terrible at it, especially when it involves a cute boy. It must be the real deal with Marco and me because I’m only mildly flustered talking to Reginald.
“Nope, I was looking for information about a completely different boy.”
This is true. Reginald’s mom is the head custodian at Langdon Prep and she knows everything about everyone, which makes her my best informant at school even if she doesn’t realize it. Today I went looking for some details about Brent Carmody, but found her cleaning supply closet/office empty.
“Whatever you say,” Reginald says, clearly not believing me. I guess being that cute makes you a little cocky. “My mom’s bridge-night friends are picking her up later, so she gave me the keys. I got a car. Now I just need a girl and somewhere to go before the game.”
“Reginald, you know Marco and me, well—”
“How’s that going, anyway? I figured there was trouble in paradise when I saw you at lunch yesterday with your girl Annette instead of him.”
“No trouble, we just like to have our separate lives. You know—absence makes the heart grow fonder and everything. Marco and I are doing great. Just completely, totally, absolutely great.”
I swear I must be doing the worst job of turning down a guy in the history of girlhood. In my defense, I’ve never had to do this before. I’ve never been able to get one guy interested in me past the “I like you as a friend” stage, much less two. But that’s exactly where I find myself.
So I’m surprised when Reginald says, “I hope that’s true.”
Well . . . maybe he’s over me after all. If I had a little more composure and a lot more nerve, I’d ask why the hell he’s stalking me, then. But I don’t. I just stand there looking confused, until I begin to feel a little angry.
“Wait—why did you say you ‘hope’ that’s true? It is true. I ought to know.”
“Just that I think you’re kind of great, and you deserve a truly great guy.”
“You think because of that fight today, Marco isn’t? Because those boys jumped him, not the other way around.”
“I know. I was there, remember? The question is, does Marco know you were there?”
“He doesn’t need to. It was no big deal.”
Reginald, still leaning against his car, crosses his arms against his chest and appraises me, smiling a little. His signals are just a little mixed.
“Seemed like a big deal when you called me over to help save him.”
“I didn’t call you. I yelled out fight to anyone in earshot. Besides, that’s just what guys do, right? They fight,” I say repeating Marco’s weak explanation.
“Sometimes that’s all it is. But three guys jump you, and one of them is Brent Carmody, there’s more to it than just a fight.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No, I don’t. It’s a man rule: what happens in the gym stays in the gym. That includes fights, and unless someone needs to go to the hospital, even coaches follow the rule.”
I guess that explains why I didn’t hear any hallway gossip.
“I don’t mean about the fight. I’m talking about Brent—what do you mean there’s more to it if he’s involved?”
“That’s a question you need to ask your boyfriend.”
I’m starting to get annoyed by the vague responses I get from anyone whenever I ask about this guy Brent. First Annette, then Marco, now Reginald.
“I will. And just so you know, Marco is a great guy. He’s perfect.”
“No one’s perfect, and in his case, seems to me he might be more trouble than he’s worth.”
“You don’t know anything about Marco.”
“I know enough,” Reginald says. “But give me the chance to get to know him better.”
“Not that he needs your approval or anything, but why do you even care?”
“What are you guys doing after the game? I was thinking we could double-date.”
“You mean . . . me, you, and Marco?”
Reginald smiles in a way that’s a mix of naughty and true amusement. I think either he also knows about using the coy thing from romance novels, or he thinks I’m amusing, and not in a she’s so charming way. More like a what’s this chick smoking? way.
“Um, that wouldn’t be a double-date. That would just be . . . weird.”
Okay, so definitely a what’s this chick smoking? way. I can feel my face turn three shades of embarrassed. Really, I’d rather be somewhere fighting that Denver Heights cheerleader, or even Brent Carmody, than be standing here. Maybe thinking about that gives me a little courage.
“Then what the hell are you talking about, Reginald?”
“Me, you, Marco, and Annette.”
“Annette?”
“Your friend—the one I saw you having lunch with yesterday.”
“What about her?”
Reginald looks at me like he just realized I don’t speak English and he’s going to have to figure out a way to communicate using something other than words. At the same time, I’m making the realization that maybe Reginald’s crush on me isn’t so massive. In fact, the crush has deflated altogether, much like my ego.
“Well, she’s pretty hot. I was hoping maybe you could hook a brother up.”
“Yeah . . . um, no.”
I’d like to think I said that because you don’t just give a friend’s number to some random guy. But Reginald isn’t some random guy, and more than once Annette has mentioned how lucky I am to have two cute guys interested in me. ’Cause, you know, Reginald is so cute. Sadly, I think there’s more to my response than that, so I try to recover.
“I mean, Annette would not be happy with me just giving out her information, so let me talk to her first, put in a good word. If you want to give me your number, I can pass it along.”
“If you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked,” Reginald says, doing that coy-smiling thing again. Does he want me or does he want Annette? Seriously, either I really don’t get the flirtation rules or this dude operates at a whole different level of player. “Give me your phone.”
A whole scene runs through my head with Marco finding Reginald’s number in my phone and it doesn’t end well. I don’t give him my phone for the same reason I hope Reginald never tells Marco it was me who asked him to help fight Brent. Marco also thinks Reginald’s been crushing on me. See? That proves Reginald really is interested despite this whole game he’s running about Annette. Marco and I both can’t be deluded.
“No, let’s go old school,” I say, pulling a notebook and pen out of my backpack.
After Reginald gives me his number, he goes around to the driver side of his car and asks, “You’re on your way home, right?”
“Yeah, but I already told you—I’m taking the cross-town.”
“Oh, I know. You showed me your bus pass and everything. I was just wondering when you’d get a chance to talk to Annette beca
use even if you and Marco aren’t interested, I still have a car tonight, but no girl.”
First he’s hating on Marco like he’s jealous, then in the next breath, he’s trying to get my friend’s number. I think I might want to knock Reginald out, or at least understand his game. Instead, I start walking down the hill, shouting back to him, “You’d better make other plans. Annette’s my ride to the game tonight.”
Chapter 8
After the game last night, Marco made me promise again that I would stay out of his business with Brent, but being on the trail of a lead is like a chocolate craving. It will haunt me until I satisfy it. Since I’m trying hard to respect Marco’s wishes, I have to satisfy my craving by working on my other case. And by enjoying a plate of smothered pork chops.
I’m at Michelle Owens’s house with my best friend, Tasha, mooching dinner. Michelle’s mom always cooks something tasty before leaving for her late-night shift at the hospital. Michelle wouldn’t agree, but Tasha and I consider ourselves unofficial members of the Owens family, especially when it comes to her mama’s cooking. Mrs. Owens doesn’t mind—she told us so herself—because she loves to cook and always makes way too much food. Today, she made some of my favorites: smothered pork chops, mashed sweet potatoes, and collard greens. Of course, food in general is one of my favorites.
“Your mom put her foot in these chops,” I tell Michelle, hoping she will recognize my true appreciation for her mother’s cooking. “Can you please pass the potatoes?”
“No seconds. Y’all save some for my daddy. He’ll be home soon. And don’t y’all have parents who cook?”
“That’s cruel,” I say, still eyeing the potatoes. “You know my mother can’t cook.”
“My parents took my sister to a ballet recital,” Tasha says as she spears a forkful of greens off my plate since Michelle has vetoed seconds. “I thought you had a date tonight, Chanti. Won’t you be too full to eat, or is that the plan—to make Marco think you barely eat?”
“We’ve been to all-you-can-eat night at Seoul Barbecue, so I’m way past pulling off the whole I only eat salads routine with Marco. I’m eating now because a tub of movie popcorn, even with free refills, does not a dinner make. We’re going downtown to the Sixteenth Street Mall.”
“Tasha’s working tonight. She can let you in free.”
“You’re working a school night?” I say, forgetting that she’s been doing that since her mom’s hours were cut. First Tasha, now Marco. I hope they don’t start cutting hours at the police department.
“Yeah, but not in the ticket booth. I wouldn’t let you in for free even if I did,” Tasha says, giving Michelle the evil eye.
“What’s the point of having friends in power if you can’t abuse it?” Michelle says.
“Says the preacher’s daughter. Unlike Michelle, I’m law-abiding and wouldn’t ask,” I say, realizing Michelle just gave me an opening for the other thing I wanted from her besides her dinner. “Speaking of people who break the law, have you heard anything from Cisco lately?”
Michelle suddenly looks a little sad. “I haven’t seen him since before Christmas break.”
“That’s a good thing, Michelle,” Tasha says. “You need to stop crushing on that loser. He’s too old. And he’s a criminal, but I know that won’t stop you.”
“I’m not trying to get with him. But I can look, can’t I?”
“If that’s all you’re doing. Not only is he ancient, like twenty-five or something, he’s a criminal. And not even an ambitious one if he’s thirty and still hustling street corners.”
“I thought you said he was twenty-five,” I correct her.
“Twenty-five, thirty—he’s old. And in jail from what I heard.”
Tasha’s gossip is always on point, but not this time. They don’t know Cisco’s really a cop. My mom is also undercover, so I will guard his secret just like I do hers.
The thing is, until two days ago, I trusted Cisco even though I know almost nothing about him. Golden saved my life, even if Cisco made that necessary by involving me in one of his operations. They were true blue, so I never considered them a threat. But seeing his partner drop off that old lady at the bus stop has me feeling uneasy for some reason, probably because I know it wasn’t just a coincidence. Golden had to have seen me there, so why not acknowledge me? It’s like they wanted me to know they’re still around without contacting me. I don’t like games, and I’m beginning to think not telling Lana about Cisco was a bad judgment call. I’ve been known to make a few of those.
“Chanti probably did something to run him off. She scares away all the cute guys,” Michelle says.
“I’ve only run off one guy—Donnell-Down-the-Street,” I correct Michelle. “Fortunately for both of us, he’s in jail because he tried to kill me.”
“Oh please. That boy was never going to kill you. He was just frontin’. He had to keep up his rep,” Michelle says. I’m always amazed how a preacher’s daughter not only falls for actual bad boys, but defends them.
“Yeah, well, a jury of his peers thought otherwise,” Tasha says.
“Nah, he took a plea,” I say, before I realize I’m even saying it. I’m always careful not to sound too coplike since even Tasha and Michelle don’t know about my mom. But this slip-up is public information, even though Donnell told me himself when I visited him in prison a while back. Just in case, I add, “It was in the paper.”
“First Donnell, then Cisco,” Michelle laments. “Aurora Avenue is just boring now.”
“If boring means no more criminals, then boring is good,” Tasha says.
“We still have criminals,” Michelle reminds her. “There’s Ada Crawford and whatever she’s up to with all those men coming and going. Then there’s Big Mama and her illegal gambling thing.”
“Yeah, but they aren’t violent criminals, not like drug-dealing Donnell and Cisco,” Tasha says, then looks at me. “Unless you include MJ Cooper, which we should since she was arrested for murder and all.”
MJ is my other friend on the Ave, the one Tasha can’t stand because for a little while, when MJ first moved to the neighborhood, I’d kinda bailed on my friendship with Tasha. But now I’ve decided I can be friends with both of them, as long as it’s never in the same room. It also helps when MJ is away on a church mission with her grandmother, which she’ll be for the next month.
“She was arrested but never charged. The people behind it were a whole new set of criminals you don’t know anything about,” I say, again forgetting I shouldn’t know much about it either until both Tasha and Michelle look at me wide-eyed. “I mean, that’s what MJ told me she heard from her old gang connections. The point is, MJ is reformed and people need to stop judging her.”
“You know what they say: Once a criminal . . .”
I try to steer the conversation back to the criminal I’m really interested in. Well, the one everyone thinks is a criminal. “I know Cisco hasn’t been seen in a couple of months, but I could swear I saw his driver yesterday on Center Street.”
“Why are you so interested in him?” Tasha asks. She’s about as suspicious as I am when it comes to rooting out some potential gossip.
“Yeah, Chanti. What’s up with that? If you’re trying to put him in jail, then mind your own business.”
“Just making conversation,” I say.
It’s clear my friends know nothing about Cisco being back on the block, and my questions were only planting interest where there was none. Sometimes it’s just better to keep your mouth shut.
*
“What time is Marco picking you up?” Tasha asks as we walk down Michelle’s porch steps.
“Soon, and I haven’t even decided what to wear.”
At nearly six o’clock, the sun has dropped behind the mountains and it’s closer to night than dusk, but I can still see a figure coming toward us. I wouldn’t have paid it much attention if I hadn’t already seen the same figure—I can tell by the shape of his coat—walking past my house a few minutes a
go when we were first leaving Michelle’s place. She and Tasha can’t ever just say goodbye even though they see each other every day. So while they discussed some event at school tomorrow, I was looking to see if Lana had gotten home. I didn’t see her car, but watched the man walk toward Center Street. I guess he must have doubled back.
So maybe he’s lost, except he jumps into a car parked in front of Tasha’s house.
“Are you expecting any visitors, Tasha?”
“No. Why?”
“That guy that just got into the car parked in front of your house—”
“What guy?”
“Exactly. He’s in the passenger side, all slouched down like he doesn’t want to be seen.”
“Oh, I know why he doesn’t want to be seen,” Tasha says.
I’m about to go knock on Michelle’s door and ask her to let us in. Tasha’s parents won’t be home for another hour. Who knows when Lana will get home. Michelle said her father would be home any minute, so her house is the safest place to be with shady men lurking around. But there goes Tasha, walking toward the man’s car like she’s all big and bad. Since I can’t let my best friend walk right up to some possible child abductor, I follow.
Before Tasha can do whatever it is she plans on doing, the man jumps back out of the car, apparently aware he’s been spotted.
“Excuse me, but can you tell me where I might find—”
“I know who you’re looking for,” Tasha says, cutting the man off. “She lives three houses down.”
“Who?” the man asks.
“Please. We know you’re looking for Ada Crawford. I ain’t your wife or the police, so I don’t care what you do. But I’d rather you not do it in front of my house.”
Okay, not only is Tasha talking a little too boldly to some man she doesn’t know from a felon, but she just told him where she lives. That’s the difference between being a cop’s kid and not. Or between being Tasha and me. She’s a busybody. I’m a busybody who’s also a wuss. But she called it right because the man thanks us, looking all sheepish and busted, before he heads for Ada’s place.
Guys, Lies & Alibis Page 4
