“I won’t,” I tell her. In my head, I’m imagining how shocked she’ll be when she comes back and sees all the money I’ll have.
“One more thing,” Mama says, reaching under the bed. She pulls out a box, and I know what it is before I even look inside. “I had to go to the storage unit and get some things. Thought you might wanna do some reading this summer.”
I tell Mama thanks and start taking out the notebooks. Daddy’s notebooks. I flip through the pages, hoping none of them are blank. Mama even picks one up and starts reading. We stay like that for a while, reading Daddy’s words together until some of the sad disappears.
May 29
LAST MEMORIAL DAY, Daddy barbecued on our tiny balcony, and Mama fussed at him the whole time about charcoal grills not being allowed. This year, I’m riding in the back of the car with Sneaky, feeling awkward and quiet all the way to McReynolds Park. I think about Mama, wonder what she’s doing, if she’s feeling better yet. I bet she’s worse, cuz she doesn’t have me and Charlie with her. That’s how I am without her. Worse.
Sneaky’s mom knocked on Miz Rita’s door this morning, talkin’ ’bout how she wanted me to go with them to the park for a barbecue. I tried to give Miz Rita my please-say-no look, but it didn’t work. She was all like, “That sounds lovely; Sneaky ain’t been around in forever!”
So here I am, sitting next to my ex–best friend and not sayin’ one word. Sneaky mostly stares out of his window, but he also peeks over at me a few times. Sneaky’s mom is listening to Jesus music, and Antwan, who’s in the front seat with his headphones, looks annoyed. The lady on the song keeps sayin’ something about the breath of life, and that’s when Sneaky grins at me with this mischievous look on his face.
“Hey, Ma,” he says, “what do you do if the breath of life stinks?”
I snicker, and even though Antwan rolls his eyes and looks even more annoyed, I can see his lip twitch into a smile, just a tiny bit.
“Boy!” Sneaky’s mom gives him a look in the rearview mirror and swerves a little bit.
“Dang, Ma, watch the road!” Antwan complains, hunching over even more.
“Hush!” Sneaky’s mom says, turning up her music. Antwan groans, probably because there’s no way he can hear his music now.
“Dare you to get in the water when we get there,” Sneaky says. “Five bucks if you get in!”
“Whatever,” I tell him. Sneaky doesn’t just give away money. He still owes me from our basketball game, but I don’t say anything. And when we get to the park, I run into the water anyway. It’s freezing cold!
“Oh, snap! You actually got in!” Sneaky says, and he has no choice but to come in, too. It’s cool to do something before him for once. I splash him good when he sticks his feet in the water, then run out before he can get me back.
“Y’all crazy behinds got in that water?” Sneaky’s mom is setting up chairs and blankets, and she shakes her head when we come over shivering. “Sneaky, don’t come calling me when you catch pneumonia!”
She fusses for a bit, but makes Antwan go back to the car to get the towels she has in the trunk.
“Y’all dumb,” Antwan says when he tosses us the towels. He spots a few of his friends, and they all sit on picnic tables doing nothing. I wonder if me and Sneaky will be like that when we’re fifteen.
“So why you always with Angel now?” Sneaky asks, picking blades of grass and tossing them into the air. “You like her or something?”
“No!” I say real quick. “I mean, she’s aight.”
“But y’all got a business and stuff?”
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t tell him what the business is, exactly.
“Still gonna use your money for a new place?”
“Why you hangin’ with those dudes?” I ask, kinda ignoring Sneaky’s question. “Alex and all them?”
Sneaky shrugs. “I don’t know. They cool, though. They ’bout the money like me.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “Cuz they stole my money. Did you know that?”
Sneaky’s face twists into a question mark.
“Huh?”
“Alex is Angel’s cousin. He told her him and his friends took the money from my backpack.”
“The money for your place?”
“Yeah.”
“Maaaan.” Sneaky’s face gets mad now. “I swear, I ain’t know that, ’Saiah.”
I look at him hard, trying to believe him. Sneaky wouldn’t let nobody get away with doing that. Right?
“Watch and see what happens to him,” Sneaky says. His voice is scary, kinda like Antwan’s, and when I look over at Antwan and his friends, I know I never want us to be like them.
“You don’t have to do nothing,” I say. “Me and Angel gonna make it all back.”
Me and Sneaky don’t say anything for a while; he keeps picking grass and throwing it, and I keep watching the ripples in the water when boats pass by. A dog jets right by us, chasing some kind of toy. When it howls and barks, I think about Daddy.
Daddy always used to call McReynolds Park “Bark Park,” because every time we went, no lie, there’d be a dog there barking. Daddy would say, “Okay, ’Saiah, if we get through the whole time with no dogs barking, I’ll give you a dollar.”
“Yo,” Sneaky says after a while, “I ain’t mean to be all crazy about the talent show. I’m just sayin’, everybody there was WACK, and I know we coulda killed it! Why you ain’t come?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” I tell him. “We got kicked out the Smoky Inn.”
“For real? And then y’all went to Miz Rita’s?”
I shake my head.
“Then where’d y’all go?”
“The car.”
Sneaky’s eyes get big. He gets it now.
“You coulda just stayed with us,” he says, which feels like his “I’m sorry.”
“I know, right?”
“I hope your mom gets better.” Sneaky holds out his fist, and I dap it. Then we do our special handshake, laughing as we add even more parts to it.
“Hey, who’s that?” I ask Sneaky when some dude walks over to our spot carrying a grill. He gives Sneaky’s mom a hug. Sneaky sucks his teeth.
“Man, that’s some dude,” he says. “My mom’s friend or something.”
The guy sets up his grill and starts getting out hot dogs and stuff. He nods over at us.
“Hey, Aaron,” the guy calls.
“Maaaan!” Sneaky groans and shakes his head. I laugh. Nobody calls Sneaky by his real name, except my mama, which is weird.
“My bad, my bad,” the guy says, holding up his hands like we’re the police. “Sneaky.”
It sounds funny when he says it, like it doesn’t fit.
“Hey,” Sneaky says.
“Who’s your buddy?” asks the guy.
“Isaiah.”
“What’s up, Isaiah?” says the guy. “You got a nickname, too? Or is it just Isaiah?”
“Isaiah.”
“Good to meet you, Isaiah. I’m Wes.”
“Hey,” I say.
“Salvation of the Lord.”
“Huh?” This Wes dude is kinda crazy.
“That’s what your name means,” Wes says. “Salvation.”
“Maaan!” Sneaky groans again. He whispers to me, “She met him at my grandma’s church. Crazy, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. But I keep thinking about what he said, even while me and Sneaky try to spy on Antwan and his friends, and they end up chasing us and trying to throw us in the water. I think about it when we’re stuffing our faces with hot dogs and potato salad and baked beans, and when we’re just chillin’, sippin’ on root beers.
The only time I stop thinking about what my name means is when we’re playing catch with the football Wes brought, and I hear a dog bark. Then I think
of Daddy, and the dollar I won’t be getting from him.
June 2
LAST DAY OF school, which means everybody’s being all nice and wanting to sign each other’s memory books.
In class, Mrs. Fisher makes sure we clean up our area and get the room looking decent. She also gives us time to write messages to each other. Most people write stuff like nice knowin’ ya, and we in middle school now! At lunch (which is a bunch of gross leftovers) Sneaky writes, Bro$ 4 life! and draws a picture of a sneaker with dollar bills coming out of it. Angel writes @DP, which I know is code for our business name. I write my “In Common” poem in her book and sign my name all fancy.
“That’s gonna be worth money one day,” I tell her.
“Whatever,” she says with a smile.
* * *
—
Miz Rita picks me up after school and says she’ll stop by the library on the way home.
“This ain’t gonna be a lazy summer, I can tell you that!” she says.
While Miz Rita takes Charlie to look at baby books, I head over to see Mr. Shephard.
“Look who’s here!” Mr. Shephard says, giving me dap. “What’s up, stranger?”
“Hey, Mr. Shephard,” I say.
“Where you been, kid?” he asks. I tell him about my hustle at the barbershop, and he shakes his head.
“You dissed me for a job at a barbershop?”
“It’s not like that!” I say, but I can tell Mr. S is joking.
“Well, your table’s open,” he says, pointing over toward the window. “Where’s the notebook?”
“In my bag,” I say. And there’s no way I’m putting my bag down this time.
“Remember, just because it’s summer doesn’t mean you have to stop reading,” Mr. Shephard says.
“I know,” I say. I tell him I’ve also been busy writing my own stuff.
“Good. Since you’re here, you should sign up for our summer reading program,” Mr. Shephard says. I follow him to the front desk, and he gives me this plastic game board and a bag of Velcro pieces.
“Each time you read a book, you put on one of these.” Mr. Shephard points to a star. “You read a book on our list, and you put on a sun. When you come to the library once a week for our programs, you stick on a beach ball. We add everything up in August and give out prizes.”
The game board says “Ride the Reading Wave” and has a book on a surfboard. Kinda corny, but at least the prizes look cool.
“I mostly read my dad’s notebooks,” I say.
“Tell you what, since you and your dad are famous around here, we’ll count that,” Mr. Shephard says. “But you should check out some of the books on our list, too.”
I take Mr. Shephard’s advice and pick a book called Bud, Not Buddy, cuz the boy on the front kinda looks like Sneaky. When I go to my table and start reading, I find out Bud, the main guy in the story, is away from his mama like I am, only his mama died. That makes me pray that God won’t ever let Mama die.
The story’s good, and by the time Miz Rita’s ready to go, I’ve already read two whole chapters. I tell Miz Rita, and she’s so impressed, she forgets about making me do a research report for her. Charlie’s got stickers on her shirt and a few books in her hand.
“Look at my books, ’Saiah!” she says, putting them all up in my face.
“I see, Charlie, dang,” I tell her.
“Can you read one to me?” she asks.
I’m about to say no, but then I remember that picture books are super easy to read, and I can add up a whole lotta stars on my board by reading to Charlie.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’ll read ’em all!”
June 6
“SO HOW’S THE summer going, li’l man?” Rock asks me.
“It’s good,” I say. I spray his mirrors and wipe them down so they’re sparkling clean.
“How’s your writing coming along?” Rock asks. Man, ever since he caught me writing something in Daddy’s notebook while I was waiting for Mama, he’s been asking me the same question all the time.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Wanna hear one of my poems?”
“Yeah, man, put it on me!” says Rock. I tell him my poem about the broken elevator at Miz Rita’s place.
Broke up,
Broke down,
Don’t get on
Unless you wanna stick around.
Smells like a bathroom,
Moves like a snail.
Being on this elevator
Is like being in jail.
Stuck with stinky people,
Or dudes you do not know.
You gotta watch the ceiling
So the awkwardness don’t show.
Broke down,
Broke up,
I got on,
There goes my luck!
Rock cracks up and tells me it’s good.
“I can do one for you, too,” I say. “That’s my other business, you know.”
Rock puts his clippers down and stares at me.
“What’cho mean, your other business, ’Saiah?”
I tell him about @Dunn Poems and how we sell poems. I’m thinking Rock’s gonna be excited, but he just stares at me some more.
“You want me to sweep now?” I ask.
“Nah, no sweeping,” Rock says. He pats his barber chair. “Have a seat.”
Dang, another talk? Rock pulls up a stool and sits across from me.
“What’s goin’ on, li’l man?” he asks. “Every time I talk to you, you got a new hustle.”
“I’m saving up,” I tell him. “You said I was a throwback kid, remember?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Rock chuckles. “The candy hustle was cool, even what you’re doing in the shop. But you worryin’ me, kid. What ten-year-old runs around selling poems on the spot?”
“Isaiah Dunn,” I tell him. “Superhero.”
“Superhero, huh.” Rock shakes his head. “All I’m sayin’ is, you gotta take time to be a kid, right?”
I shrug.
“Your daddy would want that.”
When Rock says that, I freeze.
“Yeah, I knew Gary Dunn,” he continues. “Only dude around who used to get his hair cut while writing in a notebook.”
“He came here for haircuts?” I ask.
“Yeah, until he decided to take it all off,” Rock laughs.
I remember Daddy joking that his hair line was marching backward like a college band at halftime. He even wrote a pretty funny poem about it.
“Now, I didn’t know him real good or anything, but I know he loved his family,” Rock says. “And you know what he said about writing?”
“No.”
“He said words were little legacies that stay around much longer than he would.”
“So?” I say. “I’d rather have Daddy than his words, and so would Mama!”
“I get it,” Rock says. “But just remember, you got a lotta power in those notebooks you always carry around and don’t want nobody to see. You carrying around your dad’s legacy. And that’s just as important as you trying to hustle up money and be the man of the house.”
“But Daddy would want me to help Mama,” I tell Rock.
“Money ain’t the only way you can help her,” Rock says. “It’s not your job to be your dad. You being Isaiah is enough to make her proud, and your dad would be proud, too. Just think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Aight, now I want you to get outta here.” Rock stands up and pulls a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. He snaps it before handing it to me. “This is for you, okay? Hang with your friends, go see a movie, get an ice cream cone or something, man.”
I pocket the cash and tell Rock thanks.
“Hey, if I find out you didn’t
spend this money on something fun, I’ma cut your hair bald like your daddy!” Rock calls after me.
I laugh and take Rock’s advice. I decide to walk home so I don’t have to bug Miz Rita. On the way, I stop by the dollar store and get myself a gold notebook like Daddy’s and a new pack of pens.
In my room at Miz Rita’s, I finally write my first story ever, “Inka and the Secret of the Magic Mohawk.”
It’s hard, and it takes a long time. I still like poems better, but I’m glad I tried something new. When I put my gold notebook right next to Daddy’s, I can almost feel him being proud of me. Guess Rock was right.
June 7
MAMA’S FIRST LETTER comes today, and I read it real slow.
Dear Isaiah,
I miss you so much! Leaving you and Charlie was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Yeah, I know you guys don’t think I had to, but I did. I hope that as you get older, you understand. I’m doing better, and as they tell me, one day at a time. How is your summer going? Are you and Sneaky staying out of trouble? You betta not be giving Miz Rita a hard time! I can’t wait to see you! You are an awesome son!
Love you always,
Mama
I start to fold the letter up, but then I get a better idea. I open Daddy’s notebook, and I put Mama’s letter there, so her words are next to Daddy’s. I decide to write Mama a letter back.
Hey, Mama,
Thanks for the letter, but it was kinda short! I read a lot now, you know. Haha! Don't worry, me and Charlie are being good. I'm having a good time working with Rock, and I even started a new business with a girl from my school. (No, Mama, it's not like that!) We sell poems, and they're pretty good. I'll send you some. Well, gotta go, Miz Rita says we gotta go to her church. When are you coming back?
Love, your son,
Isaiah
I feel bad for sending Mama a short letter back, but I can’t think of anything else I want to say. I could tell her about me and Sneaky, but I don’t want that to make her worry. Plus, at least we’re friends again, even if it’s not exactly the same as before.
Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero Page 12
