At the Crossroads (7 page)

“I am cool, and we’ll see about the help,” she said, blowing another bubble. “What’s your cell number?”

“I don’t have a cell phone,” he said.

“What?” she asked as if he had just said he didn’t have a head on his shoulders.

“I don’t have one. Is that a crime?”

“Well, when you get one, I’ll give you my number. Is that fair enough?” she asked.

“Nope, but it’s your number, so what can I do? And you should still take notes even if you know this stuff already.”

“Why?”

“Because what else do you have to do?”

“Text my friends,” she said.

“You can do that at home,” he said.

“Okay, Dad,” she said, closing her phone and pulling out a tablet from her book bag. “See. You’re already a good influence on me. I like that.”

Franky laughed and tore off his first page of notes and handed it to her. “I’ll help you even if you don’t want to help me,” he said.

“I never said I wasn’t going to,” Khadija said. She wrote her number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Franky. “You better be glad I love that accent. I wanna hear it again tonight around eight.”

“Fo sho,” Franky said, and slipped the number into his pocket.

F
ranky walked out of the school building among the sea of teenagers who seemed to be happy that their day had finally come to an end. For the first time in almost three years, he felt right. The school itself wasn’t what he was used to, but that was okay; he would adapt. He was good at adapting and was sure he’d get used to the place the kids called M&M High. He walked down the steps and took in the scenery of the high school campus. He was in dire need of a book bag because his teachers loaded him down with four thick textbooks and a not-so-thick one for his technology class. He saw a few familiar faces from his neighborhood and nodded at them as he made his way down the school’s stairs. He wasn’t ready to go home. He had spent too much time in that place since arriving in Atlanta and wasn’t in a rush to get back there. He decided he would try to find the football field to see what the team was looking like, but just as he stopped to ask someonewhere he could find the coach, he heard someone running toward him. He turned around just in time to see the guy who’d tried to start something with him in Mr. Johnson’s class.

“Boo,” Tyrone said, with a frown on his face.

“What’s up?” Franky said casually, turning around to see the blue-black face. He wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but his antenna went straight up.

“Did I scare ya, boi?”

“No,” Franky said. “What can I do for ya?”

“Leave my school. Get from round here. That’s what you can do for me, New Orleans,” Tyrone said as he stepped so close to Franky that their noses were almost touching.

“You mind backing up out of my face?” Franky said.

“Make me,” Tyrone barked, sending saliva into Franky’s face as people rushed over to see what was going on.

Stand tall. Don’t let nobody punk you. Send a message. Try to break something.

Without a second thought, Franky dropped his books, stepped his right leg back, slightly bent his knee for leverage, and came up with a hard right-hand uppercut to Tyrone’s left jaw. The force of the blow caused Tyrone’s head to snap back. Franky followed with a quick left cross to the boy’s temple, and Tyrone’s eyes rolled toward the back of his head. He was unconscious before his body hit the ground. The crowd of onlookers oohed and aahed at the destruction that just took place in a matter of seconds. Franky stepped back with his hands up and his head on a swivel. He was looking for anyone else who might want to join in or come to Tyrone’s defense. He wasn’t playing the big tough guy; he just didn’t want to be blindsided. He heard a loud whistle, and the same two hulking securityofficers who were manning the metal detector when he first arrived at school came running over to the crowd.

“Back up! Back up!” they yelled. “What happened over here?”

Franky started to say something to defend himself—and likely incriminate himself—but Khadija appeared out of nowhere and looped her arm into his. He pulled away from her, not sure if she was a friend or a foe. Once he saw her smile and realized who she was, he relaxed. She reached down to gather his books for him, and after a few deep breaths, he leaned down to help her. Once they had all of his things, she slipped her arm through his again and led him away from the crowd.

“Oh, nobody seen a thing, huh?” one of the officers asked as he leaned down to check on Tyrone, who was bleeding profusely from the mouth.

“Snitches get stitches,” someone yelled from afar.

“Yeah, okay,” the officer said. “We’re gonna find out who did this once we look at that videotape. But y’all go on and act like ya Ray Charles.”

“Looks like he got knocked clean out,” the other officer said, trying to stifle a laugh. “Let’s get him up.”

“Do you walk home or catch the bus?” Khadija asked, her mind no longer on the fight that just took place. It was a daily occurrence at M&M High.

“I’m walking,” Franky said, still amped about the fight that took him totally by surprise. “I’m going to get suspended on my first day of school. What’s that dude’s problem?”

“No, you won’t get suspended,” she said. “Nobody’s gonna tell those rent-a-cops anything. They couldn’t get directions if they were lost.”

“But what about the videotape?” Franky asked.

“What about it?”

“They’re gonna see me on the tape,” he said, wondering how his parents would feel about the way he handled the situation. His dad would’ve been proud and given him a high five; his mother would’ve been appalled and chastised him for not walking away.

“Those lazy bustas ain’t looking at no tape. Especially about no measly little fight. Stop yo worrying, shawty. You’re good.”

“Man,” he said, “all I wanted to do was come to school. Why did that guy try to start something with me? I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me.”

“I told you he likes attention,” she said, looking back at the officers, who had Tyrone sitting now. They were waving some smelling salts back and forth under his nose. “He’s getting all the attention he can stand now. That’s what he gets tryna jump bad.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” Franky said, looking over at his victim.

“You won’t have no more problems out of him,” Khadija said proudly. “Trust me on that.”

“I hope not,” Franky said. “I don’t like fighting, ya heard.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. But you’re oh so good at it, shawty,” Khadija said with a wink.

“Stop calling me shorty. I’m taller than you,” he said, slowly coming down from the high of his altercation.

“Yeah, but you’re still my shawty,” Khadija said, and rubbed his arm.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Blue and Red Hair,” he said.

“Don’t hate,” she said.

“Well, I do hate it,” Franky said.

“For real?”

“For real. You’re too pretty to have all of that mess in your hair looking like an ice-cream swirly.”

“Oh, you got jokes?”

“I’m just saying.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “You’re pretty.”

“Why you got all these books, man? They didn’t give you a locker?”

“Yeah, but I told you I need to play catch-up,” he said, shifting the books to his other hand.

“Okay. If you say so, shawty,” she said. “Have at it.”

Franky smiled and peeked over his shoulder to see if the officers were looking at him. They weren’t. They were busy trying to get Tyrone to stand on his own.

“Okay, Franky. I gotta get on this bus before I get left. Then I’ll have to call my momma, and Lord knows I don’t wanna hear her mouth. But you make sure you call me tonight. Okay?”

“Fo sho,” he said as he watched her run off to where a line of cheese buses waited.

If she takes that crap out of her hair, we might be working with something,
he thought.

A
fter his altercation with Tyrone, Franky walked around the building to check on the football team. He walked around the building to check out the football team. He stood at the fence and watched the M&M Rams practice for about twenty minutes or so. They seemed to be pretty good. He could tell the coach had their full attention. It was totally different from what he saw in the classrooms. He made a mental note to speak with the coach tomorrow to see if he could get out there and in the mix. It had been so long since he had participated in football that he wasn’t sure if he was fast enough to handle playing tailback anymore. He had had a nice little growth spurt in the last few years. He showed up in Atlanta as a skinny, five-feet-two-inch twelve-year-old but was now a five-feet-ten-inch fifteen-year-old who weighed close to one hundred and seventy pounds. Maybe he would try linebacker, or maybe he would just tell the coach to pick a spot for him. Standing there watching his peers, he realized how much he missedfootball. Just watching was starting to torture him, so he stepped back from the fence and headed home. He took the scenic route even though those heavy books were starting to give his arms fits. He passed Morehouse College and Clark Atlanta University and was hopeful that he would one day join the kids he saw milling about the huge campus.

As soon as he turned onto his street, he saw his friend Jason sitting on the front steps of his house. There was something about the way he was sitting—hands wrapped around his knees with his head down—that made Franky walk over to him.

“What’s wrong with you, whoadie?” he said as he approached his little friend.

“I’m locked out and Grandma ain’t answering the door,” Jason said, seemingly on the verge of tears. “I been out here forever, and I gotta go to the bathroom and do the number two.”

Franky walked past him and up the steps to the house. He knocked on the door as hard as he could, but there was no answer.

“Well, come on over to our house and use the bathroom,” Franky said. “Do you have anyone you can call?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “My auntie Samantha or my cousin David but their numbers is in the house.”

“Are,
“ Franky said, correcting Jason the way his mother used to correct him. “Their numbers
are
in the house. Come on.”

“Whatchu doing with books?” Jason asked.

“I just got home from school,” he said proudly. “What do you think I’m doing with ‘em?”

“You in school now?” Jason asked as he walked beside Franky.

“Yep.”

“No more dummy for you,” Jason said, but Franky could see that his mind was clearly on his grandmother.

Franky was worried about Mrs. Bertha, too. In all the time they had lived across the street from her, she had never missed a day of waiting for Jason. Something wasn’t right. She would normally be sitting in her rocking chair, waiting on his bus to arrive.

They walked across the street to Franky’s house. When they walked in, Franky noticed Rico spread out on the sofa fast asleep. An empty beer bottle was on the floor, and he wore only a pair of boxer shorts.

“Go ahead. You know where the bathroom is,” Franky said as he looked down at his cousin with new disdain. He loved Rico, but he didn’t like him. And Rico’s little charade this morning didn’t do anything to help with his feelings toward his cousin. He walked into his bedroom, and his anger grew even more. Clothes were everywhere. Worse than it was this morning before he left for school. He placed his books on his dresser and looked at the mess of clothes. He took a deep breath and started picking up his things. He neatly folded every piece of clothing, then placed them in his closet. Once he was halfway through with his task, he heard the toilet flush and Jason walked out.

“Y’all nasty,” Jason said with his face frowned up. “Somebody didn’t even flush the toilet. My grandmother would hit y’all with her broom. And why y’all toilet paper so hard?”

“Man,” Franky said, throwing a pair of socks at Jason. “Shut up.”

“Why yo room so messy?”

“Why do you talk so much?” Franky said.

“What dat got to do with anything?”

“Boy, be quiet,” Franky said. “What are you gonna do about getting in touch with your family, lil whoadie?”

“I don’t know. I used to be able to crawl through the window until Grandma put bars on them. Where my grandma at?”

“How am I supposed to know? I just got home from school.”

“Oh,” Jason said, tears welling up in his eyes. “She might be in the house sick. Or even dead.”

“Nah,” Franky said. “She’s okay. I just saw her this morning. She helped me get in school.”

Jason seemed to relax a little. “How she get there?” he asked.

Before Franky could respond, he heard the house phone ring and rushed into the kitchen to get it.

“Hello?” Franky said.

There was a four-second pause.

“Hello?” he said again.

“This is a call from an inmate at the Atlanta City Detention Center,” the automated voice said; then he heard his cousin’s voice say, “Nigel.” The automatic voice kicked in again. “Will you accept charges?”

“Yes,” Franky said.

“Do not use call forwarding or three-way calling or your call will be disconnected,” the recording said, then clicked and Nigel was on the line.

“Yo,” Franky said, not really surprised by the call. Since they arrived in Atlanta, Nigel had been arrested two or three times for various infractions, and Rico had been caught up about five or six times.

“Hey, Franky,” Nigel said. “How you doing?”

“I’m good,” Franky said. “What happened to you?”

“Some mix-up. I need for you to call that lawyer we used the last time and tell her to come holla at me,” he said.

“Okay,” Franky said, wondering how they were going to come up with money for an attorney when they didn’t have any for food.

“Do that as soon as you get off the phone with me, ya heard.”

“I will.”

“Have you seen Jason?”

“Yeah, he’s right here. Mrs. Bertha’s not answering the door.”

“She’s in the hospital. Stick broke into her house. When we got home from taking you to school, I saw the fool running out of the woman’s house. She was upset but she seemed a’ight, ya know. But I left to get her stuff back from Stick, and when I got outside, I saw them putting her into the ambulance. That’s when the cops jumped out at me. Fools wasn’t tryna hear nuttin’ I had to say.”