“Or if someone recognized it in the wrong place at the wrong time, you’d REALLY have a problem.”
He stooped to gather up the books, all for afternoon classes, and stared up at her. “And that means …?”
“Now, I may be wrong. But I just happen to have an aunt in Pittsburg who has a store there and who called me last night and told me that she got ripped off by someone wearing a coat like what a certain person who goes to school here wears. She runs a little gift shop in a strip mall on the north side, and this weekend she lost about a dozen gold chains. She called me and asked me to be on the lookout for someone who was wearing a Raiders jacket. Right before she closed up the shop for the evening, she remembered seeing a black guy wearing a Raiders jacket and wandering around the store. Didn’t buy anything, she said. Seemed a little nervous. She got busy right before she closed with the paying crowd, and after she locked up, she noticed the empty display.”
“So the brother gets the rap, huh?” Justin finished with sorting his books and stuffing the parka back into the locker, and he slapped the door shut and locked it.
“Something like that. But she said she knows most of the customers who come in there, and this guy was someone she’d never seen before, like maybe he was from out of town.”
“Like she knows every high school student in Pittsburg?”
“No, but she doesn’t get many high-school or even college-age people in there. Mostly older people, the candles-and-crafts crowd. So anyone younger and black and wearing a Raiders jacket would kind of stand out.”
“Uh, huh. Like a lot of people don't wear Raiders jackets these days.” Justin leaned against his locker. He really should take a trip to the restroom before he headed off for the first period class, and this girl was starting to take up too much of his time.
“But let me know if you see anyone wearing extra gold chains, or maybe trying to sell them, wouldja?”
“Yeah, sure. Like I could afford ’em. I’m pushin’ it even to make car payments.” He stopped and looked at her.
“No, Justin, I wasn’t checking out your jacket or your finances. There’s only one black kid in this school who wears a Raiders jacket that I know of, and he happens to be on the football team, which I hear you’re a part of again. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But first practice I sort of strained my bad ankle again, so my days as a premier football player are probably numbered.”
“Sorry to hear that. But you’re still around T. J., right?”
“Yep. Being in Mr. Personality’s shadow is just of the many fun aspects of playing football at this fine school, ya know.”
“I’m sure. And keeping an eye on him is just another fun thing to do.” Kerry looked around her and stepped closer to Justin.
“Look, I’m not supposed to say anything, and you didn’t hear it from me, but let’s just say that the little birdie told you that Coach Greene’s days are numbered, too.”
Justin stared at her. “Okay, Birdie. Details, please?”
Kerry sighed. “Well, you remember that family connection between me and Coach Greene? It got useful last night when my dad invited him over for a couple of beers. To make a long story short, he’s going to become a counselor at the middle school at mid-term. He’ll still coach some spring sports here at the high school, but no more football.”
Justin shook his head. “Well, I suppose he’s looking out for number one. But who’s taking his place?”
Kerry grimaced. “That’s one thing I can’t tell you, my friend. Maybe I can get a few choice words out of Buck at the dance this Friday.”
“Oh, so you choose your dates based on the information they can provide?”
Kerry glared at him. “Well, cuz, at least you hit me with the four-one-one on T. J. that I asked for. But it’s not like you’re a fount of knowledge nowadays.”
Justin chuckled. “Lighten up, sister. Just kiddin’. But you seem to be the original walkin’ Funk & Wagnalls, ya know, and information doesn’t fall out of trees unless you shake ’em.”
The tardy bell rang. Justin checked his innards and decided that he was good for another hour or so. “Well, see ya. I’ll keep an eye open.”
Kerry smiled. “Thanks, Justin. I owe you one.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ll remember that!”
* * *
Morning classes were a crashing bore, usually, but perhaps the cold snap woke some of the students and teachers up, as lively discussions replaced monotone lectures in the first two classes, so that Justin forgot to take care of his bladder until before English class. He managed to slide into the room just as the bell rang and mock high-stepped to his seat, making even Mrs. Hill's face twitch.
“Sorry, Mizz H. Halls were crowded.”
“I’m sure they were, Justin. Thanks for hurrying every chance you got.”
“No prob.” He pulled out his textbook and squinted at the chalkboard. Page 74. Paragraphs due from page 72-3. Got it, he thought to himself, and reached for his notebook.
A poke in his back stopped him.
“Justin. Don’t turn around. I gotta talk to you. In the cafeteria?”
Justin half turned and stopped. “Sure, Denise. What’s up?”
No reply. He turned his head a little further. Denise’s hair appeared to be undone, but then he noticed that she had combed it down over the right side of her face.
“I said, don’t turn around!” she hissed.
“Sorry! New hairdo that bad?”
A muffled sob was her only reply. And she didn’t say a word, nor snap her gum, all hour, and when the bell rang she was out the door before Justin could gather his books and turn around.
The cafeteria was more full than usual, probably due to the cold outside, and Justin had to wait in line almost ten minutes before he received his share of burnt wieners and sauerkraut. Denise was sitting at a back table over a tray of untouched food, her right side to the room, and Justin slapped his tray down in front of her.
“Okay, Denise, what’s wrong?”
She didn’t reply but slowly pulled her hair back to reveal a livid bruise on her right cheek.
Justin gazed at her. “Who did that?”
“Stop staring at me.” She hastily pulled the hair back into place
“Geez, sorry. I didn’t mean to … “
“I know, I know. Justin, I can’t lend you my history notebook any more.” She stopped and slowly looked around her. “T. J. says I can’t.”
“Oh, so he’s the one who branded you?”
“Yes.” Another half-sob.
Justin slowly shook his head. “Listen, I hope you don’t think we all treat women like that.”
“Don’t even say that. I’ve known what T. J. was like from the very first. I guess I was too scared to 'just say no’ the first time he asked me for the stupid notebook.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry you found out the hard way about him. Can’t say it’s been any different with me. No love lost and all that.”
“Well, don’t do anything on my account. This is bad enough, and I don’t want to come to school looking like I’m wearing a fright wig if he smacks me on the other side of my head.”
“No, I suppose not. There’s other ways to take care of T. J., though.”
“Justin, I said lay off. I just wanted to let you know about the notebook.”
“Okay, okay. I get the message. Now, eat your gourmet burnt weenies and get some brain food in you.”
Denise snorted. “If this is brain food, I’d hate to see what they whip up for the rest of me.”
Justin held up a sample wiener, impaled on his fork, and regarded it. “Just think of it as over-processed protein.” He bit half of it off. “Yum.”
Denise followed his lead. “Cheers. And thanks for offering to take care of T. J.”
“Part of the service.”
A tray plopped down beside Justin’s, and he looked up into Ranaé’s eyes and past them to her hair, which was now shorter, straight, and
sans braids.
“This a private party, or can anyone cut in?” Ranaé sat down, spread her napkin, and held Denise in her sight for a moment before turning to Justin.
“Wow, must be the time of the year for new hairdos, huh?” Justin nodded his head. “Nice.”
“Thanks. Got tired of the braids smacking me in the face.”
Justin heard a suppressed choke from across the table and a fork hit a tray.
“Uh, Denise, thanks for the update on the American History thing. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure, Justin.” Her lips compressed, and she shot a glance at Ranaé. “I, er, gotta talk to … Lisa about something, too, so I’ll see ya later.”
“You got it.” He turned to Ranaé. “‘Sup?”
She waved her hand in the direction of the departing Denise. “Well, anyways … T. J.’s not here today because he’s in Pittsburg, but he called me to let me know that LaToya can’t make it this Friday for the dance. Death in the family; grandmother or somebody old.” Ranaé took a delicate bite out of her wiener and shuddered.
“So it’s off?”
“Just the dance. Well, for you, anyway. Sorry. T. J. says he’ll be back probably Thursday; funeral’s Wednesday.”
“Yes, I’m sure Coach would lose it if his boy wasn’t on the field. And I can certainly live without the dance thing.” Justin finished his wieners, eyed the sauerkraut, and started in on the peaches instead.
Ranaé’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Well, you’ll get another week to practice your shuffle, ’cause T. J. says we can do it next weekend after. That fit your busy schedule?” She nibbled on her sauerkraut but threw down her fork. “Ew-w, gross!”
Justin sighed. “Sure, I can work it in. Just let me know the details when we get close to that time. So I won’t forget.”
“Justin! LaToya would be ex-tremely upset if you didn’t show up. I’ve told her all about you, and she really does want to meet you.”
He grimaced. “Bet. And you haven’t told me anything about her.”
“Well, what’s to tell? She likes football players. And she says she’s tired of the guys in Pittsburg and wants to meet someone new. So you’re it.”
The five-minute bell rang, and Justin stuffed a cookie into his mouth and slurped the rest of his milk to wet it down. He spotted Karl and Eric making their way between tables to the back of the cafeteria. “Well, this is all too fun, but my boys are on the way and I gotta scoot. Later.”
Ranaé touched her napkin to her lips. “Bye, lover boy. Practice the pucker-up.”
Karl and Eric reached the table just in time to hear her remark.
Justin narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even start with me!” Karl snorted, and his lips formed the syllables: La-TOY-ya. Justin gritted his teeth and stalked away toward the stack of trays on the conveyer belt, ignoring the remainder of the food left on his tray. Sauerkraut wasn't recommended for getting ready for football practice anyway. Right?
Chapter Eighteen
Justin leaned back on his elbows and gazed at his ankle, encased in several bags of ice. Even though he could see his breath in front of him, the ice almost felt good in spite of the throbbing pain that shot up to his hip every time he moved. I shoulda stepped a little higher, he thought. That guy blindsided me.
He looked down the field. The area around his bench was deserted, and he had a clear view of the entire field. Niotaka’s team was taking a long time in the huddle, but with third down and twelve, they’d need some kind of miracle to keep their first and only long drive of the game going enough to score, and with 3:12 left in the third quarter and 6-0 in the other team’s favor, they’d better score and convert.
Blindsiding? Talk about blindsiding! Coach Greene’s announcement at halftime in the locker room was the real blindsiding. It wasn’t as if anyone on the team didn’t know already that he was going to announce his, er, retirement, Justin thought. The whole school knew that; somebody must have overhead Kerry talking to him Monday. Or maybe she just told the wrong person, and like talking into a microphone, the news got broadcast. But Justin had wondered who the tall, slim, black guy was who had wandered around on the edge of the field during the first half and had followed the team into the locker room, and when Coach Greene introduced him as the future football coach, as well as T. J.’s older brother, not one person moved or spoke until T. J. stood up and gave his brother the old high five.
The huddle broke up, finally, and the team moved into formation. The crowd behind Justin was so quiet that he could hear Karl count off the snap; even the cheerleaders were silent, for once. It was a sweep to the right; handoff to T. J. and … the roar from the crowd and the referee’s arms raised over his head told Justin that the score was tied. He looked down and realized that he was standing on his good leg and lay back on the bench. He draped the bags of ice gingerly over his throbbing ankle, tossed a towel over his head, and didn’t even have to uncover to know that the conversion by T. J. was good, too, as the crowd chanting “T. J.! T. J.!” was quite enough.
Man, why do I have to go through all this when hoops is my game? Or maybe I don’t have to, he muttered to himself. He tossed the towel in the general direction of the equipment bag, stood, and tested his ankle. Sore. But if he held it steady, he should be able to hobble across the track and into the locker room.
“Tell Coach I’m in the showers.” The water boy nodded, and Justin began his painful journey across the track and into the locker room under the stadium.
* * *
He left his uniform, helmet, pads, and shoes where he’d stripped them off, and after a quick shower, he was out the door to the parking lot. A few back-of-the-stadium inhabitants looked at him questioningly, but he ignored them and moved slowly to the parking lot, glancing only once towards the field when the crowd on the opposite side of the field roared. He didn’t even look at the scoreboard; it wasn’t his business any more.
At first he thought that he’d parked in a rut in the parking lot or something, but then he realized that his left rear tire was flat. And then he saw the scratch that ran from front to back, just under the door latches on the left side. Someone had slashed a tire and then keyed his car, and Justin knew immediately that that “someone” might as well have scratched his name on the car. “Tony,” he muttered under his breath.
Getting the tire changed was not a problem, although the fact that two of the three people who helped him change it were girls was a little unsettling. But Denise and the short, dark-haired chick that he vaguely remembered sitting behind him in his English class – was her name Carla? – insisted that he allow them and Karl, the other helper, the chance to try out their auto mechanics skills. He reluctantly agreed, although he insisted on hoisting the wheels in and out of the trunk, noting that this car had a real spare tire and not just a doughnut, and he reminded himself to re-clinch the nuts later. Just as he slammed the trunk lid shut, Sharice and a couple of her friends finally showed up.
“Thanks, ladies, and you, too, Karl. I owe you a big one. Anyone need a ride?
“I’m good.” Karl waved and walked away, and Denise shook her head.
“Any time. Hope you find whoever did it. See ya tomorrow in class.”
Maybe he’d slip her a couple of packs of Dentyne in hopes she’d chew on that instead of bubble gum? Great idea.
Sharice waved goodbye at the other two girls, who skipped arm-in-arm across the parking lot towards a row composed mostly of mini-vans and where parents parked, and she slid into the back seat. Carla looked around and nodded.
“Sure. It’s not that far, but if you’re offering …”
“Least I can do.” He tried not to make it obvious that he was leaning on the car as he rounded it to open the passenger side door, and she smiled up at him as he opened the door for her.
By the time he made it around to the driver’s side, Carla and Sharice were practically old friends and chattered away, and Carla merely tossed a few “left” and “right” and “next block?
?? directions between exchanges with Sharice, but she opened the door, stepped out, and then leaned back in. “Thanks, Justin. I’m sorry about your tire and that nasty scratch. Want me to check around and see if I can find anything out?”
He shook his head. “Naw. I pretty much know who it was. I’ll deal with him later. Thanks anyway. And thanks for helping me out with changing the tire. Or more like doing it for me.”
She laughed. “No problem. See you tomorrow.” The door banged shut, and he watched her short form move up the front steps of her house and made sure that she had opened the front door before he pulled away.
He heard the rear seat belt click open and then felt the side of his seat pull back, as Sharice grasped it and stuck her head between the two front seats. Her breath smelled like popcorn. “What happened?”
He sighed. “Someone slashed a back tire and keyed the side of the car. And I think it’s an ugly guy named Tony.”
“Tony? Like the Tony you used to talk about in Topeka?
“Yup. That’s the one. Drives an old green car. He has a little trouble with taking ‘no’ for an answer. You watch out for him, too. He’s no good.”
No answer, but he caught Sharice’s nod in the rear-view mirror as she settled back into the seat.
* * *
He’d taken two Tylenol as soon as he’d stumbled into the house, but his ankle still throbbed no matter which way he lay in his bed. Finally, he propped two pillows between his back and the headboard and stared into the darkness. He’d have to tell Coach Greene Monday that he was leaving the football team, and he hoped that he’d understand that his football days were over and that he was saving himself for his best game. With any luck, his ankle would heal enough so that he could trust it on the court. And then he hoped that T. J. wasn’t going to try to be the big hoops star in town, too.
Tony was another matter. Compared to Tony, T. J. was an amateur. Tony had connections back in Topeka, and Justin knew for sure that one drive-by that resulted in critical gunshot wounds to the victim included Tony in the car, although someone else had been arrested for the crime. Was he going to have to take the initiative with Tony and deal with him directly? That would be a whole different ball game than the one T. J. played, one that could involve not only himself but his sister and mother if Tony didn’t back off and instead decided to ramp up the pressure on Justin.