“Well, I guess. Good thing you got better moves on the field than in the hallway, Justin.”
He raised his eyes. Frosted braids. “Maybe I should get some lessons on walking, Ranaé?”
“I’ll let you know. Well, thanks for helping me pick up the mess.” She smiled. “Oh, hey, Justin, you thinking about going to the Homecoming dance next month?”
“Dance? What dance?”
She cocked her head. “Now, don’t tell me you’re going blind, too. Haven’t you read the posters I put up? Dance. Homecoming Dance. October 4. After the game. Cafeteria. Informal. Bring a date. Ya know?”
Justin shook his head. “Sorry. I guess I need to get into the local junction functions a little better. I been busy … “
“Well, do I have a deal for you. I’m going with T. J., and his cousin from Pittsburg’s going to be in town that weekend, and I think you ought to meet her. Oh, let me tell it like it is. Blind date. Hook you up for the dance. Whaddya think?”
“Well, I don’t know … “
“Oh, come on, Justin. D’ya think I’d hook you up with someone who looks like a dump truck? He says she’s pretty hot. She even writes rap lyrics.”
The warning bell sounded, and Ranaé started to fade away. “I’ll check you later, Justin. Her name is LaToya.”
Karl brushed past him. “La-TOYYY-aaa!” he yodeled over his shoulder. “You go, Justin!”
It’s happening again, Justin sighed to himself. The women are now in charge, and we men do not have a chance. He shook his head as he trotted towards his last class, and he slid into his seat just as the tardy bell rang.
Practice was another blur, and Eric left the locker room before Justin had finished his shower. Well, maybe he’d be able to catch him before school tomorrow. Someone the size of Eric would be more persuasive if someone like T. J. were backed into a corner. He had visions of Eric sitting on T. J.’s chest and patting him tenderly on his fuzzy cheeks, with both front- and backhands …
The house was unusually quiet when Justin walked through the front door. He realized that the television, usually tuned to one of those lovelorn talk shows when he got home from practice, was dark and silent.
“Hey, Mom. Where’s Shar?”
His mother moved into the living room, unsmiling, and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “She’s upstairs, in her room, where she’s going to stay for the next month or so, or maybe until she learns not to fight at school.”
Justin dropped his bag onto the couch. “She in trouble already?”
“You could call it that. She’s suspended for the rest of the week from school, and I grounded her for a month. I had to get off work to pick her up, and they’re docking my pay for that. Supper’s going to be ready in about five minutes. You better tell her to come down; I’m not doing room service around here.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll tell her.”
Sharice’s door was closed, and Justin rapped lightly on it with the back of his hand.
“Hey, Shar. Can I come in?”
A muffled sound greeted him.
“What? It’s almost time for supper. Can I come in?”
“I’m not hungry. Go away!”
“You must be dead, then, and it’s your ghost in there talkin’ to me. I’m coming in, Shar.” He pushed the door open a few inches, waited for missiles, and when he decided it was safe, pushed it open all the way. The shade was pulled, but he could make out the form of his sister with her face buried in a pillow on the bed.
“Yo. Sis. You tear’ em up today? Or you gonna show me a shiner?” He sat in the chair next to the window and pulled the shade up.
Sharice raised her head from the pillow and fixed him with a stare. “Not funny, Justin. Somebody pulled me off … I mean, broke it up before it went anywhere.” She rolled over on her side and pulled her hair out of her eyes.
“Okay, let’s have the story. But you only have five minutes before we eat, and I suppose you’ll need four of that to fix that hair.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Never mind my hair. Justin, someone called me a b-bitch.” Her lip quivered. “And I’m not going to let any little ho’ get away with calling me anything. Ever.”
“So you trashed her, I suppose?”
“Well, let’s just say that she won’t be calling me names any more. She better not if she knows what’s good for her.” Sharice sat up and crossed her arms.
Justin shook his head. “Way to go, kid. New girl in town gets rep as brawler. One word sets her off. Watch her go off on all comers. Shar, I thought we worked this all out in Topeka … “
“Oh, Justin, it’s not fair.” She flopped onto her back, her arms still folded. “I suppose Mr. Perfect is going to just walk away from someone who calls him a bitch?”
“You got it. Especially if there are witnesses. I suppose the whole school saw you in action?”
Sharice’s eyes widened. “Well, it was at lunchtime. And in the cafeteria.”
“Listen, little sister. This is not the wild, wild west. This is Tiny Town, USA, where everyone knows what everyone else is doing even before they do it. It might as well have been me throwing punches in that cafeteria, because now YOUR rep is MY rep. And what do you think about our mother? She has to go to work tomorrow, and maybe she works right next to the mother of the girl you punched out.”
Sharice closed her eyes. “Sometimes it’s so hard … “
“I know, I know, Shar. But next time … “
She opened one eye. “Next time, just turn around and walk away. But I don’t think there’s going to be a next time, Justin.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. She’s the one who’s gonna have a black eye, I think. I knocked her on her ass with the first punch. Someone else got a hold of my hair from behind and I took them out with my elbow, and by then they were all starting to back up and some teachers grabbed us and pulled us out of there.”
Justin stood up and shook his head. “And now you have a little vacation plus groundation at home. Sounds fair to me, young lady. Sharice the Beast they’ll be calling you next.” He stood, pulled the shade all the way up, and strode toward the door but stopped.
“Oh, Shar? One more thing.”
Her lip was beginning to stick out. “What now, Boss?”
Justin put his hand on the doorknob. “I got an opening for a bodyguard. You wanna be the first to audition?”
The shoe banged off the door precisely where his left ear would have been if he had not ducked all the way behind it. He stuck his head in the room. “Okay, you got the job. But supper first.”
“And Shar … do something with that hair!” The second shoe stung his knuckles, and he sucked the back of his hand as he trotted down the stairs. Maybe her real future in school would be as starting pitcher of the softball team. Or baseball; she was pretty accurate with that overhand throw.
* * *
“Justin, you got any homework to do?” His mother’s voice floated up the stairway.
“No, mom, I got it all done in class.” Which wasn’t exactly true; he still had algebra and English homework. But he’d work on in tomorrow morning during American History; they weren’t doing anything important in there, anyway.
He slipped on his headphones, stretched out on his bed, and dialed in a station that played some hip-hop and thought about the day’s events. Kerry was right; he’d have to start thinking for himself from now on and stop letting everyone else make decisions for him. He’d send her a note tomorrow, and maybe he could track Eric down early enough to see if he could help him deal with T. J. Maybe he’d take Ranaé up on her offer; if her cousin was anything like her, Homecoming dance could be a real treat. If she didn’t get too pushy, that is. And he’d have to pay a little more attention to Shar, maybe talk to her about the problems she seemed to be having in middle school. Just as if her father were here.
Her father. He turned off the music and dropped the earphones onto the floor. She still had the temper her father had. Justin
was a little more like his mother, although he too tended to explode once in awhile when things got too tense, but that hadn’t happened since about ninth grade. Shar, on the other hand, would fly off at any little thing. Just like her father, our father.
The scene played in Justin’s memory, as it often had before. His father in the living room, sitting on the coffee table, staring into space, his hands slowly turning over and over as if he were telling a story with no spoken words. His mother sitting, weeping, with a handkerchief over her face. He was eight; Shar had been four, and she hadn’t been awakened by the commotion. Justin had come downstairs but had stopped at the living room archway, not knowing what to do. Then the knock on the front door that shook the doorknob. “Police. Open up.”
His father was the one who opened the door, and he had just held both hands in front of him. Justin could still hear the rasp of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists. And the rap of the gavel, as the judge pronounced the sentence: “For the crime of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, the people have found you guilty, for which you shall serve a sentence … “ And that was the last time Justin had seen his father in person, led away in an orange jumpsuit. His mother had made it plain that she was not going to visit him, and the letters stopped coming after about a year, after the uncontested divorce was final. Shar was too little to remember many of the details, but on rainy days, when the colored pencils and drawing pad were out, she drew pictures of people, she always drew a daddy, a mommy, and a little boy and a smaller girl. Sometimes she’d scribble out the scene and silently wad up the picture, slam it into the wastebasket, and then stare out the window. Justin knew at those times never to say anything to her. Nor after her sessions with the counselor.
Chapter Thirteen
The call slip was lying on Justin’s desk when he took his seat. “Report to √ Principal √ After Roll Call √ 1st period,” it read.
Fine. Now he was going to have to hear about Sharice’s problems again. Today was definitely going downhill. First, he still couldn’t find Eric. Second, Ranaé had some special meeting before school and wasn’t available either. Third, Tony showed up, sporting a gap in his front teeth, but still brassy enough to give him a nod as he sauntered by. And fourth, it was raining lightly, which would make practice a lot of fun, too.
He waved the call note at Brady, who dismissed him with a wave of his hand as he checked off students in his roll book. The secretary in the office took his slip with one hand as she held on to the phone at her ear with another. “Go on in,” she mouthed and pointed with the note and then handed it back to him.
The principal’s door was open, and he glanced up as Justin stood at the door. “Come on in, Justin, and sit down.”
Justin hitched his pants and sat straight in the unpadded chair directly in front of principal’s desk.
The principal put both hands palms down on his desk, bare except for a telephone, a coffee cup full of pens and pencils, and several closed manila folders. He smiled slightly. “Justin, how have you been getting along at Niotaka High? Are you enjoying being an Eagle?”
Justin started slightly. He was used to questions from principals like “Why did you do … ?” and “Who else was in on … ?”
“Fine, I guess. Sir.”
“And you seem to be doing all right on the football team?”
“Yeah. It’s all right.”
“Hmm. Well, Justin, I’ve just been reviewing your academic record, and your standing here. You seemed to just get by in Topeka; in fact, you’re a little behind in required courses.”
“I know, but I’m doing better here, right?”
The principal leaned back in his chair and made a steeple of his fingers. “Justin, did you know that you were failing three classes? English, American History, and Algebra?”
Justin felt his jaw drop. “N-no. I thought I was getting at least a C in all of my classes.”
“I’m afraid not. And the state activities association says that we have to have an eligibility plan for students who participate in athletics and such. Ours is that you may not be failing in more than one class during the three-week reporting period. Didn’t Coach Greene go over this with you?”
Justin thought. “I believe he did, sir, but like I said, I thought that I was passing everything.”
“Well, as of last Friday, Justin, you were three for six. And it’s my sad duty to inform you that you’re ineligible to play or practice for three weeks and until you are passing in at least five of your classes. Now, you do still want to stay on the team, right?”
Justin slumped in his chair. It really was a bad day, week, month, maybe year.
“Well, Justin?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t want to let down the rest of the guys on the team.”
“I didn’t think so. I don’t read you as a quitter. Because that’s one of the options, just to quit the team and loaf along and take your chance at the end of the semester. And you know what word we’re talking about now?”
Justin just stared at the principal.
“We’re talking about the word ’loser’, Justin. And in this school, I don’t believe in losers. But we also have another program, the special after-school study program. You’ve heard of it?”
“I - I think so.”
“It’s very simple. And it’s not a losers’ thing; that’s why we call it ’The Winners’ Program’. The losers are the ones who just drop out and disappear. Now, right after school, instead of going to practice, you report directly to the school library. And until 4:30, every day except Friday, you do NOTHING but study and work on assignments. No food, no gum, no talking except to the tutors, and only one bathroom break. You’ll report to the Winners’ Program until you’re passing in five of six of your classes, and only then do you go back to practice. Now, it’s up to you to get a list of any back work or makeup work from your teachers; here are forms for all six of your classes, and I strongly suggest that you ask ALL of your teachers to fill them out. It’s up to you to get your teachers to sign off on this form to certify that you’re passing, too, because they’re not going to report to me the instant you’re eligible. There are more rules, but they’ll let you know about them when you show up. And that would be tonight, right?”
Justin straightened. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there. Uh, you said algebra, American History, and English, right?”
“That’s correct. But bring all of your books in. You may not get a chance to work on everything, but you’ll have them handy. The principal leaned back in his chair and looked behind and above Justin. “Now, is there anything else that I can help you with? Anyone bothering you or something standing in your way of being successful here at Niotaka High? Would you like me to schedule an appointment with our counselor?”
Justin thought of T. J. but shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t think so. Nothing that I can’t handle by myself.”
“All right, that’s all. We’d better get you back to class.” He initialed the call slip and scribbled the time. “Good luck, Justin. We want to see you back on the field in three weeks, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Definitely.”
A movie on something about soldiers and redcoats and Indians was playing as Justin walked back into his classroom, sparing him the experience of 28 pairs of eyes following him back to his seat. Without comment, the teacher handed him a sheet as he passed the front desk. He could see that it was an assignment form almost covered with scrawls in red ink.
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Brady.” Justin nodded and rolled his eyes.
“Any time, every time, Mr. Jefferson.”
* * *
The library doors were wide open, and Justin slowly walked through them for the first time. He looked around; apparently he was the first one there, except for someone seated straight ahead of him at a desk the size of a Subaru.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Jefferson.” The fellow waved at him. He was half-bald and sported a rather nappy-looking black beard that covered the front of a rather grubby-lo
oking denim shirt. “Come here for a sec.”
Justin took another look around him for a possible escape route. No luck.
“Hurry up, dude. We ain’t got all day. You start early, you leave early, and time doesn’t start until you talk to me.”
Justin remembered something that the principal said about leaving at 4:30 and no sooner, but he shrugged.
“All right. What’s up?”
“Here’s the deal, kid. You know what the deal is with your studies; you do the work, you pass the classes, you get outta here, unless I think you’re goofing it. You dig?”
“Sure, man; whatever.”
The man stared at him. “I understand your friend Tony talked to you last week.”
Justin gave him a long look. “I understand Tony talked to a lot of people last week, including a big guy who did some dental work on him.”
The man stood up. They were about equal in height. He smiled. A gold tooth gleamed in the center of his mouth.
“Been there, done that. The other guy needed a couple of casts when we were through … talking. Listen, we’ll chat later.” He looked past Justin; several other students were shuffling through the doors as slowly as they possibly could without backing up. “Just remember … no goofing. I don’t get paid to let you goof, dig?”
“Sure, pal. I gotcha.” Justin stared at him a split second longer than he needed to, turned, and walked to the farthest table and sat down. He pulled a random book out of his pack and stared at the cover. The face of Tony seemed to glare at him from the pattern on it.
Other than a few stares, no one gave him much attention during the rest of the Winners’ Program, and he managed to finish all but the current assignment in American History and three of five back assignments in algebra. The rain had stopped, and as he completed the last algebra assignment, the sun illuminated his table. It was a good omen for a change, and he thought no more of the supervisor, nor of Tony.
Sharice was outside the house, scuffing her shoes on the sidewalk, when he parked his car.
“Justin! What are you doing home so early? Did practice get rained out?”
He hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and slammed the car door. “Not exactly. I’ll tell you later. I gotta go study.”
Sharice’s eyes widened. “Wait, Justin, don’t go inside just yet.”