Ambitious (2 page)

Drew stood there for a moment, as if he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Well, I’m going into the theater. If you change your mind, I’ll meet you here in about fifteen minutes.”

Before I could respond, he was gone. He rushed into the theater. I peeked inside as Drew made his way to the stage, transformed into this Hamlet character and began reciting his lines. He was good. My mind was saying,
Leave…go meet your friends…you don’t know this guy.
But something else was telling me to stay. As I took a seat on the back row of the theater, I became lost in his monologue. And by the time he was done, I was sure that everyone in the room
believed that he was Hamlet. He took a bow and thanked the drama instructors. I watched as his lean, long legs exited the stage and made their way to the back of the theater—toward me.

“How did I do?” he asked.

“You were aiight,” I teased and laughed as if I’d known Drew for more than just twenty minutes of my life. It felt as if I’d known him forever as he grabbed my wrist and escorted me through the heavy theater doors, down the long hallway and outside into the hustle and bustle of Manhattan’s busy streets.

We began our stroll and a conversation that was so interesting that I didn’t even realize we were standing in front of Manny’s. Drew held the door open and I waltzed inside, made my way to the counter and ordered a slice of pepperoni.

“Gimme the usual,” Drew told Manny.

“Hamburger, mushrooms and pineapple, right?” Manny grinned.

“And a large Coke…”

“…light on the ice with a squirt of cherry,” Manny said before Drew could finish his sentence. “How’d the audition go?”

“It was cool.” Drew was being modest.

“He nailed it,” I interjected.

“I know he did.” Manny smiled. “He’s a great actor. And a great ballplayer, too.”

“Not a better ballplayer than me.” A perfectly groomed
blond-haired boy walked into Manny’s and started dancing around Drew as if they were playing a game of basketball.

“You can’t play no ball, man,” Drew teased him.

“I’ll take you on the court…one-on-one…anytime, any day.” Blond Hair stopped dancing long enough to order a slice of double cheese pizza.

I looked for an empty table in the crowded restaurant. Manny’s was the popular hangout for young people who attended private schools in Manhattan, so searching for a table was much like searching for hidden jewels—hard to come by. I did, however, manage to grab one just as someone was leaving. I plopped down in the wooden chair with my back against the wall. The Wall. At Manny’s, The Wall was a place where pictures of all the great musicians and artists hung—Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington. You could look at them all and tell that something was great about them, even if you’d never heard their music.

Drew finally made it to the table carrying two silver trays with our pizza slices on them and set them on the table. Blond Hair was close behind, carrying a similar tray. He pulled up a chair and sat backward in it, the back of the chair against his chest.

“This is Preston,” Drew said, “Preston, meet Mari.”

“Nice to meet you,” Preston said with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said, and before I knew it, Drew started grilling me about my family and where I’d attended school before.

“What brought you to Premiere?” he asked.

“I took a dance class last spring and was inspired to pursue my goals,” I explained. “Before that, I didn’t even think that a kid like me—from my neighborhood—could seriously even think about a school like Premiere.”

“Same with me. I live and breathe basketball, and in my house there aren’t many choices!” Drew explained.

What made you decide to choose acting?” I asked.

“Well, it’s still a struggle in my life. I chose acting…but…”

“But now he’s gotta tell his dad that he chose acting,” Preston chimed in.

“Yeah, telling my dad will be the hard part,” Drew explained.

“You guys are brave.” Preston grinned and then got up in search of some parmesan cheese.

Being alone with Drew for a moment caused my heart to beat a little faster. As I stared out the window, I felt him staring at me. I wanted to see if he was actually looking my way, and when I glanced at him I realized I was right. He was staring. He smiled and then took a bite of his pizza. Preston returned with a shaker filled with parmesan cheese.

Drew and Preston started engaging in a conversation about basketball, and I found myself wondering what my friends were doing. It was the last week of summer, and everybody in my neighborhood was hanging out—trying to catch the last few moments of vacation. Instead of soaking up some sunshine, I was auditioning for a dance class at the “snooty” Premiere High.

When my phone made a chirping sound, I knew it was a text from Luz.

Where are you, Chica?
Her text read.

Manny’s for a slice.

Manny’s in Manhattan?

Sí.

We’re goin to the mall. U goin?

Sí.

Meet us at the Atlantic Ave station in 20.

Bueno.

Order me a slice and I’ll pay you back L8R.

Better pay me back.

I promise, I will.

I knew she wouldn’t pay me back. She often borrowed my clothes, my CDs and money and never returned any of them. But I didn’t mind. I’d borrowed just as many of her things and never returned them, either. We were just that way.

C U in 20.
I sent a text back.

I stood and bid Drew and Preston a farewell. “I’ve gotta go.”

“You just got here. Where are you going so fast?” Drew asked.

“To the mall with my girlfriends.”

“Wow, dude, we’ve been kicked to the curb for the mall,” Drew teased and smiled that beautiful smile, with the perfectly white teeth.

Something inside of me wanted to know if Drew had
a girlfriend, and before I could process the thought in my head, I received my answer. A dark Barbie-doll-looking girl walked up to Drew from behind and covered his eyes with the palms of her hands. “Guess who,” she whispered.

He grabbed her hands; kissed them one at a time. From that moment, I no longer existed. He was taken. Not that I needed a boyfriend, anyway. I was way too busy looking for stardom.

“I hope you get into that dance class,” Drew said as he returned from Barbie-doll-land.

“I hope you get into your Shakespearean class.”

He stood and surprised me with a hug. “Take care of yourself, kid. And I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of seeing Drew again.

“See you on Monday,” I said.

I gave Drew a big smile and made my way to the counter to order Luz’s slice of pepperoni.

At the mall, we strolled through Victoria’s Secret as if we had money to purchase the sexy lingerie that hung on the racks.

Luz held up a teddy and pressed it against her body. “What do you think?”

“I think this one is sexier.” I held up an even skimpier piece of lingerie and pressed it against my frame.

“Maybe sleezier.” Grace laughed.

“I second that,” said Kristina. “Leaves nothing to be desired.”

“Let’s get out of here before I have to check the chick at the counter.” Luz placed the lingerie back onto its rack and rolled her eyes at the salesclerk. “She’s been eyeballing us since we got in here—like we’re gonna steal something.”

With Luz leading the way, the four of us made our way out of the store. At the sunglasses kiosk, we each tried on pairs and pairs of sunglasses—each glancing in the mirror and looking to each other for approval.

“What about these?” asked Grace.

“Too big for your face,” Luz said.

“How about these?” Luz grinned as she wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“Very cute,” I told her. “Those are definitely you.”

“Mari, try these.” Kristina handed me a pair of sunglasses with green lenses. “Since you see the world through different-color lenses, I think these are perfect.”

“What do you mean I see things through different-color lenses?” I asked as I placed the glasses on my face.

“You do! But I love that about you.” Kristina laughed.

I took a look in the mirror.

“Those are nice,” a male voice said.

Through green lenses, my eyes met Diego’s. I was shocked to see him at the mall, especially since just this morning, I’d seen him handcuffed and tossed into the backseat of a police car.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, Mari. How’re you doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you auditioned for at Premiere. Congratulations on getting in.” Diego wore sagging jeans and a long blue T-shirt similar to the ones worn by the two boys who were with him. Diego wore a Yankees cap turned backward on his head and a blue bandanna underneath.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I always knew you’d do something special with your life,” he said. “Hey, Mari. About this morning…” he felt a need to explain. “Those cops are always harassing me. I can’t even walk down the street in peace. They took me in for questioning…about some carjacking that took place last night. I told them I had nothing to do with it. They had to let me go.”

“That’s good.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Hey, Luz,” Diego said, glancing over at my friends who were now staring. “Grace, Kristina.”

They all mumbled hellos.

“Well, anyway. I’ll see you later, Mari,” Diego said. “Tell Nico to hit me up on my cell phone sometime.”

“Okay,” I said.

He was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared. I placed the sunglasses with the green lenses back in their place.

Drew

Lying
flat on my back and staring at the ceiling, I tossed a basketball into the air. The rubber rolled off my fingertips and into the air at least twenty times. I was stalling. Telling my dad about Premiere was weighing heavily on my mind, particularly since it’d been weeks since I’d received my letter of acceptance, yet I hadn’t shared the news with him. I remembered it so well. I’d wanted to open the envelope and see what was inside, but part of me had been nervous about what I might find. To the world, I was confident, but behind closed doors I doubted myself every minute. I knew that if I hadn’t made it into Premiere, I’d be forced to play basketball another year. Another year with a coach whose only concern was winning the game. It didn’t matter how well we played the game—just make sure we win. Coach Austin didn’t care if you had other abilities or if you had other responsibilities. Basketball was a priority. No—basketball was the only priority, according to him.

Though I loved basketball, I loved drama more. There was nothing like being onstage and transforming into
someone or
something
else. It was similar to how reading a book takes you to another place—you could actually find yourself in someone else’s life simply by opening the pages. Acting was like that, too. It made me feel good when I finished a scene and received applause from the audience. The applause I received from dunking a basketball couldn’t really measure up.

Trying to get my father to understand that was like pulling teeth—it was hard. He couldn’t see how I could possibly choose performing arts over shooting three-pointers. Particularly since basketball had been a part of my life since I was four years old. Not to mention the fact that my dad had been a starting guard for his high school and college basketball teams. And before his knee injury, there was even talk of him being drafted into the NBA. Instead he ended up playing for a European league. It’s all he talked about—his high school, college and
almost-NBA
days.

It was in Europe that he met my mother, fell in love and got married. Eighteen months later, yours truly was born, and three years later my mother was gone. Veronica, the half-Italian, half-Black woman who gave birth to me, left my father to raise a three-year-old by himself. I often wondered what type of person could do that. Let my father tell it, Veronica needed to go
find herself
. I guess she was somewhere lost. At any rate, without any communication from my mother or her family, we managed, Dad and me. All I had were photos of Veronica in a nice little album she’d so thoughtfully put together for me so that I’d always re
member what she looked like. I never knew my mother’s family—her parents, sisters and brothers—who all lived in Europe. But with lots of help from Grandma Ernestine, my dad’s mother, we did pretty well. Gram still popped in on us from time to time and made sure we had plenty to eat and fresh clean sheets on all the beds. She was obsessed with clean sheets, if you asked me. It wasn’t that serious, but she thought it was—just as she thought it was important to clean underneath beds and straighten closets. What was the point? No one ever looked in people’s closets or underneath their beds, and if they did, they had no business looking there in the first place.

I grabbed the envelope—the one that I’d ripped open weeks ago—from my nightstand. I read it again.

Mr. Bishop,

We would like to inform you that you have been accepted into the drama program at Manhattan’s Premiere High School of Performing Arts…

I read the words over and over again, a huge grin on my face. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs, but I didn’t want to alarm Dad. I still wasn’t ready to tell him my news just yet. He knew that I’d auditioned, but I’d downplayed it and made it seem as though I wasn’t that interested in getting accepted and that I didn’t have that much of a chance. And when he asked about whether or not I’d gotten in, I lied—told him that they hadn’t made a decision yet. Besides, I was still practicing with the basketball team at my old public high school, and I was a starter for the varsity
team, even though I was a merely a sophomore. My father allowed me to make my own decisions, but it was going to break his heart when he found out that I’d chosen drama over basketball.

“You hungry?” Dad appeared in my doorway.

“I could eat,” I said and casually placed the letter beneath my leg.

“I fried some chicken and made some of those beanie weenie things,” he said.

My father wasn’t the greatest cook. In fact, we usually ate out at fast-food restaurants. The quality of food changed only when Gram came for a visit or when my dad was dating some woman who wanted to impress him with her cooking. And since Gram was getting older and traveled less these days, and my father was in between relationships, we made do with what we had—tonight’s fried chicken and beanie weenies, which would become tomorrow’s chicken à la surprise. My dad never professed to be a great cook or a homemaker, but he was a great father. He taught me strong values—things such as how to be a man, how to earn a living, not to expect anyone to take care of you, how to be a gentleman and to treat a woman with respect. I looked up to my dad. He was my hero.

“You seriously fried some chicken?” I asked.

“Okay, they were frozen nuggets that I defrosted in the microwave and popped into the oven for twenty minutes. You got a problem with that, kid?”

“Nope. I was just askin’.” I tossed him the ball, and he caught it.

“How was practice today?”

“Um…it was…you know. Usual.”

“Coach said you’re looking good out there, boy.”

My dad was starting to gray around his sideburns and had little speckles of gray in his mustache. Besides the gray, he looked like an older version of me. He was still physically fit, and women seemed to throw themselves at him—ugly ones, pretty ones, short ones, skinny ones. They all wanted him to commit, but Dad just wasn’t the commitment type. Ever since Veronica left, all commitments went out the window.

“I’m doing all right. I’m not really feelin’ it that much this year, though,” I said.

“You will. It’s still early. Just keep giving it your best,” Dad said, then grinned and tossed the ball back to me. “Now, come on. Let’s eat this gourmet meal before it gets cold.”

After Dad left the doorway, I folded the letter, placed it neatly back into its envelope and stuffed it into the drawer. I grabbed my shirt from the floor, pulled it over my head and then strolled downstairs for dinner.

Dad and I ate chicken nuggets and beanie weenies while catching the latest sports updates on ESPN. Our home was the ultimate bachelor’s pad—and bachelors, we were. Our living room was equipped with black leather furniture and a state-of-the-art flat-screen television, especially designed
for football and basketball games, and a pool table. Our freezer was filled with TV dinners and frozen foods. In our pantry, Gatorade, Orville Redenbacher’s microwavable popcorn and cans of ravioli were stacked on the shelves. The view from our Upper West Side apartment was spectacular.

Dad was in between relationships with women, and I was definitely single, although there were several girls interested. Ashley was tall, beautiful and could easily win the competition on
America’s Next Top Model.
And she was intelligent. But she was too clingy. She was like a bloodhound; could find me anywhere. Like the day when I was with Mari and Preston at Manny’s. Somehow she managed to just show up.

Brianna was the girl in my building. She’d had a crush on me since seventh grade, but she wasn’t much of a looker. She wore a huge set of glasses until ninth grade, when she finally got contacts. Her boobs were still flat and her body was like a beanpole, and she sounded all nasally when she talked. But she was fun to hang out with. She loved sports and because her father was a retired NBA coach, he was able to get us floor seats for every Knicks game imaginable—all we had to do was ask.

Ashley was beautiful, and Brianna was fun. And I often wished I could wrap the two of them up into one person and have the best of both worlds. It was hard to find a girl in Manhattan who was pretty but not pretentious—one with Ashley’s looks but Brianna’s personality. I wanted
a simple girl who had goals and dreams. Someone who wasn’t from my neighborhood. Someone who was genuine. Someone like Mari. She was beautiful, intelligent and seemed fun. I’d found myself thinking about her long after she’d left Manny’s.

“I got accepted into Premiere High,” I finally admitted to Dad.

“Oh, yeah?” His eyes were glued to the television as he watched an instant replay of Terrell Owens scoring a touchdown in a preseason football game.

“Yeah, and I think I might transfer there,” I said and waited for the remote control to come flying across the room and hit me in the head. When it didn’t, I continued. “Um…I like acting more than basketball.” I was really pushing it. “I really feel good when I’m onstage and the crowd is going crazy because I said or did something spectacular. I mean the crowd goes crazy when I dunk a basketball, too, but I don’t get the same feeling. When I’m onstage, it’s like having an out-of-body experience. Like I’m not even there, you know?” I was babbling.

Dad said nothing. His attention was steady on ESPN as he popped a chicken nugget into his mouth and took a big gulp from his bottle of Gatorade.

“It’s not that I’m giving up on basketball.” I wanted to smooth things over a bit. I felt as if I’d gotten too excited about acting. “You know, I’m still true to the game. That’ll never change. Me and basketball…we’re like peanut butter and jelly…cake and ice cream…beans and corn bread…”

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Um, yeah…I guess.”

“Make sure you load your dishes into the dishwasher.” He stood and headed out of the room. “You forgot to do it last night.”

That was it. No comment on the subject at hand. Just
make sure you load the dishes into the dishwasher
? It was obvious that he had just gone through the motions when he’d given me permission to audition. I remembered how he laughed under his breath as he handed me the signed papers.

“Good luck, son,” he’d stated in a joking way.

I wasn’t sure if he knew that I was serious about transferring, or if he never expected me to make it in. But now, as reality hit home, he was different. Angry. Or hurt. I wasn’t sure which, but it was obvious that he wasn’t feeling my decision. We were sports men. Acting was for dreamers. I’d heard it a million times in my life.
Drew, just because we live in a nice neighborhood and have nice things, doesn’t mean you have to be a star. Everybody’s trying to be a star. Don’t get caught up in the hoopla. We’re Bishop men, and Bishops play ball. A good, wholesome sport that can make you a lot of money if you work it right. Stay focused.
That was Dad’s favorite speech.

I wished I could tell him that I wasn’t getting caught up in the hoopla. That I really was talented, and Premiere High was going to enhance my life. It wasn’t about stardom and all the bright lights. I wanted to tell him all those
things, but when I heard the sound of jazz filling the apartment, I knew he was lost in another place.

I loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, placed dishwashing liquid into its little compartment, started it and turned off the lights in the kitchen. On my way to my room, I peeked into the living room. My dad was reclined in his easy chair, a glass filled with ice cubes and scotch in his hand. His head was leaned against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. I opened my mouth to say something but changed my mind. I’d said all I could say.

“Hey, Drew,” my dad’s voice startled me. He never even opened his eyes; he’d obviously heard or smelled my presence.

I stood in the doorway of the living room. “Yeah, Dad?” I asked.

“You really wanna go to that artsy school?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. But not without your blessing.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Come with me tomorrow. There’s an orientation, and parents are invited to come. You can find out what classes I’ll be taking and all of that…”

“They got a basketball team?”

“Nah, Dad. No sports.”

“I’d like to come…you know…check out the school and all. But I got meetings all day tomorrow.”

“It’s cool, Dad. There will be other stuff.”

I stood there for a moment. Waited for my dad to say
something else. He was silent, and so was I. I dismissed myself.

“Good night, Dad.”

“Night,” he mumbled.

I made my way to my room and shut the door behind me. I had a big day ahead of me—a new school, a new challenge, a new life.