Street Pharm (6 page)

“This shit is strong!” Cheddar hyped.

“Mad strong!” I crossed my eyes, even though I didn’t really feel nothing.

Joe said, “C’mon, homeboy junkies, we better get going. Doors close at nine.”

We headed to the school. Seeing three seventh-grade girls, we walked a few feet behind them. As I stared at their fine little asses, my eyes started to blur, like bad reception on my grandma’s old TV. I clapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “This is hard shit, Joe.”

“Serves you right for not sharing.”

I looked over at Cheddar. He looked good, head up high, smile on his face. Problem was, there were two of him.

“Cheddar! Who’s your twin?”

“What the fuck you talking about?”

“Ha! I’m tripping! I’m baked as a fucking cake!”

“You ain’t the only one, nigga!”

Joe said, “You two better start acting normal if you wanna get into the dance.”

“No sweat. Right, Cheddar? We can act normal.”

“No problemo, muchacho!”

Kids lined up at the front doors of the school. We were at the end of the line, right behind the cute seventh graders.

“Ladeez, how you doing?” Cheddar slurred.

“Uh, good.” The girls started giggling.

“Tits, nice tits,”
even if there was four of them.
Her tits were winking at me, ready to pop out like little rockets.

“Ty,”
Joe said, glaring at me with a thousand eyeballs. “Chill.”

I felt a shove against my shoulder. “Don’t you talk to my friend that way.” Tits’s friend Red Shirt was all up in my face. “Show some respect for a sista, dumbass!”

Everybody went, “Ohhhh . . . ”

Joe grabbed my arm. “Let it go, Ty.”

“Let what go? We gonna dance or what?”

“What, you turned gay on me now?”

“Gay? Huh? Dance . . . dance.” I heard music blaring inside. “Dance inside!”

“Yeah.” He whispered, “You lucky that girl backed down, son. You don’t wanna have to hit no girl.”

I wasn’t listening.

I blew through the metal detectors and got a pat-down from a she-man guard. Joe stayed close so I didn’t give anyone lip.

We got into the building, no problem. But when we went into the dance, the loud music and flashing lights made my head spin.

I put my hands over my ears.

I was shaking. Somebody was shaking me.

“Ty, Ty! Keep it together, man! We gonna get thrown out!”

I opened my eyes. Joe. Trying to talk to me. Weird mouth sounds.

Lights flashed.

My body spazzed. My mind screamed.

Hands grabbed at me. Hands turned into snakes. Fought them as hard as I could.

I blacked out.

*  *  *

Hospital. Choking. Stomach on fire. Can’t breathe.

*  *  *

Morning. I woke up in a bedroom plastered with basketball posters. It wasn’t my bedroom. It was Joe Joseph’s.

For a whole minute I stared at a poster of LeBron James, his mouth hanging open as he went for a slam dunk. I started to remember last night.

The girls.

The dance.

The hospital.

Holy shit.

How the hell was I gonna leave this room and face Joe’s family?

There was a knock at the door.

Joe came in. “How you feeling?”

“Okay. Why am I here? I don’t . . . ”

“The hospital called your place. Your mom wasn’t there, so mine came. Cheddar and Bear, they took off when the ambulance showed up.”

In their shoes, I would’ve done the same. It was strange that Joe hadn’t.

“I bet your mom freaked out,” I said.

“Yeah, well.”

“Look, I’ll tell her you wasn’t doing ’shrooms. I’ll talk to her.” I didn’t know
how
I’d do that. Joe’s mom was a church lady. Church ladies scared me.

“It’s all right. She believed me. You can come into the kitchen and eat something.”

“No thanks. I gotta get home.” I swung my legs out of bed. “Does my mom know I’m here?”

“Yeah. Mom called and left a message.”

“Shit. Well, I’ll deal with her. Did the cops come?”

“No. We got you outta the gym through the fire exit, then called the ambulance from a payphone. You was tripping, Ty. I thought maybe you’d . . . die, you know?”

“Ah shit, son. Nobody dies from a few ’shrooms.”

Joe sighed. “Whatever.”

“C’mon, man, don’t be like that. Think of how it all went down! No cops, no trouble with the school, no nothing! I can still talk to your mom—”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“A’ight. I’ll call you later. I owe you big, son. We’ll go see a movie. It’s on me, playa!”

“Don’t call. My mom . . . ”

The look on his face said it all.

Control wasn’t all I lost that night. Joe’s parents wouldn’t let him hang out with me no more.

One good thing came out of it: I learned never to give up control again. Not for a day, an hour, a minute.

And I learned that the idea of trying everything once is bullshit.

T
onight was the night.

I caught the elevator to the eighth floor, feeling something weird in my stomach. Damn, was I sweating over a girl?

Well, Alyse wasn’t the type of girl I was used to. She lived in the hood, but she was no hood rat. You could tell just by looking at her that she lived clean. And when you talked to her, you knew she was mad smart.

But this was no date, I told myself. She only invited me over to work on our project. And I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, anyway.

That didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy what Mama Nature gave us, if she was up for it.

The way I saw it, girls were like basketball, and I knew how to
swish.

I knocked on the door. I heard music inside. A bass line of African drums.

I heard feet moving, then the door handle turned.

“Hi.” In a red shirt and tight blue jeans, she looked so fine. She was wearing a little more makeup than usual, and some perfume. I could tell that she was a little nervous.

“Come in. Sorry it’s kinda messy.”

“Any cozy crib is kinda messy,” I said, though my own crib was neat as hell.

I heard a noise behind her. A little kid in overalls was trying to fit a toy into his mouth.

“Don’t do that!” Alyse took the toy away from him.
“No, sweetie.”
The kid plopped down on his butt and giggled.

“What’s his name?”

“Gavin.”

“Hey, Gavin. What up, G?” I bent down and patted his head. “He your brother?”

“He’s my son.” She didn’t look at me.

That knocked the wind right out of me. I couldn’t think of what the hell to say except, “He’s cute.”

“Thanks.”

“Uh, how old is he?”

“Almost two.”

“His daddy around?”

“His daddy isn’t in my life. We live with my mom.”

“Oh.”

“Guess you weren’t expecting this.” It sounded like she was apologizing.

“Ain’t nothing. Lots of girls I know got babies. This ain’t nineteen fifty-three.”

“You looked surprised.”

“Me? Nah.”

She patted Gavin’s stomach, making him giggle and try to grab her hands. “The first year, I stayed home with him. Then Mom found a job where she could do evening shifts, so she’s home while I’m at school.”

“That works.”

“Yeah. Anyway, let’s get started. We can work at the kitchen table. That way, we can spread our stuff out and I can still keep an eye on Gavin.”

We sat down at the table. A lot about Alyse was now making sense. Maybe being a mom was why she acted so much like an adult.

“Ty, did you hear what I said?”

“Uh, no, sorry.”

“I asked for your e-mail address.”

“Sure, here it is.” I wrote it on a piece of paper and passed it to her.

“Your e-mail address is ‘King of Streets at gmail’?” She laughed. “That’s a good one. I’m Alyse N. Wonderland.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks. Now, I was thinking that if we use two Internet sources and three books for the project, that should be enough.”

“We don’t gotta O.D. We can get all we need in one book.”

“Yeah, but we want to show Ms. Amullo that we looked at a few different sources. We’ll look them over, even if we don’t actually use them all. I want to get an A on this.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I got an A.”

“Really? That’s weird. I mean, you’re such a smart guy, I don’t think it would take much for you to get A’s.”

“To get A’s, you gotta go to class. I ain’t good at that.”

“Don’t you want to get into a good college?”

“I don’t need college. I’m gonna start my own business right out of high school.”

“Don’t you need money to start a business?”

I couldn’t tell her that I already had plenty. “Don’t worry, Alyse. I got a business plan.”

“If I were you, I’d get the best marks I can in high school, just in case your plans fall through. As for me, I have to get A’s if I’m going to college.” She looked at her son. “Eventually . . . I’ll get where I want to be.”

“Where’s that?”

“A criminal lawyer.”

“So you gonna put the bad guys away, or help them get off?”

“I’ll be a prosecutor. I want to get criminals off the streets.”

“I’d’a thought you’d be a defense attorney.”

“Defense? Sure, I’d defend an
innocent
person. But I don’t want to make my living helping good-for-nothing murderers or rapists or drug dealers get off easy.”

Since when were hustlers as bad as murderers and rapists? I decided to be smart and keep my mouth shut.

An hour and a half later, when Alyse was sure that we’d done enough work, we decided to watch some TV. She’d already put Gavin to bed, so it was just gonna be us.

Alyse went into the kitchen to make some microwave popcorn, so I got up from the table and went over to the couch. I plunked down. My ass hit something hard. The couch spring was broken. I scooted around till I got comfortable.

Alyse came back with a bowl of popcorn and two Cokes on a tray. By that time, I had on a Kevin Hart comedy special.

She sat down on the couch, not too close, but not too far. The broken spring did me a favor, tilting her my way.

“You like Kevin Hart?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s the best.”

“I saw him in the city last year. So classic.” I ate some popcorn. “Chris Rock’s my all-time fave, though. But he can be pretty nasty.” I looked down at her. “That stuff bother you?”

“Not if it’s funny. But nasty and not funny, that’s the worst.”

“Word.”

After Kevin Hart, we watched the end of a music awards show hosted by some skinny white guy I never heard of. I liked chilling with her and hearing what she had to say on a lot of things.

At one point she turned to me with a big smile. “You know, I’m glad you came to Les Chancellor. Classes are more interesting with you there.”

I smiled back. “We have a good time, don’t we?”

“The best.” Her eyes sparkled, and I could tell she was feeling me.

My cell phone rang.
Fuck it, I won’t answer.
But Alyse had already looked away.

The caller ID said:
Monfrey.

I answered, “Yeah?”

“Ty, we might have a problem.”

“Go on.”

“There are new niggas in the hood. They’re asking too many questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like who the connections are.”

“So?”

“Well, it ain’t that I think they’re narcs. I never seen narcs who look
that
much like thugs. I just got a bad feeling about them.”

“Then go with your gut. I hope you and Davica can work it out.”

“Huh? Oh shit, someone’s there, right?”

“Bingo. I gotta go, man.”

“Okay. I wanted to give you the heads-up.”

“Gotcha. Later, man.” I hung up.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend of mine. He got girl problems.”

She smiled. “That’s cute that he calls you for advice.”

“He trifling, that’s what. He always got drama going on.”

“I got friends like that too.” She yawned. I knew what that was. It was the dismissal bell.

I took a deep breath, staring into that pretty face. This thing between us was really something. And if we didn’t do nothing about it tonight, it was definitely gonna be there tomorrow.

B
y mid-October, I was finding my groove. It was mad hard not cutting class, but I knew the second I slipped up, I’d get kicked out.

It didn’t hurt that I had Alyse to hang with. She was so cute, I did
homework
so that I could be with her. Sometimes I even studied for tests, just to see if I could get a better mark than her.

And sometimes class was kinda interesting too.

Like Global History. Boring, right?

Today was different.

Mr. Guzman was looking down at his notes, rubbing his hands together. When the bell rang, his head snapped up. “Good morning!
I’m going to start us off with a question that relates to our new unit. What are the qualities of a great warrior?”

I raised my hand. “He’s physically and mentally strong. He can lead an army or take orders if he’s got to. He ain’t afraid of nothing.”

“What about his mind-set going into battle? What should it be?”

Justin answered, “He should be calm.”

“He gotta keep his eye on his goal and nothing else,” I added.

“Well, have any of you heard of samurai warriors?” Mr. Guzman asked.

Someone called out, “Yeah, they those guys in black who do karate.”

“You might be talking about ninjas, but the idea isn’t dissimilar.” Mr. Guzman wrote on the board,
Bushido: the Way of the Warrior.
“Bushido is the code of conduct of the samurai warrior. In medieval Europe, the knights also had a code. It was called chivalry. But in Japan, Bushido was different. In Bushido, you trained all your life for battle, and when you went into battle, you went in seeking to die.”

“That’s stupid,” Richard said. “If you go in thinking you gonna die, then you’ll die for sure.”

“The idea is that if you don’t fear death—and in fact, expect
and welcome it—you will be a better soldier,” Mr. Guzman said. “A killing machine.”