Take Back the Block Read online

  “Come on, it won’t take long,” Kari said, nudging me.

  “Wes, are you complaining about cleaning? There is a certain thing next Saturday,” Dad reminded me.

  “No sir!” I answered quickly. I’d rather do dishes every night this week than march next Saturday—well, maybe not every night.

  Kari grabbed the sponge and got to work scrubbing the food-crusted pots while I washed the plates and cups. Kari didn’t try to get away with soaking the pots overnight like I did. He took his time and scrubbed each pot clean. We have a perfectly good dishwasher, but Mom always says, “No need to use a dishwasher when you have two good hands.”

  After way longer than it should have taken, the kitchen was finally clean. Kari did most of the work, so I guess it wasn’t too bad, except for my wrinkled fingertips and bubble-soaked shirt.

  “It’s getting late. We need to get you home,” Dad said to Kari.

  “That’s okay, Mr. Walter, I can walk.” Kari looked down at his feet.

  “Not up for discussion. We’ll all go.” Dad grabbed his keys and headed for the front door.

  Mom sat up front with Dad, and Kari and I climbed into the back seat of our SUV. Kari and I were sitting next to each other, but something felt different—we were suddenly miles apart again. The bond we’d built over video games and dirty dishes had disappeared. Kari sat quietly staring out the window, his face blank. He had crawled back into his shell. He’d changed so much. I wished we could turn back and go home.

  “Downtown, right?” Dad guessed.

  “Yes sir. Left on Third, then a right on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard,” Kari instructed.

  The knot in my stomach got bigger with every turn. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but this wasn’t a part of town I went to often.

  “Left here,” Kari said. “Okay, this is it.”

  Dad rolled the car to a slow stop behind what looked like a small hotel. There were chairs and tables set up outside on the grass. A group of kids chased each other across an open lot. We’d gone just a few blocks, but it felt so far from Kensington Oaks.

  Two men who were sitting in chairs and playing cards looked over at our SUV like we didn’t belong there.

  “Come on, Kari, I’ll walk you to the door,” Dad said.

  Dad and Kari disappeared into a covered walkway that led to the bottom level of the hotel.

  The minutes oozed by while we waited for Dad to come back. I watched the kids playing outside and wondered if these were Kari’s new friends.

  Boom!

  I jumped and turned to see that a brown glass bottle had hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces. The foamy liquid inside spilled onto the ground. One of the cardplayers stood up, shouting and pointing at the other guy. Then, just as quickly as he’d stood up, he sat back down and dealt another hand.

  When Dad returned to the car, no one said a word. The drive home felt like the longest round of the quiet game.

  I sat in the back seat thinking about how strange it would be to live in a hotel. The only time I even stayed in a hotel was when we visited family up north, and even then it was only for a couple days. I don’t blame Kari for not wanting to tell us.

  When we pulled back into our driveway, Dad turned to me. “What you saw tonight stays between us. It’s no one else’s business.”

  “Yes sir” was all I could mumble.

  The first day of middle school is a big deal. It’s an even bigger deal for the Best Dressed titleholder, which happened to be me. There are certain times you should come to school with the freshest look possible: the first day of school, the day after Christmas break, and the day after spring break. I’d picked out my outfit weeks ago: indigo denim shorts and a royal-blue Supreme T-shirt. Until yesterday, the only things missing were the new Steph Currys that Mom had surprised me with as a late birthday present.

  With one last stroke of the hairbrush, my waves floated right up to the shore of my crispy edge-up. I rubbed on one more coat of lotion, dashed out the door, and headed to school.

  I met up with the crew in the courtyard of the Grove. The courtyard was in the middle of all the action—a gathering spot where the kids hung out talking and chillin’ before class—the perfect spot to get your brand-new outfit noticed.

  I was happy to see everyone looking good for the first day of sixth grade. Brent had gotten the top of his fade dyed red, Jas’s faux-hawk was neatly trimmed, and Alyssa rocked some new braids. Alyssa always wore her hair in braids, sometimes up, sometimes down, and sometimes two cornrows straight back. I knew Mya would have a dope new hairstyle too.

  “Your mom let you dye it?” I asked Brent, pointing at his hair.

  “Let me?” Brent asked. “I’m my own man…but yeah, she let me.” We all laughed ’cause we knew Brent had to do some serious begging to get Mrs. Williams to say yes.

  I was glad she did, though, ’cause Brent hardly ever gets new clothes, and he does what he can to stay fresh.

  We watched the other kids strut by in their new outfits. Yeah, some of the older kids looked good, but I had no competition with the kids in my grade. I had the first-day-of-school swag in the bag.

  I know looking good isn’t everything, but it’s one of the best things. Dad always says, “Style is a language.” I get my style from Dad. I’m a mini-version of him. We have the same medium-brown skin and lanky build, and he tries to keep up with my shoe game.

  The opening bell blared through the speakers, signaling the start of homeroom.

  “Ready?” I asked Brent, Jas, and Alyssa.

  “Let’s go,” Brent said.

  If he had any first-day-of-middle-school jitters, I couldn’t tell. Jas, on the other hand, had barely said a word since we got there. He’d had his earbuds in all morning, which was normal for Jas. He doesn’t go anywhere without a pair of earbuds. He says they only let in the sounds he wants to hear. Plus, I think he was a little nervous about meeting new people.

  Us boys led the way to homeroom while Alyssa dragged behind.

  We headed across the courtyard and down a long hallway toward a two-story brick building. This place was like three times the size of Oak Gardens. Alyssa and I turned left at the end of the hall, while Brent and Jas took a right. They were both in Ms. Marquete’s homeroom. She was supposed to be a lot nicer than Mr. Baker.

  Alyssa was several steps behind me.

  “You okay?” I asked, stopping so she could catch up.

  “Have you heard Mr. Baker is kinda mean?” Alyssa was giving me scared vibes.

  “Kari said he’s not that bad. Mya will be with us too. You’ll be fine. Come on, the warning bell’s ringing.”

  “When did you talk to Kari?” Alyssa asked.

  “He came over last week,” I said.

  “How is he? He’s still in school here, right?”

  “He said he was.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t seen or talked to Kari since we dropped him off at the hotel. I was a little nervous to see him today. I wasn’t sure what he’d say about it. I wished I could tell Alyssa, but like Dad said, it was nobody else’s business.

  Mr. Baker stood in the doorway welcoming each student into the class. He was even taller than I’d heard. He towered over us as we walked through the door. His outfit wasn’t half bad, though, navy-blue pants and a white dress shirt that had his initials stitched on the left wrist cuff. Brown leather suspenders held up his pants, and he sported a striped bow tie. Word is he used to be a lawyer, and he definitely dressed like it.

  “Sit wherever you’d like. I will only assign seats if you prove to me that you can’t handle choosing your own seat,” Mr. Baker said. His booming voice echoed off the walls.

  Mr. Baker also taught sixth-grade social studies. Maps and posters of kids from all over the world covered the walls of his classroom. The desks were set up in four ro
ws. Alyssa and me grabbed two seats next to each other on the second row and saved a seat for Mya. Homeroom sped by with only enough time for Mr. Baker to review his class roster, tell us where our lockers would be, and help a couple kids with their class schedules.

  Mya showed up right before homeroom was dismissed. Her special entrance included a whole speech about the “insane traffic from the Southside.” Mr. Baker didn’t seem happy at all about Mya being late, and he seemed even more irritated about her traffic speech.

  “Ms. Cooper, please have a seat,” he said in his boomy voice.

  Mya wasn’t off to a good start with Mr. Baker, and I kinda felt bad for her. I waved her over to our row, and she squeezed in beside Alyssa.

  Instead of walking us to our lockers, Mr. Baker gave us a diagram with a bunch of squares and our last names written inside a square. According to the boxes, my locker was on the same row as Mya’s and Alyssa’s—not sure how we got that lucky.

  Our schedules were broken out into blocks, which were just long classes—me and Alyssa had two blocks together, math in the morning and social studies in the afternoon. That made me happy. At least I’d have a built-in math tutor; Alyssa was a whiz in math.

  By the end of first block, I knew I’d definitely have to lean on her a little, because after getting two math homework assignments on the first day, I felt like I was already behind.

  Ms. Hardy, the math teacher, was possibly meaner than Mr. Baker was, and no one even warned me. She had us line up on one side of the classroom, and we had to answer a question before we could sit down. Mine was, how many cups are in a quart? The bad news is I got the answer wrong (there are four cups in a quart, not six). The good news is my seat was directly behind Alyssa and directly beside a boy named Lawrence from my fifth-grade class.

  After first block, Alyssa, Mya, and I met Brent and Jas in the café for lunch. The café was a regular school cafeteria, but bigger and fancier. The rumor was, a few years back there was a rat infestation in the old cafeteria, shutting it down for a whole week. A sponsor donated some money to the school to fix the rat problem and get better food. Now we had real fruit and vegetables—not the stinky canned ones—and meat-free and nut-free items. I wasn’t sure about the rat story, but I was happy that we could pick our own seats, and the food didn’t sound bad.

  I scanned the huge café for Kari. No sign of him anywhere, and with how big the place was, I’m not sure I would have seen him anyway.

  Mya and Alyssa went to find a table while Brent, Jas, and I filed into the lunch line. Mya wouldn’t be caught dead eating school food. I think Alyssa only brought her lunch so Mya wouldn’t feel left out. Alyssa usually does whatever she can to make Mya happy. They were cousins—well, fake cousins, which really meant best friends.

  “Hey, is that Kari?” asked Jas, popping out his earbuds and pointing across the room.

  “Yeah, it is,” I said.

  Jas waved his arms in the air to get Kari’s attention.

  “Hey, Kari!” Jas said when Kari walked over to join us in the lunch line.

  “Jas, wassup?” Kari was wearing the same cutoff shorts he wore last week, a plain white tee, and some Vans that actually looked new.

  “Nothing. How was your summer? You moved, right?” Jas asked.

  “It was okay,” Kari said, ignoring the question about him moving.

  I stood motionless, waiting on Kari to acknowledge me.

  “Hey, Wes. Mr. Baker wasn’t too bad, was he?” Kari asked.

  “No, he was okay.” I took a deep breath and tried to be cool. Maybe things between us were back to normal after all.

  “Want us to save you a seat?” Brent asked Kari.

  Kari looked over at Mya and Alyssa sitting at a table across the lunchroom. “Nah, that’s okay.” He knew what I knew; things were easier when he and Mya weren’t around each other.

  Kari disappeared across the café, and Jas, Brent, and I moved through the lunch line.

  Instead of square, soggy pizza and tough, oversalted corn kernels like we were forced to eat at Oak Gardens, there were little stations set up where you could choose the food you wanted. Today there was a mashed potato bar, turkey pot roast, grilled chicken, and a fruit-and-vegetable bar. The grumbling in my stomach meant I was impressed.

  “I’m about to grub!” Brent said, jumping in front of Jas.

  “You always grub. You’re first in line whenever you smell food,” Jas said.

  “I gotta feed these muscles,” Brent said, flexing his biceps at Jas. “You need to get like me.”

  Jas just laughed. Winning a word battle with Brent was impossible; any battle, for that matter. They were exact opposites. Brent stood several inches taller than Jas and even taller if he stood on his confidence. Jas was Mr. Zen. He probably listened to drumbeats, chirping crickets, or spring rains in those earbuds. We filed through the line and met up with Alyssa and Mya at the table.

  The rest of the day went smooth. So did the rest of the week, just like I’d thought.

  Except for math class.

  No matter the school or the teacher, math isn’t my thing. I had a feeling Ms. Hardy and me weren’t going to get along. She was one of those teachers who called on you even when your hand wasn’t raised. But Mr. Baker was all right—he actually reminded me of a white version of my dad. He meant business, but he had a funny joke every now and then. I’d also decided, after a week of fresh outfits, that Mr. Baker was the best-dressed teacher at the Grove.

  * * *

  • • •

  On Saturday, I woke up to Lauryn Hill’s voice floating through the house. Lauryn was singing about “that thing”—which meant Mom was up early cleaning. When there aren’t any protests, Saturday mornings are for R&B and housework. I secretly like when Mom plays old-school music; she’ll dance around the house while Dad watches her sway to the beat. She acts like she doesn’t notice him watching her, but she’ll glance over her shoulder every few minutes to catch him staring. They can be so corny sometimes.

  Mom and Dad met when they were in high school. Mom said Dad was afraid to make the first move because she was taller than him. Dad got over the height thing and asked her on a date, and the rest was peaches and cream. (Dad’s words, not mine.) Nowadays the height thing isn’t a big deal, unless Mom styles her puffy curls into an Afro, adding several inches Dad can’t compete with.

  I’d spent the night before sorting out what clothes I would donate to the clothing drive. I’d packed two full boxes of shirts, jeans, and jackets. I had a few pairs of sneakers that were too small, but I wasn’t ready to part with them just yet.

  “Wes! Brent and Jas are here!” Mom called.

  I’d convinced them to join me. Brent and Jas are pretty cool about helping with my volunteer chores, except for marching—they wouldn’t be caught anywhere near a protest march. Honestly, I think they feel sorry for me.

  “My guys. Wassup?” I said when I met them at the door.

  “Hey, Wes, let me grab those boxes. You look like you’re about to fall over,” Brent said, punching my arm.

  “They’re all yours,” I said, and placed the boxes at his feet.

  “Let’s go, boys. I’ll drop you off at the shelter and be back to pick you up around four o’clock,” Dad said.

  I was happy not to have my parents tag along. Ms. Grave runs the clothing drives at A Place Called Home, the shelter a few blocks over. She’s a short, fun lady with frizzy hair and everybody likes her. She lets us play music, and we usually get to pick what jobs we do. Mom and Dad would be collecting donations from people around the city while us kids worked the clothing drive—which was fine with me.

  I’d asked Alyssa to meet us at the shelter too. Alyssa doesn’t mind helping with my volunteer stuff either. Her mom is also on the community board. Alyssa isn’t forced to be at all the events I get dragged to, but she�
�s at enough to make me stand out less. At the last clothing drive this past spring, me and Alyssa were the only kids sorting clothes and unpacking boxes until after dark on a Saturday night. I guess we have more in common than I ever knew, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention before.

  When we reached the shelter, we saw Alyssa and Mya standing on the curb.

  “What’s Mya doing here?” I said.

  We unloaded the boxes from the trunk and headed over to the curb to meet them.

  “Mya, I’m surprised to see you here. This isn’t your kind of thing,” Jas said.

  “I asked her to come,” Alyssa said. “She’s staying at my house tonight.”

  “Let’s check in with Ms. Grave. She’ll tell us what she wants us to do,” I said.

  Ms. Grave let everyone pick their assignments. Jas and Brent would unload boxes from cars dropping off donations. Alyssa and Mya would sort the items, and I would escort the patrons to the correct line. I was hoping to get paired with Alyssa, but now that Mya was here, I should have known they’d be stuck together like glue.

  Not even an hour into the clothing drive, I spotted Kari walking up to the shelter. Oh no! I had forgotten Mom told him to come. I ran over to stop him from getting in line.

  “You didn’t tell me everybody would be here!” Kari said when he saw me.

  Before I could even respond, the rest of the group came over to say hello. This is all my fault. I should have remembered Kari would be there; he’d never feel comfortable getting free clothes now.

  “Kari, I’m glad you could make it,” I said. “You can help me escort people through the line. I’ll go tell Ms. Grave you’re here.”

  “Okay, cool,” Kari said, going along with me.

  When everyone except Mya came over to talk to Kari, he walked up to her to say hi.

  “Wassup, Mya?”

  “Takari.”