Concrete Rose, page 19
“Wait, what for? I’ll be my own boss.”
“You’re gonna need a business loan, son,” Mr. Wyatt says. “As a Black man, you walk into a bank without some type of education, they’re gonna laugh you out of there. Then let’s say the store ends up closing or it’s not bringing in enough money. You’ll need something else to fall back on. Plan for that ahead of time and increase your education.”
I shake my head. “That won’t work, Mr. Wyatt. I barely got time for school as it is.”
“Good luck, then. You might find yourself selling stuff out the back of your trunk like that ol’ hustler with the Impala.”
Red. For a few minutes, Mr. Wyatt distracted me from my distraction.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he says. “I had a couple of errands I planned to run in the morning, but if I get out of here now I can handle them today. Why don’t you run the store while I’m gone?”
My eyes widen. “For real?”
“Only for an hour or two. It’ll give you a taste of what your dream will feel like.”
For him to do that, he must really believe in me. Worse, he trust me, not knowing I’m using this job to keep my drug dealing a secret from Ma.
Mr. Wyatt grab his wallet and keys outta his office. He remind me to check for counterfeit bills and to keep an eye on the security monitor before he leave.
I look around. For the next two hours, this all mine. Ain’t nobody here to tell me what to do or when to do it.
This the life.
I grab the broom. Mr. Wyatt says sweeping give him time to think, and that’s what I need. Up until today, I was sure that Ant killed Dre. He said my cousin deserved to die. That’s as bad as bragging ’bout taking him out. But what if he didn’t do it?
I don’t get to think on it long. A couple of snot-nosed kids from the projects come in the store. They grab chips, cookies, and Little Hugs juices and dump a sock full of change on the counter to pay. I make them count it out. Their li’l badasses need to know how to count money.
Mrs. Pearl come in next. She live across the street from Lisa’s momma. She buy bunches of turnip greens, and even though I don’t ask, she tell me that if you put baking soda in the pot it makes greens more tender. I promise her I’ll keep it in mind.
When nobody in the store, I check the aisles and shelves to make sure everything where it’s supposed to be. The bell will ding on the door, and I’ll get back to the cash register as another customer come in. I ring them up, bag their stuff, and they’re on their way.
It honestly don’t feel like I’m working. That first hour go by real fast. Things slow down a bit, so I grab the Windex and wipe down the door. All them fingerprints on it don’t look good.
A gray SUV park in front of the store. I tense up.
P-Nut and three big homies hop out in their gray and black clothes. P-Nut rock a couple of chains that you can spot a block away. Pops used to say that flashy shit only bring unwanted attention. It’s the reason Shawn kept a low profile for the most part. P-Nut act like he want everybody to see him and know what he do.
I hope Mr. Lewis’s nosy behind don’t notice him. He’d love to tell Mr. Wyatt that I’m up to something.
I hold the door open for P-Nut and the homies. “What y’all doing here?”
“Look at this! Old Man Wyatt got Li’l Don cleaning the doors,” P-Nut says. “Who you supposed to be, Mr. Neat?”
The big homies laugh like they would do at Shawn’s jokes. Difference is, Shawn’s jokes made sense. “It’s Mr. Clean, P-Nut,” I say.
He wave me off as he and the homies wander up an aisle. “Fools always focused on technicalisms. You work on them floors and doors, playboy.”
Technicalism?
Forget it, that ain’t important. P-Nut’s dumbass is the crown for the time being, and he oughta know ’bout this Red stuff. “P-Nut, I need to holla at you.”
“Aw, damn!” he groan from the snack aisle. “Can a man quench his hunger first without being approached about operationaltivities?”
He dump an arm full of snacks on the checkout counter and hand me a hundred-dollar bill. “What you want, Li’l Don? You better give me the right change or I’ll beat your ass.”
He lucky he the crown or I’d snap on this fool. “We don’t take bills over fifty, P-Nut.”
“What kinda establishment is this?” P-Nut pull out his wallet and slap two fifties on the counter. “I still want my change.”
“Fine,” I say, and start to ring him up. The big homies add more snacks to the pile.
P-Nut hop up on the edge of the counter. He rip open a bag of Doritos and munch on them. “What your li’l punk ass need to holla at me for?”
I swallow down what I really wanna say, for Dre’s sake. “I saw Red the hustler earlier, P-Nut, and he was wearing Dre’s watch. The one that was stolen when he got killed.”
“So?”
My stomach drop. “So, don’t you think that’s a problem? What he doing with my cousin’s watch?”
P-Nut lick cheese dust off his fingers. “That bitch Ant probably sold it to him. Big deal.”
“Nah, P-Nut. What if he the one who killed Dre?”
P-Nut bust out laughing. “Yeah right! Red cowardly ass ain’t no killer. He weak as you.”
The big homies laugh.
I grind my teeth. “I ain’t weak.”
“That’s a goddamn lie if there ever was one. For the past couple of months, you been hiding in this store and your momma’s house while the rest of us earn our stripes in the streets. You lucky I respect Dre’s wishes for you to stay outta the drug game or else I’d make you put in the work.”
“Look, P-Nut. I think you need to check out Red, for real. He got real nervous when he noticed that I—”
“Li’l Don, you finna get on my nerves. I said Red ain’t no killer. You tryna make me look dumb?”
You don’t need me to do that. “No.”
“Then stop arguing with me. It makes me think you taking advantage of my niceticity. You don’t wanna do that.”
The big homies all stare me down, and I feel like fresh meat in a lion’s den. This ain’t Shawn’s set no more, this P-Nut’s, and he’d love to tell them to whoop my ass.
I don’t say anything else. I ring their stuff up and let them go.
For the first time in my whole life, I ain’t sure I can depend on the set. It look like Dre can’t neither.
CHAPTER 22
I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking ’bout Red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
It’s the same thing the next day at school – I’m sitting in the front office with Red on my mind. I’m one of like twenty students waiting to see Mr. Clayton, the counselor. He meeting with all the seniors one-on-one this week to discuss our “futures.” For me that’s probably summer school with the way my grades looking.
I don’t really care at the moment. I’m almost dizzy from the tug-o-war happening in my head.
Red was wearing Dre’s watch.
But what if it wasn’t Dre’s watch and simply looked like it?
Why did Red get nervous when he saw me staring at it?
He a crooked dude, no doubt, but like P-Nut said, he not the type to kill.
But he disappeared right after Dre died.
“Maverick Carter?” Mr. Clayton call out.
I shake Red out my head at least for now, and go over to Mr. Clayton. He meet me with a strong handshake. Mr. Wyatt says you can tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Mr. Clayton don’t take no mess. I already knew that. He look like a Black “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, bald and wide-shouldered. Bet he lift weights bigger than me.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Carter,” he says. “I’m glad you finally stopped by.”
Oh yeah. I forgot he wanted to talk to me after Dre died. “My bad.”
“Not a problem. Come in, have a seat.”
His office kinda dope. He got framed black-and-white pictures on the walls of all these important-looking Black people. I only recognize Malcolm X and Huey Newton, the founder of the Black Panthers. Pops put me onto them. I never heard them mentioned in a history class.
I take the chair across from Mr. Clayton’s desk. He pull a folder from his file cabinet and join me. “Word around the school is that you’ve had some life-changing developments this year,” he says.
I wait for the look. I swear, when grown folks know I got two kids, I see myself become trash in their eyes. It’s like they see my babies as trash, too, just ’cause I made them so young. Hell nah.
“Look, if you gon’ come at me ’bout my kids—”
“Calm down, Mr. Carter. There’s no judgment. I’m here to help you, young brotha.”
He look over the files in the folder. My name typed out on the tab on the top. “I can see how becoming a father has affected your grades this year. Your GPA is down drastically.”
“Yeah, but I ain’t dumb.”
Mr. Clayton look at me over his glasses. “Then why haven’t your grades reflected that?”
He pulled that one outta Ma’s playbook. “I got a lot going on, you said it yourself.”
“I understand that, Mr. Carter. However, there are teen parents who stay on top of their grades. Barring a miracle that would require a lot of hard work on your part, you won’t be graduating in May.”
Shit. “I gotta do summer school, huh?” Damn, I don’t really wanna deal with that, but I guess I’ll do it.
“I wish it were that easy.”
“It’s not?”
“No, sir,” he says. “You would have to take all of your classes in summer school, and we don’t offer them all in the summer. The district can’t afford it. Now, you could hope you raise your GPA enough to graduate. Otherwise, you have to repeat the twelfth grade in order to get a diploma.”
Shit, man. I thought – I know my grades bad, but I figured—
“Mr. Clayton, I can’t repeat. What I look like, coming to high school every day when I got two kids?”
“You’ll have to figure it out,” he says.
“Nah, man! I shouldn’t have to do the whole year over!”
Mr. Clayton remove his glasses and rub his eyes. “Young brotha, you can’t wait until the credits are rolling to decide that you wanna see the movie. You obviously didn’t make school a priority this year, judging by your grades and all of your absences. We’re a few months away from graduation. Why do you care now?”
You know what? I don’t. I push up from my seat. “Fuck this,” I mumble.
“Whoa, hold on, Mr. Carter.”
“I ain’t tryna do another year, Mr. Clayton. Real talk.”
“Okay, understandable,” he says. “You also have the option of getting your GED. It’s the equivalent of a diploma.” He pull a pamphlet from a drawer and hand it to me. “The school district has a program for adults. You’re the perfect candidate.”
Adults. Guess I ain’t a kid no more.
“You would take night classes over a three-month period,” Mr. Clayton explains. “At the end, you take an exam. You pass, you get your GED. You don’t, you take the classes again.”
And again and again. “I may as well come back here, then.”
“Sounds like you’ve got good reasons to give it a shot. A GED or a high school diploma will give you more opportunities to provide for your children.”
I already do that, and it don’t require returning to this goddamn school or taking a class.
Mr. Clayton hand me a card and tell me to call him if I decide I wanna enroll in the GED program. Then he say I can go back to class. You know, the classes I’m taking for no damn reason at all now.
I drop Mr. Clayton’s card and the pamphlet in the trash can on my way out the building.
What’s the point of a high school diploma or a GED? Nah, for real. People claim they’ll make my life easier, but all a high school diploma did for Ma was help her get two jobs that don’t pay enough.
Nah, man. I’m done with this school shit. It’s time to put all my focus on making money.
I go to King’s crib.
He rent a house near Rose Park. I knock on the front door since the doorbell never work. The lock click on the other side, and Iesha answer with an eye roll. “What you want?”
Man, I don’t wanna deal with her today. “Hey to you, too. Is King here?”
Iesha look at me like I’m stupid and motion toward the empty driveway. “Do you see his car anywhere?”
“You know when he’ll be back?”
“Better be soon. He went to get some breakfast, and we hungry.”
“We?” I ask.
She proudly caress her belly. “We found out yesterday that I’m expecting. It really is King’s baby this time.”
One: Goddamn, what the hell in the water around here?
Two: She barely around for the baby she got.
Three: “You tryna replace Seven since he ain’t King’s?”
The goofy grin disappear off Iesha’s face. “Screw you, Maverick! Ain’t nobody tryna replace him.”
“It sure look that way.”
“Shut up! You don’t have room to talk. You knocked up your li’l bougie girlfriend. You tryna replace Seven since he ain’t hers?”
“Nah, that just happened.”
“This did, too! I may not have been around Seven for months, but don’t ever say I don’t love my son.”
“A’ight, a’ight. My bad. I’m sorry.”
She point her long fingernail in my face. “You should be. You better start letting me see him more. Them li’l Sunday visits won’t cut it.”
I wipe my face. I didn’t come over here for this. “A’ight, we’ll work something out. Give me a few days.”
“Fine. Don’t take forever,” Iesha says as King’s car turn into the driveway. She whirl around and stomp in the house, talking ’bout, “Oooh, I can’t stand him!”
My life, man. I gotta deal with this girl for at least the next eighteen years.
Now here come this foul fool. King come up the walkway, holding a couple of McDonald’s bags. “What’s good, Mav?”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. I ain’t forgot what he pulled on Thanksgiving. “My stash at home low, and I wanna put in some work.”
“Cool, I got you,” he says, and I follow him inside. King only got a TV, couch, PlayStation, and stereo system in his living room. He don’t even have curtains. He hung sheets and blankets from the Dollar Store on the windows. “Yo! I got the food,” he calls out to Iesha.
She come and snatch a bag. “Thank. You!” she says, and go back to the bedroom.
King sit on the couch, shaking his head. “Females. You came at a good time, homie. I cooked up some rocks last night. According to one of my regulars, it’s outta this woooorld.” He laughs. “It had him so gone.”
“Cool. I’ll take whatever.”
King tilt his head. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Give me some product, and I can bounce.”
“What is your goddamn problem lately?” King asks. “Don’t tell me you still mad that I moved Iesha in. That was months ago! She ain’t your girl, why you mad?”
“’Cause you ain’t tell me where she was, and you knew I was struggling with my son!”
“I ain’t know you was still looking for her!” he says.
“Just give me some product, King. I’m not in the mood, a’ight?”
“That’s why I asked what’s wrong, fool! It’s obvious you upset.” He sit forward. “Seriously, Mav. I’m your boy. Talk to me.”
I hold the back of my neck. This school stuff and this Red situation on my mind heavy, and fact is I ain’t got nobody to talk to. Lisa not an option; she don’t need the stress. Mr. Wyatt not; Ma definitely not. I could talk to Dre’s grave, but I’d never get a response.
King all I got left.
I sigh. A’ight, maybe I am tripping over the Iesha stuff. It ain’t that big of a deal, I guess. Plus King right, that was months ago.
I may as well talk to him. “I found out I can’t graduate. They want me to repeat the twelfth grade.”
“What? That’s bullshit,” King says.
“It’s my own fault, King. I accept that. I refuse to do another year though. It would be a waste of my time.”
“Hell yeah, it would. Who wanna look in Mr. Phillips’s ol’ wrinkly face for another year?”
“Word.” I laugh with him. “Mr. Clayton said I could take night classes to get my GED.”
“Another waste of time,” King says. “Once you focus on this drug shit completely, you’ll be making more than Clayton and the teachers. Bet that.”
“I know,” I mumble. I left the school knowing that. At the same time, this ain’t what I wanna do forever. I mean what I told Dre. Slinging is supposed to be temporary.
Being a man don’t got nothing to do with what I want. I gotta do what I gotta do, and it looks like that’s selling drugs.
“Ay,” King says, and I look at him. “Don’t stress this. You my boy, I’m gon’ make sure you good. We homies for life, remember?” He hold his fist over to me.
Now I’m feeling real stupid. “Man, I’m sorry that I—”
“I forgive you,” King says. “We cool. A’ight?”
I dap him up. “A’ight.”
King reach in his McDonald’s bag for some fries. “That school stuff all that was bothering you?”
I see Dre’s watch on Red’s wrist as clear as I see my own wrist. “Nah,” I say, through my teeth. “I saw Red yesterday. He was wearing the watch that was stolen off Dre when he was killed.”
King look up from his bag. “What? You bullshitting me.”
That’s what P-Nut should’ve said. “Not even a li’l bit. On top of that, when he saw me staring at it, his ass got shook.”
“Yooo! That’s suspect as hell. You tell P-Nut and them?”
I sit beside King. “Don’t get me started. I told that dumbass yesterday. He gon’ tell me Red probably bought the watch from Ant, and he too much of a coward to kill Dre.”
“What the hell? We talking ’bout the same crooked Red?” King shake his head. “P-Nut dumb ass don’t need to be the crown.”
