Promise Boys, page 1
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To the boys of Chocolate City
I’ve noticed a fascinating phenomenon in my twenty-five years of teaching—that schools and schooling are increasingly irrelevant to the great enterprises of the planet. No one believes anymore that scientists are trained in science classes or politicians in civics classes or poets in English classes. The truth is that schools don’t really teach anything except how to obey orders. This is a great mystery to me because thousands of humane, caring people work in schools as teachers and aides and administrators, but the abstract logic of the institution overwhelms their individual contributions. Although teachers do care and do work very hard, the institution is psychopathic—it has no conscience.
It rings a bell and the young man in the middle of writing a poem must close his notebook and move to [a] different cell where he must memorize that man and monkeys derive from a common ancestor.
—John Taylor Gatto
“Why Schools Don’t Educate”
BREAKING NEWS:
BELOVED PRINCIPAL KILLED AT 43
DC police are investigating a homicide in Northeast DC. Mr. Kenneth Moore, founder and principal of Urban Promise Prep, was shot to death on school premises on Friday, October 10. He was a beloved member of the community.
A coworker found Moore’s body early Friday evening and called 911.
When officers arrived, they discovered Moore with a single gunshot wound to the temple. He was pronounced dead on the scene.
Detectives have been working to establish a suspect or suspects and motive in this case, and it’s reported they have already detained three students for questioning.
Anyone with information is asked to call the District of Columbia Police Department’s Homicide Unit at 202-555-4925.
A reward of up to $65,000 is offered to anyone who provides information leading to an arrest and indictment in this case.
PART ONE
J.B.
Present Day
Nobody
Urban Promise Prep Student
Rumor has it a student brought a gun to school the day of the murder. You didn’t hear that from me.
Keyana Glenn
Anacostia High School Student
We can’t believe the things we see, we can only believe the things we feel. I thought I could believe in J.B. because I could feel how much he liked me. Or at least I thought I could, until he stood me up. The day after we got so close. When he had told me he’d meet me after school and we’d go to the game together. That we’d be together. Officially.
He swore he was different. Not like other guys. Better than them. And against my gut feeling, he convinced me to trust him. And maybe I still do? But my head’s a mess and I don’t know anything right now.
Agh, I feel like such a fool. I got used, or tricked. Now I feel bad about myself, and that ain’t fair. Even thinking about it pisses me off.
Every time I close my eyes, the night plays over and over again. Me dragging myself to the game all alone, ready to confront J.B. But when I arrived, I saw him covered in blood.
I froze right there in the school doorway.
We both did.
Everything I’d wanted to scream at him bubbled up, getting stuck in my mouth.
The blood.
My thoughts raced. Did he get hurt? Was that the reason he hadn’t picked me up like he said he would? Is that why he hadn’t called or texted me back?
“It wasn’t my fault…,” he whispered while trying to catch his breath. He then took off. He clearly wasn’t injured, not moving that fast.
He disappeared into the darkness of the evening.
Of course, at the time I didn’t know about Principal Moore. Everyone’s saying J.B. killed that man, but I mean, part of me can’t believe that.
On the other hand, I know what I saw, J.B. with blood all over his shirt and his words replaying over and over again in my head. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Every time I start to believe in something, I’m reminded that everyone around here is so fake. I guess you never truly know a person.
I hope I’m wrong. I hope J.B. is innocent.
Nurse Robin
Urban Promise Prep Employee
Don’t get me wrong, I care about the work. It’s this place that I can’t stand.
When I told my friends I’d be working at Urban Promise Prep, they all warned me about it being all male, but I figured I could handle it. I have to deal with nasty men twenty-four hours a day. Every school I’ve worked at, every bus ride, every stroll down the street, every grocery trip, men hit on me. Why would Promise Prep be any different? Right?
Wrong.
At Urban Promise, I was incredibly uncomfortable, nervous; you know the feeling. Principal Moore created a boiling pot of toxic masculinity and male fragility. You think I’m talking about the students, but no. The kids are kids, they don’t know any better. It’s the adults. The teachers, the security guards, the leadership.
They encouraged the behavior. Last year, a boy circulated some inappropriate video he made with a young girl so the security guards searched his things and confiscated his phone. It was the right thing to do. But he never actually got detention or suspension. Not even a slap on the wrist! And worse, I saw the guards in the break room passing around the dang phone, watching the thing before they deleted it. Snickering over literal child pornography, cracking jokes about the young lady in the video. They didn’t even think twice. Just no sense of … morality when it came to women at Urban Promise.
But Moore didn’t care about that. As long as the boys were in line, these men could act a fool. You know, Moore is so pristine in the public eye, but he wasn’t squeaky clean either. He did the little things like hug me too long or put his hand on the small of my back when he spoke to me in the hall.
Also, call me ridiculous or whatever, but I swear he had an alcohol problem. I’ve treated plenty of patients with drinking habits and Moore fit the bill. His mood would change at the drop of a dime. Sometimes smooth as silk, charming and gregarious, supportive and kind. Then other times, I’ve seen him snap at kids, snap at teachers, even snap at Dean Hicks. And lately, it’d been worse than usual.
Anyway. Guess you could say I don’t think it’s as much of a loss as other people do.
As far as the boys they’re questioning about his murder, I didn’t really know them, but I did see J.B. the day of the shooting. He came to me to get his hand bandaged. He scraped it pretty bad after punching something.
“What happened?” I asked him. His fists were clenched tight, like he was trying to dig his nails into his own skin. The deep brown of it threaded with blood.
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“Can’t be nothing if you’re here with your hand looking like this.” I tried to smile at him, make him more comfortable since his knuckles were so shredded.
I did my best to clean the wound, but he wouldn’t loosen his hand. Not the entire time he sat in the office. He just glared off into the distance, jaw clenched, like he couldn’t wait to do something more with that messed-up fist.
I walked backward to my desk before telling him he could leave. A weird instinct came over me. I didn’t want to turn my back to him. Not with the anger radiating off him like heat. Like he could swing again at any moment, his hands needing a punching bag, something, anything to connect with in this moment. That’s someone who is accustomed to violence. At that young age? Makes me shudder.
So, yeah. I’m looking for a new school to work at.
Becca Buckingham
Mercy Academy for Girls Student
Those poor boys. So full of anger. It’s because of their life circumstances though, right? I mean, imagine if you lived in poverty, were racially profiled, and a victim of systemic inequity. You would be too. That’s why I choose to tutor at Promise. To make a difference. With my white privilege, I see it as my responsibility.
But even with all that, I can’t bring myself to understand why they’d kill Principal Moore. Especially after all he’s done for them. It’s just a tragedy.
They say they have three suspects. Everyone’s been talking and DC is smaller than you think. Word travels fast. I actually tutored one of them.
Ramón Zambrano.
Ramón is just the nicest kid. There’s something … angelic about him. I love how, like, authentic he is about his culture. Making … I think it’s called pahpooses? The little biscuit things. I heard he makes them with his grandma. How sweet is that?
I went into overdrive trying to get him fluent in English because it’d help land him more opportunities. Not to mention it was my duty. And Ramón really took to it. In fact, a few weeks ago, I would’ve said there’s no way he did this. And a part of me still feels that i
But there’s hope for him. It’s probably one of the other boys they arrested.
Like … Trey Jackson.
I never actually spoke to him. But I heard he was funny. A lot of the girls at Mercy thought he was hot, plus he plays basketball, so you know. He might grow up and be in the NBA—who wouldn’t want to date that guy?
Me.
Athletes are douchebags and I’m sure Trey’s no different. Come to think of it, people called him a bully. He’d crack jokes on kids all the time, making himself feel big by making others feel small.
But people also said he has, like, a military uncle with a bad attitude. Sometimes guys who have mean father figures turn out mean too, you know? At least he has a father figure, though! I don’t know for sure, but I bet that’s not very common with the boys at this school.
And then there’s J.B. Williamson.
I don’t know him any better than Trey, but I hear J.B. is pretty smart. I saw him a lot in the halls on tutoring days, and I mainly remembered him because he’s huge. Like 6ʹ3ʺ! Which, tall guys are always sexy to me. But he never smiled. No matter how many times I smiled at him or said hi, he would just ignore me. That kind of gave me a weird feeling, you know?
Everyone keeps asking me about that day at Promise. I’d been tutoring all afternoon in the ESL room. I’d stepped out to grab water and there they were: J.B. and Principal Moore in a fight.
I froze in place along with everyone else. J.B. towered over Principal Moore, and there was a massive dent left behind in a locker. The tattered skin of J.B.’s knuckles bled on the linoleum floor. I felt the tension from across the hall.
J.B. bucked at Principal Moore, waiting for him to flinch or cower. But Principal Moore laughed, standing his ground. My heart rattled in my chest and my pulse thundered so loud I didn’t catch most of the argument.
Principal Moore put his hand in the air, directing J.B. to walk away, and as J.B. stomped past me all aggressive and angry, I heard him mumble, “I’mma see you.”
I’d heard boys at Promise say that before. Seemed like the last straw in a fight. As school security officers would pry them apart, they’d shout the phrase at each other over and over again. A warning. And without a doubt, later the gossip would travel to Mercy about the fights in the neighborhood with the Promise boys.
But now, those three words echo in my head on repeat. A few hours after J.B. uttered them, Principal Moore turned up dead.
Unk
Neighborhood Dude
I don’t care about no damn principal.
Principal don’t care about me.
Huh?!
That man never even looked me in my face, like I ain’t exist.
Only time he spoke to me was to yell at me to leave from around his school.
I’m from here. I was here first! Whatyoutalmbout!
Uppity-ass Black folks taking over just like white folks.
WELCOME TO THE DISTRICT, BABY. HAHAHAHAA!
You see where I’m at!!
LONG LIVE CHOCOLATE CITY!!!!
Wilson Hicks
Urban Promise Prep Dean of the Student Body
Oh God.
I found him dead.
Oh God, why’d it have to be me?
I’ve never seen blood move like that. A red river rushing along the edges of the desk.
Blank eyes stared back.
I stepped closer and closer. “Kenneth! Kenneth!”
My eyes scanned over his body. I couldn’t tell where the blood came from. I covered my nose because the smell of feces in the air gave the death away. Kenneth had shit himself. I’d always heard that people shit themselves when they die, but thought it was nothing more than just a myth.
I scrambled backward. I felt my face go red. Sweat poured down my temples. Questions raced through my head: What were those final moments like? How afraid had he been when the trigger was pulled? Did he feel much pain? Was he afraid to die?
But I’ll never have answers to those questions.
Even now, when that night starts playing over again in my head, it all comes rushing back. Could I have done something differently? Could I have prevented this from happening?
Were we best friends? No. Technically, he was my boss. But when Kenneth set out to create Urban Promise Prep, he hired me first, and together, we built something truly remarkable. Say what you want about his methods, or mine even, but we got results. Sure, we showed the kids tough love but we never crossed the line. We cared about these boys more than most, and all we wanted was the best for them. We wanted to make them into kings. We even founded the Promise Fund, a scholarship to send kids to college if they couldn’t afford it themselves. But some people couldn’t see that we were in the business of building men, not coddling boys.
Unfortunately, some students just refuse to grow up.
J.B. Williamson, Ramón Zambrano, and Trey Jackson, all boys who refuse to grow up.
One of them did this, maybe all of them together. The records show the three of them had spats with Kenneth that day.
If I had to put money on it, J.B. did this. It’s always the quiet ones you have to worry about. The ones swallowing down their violent streak. Plus, J.B.’s from Benning Terrace. I’ve seen his kind time and time again. You know the type of kids who come out of there.
Bando
Neighborhood Hustler
Kill, moe! I’d just seen my man too! Now they’re saying he might get booked for a murder rap? J.B. never really kicked it on the block like that. I mean, he be outside, but he wasn’t hustling or nothing. He always seemed like a good kid. I do know that man had hands, though. If pushed, he could fight and land you in the hospital if you come into contact with one of his fists.
{inhale}
I remember one time at the rec we were hooping, and J.B. hung around the courts chilling. He’s big as hell so you’d think he’d be a beast at basketball, but come to find out, he don’t ball. Anyway, we needed a fifth man to play so I convinced him to join the game. And for a while, he was hanging in there, but because of his size, they kept hacking my man. Every time he’d try to drive, they’d hack him. Slapping the shit out of his arms trying to get the ball and make him look like a clown.
J.B. cool, though, he never really wanted smoke, just wanted to get along. But he had his limits like anyone. So, when they peeped he’s not that aggressive, they started hacking my man even more! One dude caught J.B. with an elbow and out of nowhere, J.B. decked my man with the meanest right hook I’ve ever seen. It was almost like a reflex. Blood went everywhere. Broke that man’s nose and dude went out cold, hit the ground before J.B. even realized what he did.
{exhale}
But even with that, I definitely never saw him as no killer.
{inhale}
But then again, I know a lotta dudes who weren’t killers until they killed. Young as fourteen, moe. You know, sometimes that shit just lurks in you until the right moment comes along.
{exhale}
I guess it’s possible. Maybe J.B. did do that shit. Maybe his anger brought it out.
Mr. Reggie
Urban Promise Prep School Resource Officer
Detention’s always light on game days. Especially that day. The playoffs, I think. These boys already get it so hard at Urban Promise Prep: no talking, no laughing, no girls. Their only outlet really is our basketball team.
Anybody’s allowed to come watch the games and we’re actually pretty good this year, so girls from all across the city come to see the boys play. They love that. Which is why I thought I’d be able to skip detention duty and leave work early for a change, but turns out there were still a few kids who decided to get in some trouble: J.B., Ramón, and Trey.
J.B. arrived first, and I have to be honest, it had me shocked. In my six years at Urban Promise, I can confidently say that I’ve never seen J.B. Williamson in after-school detention. Quiet kid, big as hell, but a soft demeanor.
