Beware of Boys (12 page)

“Yo! Faizon!” a rough voice growled from behind.

Charly froze and almost swallowed her teeth. She knew the voice, and would never forget it. Still, she questioned herself. She'd encountered it almost three-thousand miles away, so how could the guy be here in Nevada?

“Yo! Faizon! I know that's you with that crazy wild hair,” he growled again, sounding like he could swallow razor blades and not get cut. His voice was that rugged.

Charly turned slightly, careful not to let the guy see her face, then looked at Faizon. Faizon nodded at the guy, squaring his shoulders. “S'up? Of course it's me,” Faizon answered.

From her peripheral, she could see the dude hold up his open hand, giving Faizon a pound. “Bruh, don't be s'upping me like that. You betta act like you know a brutha. I just heard you were getting in today, and I hoped I'd run into you. I'm out later.” He laughed, low and gruffly. “Good look on the swagger too. I see you're streeting it up more and more, looking harder and harder. You almost intimidated me with that crazy hair and beard. So how long you here for?” he thundered, then gave a half-smile half-sneer, which died when he purposely leaned in and looked at Charly. “Yo. I know you,” he said to her. It wasn't a question.

Charly stood, then turned all the way around to face him. Immediately, she was leery of the guy who met her eyes, and didn't know how anyone could intimidate him. She gulped. A huge scar was slashed across one of his eyes and the brow above it. Another scar ran from the middle of his forehead up to the top of his faded hair. A trio of teardrops was tatted under his eye. She shivered and nodded. He was the motorcycle guy who'd tossed her purse back to her in New York.

Faizon laughed. “Thanks, Coop. I do what I do. It's all in the job, fam. I'm just here for the day. I'm headed back to L.A. tonight on the last flight out. And you gotta stop with the questions. You're gonna scare the lady,” he said, nodding toward Charly.

“I wouldn't bet on it—she's not the scared, run-and-call-the-cops type. Right?” Coop asked, eyeing Charly. He turned back to Faizon. “The red-eye, huh? I'm headed to Cali tonight too, on the bus though. Think I can swing a ride with you on your way to the airport?” Faizon nodded. Coop gave him a pound. “So this you, huh?” he said, nodding in approval. He looked back Charly's way. “You that little cutie from that show that helps young knuckleheads?” He nodded, answering his own question. “That's good. Real good stuff you be doing. Guess that's why you hanging out with this dude—he's good too. Pretty much saved my whole fam from being homeless when our crib burned down, and he still refuses to take credit for it. But you know I got long arms, it ain't nowhere I can't reach and nothing I can't find out. Coast to coast.” He winked, then reached into his pocket. Charly jumped when he was removing his hand, sure that he had some sort of weapon. He smiled, then handed Faizon and Charly business cards. “Y'all check out my bidness when you get a chance.”

“Word? When this happen? Nobody told me,” Faizon said, looking down at the card. “This is a'ight, Coop.”

Charly looked at the card, and stretched her eyes. Quickly, she reminded herself not to judge someone by his looks. Coop, as Faizon had called him, wasn't all bad. He had, after all, returned her stolen bag. She nodded, then put the card in her wallet inside the plastic shopping bag that now housed all her stuff.

Coop rubbed his stubbly chin, then reached into the cooler and took a bottle of water. He cracked it open, then swigged from the rim. “I just put it together. I figured after the dime I put in, bruh, the least I could do was come out and school some of these young knuckleheads so nobody will lock 'em in a cage for ten years too. They treat you just like an animal in there, bruh. And these knuckleheads need to know they ain't nobody's animal, and it's up to me to school 'em.” He averted his attention to Charly. “Everybody deserves a second chance, right?” He shrugged. “Sometimes the knuckleheads do stupid stuff, and end up getting locked up. Other times, I'm able to step in and save 'em. I try to clean up their mess, then I teach them how not to make a mess.” He finished off the water bottle, then looked back at Faizon. “Yeah, man, after what you all are doing for girls, I figured I could do the same for boys. But we ain't gone be rocking pink though. No disrespect.” He laughed.

Faizon reached over and gave Coop a brotherly hug. “That's cool, Coop. Let me know if there's anything I can do. You know, we're kinda busy now with the girls' project, but you know how it goes.”

Coop reached into his jeans pocket and took out a ring of keys. He wiggled them in the air. “My house keys.” He nodded. “Yeah, bruh, because of you, I do know how it goes. I know you helped my fam. So let me know if there's anything I can do.”

Faizon nodded. “Yes, there's one thing. Charly here was getting attacked by some bootleg Internet journalists down behind the gate. You know the one with the bright orange strips in it, the same one we're going to tear down after the girls' center goes up? The only people who should be back there will be rocking shirts like mine, but in pink, red, or white. The shirts are considered their passes. Can you—”

“I gotchu, fam. We on it. 'Sides, the last time I heard ain't no bootleg journalist requested permission to be in my neighborhood.” He laughed, then looked at Charly. “You keep doing good, cutie. You got our support. And who knows, maybe one day your show can look out for us here. I may not be a school academic, but I'm a street scholar schooling my people to keep them outta jail. Somebody gotta give them an opportunity because the world—sometimes even their mommas—won't.”

Charly smiled, a little confused. She wouldn't have pegged Faizon to be one to request help to keep her protected, but decided not to question it. Maybe he was aware of more danger than she knew of, which made her feel more at ease with Coop. The guy was really trying to help youth, and she couldn't help but respect it, even if he did look like someone from a horror flick. “I'll keep that in mind. And like Faizon, if I can do anything to help, I will. The world didn't give me a chance either. I took it.”

“Word! I like that. Faizon, you gotchu a live one there!” Coop winked at Charly, but it wasn't sign of disrespect or interest. It was full of admiration. “Okay, Ms. Take It, remember if there's anything you need, you come see me. I'll take care of you. I
owe
you that,” Coop said, and Charly knew he meant it.

C
hildren's laughter sounded over music, the scent of barbecue wafted through the air, and white-, red-, and pink-shirted people—the invitees, crew members, and the team, respectively—moved about the area when Charly and Faizon returned. Charly nodded, noting that Bobsy had predicted correctly. News crews and reporters were scattered throughout the crowd. She hoped that Coop and his people wouldn't give them a hard time, and could distinguish the professionals from the novices.

She parted from Faizon, who was on his way to help on the other side of the event, while she went to lend her expertise to the other. She smiled, approaching a group of teen girls who were working with the guys on the projects. Some were assigned to Shine, the Las Vegas retreat; others were ambassadors of some of the other retreats that Charly hoped to help design. She waved to the girls, trying to stay upbeat, but it was hard after she'd gotten close enough to see them. Many wore headscarves or construction hats, and others were comfortable enough to show their heads that were either bald or close to it. A few girls were in wheelchairs, while some others—well, Charly didn't know what was going on with them, but they didn't look healthy. All seemed happy, though.

“Hi, Charly!” one girl called out, running over to meet her. “I'm Destiny.” She tipped her construction hat, revealing a bald head underneath. She rubbed her hand over her scalp, then stuck out her tongue. “You like my 'do?” Destiny asked, smiling, without the least bit of self-pity.

Charly tilted her head, returning the smile and admiring the girl. Destiny was brave and beautiful. “I do like your 'do,” she said, thinking how Destiny's lack of hair made her pretty face really stand out. “It's a lot cooler than mine. Pun intended.” Charly felt safe to tell her joke, especially when Destiny laughed.

Destiny nodded. “Eden was right. She said we'd like you. It's nice to meet people who don't feel
too
sorry for us. And you're right twice; I can feel a breeze much better than you.” She ran a dainty hand over her head, pretending to push back long locks.

“Too sorry?” Charly questioned, wrapping one arm around Destiny and walking back toward the group.

Destiny side-eyed her. “Yes. Too sorry. We don't want you to feel too sorry for us because then you pity us and make us feel bad for ourselves. And self-pity is not cool when you're fighting for your life. But feeling a little sorry for us is okay because then we get great gifts like these retreats and scholarships, and we get to hang out with celebrities.” Destiny cracked up laughing, and Charly joined her. “Those are things I never would've dreamed of before, ya know, and I was valedictorian and from low-income housing,” she pointed out, refraining from naming her illness. “Oh, Eden left you a hat and T-shirt over there.” She pointed to a nearby table.

Charly's eyebrows rose. It was like every other turn she made, a girl was mimicking a part of her story, and feeding her desire to help girls who hailed from situations like hers—poor and almost parentless, which she would've been had she not found her dad. No, Charly hadn't been and would never be valedictorian; she was a proud C+, bordering on B-, student, but her sister, Stormy, was the smartest person in her class every time, and not once had anyone saved them from their dismal life because of Stormy's grades. “Destiny, introduce me to the other girls. I want to really get to know all of you, and not just your diagnosis because, as you know, you are not your illness,” she said, walking to the table. She put on the construction hat, grabbed a hammer, and remembered how she used to assure herself that she wasn't a product of her situation, she was the way out of it.

 

Charly stood with her palm shielding her eyes from the sun that the construction hat couldn't block, looking at the community center. The rooms inside had been framed, and she and the girls had helped with some dry-walling and painting. Now they were prepping to put color palettes together with décor and vote on little touches that would make the center truly theirs. Faizon jogged by Charly, waving. Charly waved back, laughing. He and Lex had checked on her progress several times since she'd begun working, and had playfully accused her and the girls of outdoing their contributions. She admired how he and Lex took the event so seriously, yet still managed to have a good time with the girls.

“Have fun!” she yelled, then looked down at the clipboard in her hand. Something was missing—a splash of brightness was needed for the library, something vivid that would offset the dull earth tones. “Hmm.” She tried to think of a color besides pink. It wasn't that she was against it; she just didn't want the girls who were fighting cancer to always have to be surrounded by walls that looked like they'd been dipped in Pepto Bismol.

“Charly! Charly!” Lex's deep voice called out.

Charly looked up, then stood on tiptoe, turning her head in the direction of his voice. She cupped a hand on the side of her mouth, then shouted: “Girls rule, Lex. You've got strength, but girls are stronger!”

Her crew, as she'd begun to call the girls, clapped and cheered, then chanted: “Girls are stronger! Girls are stronger!”

“Yes! We are!” Charly said, then snapped her fingers. “Come over here, and tell me what you guys think of this color for the library wall,” she said, walking back over to a picnic table and looking at paint swatches. “I'm thinking a deep majestic purple, bordering on a midnight navy-bluish. Something kinda dark, but not dreary—”

“Charly! Charly!” a different male voice called her name. It wasn't deep like Lex's. It didn't sound anything remotely close to Faizon's, and since it was a guy's, she knew it didn't belong to Eden.

Charly stepped away from the picnic table to see whom the voice belonged to, and saw a blur of red whiz past her, followed by a few more blurs of crimson. “Take this,” she said to Destiny, then handed over the clipboard. “You take the lead, and I'll be right back. Maybe you guys can vote on the color before then,” she encouraged, walking toward the guy in red, who was still calling her name, and was now jumping up and down. “Yes. I'm right here,” she stated.

“Charly! You've got to go.” His whisper came out more like a loud, breathy scream. “It's important!”

Charly tilted her head and hit him with a barrage of questions. “Why are you screaming and whispering? What do you mean, I've got to go? What's up? What happened? Is it an emergency?”

He was still moving a lot, and his eyes were stretched. His expression was one of panic, and he was clearly upset. He grabbed her wrist. “C'mon, Charly. You've gotta hurry up before the rest of the team leaves. There's a situation at Lex's.”

Charly held up her hand. “Wait. Wait. Slow down. What do you mean before the rest of the team leaves? I just saw Faizon and Lex—”

He cut her off. “Getting ready to leave. Faizon and Lex were leaving. That's why they were calling you.”

“Wait here!” Charly said, then turned around and ran back to the girls. She told them she'd return as soon as possible, and lied, assuring them that she was just running out to get needed supplies. Out of breath, she made it back to the crew member. “Okay. I'm ready. So I'm riding with Eden, I guess. Since everyone else is gone.”

The guy shook his head, grabbing her wrist and leading her toward the gate. “No. Eden's gone. You'll have to go with M
kel. He just got here.”