Game On (11 page)

Billy was trying to be hip. Xavier cracked a smile. “I feel you, homeboy. Yeah, I feel you.”

The two shook hands before Billy left.

14

XAVIER

 

X
avier was sitting with his legs hanging over the side of his bed. The sling was getting on his damn nerves and his wound was itching like crazy. His dad told him that it was healing. Xavier couldn't tell because he was still experiencing shooting pains in the shoulder.

Seven days later and Xavier was still shut up in his bedroom, only stepping out briefly to attend to his bathroom needs. Despite the swelling subsiding around his nose and eyes, he avoided the bathroom mirror. He just couldn't bear the image of his mangled mug. Pounds were melting from his body like perspiration drops because of a lack of appetite. Stress was a factor, and paranoia kept him peeping out from the closed blinds of his bedroom window. He wore the same pajamas day after day, with the dressings of his wound being the only thing he changed.

His father had made many suggestions about Xavier talking to a psychiatrist, maybe getting on some meds to stop anxiety from ravaging his mind. The boy would always insist that he was “straight” and dropped the conversation. His bedroom had become more like a tomb. No light, no activity, the only thought on his mind was how close to death he'd come. Sometimes his emotions would go haywire, which always ended with him breaking down crying in the same corner between the chest and wall.

Sometimes Xavier would obsess over the list of suspects. That list was long and loaded with limitless possibilities of who could've put in the work on him. Was it Tall and Husky, the big-eared cat with the low-cut fade and wearing the dark Rocawear hoodie who had been sent by Slick Eddie? Dude had chased him through the school hallways, bustin' caps at him last year during a morning football game. And even though Xavier's old enemies Dylan Dallas and his boy Westwood were looking at twenty-year stretches in the pen, what would stop them from hiring somebody to put in the dirty? If Eddie possessed the capability to sanction hits from behind bars, so did those two player-hating morons. Was it Sean Desmond? Or was it the lunch aide who made the milkshakes in the cafeteria? His old health teacher? Even Principal Skinner could've been the trigger man for all Xavier knew.

Xavier kept running the events over and over until his head throbbed, but he was no closer to narrowing down the culprit.

Somewhere beyond his bedroom door, he could hear that Noah's friend Roxanne Hudson was back. She'd rung the doorbell a little while ago. Her irritating voice was loud and carried throughout the house as she laughed at his father's corny jokes. The stench of cigarette smoke was back too, seeping through the cracks of Xavier's bedroom door. The two sounded like they were sitting at the dining room table. Just from her laughter he could tell that she wasn't his father's type. Noah was humble, a real live Bible-thumper who stayed true to the Scriptures. Roxanne, even behind closed bedroom doors, chilled Xavier with bad vibes. There was nothing he could do about it, though. His old man was grown.

Xavier braced the sling and stood, grunting. He retrieved the cell phone from the drawer and was tempted to turn the thing on. There had to be tons of text messages and a crapload of voice mails on it. Some sincerely concerned about his welfare, others just plain nosy. Dexter had to be the most worried. He'd been Xavier's right-hand man, stood by his side when everybody else had turned their backs. He owed his homeboy a phone call. Xavier felt bad that he'd told his father to tell Dexter that he didn't want any company when the boy had shown up at his doorstep the day after Xavier had gotten out of the hospital.

Later, maybe later,
Xavier thought, putting it off.

Roxanne ripped off with screeching laughter, almost sounding like a croup cough. He couldn't stand it. Xavier didn't want to hear the sound of her voice, so for the first time since being shot, he turned on the television, loud enough to drown her out. Sitting on the bed, he began to surf through the cable channels 'til he stumbled upon a sight worse than Roxanne's irritating butt. It was the bottom of the seventh inning and the Detroit Tigers were up to bat. The first game of the MLB playoffs was well under way, and that slimeball Sean Desmond stood at the plate, a cocky batting stance, with his eyes trained on the pitcher. It looked to be a straight fastball down the middle—Sean swung ferociously, solidly connecting, and the ball went bye-bye over the center-field fence of Comerica Park.

Xavier wasn't trying to be malicious, but he hoped that that bum tripped over third base and broke something as he looked on while Sean arrogantly trotted around the bases waving to the cheering fans. Xavier watched as the television cameras showed some close-ups of fans going nuts in the stands. He tried to convince himself that he didn't want to see a celebrating Samantha. That would be lying, though. What he felt for her was still inside his heart. Not an emotion that he could just turn off. But he kept the feeling under lock and key. Had to. The boy had too many things he was dealing with and didn't need any further distractions.

It was the moment where Sean crossed home plate and started high-fiving his teammates that an uncharacteristic feeling swept over Xavier. He really wanted to put the big ugly-hurt on homeboy. Never had he wanted to hurt somebody so badly. The million-dollar wimp had smoothly danced into their lives and cleverly waltzed out with Samantha as his dance partner. Then at the roller skating rink that night, to sprinkle salt in the wounds, Sean tried to make Xavier look weak in front of her.

Xavier was getting too heated and had to check his anger before raw emotions led him to do something stupid and regrettable, like shattering the thirty-six-inch screen of his Sony by hurling the remote at it. The TV cost too much to be getting crazy like that, so instead, he quickly turned to HBO.
Game of Thrones
would do just fine.

15

SAMANTHA

 

T
hat big solo homer Sean blasted in the seventh inning hadn't been enough, as the Oakland A's thumped the Detroit Tigers by eight runs. Sean was now at a private table, drowning his sorrows in drink, as an entourage of his peeps sat around. They were deep off up in Benihana too. Sean had learned the hard way that he couldn't be dropping the dogs in public on broke fools. The coach had called in some heavy favors to keep that little skating-rink scuffle from turning into a full-blown media frenzy. The rookie didn't escape punishment. His coach fined him fifteen thousand dollars, mere peanuts for somebody like Sean Desmond.

“Don't you think you've had enough?” Samantha asked Sean.

The loud clanking noise from the cook's spatulas striking the surface of the hibachi grill as he prepared the food was deafening.

Sean blew Samantha off like she was nothing and guzzled down another shot. “I'm twenty years old and I don't need your permission.”

His entourage took up every seat of the private section. The hanger-ons were out in full force, scantily dressed women parading around ballers trying to get lucky. Financially tapped-out brothas were trying to run game on jump-offs with the hopes of getting their action on. Nobody was talking more smack than Sean Desmond's two goons, though. Ozzie and Cash were sitting to Samantha's right, kicking game with Tracy and Jennifer.

“Leave the man alone,” Ozzie said to Samantha. “His team just got it handed to 'em, let 'im drink.”

“Exactly why he shouldn't be drinking,” said Jennifer. “Too much alcohol is a waste of a good mind. Besides, he shouldn't be drinking anyway.”

Cash jumped in with his two cents. “Who are you? Mother Teresa?” he sarcastically asked Jennifer.

“So you're completely comfortable with him destroying his mind, right?” Jennifer asked Cash.

“Whatever,” said Cash.

Jennifer wouldn't let up. “See, it's friends like you that can't say no to people like him. That's the main reason why young millionaires die fast and broke.”

Sean was really starting to feel the alcohol. He yelled out, “Justin Bieber.”

Jennifer said, “Justin's not dead—although the country would love to deport him—but if he keeps a destructive lifestyle, there is no telling.”

Ozzie said, “Who let Little Miss Buzzkill up in this piece?”

Samantha said, “Jen is right. Sean, don't you think that you've had enough? You have another game tomorrow. Why don't you go home and get some rest.”

It didn't take Tracy long with her airhead opinion. “Samantha, you need to cut it out. Sean is a grown man. Anybody that lives in a phat crib in Orchard Lake and drives a Ferrari and a Phantom is considered a grown man in my book. And you should quit sweatin' him.”

“Isn't there one time where you're not in gold-digger mode?” Jennifer asked Tracy.

Tracy quickly threw up the “talk to the hand” gesture at Jennifer. “Girl, bye.”

Cash cracked everybody up when he started making the sound effects of two cats fighting to poke fun at the two girls—“Cat fight,” he said, laughing.

Sean snapped out of his alcoholic coma long enough to yell, “Y'all, chill out. Y'all are giving me a headache.”

“Don't stop them now, I want to see Tracy and Jennifer box,” said Cash.

The cook was plating the food and passing them around to everybody sitting in front of his hibachi grill.

When Ozzie received his grub he looked over at Samantha. “Heard that loudmouth punk we mopped up in the parking lot of the skatin' rink got his ticket punched.”

Cash laughed with food in his mouth.

Samantha shot Sean a cold look.

He said, “I only told it like it was—the punk better be glad that we didn't twist him.”

“Sean, you forget that we grew up together,” Samantha said, “you're not a gangsta.”

“And Xavier is, right?” Sean said.

Samantha said, “That's not what I meant.”

“Don't sleep on me,” Sean said, growing angry.

Samantha looked at Cash and Ozzie. “You might hang around gangsters, but you're not one.”

Cash and Ozzie slapped hands, laughing sinisterly.

In a fury Sean stood up too quickly from the stool, wobbling, and staggered off salty.

One of the bodyguards tried to follow him. “I don't need your help. I'm going to the bathroom and I don't have to be a gangsta in there to take care of my business.”

“See what you did,” Ozzie said to Samantha. “Why did you have to go and get inside his head for? He has a ball game tomorrow.”

Samantha didn't comment.

Cash asked Samantha, “So how is ol' Xander anyway?”

“Xavier,” Samantha corrected Cash.

“Whatever,” said Cash.

“Nobody knows,” Jennifer cut in. “It's like he just dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Good riddance,” said Tracy. “Samantha's better off without him. When you have a man like Sean Desmond, everything else is irrelevant.”

Samantha stood, wearing a look of disgust. “You know, Tracy, you used to have a heart. I hope when you're standing before God one day, you'll be able to look inside that gutter you call a soul and explain to him how you traded in your integrity, lusting after material items.”

Samantha walked off in the direction of Sean, with Xavier heavy on her mind. She hadn't been able to enjoy the game because she was worried sick about him. It was true that they were no longer together, but the fact that he was hurt wasn't sitting too well in her spirit.

She was in a long corridor where the restrooms were. Sean looked like he was being held up by the wall, his back to her, with his cell up to his ear. Sounded like he was talking business, so Samantha waited until he ended the call.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He had a silly little smile on his face. “I'm okay now.” Sean walked over and grabbed her roughly around the waist and tried to kiss her.

“What are you doing?” Samantha asked, pulling back.

He grabbed for her, letting locks of her hair fall from the palm of his hand. “Are you going home with me tonight?”

A frown fell across her face. “Sean, don't be ridiculous. It's already close to eleven, and my curfew is twelve. Besides, I told you before that nothing will happen.”

Sean raised his voice. “What? I'm not gangsta enough for you? I'm da man up in this city. What I want I get!”

Samantha pulled away from his grasp. “That's the alcohol talking.”

“Xavier was better, huh?”

“Now was that necessary?” Samantha said.

He pointed his finger. “You're going to learn that I am not that trash, high school gangbanger. Do you know how many women out there would love the opportunity that you have? Samantha, you better get it together.” Sean stormed out.

Samantha folded her arms and pursed her lips. Sean was going to learn to respect her. She was pretty and had brains to match; she knew she was the perfect catch. If he didn't learn some manners quickly, Samantha would have no problem kicking him to the curb.

16

DAKOTA

 

D
akota couldn't ignore her growling stomach anymore. She was starving. Hiding out in the library to avoid those SNLG headaches in the lunchroom wasn't cutting it. This was her regularly scheduled lunch hour, and here she was hiding in the back of the library like a scared little mouse.

She'd been hiding in the library during her lunch break ever since somebody tried to smoke Xavier. The last time she'd seen him was at the skating rink, when he and Dex had saved her. She'd been proud of herself that night. It took real guts to face her fears.

Her stomach growled again, but this time it was more like a roar. It wasn't fair that her tormentors were probably downstairs in the cafeteria stuffing their faces full of whatever, while she was stuck hiding out in the library.

Skip it,
she thought. There was still twenty-five minutes left of her lunch break to grab a quick something. And she wasn't about to waste it sitting around nerds. She didn't mean any disrespect, but she had grown tired of sitting at a table in the company of these Coleman High rejects.

No more!

Dakota snapped closed the books she was reading and walked out into the empty hallways. Damn—she was hungry and nobody was going to deprive her of friggin' basic rights. But all the same, Dakota still had to be careful. As she took the back way down to the cafeteria, she wondered about Xavier. If he was doing all right. It had been twenty-five days since Xavier's shooting. There were so many rumors being blasted floating around the school that it was hard to know what to believe. Where she'd had a mad crush on Xavier before, Dakota was now looking at him in a whole different light. She'd never had a big brother. Someone who looked out for her the way he was doing. Besides, to keep it one-hundred, Xavier was a Coleman High celebrity, a cat who every girl wanted to get with and every dude wanted to be like.

Dakota was almost to the lunchroom when she saw one of those SNLG girls rambling around in a hallway locker. Whether the chick was getting her theft on or the locker had been assigned to her was none of Dakota's business. Hunger pangs were kicking her tail and she wasn't trying to scrap with anybody. Anyway, Bangs had put the word out after the skating-rink fiasco that it was open season on Dakota, even sweetening the pot by offering twenty-five bucks to the first SNLG girl who stomped out her lights. The restroom was off to her left, so she ducked inside until the coast was clear. The stench of cigarette smoke was strong inside, but Dakota didn't pay it any mind nor did she look around. With her back to the stalls Dakota kept the door cracked, peering out until the SNLG girl sporting the bad weave found whatever it was she was looking for, closed up, and left.

Phew
. She let out a deep sigh of relief.

All this drama to get something to eat,
Dakota thought.

Her plan was to get into the lunchroom, get her goodies, and get out unnoticed. Aside from the nervous pitter-patter of her heart, she was good. Dakota was about to step out into the hallway but was denied by somebody powerfully yanking her hair from behind, pulling so hard that she came up off her feet, flying backward and landing on her back with a sickening thud. The immense pain started at the base of her neck, traveling down her spine, stopping and pulsating in her behind. Stars were flying while a brilliant display of lights inside her dome blinked from bright to dull. When the blurriness finally subsided, it wasn't a surprise or shock for Dakota to look up and see Bangs standing over her head. The SNLG head ghoul was still tightly clutching Dakota's beautiful locks and grinning like the worst was yet to come.

Bangs said, “Look at what fell into a ninja's lap. Mouse, didn't I tell you good things come to those who wait. Baby girl, we've been lookin' for you.”

Dakota's little heart was beating so fast from fear that she could hardly catch her breath.

Mouse stepped into view, holding a cigarette longer than one of her legs between the index and middle fingers of her right hand. “Ooh-wee, we owe you big-time!” she said in a voice filled with excitement. The girl took another drag from the Newport, mashed it out on the floor with a shoe, and then blew smoke from her mouth.

Bangs let go of Dakota's hair. “Get her on her feet,” Bangs ordered Mouse.

Dakota was still a little groggy but felt her body being hoisted from the floor by a dark, thick bald-headed chick.

Bangs nodded and Mouse moved into position.

“Xavier ain't here to save you from us,” Bangs said. “You must've thought the junk was funny when you pepper-sprayed me in the bathroom at the skating rink—yo' little stunt had me in the emergency room that night tryin' to get back right.”

The bald-headed chick wrestled and locked Dakota's arms behind her back, giving Mouse a perfectly exposed target. It was the first time Dakota had gotten a real good look at her surroundings. There were three SNLG girls here, and it appeared that they'd been using this time as a smoke break.

A hand gesture from Bangs set things into motion. Mouse was a short girl and carried a low center of gravity, perfect leverage she needed to deliver the first shot. It was a solid blow right on the belt line.

Dakota damn near folded as she gasped for air. The chick holding her from behind wasn't having any part of Dakota trying to fall. She kept her on her feet.

“That felt good!” Mouse exclaimed. “Bangs, homegirl, one more—let me give her one more.”

Bangs pulled out a pack of Newports, shook one out, and lit it. She nonchalantly took a drag, waited, and blew out the smoke. “Oh no, we have other plans for this chick. Don't we?”

Dakota shrieked, scared at what these girls had up their sleeves. But Bangs was quick to get a hand over Dakota's mouth. Again Dakota's legs wobbled, but the goon at her back refused to let her drop to the floor.

“You ain't going nowhere, sweetie,” said the bald-headed chick as she reinforced her grip.

Tears started to slide down both of Dakota's cheeks.

“I'm feeling it,” said Mouse, bouncing around with her hands raised high overhead like she was just declared the winner in an eight-round boxing match. “Bangs, this chick ain't feeling me—one more—I promise you this time I'll bring the real heat.”

Dakota was doubled over and gasping.

Bangs thought the entire thing was funny; she was even laughing a bit. She took another hit from the cigarette, waited, and blew out smoke. “Mouse, you got another level? Thought that was your best, homegirl.” She puffed on the cigarette. “This is your last one, you better make it good.”

No sooner had the words left Bangs's mouth than Mouse cocked back and unloaded it. This punch came bringing the noise—right on the belly button.

“Let her go,” Bangs instructed Baldhead.

Dakota dropped to the floor and balled up into the fetal position. There was no screaming this time. It was all about sucking in air. Dakota was a good girl—why was this happening to her?

“Yeah, that was the one right there,” Mouse said, still bouncing around on her toes. “Manny Pacquiao is in the house.” She even started shuffling her feet like some big marquee professional boxer show off.

“Floyd Mayweather,” Bangs said, dapping Mouse out. “That was the hammer right there.” Bangs took out her cell and made a call. “Do me a favor,” she said into the phone. “Bring me that ackrite, home girl.”

As Dakota lay on the cold, dirty floor writhing in pain, her one question was, where was He? Where was God? He must've been busy helping somebody else because He sure wasn't with her right now.

“Too bad that snitch Xavier Hunter ain't here right now,” bragged Mouse. “I'd have to put it on him too.”

Bangs laughed. “That's because he's somewhere laying low, like the punk he is.”

Mouse and Baldhead were cracking up until the door to the lavatory opened. In walked a girl with a soft caramel complexion, her hair shaped into a mohawk. She was carrying a medium-size brown paper bag.

“Welcome to the party, Missy,” said Bangs.

“I know y'all saved me some,” Missy said, looking down at a helpless Dakota and licking her chops. She handed the bag over to Bangs.

Bangs took it, putting out her cigarette with her heel. She went into the bag and pulled out a can of blue spray paint. “Let's give baby girl the blues,” she said.

 

When Dakota woke up lying on her back, she was choking. The strange chemical smell was suffocating. Where was she? Everything was blurry. Her body throbbed in agony. It was only seeing the toilets through the open doors of the lavatory stalls that jogged her memory. She'd been attacked by SNLG. Not knowing how long she'd been out, Dakota tried to sit up. The pain in her side stopped her in her tracks. Dakota had to get up—but those fumes! Where were they coming from?

It took some effort and many tears, but Dakota managed to make it to her feet. The many voices outside the lavatory door meant that students were in the hallways during class change. Tunnel vision drove her past the huge bathroom mirrors, without looking, and zeroing in on the doorknob. She fumbled with the thing at first until she got it open. The moment she was out students gasped, some holding hands to their mouths. A tall, dark-skinned girl screamed like she was losing her mind. Dakota paid none of it any attention as she struggled to stay on her feet, not able to lose that friggin' smell. She couldn't understand why everybody was looking at her. The three cats up on the left standing around an open locker were pointing fingers and laughing at her like she was some kind of circus sideshow freak. It wasn't until she finally arrived in front of a set of double doors and gazed in the windowpane that she saw her face for the first time since awakening. Well, at least the mystery of the powerful chemical smell was solved.

The fact that her entire face had been spray-painted blue was too much to bear.

A crowd of students made up the background image in the glass she was still peering into. The looks on their faces ranged from concern to taunting.

All of it was blue—everything blue! Her hair was now a stringy blue mess, stuck together by clumps of paint.

“She looks like a Smurfette,” a big-lipped guy said to his other two buddies who had been standing in front of the open hallway locker.

Students roared with laughter.

“I bet you her face ain't bluer than the marbles in your draws, my ninja,” the shorter cat of the trio said to Big Lips.

The laughter was explosive, slicing through Dakota's spirit and cutting to her core. The girl took a deep breath and felt a surge of adrenaline rush to her head. It was lights out after that. The last thing Dakota heard was the tormenting laughter.