Game On (20 page)

33

XAVIER

 

S
amantha was over at Xavier's crib. They'd been in the basement for a couple hours. She'd lied to her parents about what had happened Christmas morning. Told them that she and Sean had had a disagreement and lost track of time trying to work it out.

“Have you heard from him?” Xavier asked Samantha.

“Not since the other night,” said Samantha. “He's been kind of quiet.”

“Samantha, tell me everything that happened.”

Tears tried to drop a few times as Samantha sat on a couch next to Xavier to recount her painful experience. After she'd explained everything about what had taken place—not even leaving out the part about him hitting her with the car—Xavier vowed not to rest until that baseball-playing punk had been dealt with. Xavier's temper was on bump and he was trying everything within his power to restrain himself from getting after Sean and taking it there. Thank God Roxanne and his father had taken Alfonso and her kids to the movies. There was no way he could've dealt with her garbage right now. He had his hands full with Samantha's situation.

They were leaning over Samantha's iPhone on the coffee table.

Xavier said to her, “Now here's what you're going to say to him.”

The next five minutes saw him coaching her on how to handle the phone call she was about to make.

“What if this doesn't work?” Samantha asked, in a voice that shook with nervousness.

Xavier gave her a reassuring glance. “Trust me, Sam. This dude has everything to lose. Stick to the script and you'll be fine, you feel me?”

Samantha took a deep breath and dialed Sean's cell phone number. She put the call on speaker after it started to ring. The phone rang about five times before transferring to voice mail.

She hunched her shoulders. “It's funny. There hasn't been a day gone by that he hasn't answered a call from me. Maybe he thinks I went to the police and now he's hiding.”

“Sam, not this guy. He thinks he owns the universe. Hit 'im again.”

Samantha was about to place the call, but Sean hit her right back.

“Where are you?” he asked angrily. Being on speaker had Sean's voice sounding like he was ordering from a drive-through at a burger joint.

Samantha looked like she was about to shrivel under his voice, but Xavier held her hand for support. He nodded for her to be strong.

Samantha took a deep breath. “Never mind where I am. But I'll tell you how this thing is about to go down. If you come near me, my folks, or anybody I love, I swear I'll report what you tried to do to me to the police. My dad has friends in the media and they're just looking for scandal, especially one involving Detroit's little golden boy shortstop.”

Sean laughed sinisterly. Like she was bluffing.

Samantha's fear turned to anger upon hearing his arrogance. “You're laughing but I'm not playing. I'll go to the police.”

“Nah, you don't have to do that, baby girl. I'll fall back, but where'd you get the balls from all of a sudden—is it because you're back hanging around that ghetto trash? You have me on speaker, so his little weak self must be somewhere around.”

Enough was enough. Xavier went off. “Check this here, homeboy,” he said aggressively into the speaker. “You come back around Samantha again and you're gonna find out how a baseball feels when I go upside your head with a Louisville Slugger.”

Sean said, “Ghetto trash, you saved Samantha from me, but who's going to save you?”

Xavier said, “Ninja, you threatening me?”

“Take it how you want it.”

“Stay away from Samantha.”

“Or what?”

Xavier snatched the phone up so fast that it startled Samantha. He held the thing with both of his hands, yelling, “Try me if you don't think it'll go down, playboy.”

“Oh, please.” Sean blew Xavier's threat off.

“Try me, homeboy. I ain't hard to find. You know where I be, you feel me?”

The phone call dropped.

Samantha asked Xavier, “What now?”

“We go to school, graduate, and go on to college—that's what now.”

There were footsteps overhead.

“Xavier,” Noah called down from the basement door. “Is everything all right down there, son?”

Xavier could hear Roxanne's irritating snort laugh. He didn't want to go upstairs to introduce Samantha to his dad because he knew that there would be a chance of him going ape on Roxanne. He took Samantha up anyway.

“Dad, this is Samantha, the girl I've talked so much about.”

Noah shook Samantha's hand. “You are the young lady who has my son's nose open.”

“Stop embarrassing me,” Xavier said to his father, smiling.

Samantha said, “Nice to meet you, sir. You have a very nice home.”

They were standing in the small kitchen getting acquainted when Roxanne barged in.

She popped her lips while looking Samantha up and down. “Pretty girl. Look here, honey, you look like you got a spot of sense. Step away from him before you get caught up in a drive-by.”

Xavier said, “Fake Christian, why don't you go and learn how to be a lady. Female dogs have more class than you.”

Roxanne went off. “You're a loser who's probably been voted around the school to be more likely to go to prison for life.”

Noah stepped in. “That's it, both of you. Roxanne, don't you ever talk to my son like that.”

Xavier was surprised by Noah putting his foot down.

Noah continued, “Xavier, you're not gonna talk to grown folks like that. And, Roxanne, where's your moral compass? You know better.”

Roxanne had this stupid smile on her face. She called her sons. “Y'all get ready to go. This man has lost his mind talking to me like he's crazy.”

Samantha stood in the far corner, shocked.

Roxanne headed toward the door with the boys in tow. She opened it and was hit by a cold breeze. “Noah, I'll be back over to get the things I left in your room.”

Xavier watched to see if his old man would punk and cave in. Didn't have to wait too long. Noah took off behind her with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. Xavier could hear him at the front door begging her to come back in the house. His father was whipped. Xavier couldn't do anything but shake his head. It seemed like he couldn't catch a break with either parent's choice of mate. He'd been at odds with his mother's boyfriend Nate and now his father's knucklehead girlfriend. This junk was too much.

He turned to Samantha and said in a frustrated tone, “Welcome to my world.”

34

DAKOTA

 

D
akota had just gotten out of the shower, rubbed on some raspberry body lotion, pulled on some boy shorts and an oversized T-shirt that read
Sometimes it sucks being an angel,
and was now in the bathroom mirror combing and wrapping her hair for bed.

She was proud of her brilliant work ethic. Back in November Dakota had launched a massive campaign at Coleman against bullying. Almost everybody in the school was applauding her efforts. The staff had done a wonderful job of promoting the message and encouraging those students who'd found themselves in the crosshairs of a bully to participate in the event. The program would be held Friday, March eighteenth. It would be an all-day affair and the theme for the occasion was, “Give Bullying a Black Eye.”

Dakota had done the research and found out that 77 percent of students admitted to being the victim of one type of bullying or another. These numbers were unacceptable. They meant that goons out there similar to the SNLG girls were giving the business to victims like her. She could feel their pain. Remembering when she'd gained consciousness in the girls' lavatory only to find out that her tormentors had spray-painted her entire head blue, Dakota had vowed to pledge her life to this struggle to bring peace to those who wanted to exercise their right to an education without having to suffer humiliation or embarrassment. She didn't look at it as championing a cause. It was her duty to give a voice to the weak and suffering.

Of course there were always going to be those who stood in the way of progress. She'd been teased and talked about while doing most of the legwork around school herself, talking to students, getting feedback, passing out leaflets, and encouraging victims like her to stand up and be heard. Her activism wasn't just limited to Coleman High; she'd traveled to other Detroit schools and talked to principals and staff members about joining the cause and officially making March eighteenth a day that schools across the city would stand up against bullies.

Xavier had lit a fire underneath her that burned in the pit of her soul to make a difference. She loved him, but not in the normal way a girl would love a sexy, strong guy like him. He was her brother and mentor. Granted, she'd only known him for five months now, but how could you know a person like him and not feel inspired by his resolve to get things done? The boy's life was in constant danger but it never stopped his desire to graduate. Nobody had ever stood up for her like he'd done. Now it was her chance to help somebody else, the old adage of “paying it forward.”

It was funny how the haters at school tried to discourage her from putting the event together. She expected those types of people at Coleman. That was a given. But having that type of negativity come from her mother was atrocious. Dakota could remember when she'd first gotten up enough nerve to confide in her mother. Told her everything about how she was bullied and tormented at school by the girl gangbangers. Instead of consoling her only child, she ridiculed her. Called today's kids sissies. Said they didn't make 'em like those in her day anymore. Explained that bullies didn't exist in her day because parents encouraged their children to solve matters with their fists on the playground and not return home until it was settled. The level of insensitivity shown by her ol' girl had brought tears to Dakota's eyes. But she had been careful in letting them drip only after she was out of her mother's sight. Showing any kind of weakness would've brought on her mother's wrath. And truthfully, she'd rather go head up with all of the SNLG girls instead of facing down her mother.

Speaking of her mother, Dakota was glad that the old bird was at work. It meant that she wouldn't have to be nagged. After she'd gotten home from school earlier, Dakota had done her homework and spent the remainder of her time poring over encouraging letters from well-wishers, tweaking the itinerary for the event, and trying to hold in tears while reading letters from other students who'd had the unsettling misfortunes of being bullied. Her heart bled for each student. She was more than hopeful that after everything was said and done, those students would finally get some peace.

She finished up, slipped into her
Sesame Street
Bert and Ernie slippers, and went about her nightly routine checking every window and door in their bungalow. Dakota didn't play when it came to her security. She was always left alone and there was no telling what maniac was out there watching. On the news every day there were young girls her age snatched up by sexual predators and never heard from again. The thought chilled her to the bone as she punched in the four-digit code to set the house alarm. Dakota listened to the mechanical voice count down while walking back to her bedroom.

There was no night-light. She was a big girl, and big girls weren't afraid of the dark. She turned out the light and closed her bedroom door. Once Dakota was snuggled underneath the soft pink comforter she drifted off to sleep.

 

At first she thought she was dreaming.
That's it,
she told herself, slightly waking. The eerie scratchy sounds were just a bad nightmare. She arrived at a better understanding once she was fully awake. Dakota hadn't been dreaming at all. Those spooky noises were indeed emanating from outside. Something was out there scratching against the bricks on the other side of her bedroom wall. She would've been quick to blame it on tree branches—except there weren't any on the property. No bushes either.
Animals. That's what it is,
she thought. Had to be a cat, maybe a dog, rats, mice—anything but the paranormal garbage that was floating through her mind. To calm her soul, Dakota thought,
There are no such things as ghosts
.

Goose bumps hugged her flesh like spandex. Dakota wanted to look out the window but she was too frightened. She hadn't heard noises like these while they'd been living in the house. She pushed herself out of bed and to the window. When she peeked out of the horizontal blinds, the scratching stopped. She breathed a deep sigh of relief—her damn imagination. That joint was running wild. Dakota relaxed and laughed at herself. Between schoolwork and promoting the event, she'd been working too hard. Sometimes the imagination could be played and triggered by exhaustion.

When the doorbell rang, she damn near jumped to the ceiling and hung there by her claws, like a startled cat. It was ten thirty p.m., and nobody was supposed to be out there ringing the bell. But there was no way on God's green earth she was going to open the door. Dakota sat on the end of her bed, her nerves frayed. She didn't know if calling the police would help any. Just last week, a young boy who lived in a bungalow off the corner was shot, and it took the police a half hour to respond. So if five-o had dragged their feet on the shooting, then Dakota would be old and gray before they'd come out to investigate a prowler.

The doorbell mysteriously rang again, and again, and again, and again, and again until the
ding-dong
morphed inside her head into a haunting, bloodcurdling chorus of creepiness. And then just like it started, the noise suddenly stopped. The thought that it might be her mother in distress played on her conscience. Perhaps the old girl had gotten into a car accident and was delirious, suffering from a bad head trauma. And now that the ringing had stopped, that only meant one thing: She was probably lying on her back unconscious in front of the door.

Dakota mustered the courage to slowly open her bedroom door. Out in the hall, she took careful steps toward the front door. The truth was that she didn't know the danger existing on the other side. Could be her mother, but on the other hand, it could be some psycho-freaky nutcase killer. Just in case, Dakota opened the coat closet and pulled out a baseball bat. She held the thing down by her knees as she disarmed the house alarm. At the front window, she took her free hand and moved back the vertical blinds. The view overlooked the front porch. No porch light. And though it was dark out, she could see there was nobody standing at the front door.

Somebody stopped to terrorize the wrong house,
she thought.
Then they figured out that they had made an error and left
. But something was out there. She looked closer. Dakota could see it, but what was it? To find out she would need to be brave and open up the front door. The cold chill inside her gut told her not to, but her inquisitive nature needed to know. With the bat slung over her right shoulder, she twisted the doorknob until it opened. This was a time she wished that the little neighborhood gangsta rats hadn't shot out the streetlights. Though the door was open, she couldn't see anything until she slowly cracked the screen door. There it was—down on the welcome mat.

Dakota slowly and cautiously stooped down to pick up a skinny glass vase that held two roses, some type of envelope affixed to it by a single piece of tape. She warily looked around before closing both the screen and heavy doors. Back inside, and under house lighting, Dakota's discovery made her flesh crawl. The flowers were roses, black ones. She'd seen in many mobster movies that the recipient of black roses always died behind a hail of bullets shortly after delivery. And if the flowers weren't enough of a warning, the card inside the envelope spelled it out. The cursive writing was bad, barely legible, but she could still make it out:
Stop the bully awareness event or die!

Dakota's blood turned cold at the threat. Tears fell. It was all good, though. The threat probably would've worked before she'd met Xavier. His strength and courage and fearlessness were enough for her to push this aside and continue the course. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. hadn't let threats deter him from having a dream and acting on it. It was because of him and those like him that minorities now had freedoms. Dakota wasn't comparing herself to the brilliant civil rights leader, but the goal was the same. She wasn't going to stop until all those being bullied were able to enjoy one thing: peace. Do or die—she would make a difference.