Game On (4 page)

3

DAKOTA TAYLOR

 

“D
akota!” Evelyn Taylor yelled from the upstairs room of their three-bedroom bungalow. “Get your tail up this instant! You gonna be late for school!”

Fourteen-year-old Dakota Taylor was a little girl with a big imagination. She had to possess one in order to stay in the same house as her mother.

The young girl lazily opened her eyes and yawned. She wasn't given a chance to do anything else before her mother screamed again.

“Dakota Taylor, do you hear me, girl, get out of that bed before I come in there and beat you out of it, now!”

Dakota sluggishly rolled out of the sack wearing a short nightgown decorated with playful, colorful kittens. She was overwhelmed, but joyful of the spectacular possibilities that the day could deliver. This could actually be the day that her Prince Charming galloped through on a black stallion and rescued her from a life dominated by her mother's miseries.

She stretched and yawned once more. Dakota wiped at her eyes as she slowly stepped over to the full-length mirror standing in the corner by her bedroom closet.

Evelyn screamed again. “Dakota, I don't hear no water running in that bathroom. Chile, get yo' half-breed behind in the tub and take a shower. I ain't gonna tell you no mo'!”

Today was the first day of school. Dakota beamed with excitement. Yet she stood there, a little horrified, but ready to embark on the beginning of her freshman year at Coleman High. She told herself,
Anything beats the loneliness brought on by having to stay locked up in the house for the entire summer.

Dakota's African American mother Evelyn had married a Native American man by the name of Bemossed Taylor. Bemossed was a skilled laborer and Evelyn worked as a waitress in an upscale downtown Detroit restaurant, but between their two paychecks, the couple barely made enough to breach the poverty line.

Not long after Dakota was born, Bemossed took a walk to the store around the corner for some chocolate chip ice cream and a pack of Camel Lights and never returned. Her mother was absolutely devastated. Evelyn couldn't quite get over the abandonment, so she often took out her verbal aggression on Dakota. At that tender age where most kids started to form bonds and make friends with others, Dakota wasn't allowed to have any, and it was always mandatory that she come right home after school. Dakota never asked why she couldn't have any friends. That question wasn't worth the slap in the mouth for stepping outside of a child's place.

To escape her loneliness, Dakota often fantasized about another life, a better place. Fairy tales. There was no pain in her perfect place, just love, peace, harmony, and tons of fun. This was the reason why she enjoyed school so much. It gave her a sense of freedom. Sure, there had always been girls who hated on her looks, but she'd rather be amongst them than be around her tortured soul of a mother.

At four-foot-ten Dakota might've had the height of a Smurfette, but her beauty was otherworldly. The biracial melting pot had pooled the richness of ebony flesh and layered it with the prideful red skin belonging to Native American people to produce Dakota's breathtaking, exotic copper complexion. Her fine, silky locks fell down her back, a snapshot of similarity to her Indian ancestors who once roamed the rich, vast North American wilderness before the European settlers. Her African American heritage shone through in Dakota's high cheekbones, thick lips, wide nose, and full hips, thighs, and butt.

Dakota puckered out her lips and then flared her nostrils—anything to make herself look ugly. God knew she'd heard it enough from her mother. But she continued staring in the mirror, as if not believing the image of perfection that stared back.

“This chile of mine—I swear she gonna bring out the devil in me, 'cause I don't hear no damn water,” Dakota heard her mother grumble as she walked down the stairs from the upstairs bedroom.

The girl quickly went into her dresser drawers, grabbed what she needed, and bolted across the hallway and into the bathroom, closing the door.

One thing she didn't do was disobey her mother. Evelyn was quick-tempered and heavy-handed, sometimes not giving a crap where her open-hand slaps landed on the child.

Dakota wiggled out of her gown and panties. She didn't waste a single moment jumping into the tub, closing the shower curtain, and turning on the water. When the bathroom door opened Dakota almost peed herself. Not knowing if her mother would snatch open the curtain and get busy with that thick black belt caused her to tremble all over.

She could hear her mother open the door to the medicine cabinet. A few pill bottles rattled around. “Dakota, I have to work overtime tonight, so you have your butt in the house when you come home from school. You hear me?”

Dakota took too long to answer and her mother ripped back the curtain. The young girl almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of her short, full-figured, dark-skinned, chunky-faced mother.

Dakota defensively put up her hands and cowered in the corner as the water sprayed over her body. “Mama, please don't hit me!” she cried out.

Evelyn had meaty shoulders, flabby biceps, and a fat, blubbery stomach that left her looking like she was nine months pregnant. The belt of the black terrycloth housecoat wrapped around her stomach looked to be struggling to keep Evelyn's bulge inside.

“When I call you at five o'clock today, you better be in this house and getting your lesson,” Evelyn said intensely with a no-nonsense look on her face.

“Yes, ma'am,” Dakota said, relieved.

Evelyn snatched the curtain closed and walked out of the bathroom.

Dakota let out a sigh of relief. The girl didn't know how much more she could take. As she soaped down her body, Dakota magically slipped into her fantasy. She couldn't wait for her big, strong, handsome, courageous knight to come and whisk her far away from this place.

4

XAVIER

 

X
avier's world literature teacher was a true giant standing in front of the class. Over seven feet tall, Mr. Emerson Chase looked like he had been freakishly drawn up by some mad-scientist cartoonist. The man's legs were skinny and long, like there was no end to them, with a torso that surprisingly could've belonged to a dwarf. Mr. Chase was in his fifties, with striking blue eyes and the kind of sandy blond hair that male models would've traded their very souls for. He sure didn't dress like anything special; a pair of khakis, a button-down shirt, and some extra-long Minnetonka moosehide moccasins—that looked like it took an entire moose to produce—completed his ensemble.

“Welcome to the world of literature,” the teacher said to his students in a nasal voice. He picked up a piece of chalk off the ledge and wrote his name in cursive across the blackboard. “My name is Mr. Chase. Let me start out, good people, by addressing the rumors. Yes, I did play basketball professionally for the NBA. A badly torn ACL cut short my career. But thank God I had my degree in English to fall back on.” Mr. Chase looked out at the young faces before him. He had their complete and undivided attention. “I can tell that there are a few hotshot NBA hoop dreamers in here. Don't mean to burst your bubble, but let my injury serve as a bleak reminder for you to take your education seriously.”

Xavier was sitting there looking up at Mr. Chase, shaking his head. Another foot and the cat's coconut would be scraping the ceiling. Aside from the rumors about Chase playing pro ball, Xavier had the scoop on how the former hoopster was the hardest teacher in the building to pass. Many students had crashed and burned here, with some of the smartest just hoping to come away with obtaining a plain old C letter grade. That wasn't gonna fly with Xavier. He didn't do Cs. It was either A or bust. Nothing was going to drop his 4.0 GPA.

“This semester we will be exploring works from classical playwrights, complete numerous essays, and for you guys, learn how to write romantic poetry, compose a news article, and my very personal favorite, write a movie review. You will be required to write a complete research paper. No excuses. This paper will count as thirty percent of your grade. I can be pretty hard, but I'm fair.”

Xavier couldn't believe his luck. Dexter was sitting right next to him in the same doggone English class. With the camaraderie between the two, they were both in trouble. And right on cue Dexter started cutting up.

“I ain't never heard of Chase in the NBA. What? Was he a ball boy?” he whispered to Xavier, laughing.

“Stop it, you idiot,” Xavier whispered back, trying not to laugh.

Xavier simply shook his head at Dexter. The boy was a flat-out moron and Xavier wasn't about to get caught up in his foolishness. On top of Mr. Chase's no-nonsense policy for shenanigans, homeboy was known to send fools who thought they were comedians right to the main office to have a not-so-funny chat with Principal Skinner.

Xavier tried to ignore Dexter, but dude wasn't having any of it.

“Psst,” Dexter persisted. “Homeboy wearing moccasins—who he think he is . . . a white Indian on the reservation back in the Old West?”

Xavier just placed a hand over his face to conceal his laughter.

Dexter kept it up. “Homeboy, homeboy,” he whispered, “that's one big ol' Indian. He probably has a horse parked out in the teacher's parking lot.”

A few other students in the area heard the joke and started giggling at Dexter.

Mr. Chase singled out Xavier. “Mr. Hunter—”

“Uh-oh,” a couple of students muttered.

Chase continued, “You have quite the reputation at this school. Well, I think I might have one too about being a stickler for not allowing any monkey business in my classroom. Would you, perhaps, like to share your joke with the rest of us?”

Xavier looked around at the other students and made a face like Chase couldn't be chin-checking him.

“You couldn't be talking to me because I'm not the one telling jokes,” Xavier harshly explained, rolling his eyes at Dexter. Xavier might've snitched on Slick Eddie and Romello in the past, but that was for something totally different. He wasn't gonna rat on his boy. So he stood in and took the heat.

“On the contrary, Mr. Hunter,” Chase said, walking over to the row in which Xavier was sitting. “I am not at all impressed with your many extracurricular contributions outside of your schoolwork. You don't frighten me with your aggressive tone. You may have a 4.0 GPA, but, Mr. Hunter, you'll find in my class that that won't purchase you any favoritism. Despite how your former English teachers rave about you, I'm going to reserve judgment. It's going to be tough on you in my class, Mr. Hunter.”

Xavier wasn't afraid to speak up. “Mr. Chase, it seems like you are singling me out for some reason. Don't know what it is, nor do I care. My concern is that you don't let what you think you may know about me influence my overall grade in this class, you feel me?”

Mr. Chase said in surprise, “Now that does impress me, Mr. Hunter. Didn't know if you thought that I was going to jump on the bandwagon and show favoritism because of your academic achievements. But we shall see what type of student you will be in my classroom.”

The certain level of respect he possessed for educators kept Xavier from voicing what was really on his mind. Instead he bit his tongue and looked away.

Mr. Chase added, “Of course, your work will give you ample time to respond.”

When Xavier looked back at Dexter, the boy was wearing some dumb smirk on his grill.

“Let me tell you all something,” the teacher went on explaining. “There will be no favoritism in my classroom. Absolutely no brown-nosing. I don't take kindly to teacher's pets.” Mr. Chase moved over to his desk, gliding like he was walking on stilts, and grabbed an arm full of course syllabuses. He began at the head of each row. “Take one and pass the rest back. As you will see, I follow my syllabus tightly and I DO NOT give extra-credit work, so hand in your assignments on time.”

A chorus of groans rose from the students.

“If you're late to my class more than two times, you'll be sent to the principal's office to be reprimanded,” Chase grimly warned his students as he handed out syllabuses to the last row. “I expect you to handle yourselves like young adults. Abide by my rules and you will have no problems. Now does anyone have a question?”

Nobody said jack. Xavier could see clearly that his new English teacher was going to be a trip. He wasn't into trying to win over male teachers anyway, so the natural charm he'd used on past female English educators wouldn't begin to apply to this guy. Xavier would simply have to watch his behind in Chase's class because it was apparent that Mr. Chase had made his mission personal by purposefully gunning for Xavier.

As he fumbled with the three-page syllabus on his desk, Xavier's mind was working overtime. His last year of high school, and he couldn't begin to figure out what he must've done to piss off the English curriculum gods and get stuck with a hater. The day had officially gotten off to a rotten start, but Xavier's Spidey senses were tingling, which left him to believe that more trouble was right around the corner, waiting on him, and probably bringing drama to his life.

 

At fourth-period lunch Xavier had spotted trouble right away.

Some silly little girl gang who called themselves the SNLGs, short for Show No Love Girls, was sitting at a back table trying to bring attention to themselves by talking real loud and slick. He hadn't heard too much noise about them other than they had just formed over the summer and were now looking to carve out some reputation at Coleman. They were a handful of freshman girls following a junior by the name of Stephanie Chadwick. She was the leader but everybody called her Bangs for some odd reason. Bangs was a thick, dark-skinned chick with a horrible case of acne, ty-zillion braids, a bad attitude, and a real foul mouth. Homegirl could scrap too—probably why she'd been broken off with the “Bangs” nickname. There were rumors still floating around the school about her pulverizing some sophomore cat who'd played on the baseball team during her freshman year. Whupped on homeboy so bad that it had taken two security officers to pull the girl off the dude.

Wannabe gangstas
, Xavier thought.
Everybody wants to be a gangsta
.

Students were everywhere in the cafeteria. Seemed like everybody was trying to talk at once. The noise was damn near deafening, buzzing like a friggin' beehive. Xavier was chilling out, though, sitting alone at his favorite table by the south wall, off to the side and in the middle region of the cafeteria. Had an unobstructed view of all the access doors and people coming in and leaving. There were still concerns about his safety. He had survived some deadly moments at Coleman High, but the threat on his life was still out there somewhere, lurking around, probably still wearing that same old dingy dark Rocawear hoodie. The last time Xavier had seen Slick Eddie's hitman, Tall and Husky, was around the beginning of June. The brother was sitting back behind the wheel of a cargo van in the school parking lot, off in the distance, and menacingly staring at Xavier like he was a dead man walking. Xavier wasn't sweating it, though. Not even the phone call Tall and Husky had made to Xavier around the latter part of June, threatening him, promising that he wouldn't live to walk across the stage at graduation hadn't been enough to send Xavier scurrying away to another school like a punk. The boy was 100 percent G and wasn't afraid to get downright dirty in order to keep enjoying the healthy level of respect he'd built for himself.

But it was always funny to him when he saw freshmen eating in the cafeteria for their first time. There was this quietness about them. Like they were harmless gazelles, hoping to stay out of the predators' line of sight while timidly eating. No direct eye contact with anybody. A stark contradiction to his first year at Coleman. Xavier had walked into his freshman status with a chip on his shoulder, daring anybody to knock it off. Always direct eye contact with a fool. Never backing down from bustas and bullies. Having respect in a dangerous place like Coleman was a must. And it had to be established somewhere within that first year. Xavier had seen far too many kids get tried, punked, and ending up having to go through high school . . . tormented.

“What up, doe, teacher's pet?” Dexter asked with a stupid smile on his face, walking up to the table with Linus in tow. “Dang, homeboy, that dude Chase ain't no joke and it seems like he wants to be BFFs with you.”

Xavier said to Dexter, “No thanks to your tight-pants-wearing self. Homeboy, you got lunch this hour too?”

“Yep,” Dexter answered. “I thought I told you in Chase's class. Guess you were too busy getting your butt chewed by Mr. Chase to remember.”

Xavier looked at Flip. “You get yo' eat on this hour too?”

Linus Flip was about to answer before Dexter broke in on some old sarcastic stuff.

“You know Linus don't go to class, homie,” Dexter joked, “every hour of the school day is his lunch period.”

“You Mr. Funny Man all of a sudden,” Linus said to Dexter in an aggravated tone.

Flip definitely hadn't been himself lately. Grouchy. Angry all the time. Xavier knew he had to get control of this thing before something popped off. He jumped in to squash it. “Fam,” he addressed Linus. “Don't let his tight-pants-wearing self kick up your blood pressure.”

This school year Dexter had decided to take a page from Xavier's style of dress and also tone his wardrobe down, but the only difference was that his clothes fit extra tight. Like he'd stayed up all night struggling to get into them before first school bell. Dexter was flexing with a gray button-down, same color khakis, and white Polo boat shoes without socks.

Linus Flip sat down at the table wearing jeans, a dark shirt, and some black and gray suede Puma sneakers. He seemed the least bit interested, but he asked anyway, “What are y'all talking about anyway?”

Dexter laughed. “Old man Chase put X on blast for disrupting the classroom.”

Xavier said, “Fool, that was your ratchet self in there thinking his class was a comedy club.”

Dexter responded, laughing, “It
was
me, though. To keep it real with you I thought I was cold busted until he pointed the finger your way.”

Flip asked, “You two clowns in the same English class?”

“My luck has got to be bad. My senior year and I get a class with that clown,” Xavier replied.

Dexter said, grinning, “That's one tall white boy—talking about he used to play in the NBA. I didn't know they had a league back in the Stone Age.”

“See, that's that bull junk that almost got me tossed out of class, man,” said Xavier.

“Naw, for real, cuz,” Dexter continued. “What team did he play for . . . the Cleveland Caveman?—naw, I got it . . . yo, bust this . . . the Los Angeles Triceratops—”

Linus had to ask, “What the hell is that?”

Xavier just shook his head.

“Man, don't you guys read,” Dexter said, sensing that his punch line just crashed and burned to hell. “Dinosaur that walks on all fours, two horns on their head.”

Xavier and Linus sat there with their arms folded. They both looked at Dexter like the boy had completely flipped his wig.

Dexter said, desperately, “Y'all get it?—nothing then. You two crackheads sure know how to mess up a joke.”

“All I have to say is don't drop out of school to do comedy, fam,” said Linus, finally cracking a smile.