Game On (6 page)

6

DAKOTA

 

U
nderneath a partly cloudy sky, Dakota had mixed in with a crowd of the students walking home from school. Aside from a few guys trying to holla at her for her digits, she hadn't made any new friends yet.

High school girls seemed to be even bigger haters than the little witches in her middle school class. It was ridiculous. The new school year was seven days old and not one single girl had spoken a few words to her—well, with the exception of a super weaved-up chick wearing false eyelashes who had the nerve to ask Dakota what was she doing off the Indian reservation. Dakota let the insult slide off her back and kept it moving.

These derogatory remarks didn't faze her. The girl had been dealing with racial ignorance since second grade, when some little white boy stared her in the eyes and called her Pocahontas. Years of cruel remarks had desensitized Dakota and given her the tough skin she would need to deal with racially insensitive fools.

As she continued her stride down the street, Dakota couldn't help but notice how name-brand crazy a lot of her fellow students were. The backs of the students at Coleman were used to advertise big-name designers. She had heard one chick in her algebra class mention that it was either brand name or she would have to drop out. The statement had floored Dakota. She didn't think it was that serious. Nothing but jeans, a cute top, and some white no-name sneakers completed Dakota's look. The girl had more serious issues to contend with than the latest fashion craze, like her mother falling into one of her bad moods. As she walked her taste buds reminded her of the Snickers bar she'd promised herself while taking notes in class. There was a small candy store five minutes from her crib. To shave a few minutes off the trip, Dakota broke away from the other students and turned down a side street. A quick left placed her on a street where the majority of the homes were abandoned with overgrown yards.

Dakota had to admit to herself, besides the slight dustup with that girl gang SNLGs, high school didn't seem like it was too bad. Not as rough as the students in her middle school classes had made it out to be. The rumors about the violence at Coleman had been legendary and horrifying amongst her eighth-grade classmates.

Dakota was walking past what remained of a stripped, burned-out minivan parked along the curb and sitting on blocks, thinking that Coleman High was nothing like the rumors. Of course it had only been a week since the start of the school year. But there hadn't been one fight on campus. Not one confrontation. Those SNLG girls were probably showing off that day when they'd stepped to her in the lunchroom and were popping off.

That boy Xavier sure had those SNL—whatever—gangsta girls shook
, Dakota thought, with a smile on her face. The brother was absolutely fine too. Looking like a dark-skinned version of LL Cool J. And she just loved how he stepped in and took charge. Dude was massive, possessed mad swagger, and flexed with a look that said he didn't play. She couldn't help it. Smitten at first glance. He was like a superhero to her . . . yeah, that was it, a real-life fairy tale. Prince Charming rescuing the damsel in distress. The way Xavier had stepped in front of the little girl gang to rescue her had been something out of a fairy tale. For the first time in a long time, Dakota had felt like someone actually cared about her.

Xavier had waved and winked at her today in the lunchroom. Dakota smiled so hard that you would've thought that she had been on the receiving end of a Barack Obama handshake. Dakota didn't want to approach his table because some girl was draped all over him like oversized clothing on a skinny, sagging hoodlum.

If she wasn't mistaken, London Curry was the name of the girl who was hogging all of Xavier's time. Dakota just wanted to share a little of his time, and she might've come up with a plan to do it. His boys at the lunch table had been loudly talking about attending the icebreaker at Northland Skating Rink this Friday at seven. Dakota had decided if Xavier was going to be there, then she'd also be in attendance. Her mother wouldn't create a problem. She worked the afternoon shift at some water treatment plant in Dearborn, Michigan. Evelyn didn't clock out until one in the morning. Dakota would have plenty of time to share a word or two with her hero.

She was scheming, hashing out the final details when a vintage rust bucket of a Pontiac Bonneville pulled up to the curb and slowly rolled beside her. The sight of SNLG gang member Mouse—red bandana tied around her cornrows—hanging from the back passenger window, her short torso leaning downward with what appeared to be a black tire iron clutched in her left fist, chilled Dakota to the bone. The angry snarl on the girl's grill filled Dakota with the urgency to run.

“What up now?” Mouse yelled at Dakota.

If it was gonna be a straight-up one-on-one scrap, Dakota was down with it. But the car was filled with SNLG girls looking like they couldn't wait for the car to come to a complete stop. Bangs was driving the bucket and shaking her head like she was going to enjoy the stomping they were about to put on Dakota.

Bangs laughed out the open driver's window. “Xavier ain't here to save that ass, Supermodel,” she shouted. “You gonna have to take this ass whuppin' today.”

“I still don't know what I did to offend you,” Dakota said, trying to talk some sense into Bangs. “Whatever it was, I apologize.”

“Naw,” said Mouse. “The only way this is gonna end is you bleeding out.”

Dakota tightened her right hand on the book bag strap around her right shoulder. She had to keep her wits about her. The numbers weren't in her favor. If it came down to it, she could run. She had been known as the fastest runner in her middle school gym class. It wouldn't be a problem to leave these girls in the dust.

“Can we just talk this out?” asked Dakota, frantically looking around for help.

There were no more words to be spoken. Mouse popped open the back car door and ran up on Dakota, swinging the tire iron. The first attempt whistled past Dakota's left ear. She ducked it so fast she almost slipped and lost her balance. When the other girls started quickly unloading from the car, Dakota had to stay on her feet. Hitting the pavement would find her in even more trouble.

“Get her!” Dakota could hear one of them yell at Mouse. Dakota was backpedaling now and doing a good job at staying clear of the tire iron. Mouse stepped in to deliver a skull-crushing swing that, had it connected, would've relocated Dakota's lips to another zip code.

A pudgy, brown-skin girl thought that Mouse needed some help and ran behind Dakota to deliver a ferocious shot to the back of her head, just about the same time Mouse unloaded with a blow that finally found its mark, blasting Dakota on the left shoulder blade.

Dakota stumbled forward, yelping in pain but managing to keep her footing. She was seeing stars from the punch. The hot, streaking pain barreling through her shoulder was no joke.

“I've called the police. Y'all better leave that girl alone,” warned a heavyset elderly black lady, dressed in a flowery house duster, raising her cell phone in full view and standing on her front porch. “They will be here in seconds—please believe me.”

Bangs stood down her female soldiers and faced the old lady with a hard stare.

“Honey, I'm not afraid of you,” the elderly woman let Bangs know. “And if the police need me to testify, I will.”

Bangs looked over at Dakota with a menacing glance. “This ain't over.”

The leader wisely ordered her girls back in the hooptie and drove off down the street.

Dakota was in pain and breathing heavy, holding her left shoulder. It was tender to the touch.

“Baby, are you all right?” the lady asked Dakota with a look of pure concern on her face.

While there hadn't been time for Dakota to cry before, tears were now sliding down both cheeks. Her pain was so immense and her emotions so overwhelming that she couldn't answer the lady's question with anything but a nod of the head.

The lady turned and called into the house. “Otis, come on out here.”

A dark elderly gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair slowly hobbled onto the porch.

The lady said to him, “Go and fetch the car, Otis. We have to take this young lady home.”

7

XAVIER

 

“Y
es, London,” said Xavier, agitated and talking into his cell phone. “Soon as my dad gets here I'll be on my way to scoop you.”

Xavier listened for a few irritating moments while putting on his clothes—black denim Levi's, a matching short-sleeve shirt, and some black and gray Puma boat shoes.

He said to her, “I promise you that I won't spend all my time hanging out with my fellas.”

Xavier couldn't do anything but shake his head as London continued to get on his nerves.

“I'm gonna skate with you, but you're asking for a little bit too much,” he explained. Xavier heard his dad and brother walk through the front door. “Listen, London, my old man just got in. I'll be over in a few.”

Xavier was about to end the call but London kept on running off at the mouth. So he had to boss up, slightly raising his voice. “Listen, I can't be on my way if you keep on talking, feel me?”

London was a highly sensitive chick and couldn't stand being put on blast. She responded by hanging up in his face. Xavier never liked clocking out on babes like that, but the fact was that her clingy ass had been seriously getting on his nerves lately. Everywhere he turned, she was in his face, sweating 'im something awful, like a sauna. He absolutely
hated
when Samantha was somewhere in the vicinity and London would get jealous and grab his hand—ooh, how he didn't dig that about her insecure behind. Xavier could've better understood London's reactions if she was his boo. But they were nowhere near that status. The girl was still a virgin—meant he hadn't even smashed yet and she was tripping like this. He could only imagine how she'd act if he'd hit it one good time. Matter of fact, he'd already experienced a chick like that. The girl that came to his mind left him shook. Heather Larkin had turned out to be more terrifying than the dead coming back to life. That girl was just another horrifying chapter in Xavier's life that left him thanking God for that situation being behind him.

Xavier's father Noah was still dressed in his work blues. He had one strap of a backpack bearing a UAW logo around his right shoulder and a red and white Playmate Igloo cooler in his left hand.

“Pops,” said Xavier, smiling as he walked into the living room and playfully slapped his brother Alfonso in the back of the head, “why are you home from work this early? Let me guess, the boss gave you some time off to go and heal the sick, probably go and feed thousands of homeless people with two loaves of bread and seven fish, right?”

Noah didn't look amused. Matter of fact, he looked exhausted. “Son, I'm really not in the mood for your jokes. At least get your biblical facts straight. Jesus fed the multitude with
five
loaves and
two
fish. Stop trying to turn our Lord and Savior into a punch line, would you.”

Noah was nowhere near the hotheaded, Scriptures-slinging jailhouse preacher he was after he'd been released from prison a year ago, where he'd immediately tried to convert Xavier into being a devout Christian. The junk hadn't flown with Xavier, though. Homeboy was not about that life and wouldn't allow himself to be transformed into an altar boy. Thankfully the two had been able to put aside their differences and arrive at an understanding.

“Pops, what's up with the sour face?” Xavier asked.

Noah let out a frustrated sigh. “Why don't you ask your little brother?”

Xavier said, “Uh-huh, this can't be good.” Alfonso looked like he was trying to bust a serious move to his bedroom before he got interrogated by his brother. “'Fonso, freeze. Don't go running to that room. Hop yourself on back here, you feel me?”

The boy was geared up in jeans and an orange short-sleeve Polo shirt with the huge royal blue horse logo featured on the chest. The kid's Florida Gators baseball hat matched his white Air Force 1s with the orange trim.

Noah went into the kitchen.

Xavier could hear the refrigerator door open and close. When Noah emerged he was holding a bottle of Sprite. A twist of the cap released a hissing sound. “Go ahead, Alfonso, and tell your brother why I had to leave work today,” Noah ordered his youngest son.

Xavier copped a squat on a sofa arm and folded his arms across his chest in anticipation. There was a more serious look on his face now.

Alfonso muttered, “I-I-I—”

“No need of you trying to sing, homeboy,” said Xavier. “Out with it.”

The kid was sweating it and had an embarrassed look on his face. “See, there is this girl at school and . . .”

Xavier's face became animated and he started cracking up. “Oh shoot! My little brother has his nose open!”

Noah calmly took a swallow of soda. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—don't encourage the boy, Xavier.”

“Come on, Pop, Alfonso has his first crush. How old were you when you started diggin' on the girlies?”

“I've long since confessed my sins and we don't need to go there,” said Noah. “Alfonso hasn't told you everything. His little jug-headed butt almost got suspended for fighting.”

“Over a girl?” Xavier asked, shocked. He looked at Alfonso. “You're about to lose a few stripes over this one, homeboy.”

“Got into it with some little boy named Kevin in the lunchroom over a girl named Molly—”

Alfonso corrected his father. “That's Myla, Dad.”

Xavier was almost coughing up a lung laughing. “ 'Fonso, you pieced up somebody? What was the beef about?” he asked, holding his stomach from laughing so hard and trying to keep his composure.

Alfonso cast his eyes to the floor. “Well, Kevin was calling her names and pulling her hair. She told him to stop but he just kept on. I was only doing what I knew you would've done.”

Alfonso was right. Xavier was known for smacking respect into bullies. Those who considered themselves beast always fell hard to monsters like him.

Noah pushed, “Go on. Finish telling him.”

Xavier rubbed his hands together in anticipation of drama. “You mean there's more to the story?”

Alfonso kept his eyes glued to the floor. “Myla kissed me after I beat up Kevin. She said I was her hero.”

“I don't get it,” said Xavier. “Why did you get in trouble for defending the little girl?”

Noah stepped in. “Xavier, he should've gone and told a teacher. Not taken things into his hands.”

“I guess you're right.”

“I knew I shouldn't have given in and bought him those name-brand clothes—nothing but Satan.”

Xavier couldn't do anything but shake his head. “Pop, no disrespect, but please don't go there. Clothes don't have anything to do with bullies.”

Noah had been on that trip tip when he'd come home from prison, insanely preaching that Satan launched attacks on the young through name-brand clothing. Said that young people were easy targets to commit unspeakable acts of evil in order to obtain big-name labels that were driven solely by their reckless thirst to become bigger than life. It had been one of the issues that pitted father and son against each other and almost ripped the family apart.

“Are you still going skating tonight?” Noah asked Xavier.

“Yup. 'Bout to leave right now.”

“Be careful, son. It's dangerous out in those streets. And Satan is roaring like a lion, looking for someone to devour.”

Xavier wasn't feeling like hearing a sermon. Dude had the keys to his ride and he'd made it to the side door. “All right, Pop, I'll be careful.”

Before Xavier could close the door all the way, his old man said, “Make it back home at a decent time, huh, son?”

 

It was close to seven when Xavier made it over to Dexter's spot.

Dex jumped into Xavier's new ride and the silver Ford Fusion started down the street.

Xavier shook his head at how tight Dex was sporting his clothes. The boy had on a pair of Army green cargo shorts, a military T-shirt, and some pretty nice boat shoes to match.

“Dude, I hope you don't plan on walking by any jails looking like that,” said Xavier.

Dex asked from the passenger seat, “Looking like what?”

“Wearing your gear so bootyliciously tight might get you some unwanted attention,” Xavier said in a joking manner as he made a right hand turn onto a main street. He hunched his shoulders and said, “I'm just saying.”

Dex laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, you got jokes. Homeboy, why you trying to clown on me, you know daddy got his clothing game on lock. I'm a trendsetter, baby. If anybody should know better it's you, my dude. You know my style got all the ladies smiling.”

“And a lot of dudes too if five-o lock you up in the county jail with that I-need-love-in-the-worst-way outfit on.”

“Funny.”

Xavier was cracking up. He drove a mile before jumping on the freeway.

Dex said to Xavier, “Since you talking about jail, what you gonna do about the warden? I swear I ain't never seen somebody needier than London.”

Dex's question had Xavier scratching his head. He hadn't the slightest idea on the issue.

Xavier adjusted his rearview mirror and drove at a moderate speed in the thick traffic.

Dex switched the subject. “All day, the only thing I've been thinking about is how I'm gonna fare on those roller skates. It's been a minute since I was on some. Man, I am not trying to bust my ass out there.”

Xavier didn't respond to Dexter's anxiety. Instead he said, “Flip wasn't at school today. Homeboy ain't even answering his cell joint. Fam been tripping lately.”

“I've been telling you that. Don't know what that fool is on—walking around the school all quiet and junk.”

“Cat has been drinking like crazy lately too.”

“You think he's gonna show up tonight?”

Xavier peeked into his driver-side mirror before signaling and jumping into the far left lane. “The last time I hollered at him he said he was with it.”

It was some real-life stuff jumping off with Linus Flip, and to keep it real, Xavier was worried about him. He didn't make a habit out of prying into the affairs of his fellas, but a sit-down with Flip was inevitable.

“X, I know you might not want to hear this, but I heard that Samantha's girl Tracy McIntyre is going around putting the badmouth on your name. Telling people that Samantha could've done better than going with a loser like you.”

Xavier wasn't sweating Tracy. He'd heard the same thing. And the funny thing about it was that the girl had no reason to be spitting dirty on him.

Xavier said, “Homeboy, you'll know when I start worrying about something said by some ghetto heffa carrying close to a lousy 2.0 GPA.”

Dexter laughed. “I'm hip. She probably can't even spell GPA, homie.”

The two boys were in tears as they laughed and kicked it back and forth the rest of the way to London Curry's crib.