After that day, we became great friends. But having one another didn’t change the fact that we were all bullied constantly, which is why a lot of our time was spent figuring out how to be bullied less.
It seemed like an impossible task, until one day after school when Marcus’s older sister took us to a local sneaker store with her to look at things we couldn’t afford.
Marcus’s sister, Vanessa, went to a high school that was about five minutes away from our school. So she’d pick us up sometimes and let us hang out with her. Marcus had told us that she wasn’t very popular in her school, which is probably why she was nice to us; she felt our pain.
While we were in the store, a group of older popular girls from our school walked in. The store was small, so the girls saw us, but they didn’t acknowledge our presence. Which was a lot better than how they treated us in school. The girls seemed to know exactly what they wanted, because they came in and were quickly at the register and on their way out.
As they were leaving, we overhead one of the girls say that she wanted a shirt that she saw, but her mother hadn’t given her enough money for it. After they left, Ryan told us he was going to steal the shirt and give it to the girl at school the next day. He figured it would be a way to get on their good side.
Ryan waited until all of the staff at the store were preoccupied, looked for a blind spot on the cameras, and stuffed the shirt in his coat.
Not only was I in shock; I was nervous beyond description. I had always been taught that stealing was one of the worst things I could ever do. Which is why Ryan and Marcus had to basically drag me out of the store, because I was afraid to leave with them and the shirt.
The next day at school, we went up to the girls in the cafeteria and Ryan gave them the shirt. They were stunned.
While we were standing there, one of the older guys who had also been bullying us saw us talking to the girls and said, “Y’all are too ugly to be talking to them. How about you—”
Before he could continue, the girl who the shirt was for said, “Shut up and stop bothering us.”
I’m not sure what we expected to happen, but it couldn’t have been as good as what actually happened. An older popular girl protected us, which was about as good as having a parade held for us.
After the guy walked away, the girls asked us if we could get them some more clothes, so we did. Over the next few weeks, we stole clothes, lip gloss, makeup, and anything else they wanted.
We would go to the mall and wait until security and store staff were distracted and steal items in our coats and book bags where cameras couldn’t see us.
But we never stole anything for ourselves. We were just trying to keep the girls happy, since they were defending us from bullies and making other kids start to treat us differently because they saw the girls speaking to us.
I’m not sure how long we thought we could keep it all going. But I guess we were prepared to do it for the foreseeable future if it meant surviving at school.
I stayed home from school one day because I wasn’t feeling well. My mother had to go to work, so my grandmother came over to take care of me.
While at my house, my grandmother decided to clean up my room a bit. As she was cleaning, my book bag fell on the floor. All of the things I had recently stolen and had planned on taking to school that day came tumbling out.
There were hair supplies, makeup, and costume jewelry all over the floor.
My grandmother looked at me in shock and asked, “How did you get these? Where did you get these from?” I didn’t respond; I knew this was going to be bad.
She followed up with the same questions again, this time yelling. She must have seen my face turn pale and knew. A few seconds later, she grabbed my shirt and looked me in my eyes and asked slowly, “Did you steal these?”
I remained silent, because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to lie to my grandmother, but I also knew telling her the truth was going to break her heart and get me in trouble. She then pulled me closer and yelled, “Frederick, did you steal these?”
In a soft voice I quickly responded, “Yes.”
As soon as the word left my mouth, my grandmother slapped me and went to sit at the edge of my bed and started crying.
This is the only time I can remember my grandmother hitting me, other than lightly slapping my hand when I was disobedient as a child.
She began speaking to herself and praying, “Lord, please, not my grandson. Let us figure this out. Let us find a way.” It was in that moment that I realized she wasn’t angry; she was afraid.
I apologized to her and then told her all about the kids at school and explained why I had been stealing with my friends.
“You and Marcus are going to get yourselves in trouble. None of you should be stealing, but if you get caught, Ryan won’t be dealing with the same things,” she responded.
I asked her whether she was going to tell my mother, and she agreed not to as long as I promised never to do it again. I looked her in her eyes and I promised.
That was the first and last time I ever lied to my grandmother.
My grandmother thought about having me return the stolen items but figured that the store owners might not be understanding and might call the police. Instead, she decided to place the items in a trash bag and take it with her to throw away later.
I actually learned recently that many white people that I know stole from stores as children, but they never had to worry about the same consequences as children of color do. For many white people, it’s a normal childhood mistake, not potentially life altering.
The next day at school when we went to give the girls their latest items, I was the only one who didn’t have anything to give them. One of the girls said, “Well, then, there’s no reason to know you, ugly.” Then they quickly began making fun of me.
Just like that, weeks of peace gone in a moment. I was frantic and refused to go back to being treated like garbage.
“I’ll have more later this week!” I said.
The girls stopped, and Ryan and Marcus stared at me, looking both confused and nervous. I had told them what happened with my grandmother, and they both said I should stop.
The girl who had called me ugly said, “Well, if that’s the case, maybe you aren’t that ugly. See you Wednesday!” Then they walked away.
Ryan and Marcus told me I was making a mistake and shouldn’t do it, but I refused to go back to being bullied. I couldn’t take it.
The following day after school, we asked Vanessa whether Ryan and I could go to the mall with her. (Marcus couldn’t come because he had a dentist appointment.)
She told us she wasn’t going to the mall we typically went to near school, that she had decided to go to the Westchester mall with some of her friends.
The Westchester mall was in upper Westchester and, as opposed to those in the mall we normally went to, most of the stores were luxury. Most of the people who went there were wealthy and white, as upper Westchester was generally. I often heard people say they didn’t like going there because they felt the staff at stores and security were racist.
As always, she told us to be careful and to meet her at the food court in an hour. We agreed and looked for stores that we thought would have the best items for the girls and little security.