“I have to tie my shoes,” I say to her. “I’ll catch up with you.” I pray that MiMi doesn’t look down at my tightly tied shoes. But she nods and makes her way over to Mrs. Boyce, ready to say and do all the right things. I sigh and lean forward to at least poke at my shoe, make it seem like I’m busy to anyone that caught wind of my explanation. Suddenly, I feel a pair of rough hands clamping down on my shoulders, dragging me backward. Before I can even cry out for help, I’m being hurled into the bathroom.
My side slams against the tiled wall. Just as I catch my breath, Javon steps forward with a frown tattooed across his whole face. Makes me grateful that we’re already in the bathroom. Still, my body acts on instinct. I ball up my fists, lift them close to my face. I’m not going to let him get a hold of that again. Javon smirks at me and slaps my hands down like he’s batting away a mosquito. Well, damn.
“You think I’m blind?” he snaps at me. “I saw you trailing me the other night.”
Well, goddamn. I clench my fists again and stand up straight, try to get as tall as him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just out riding my bike. It’s a free country, right?”
The air gets knocked out of me and I crumple at my waist. Grab onto my stomach that burns like it just ate a bullet. Only when I peek up at Javon through teary eyes do I see that his fists are also clenched. This mofo punched me in the stomach.
“Don’t get cute,” he warns. He pulls me up so that I’m eye-level with him. Gets so close to my face that I smell his aftershave. “And don’t pull that shit again. Back. Off.” He pokes me in the chest with enough fervor to send my back against the wall again. Then he’s out the door in a second like nothing happened.
I hobble over to the sink, catch my reflection in the mirror. My face all crooked in pain. Kind of like Javon’s when he ambushed me just now. There was some discomfort behind that rage. No wonder folks like Price Bullock always group us together. We both have a way of hiding our angst with anger. I splash some cold water on my face. Wash away the fear. Only it seems like I’m not the only one that’s afraid. Javon must know I’m close to something . . . but what? Sterling definitely knows.
And I think I know how I can get to her.
Twenty
“JAY! I’M SO GLAD YOU DECIDED TO JOIN US!” MRS. CHUNG greets me in front of her classroom. The final bell has just rung, but you couldn’t tell from all her pep. As if seven and a half hours of dealing with teens wasn’t enough, she signed up to be an advisor for the lit magazine after school. I almost feel bad that I’m here under false pretenses. “Run of the Mill can certainly use some fresh ideas,” she continues, escorting me into her class as if I wasn’t in here all last year for tenth-grade English. She waves her hands toward the four students already camped out in desks. “Everyone, this is Jay Murphy. I’m sure most of you know each other.”
I nod to the group. “Yeah. What’s up,” I ask, but I laser in on just one of them. Sterling. She looks up at me from her phone, her eyes widening for a brief moment. Like it just hits her that I’m really here. It’s going to be tough to not have a conversation with me now, even though she’s been avoiding me like the plague all day.
“We were just talking about our upcoming winter issue,” Mrs. Chung explains. “It’ll be the first one this school year. We’re off to a late start, but quality is better than quantity, am I right? We were working in small teams. Brooks and Tasha were reviewing some of the early submissions. Evan was helping me take a look at some potential covers—”
“And what are you doing, Sterling?” I ask. Sterling and Mrs. Chung both glance at me. I give a shrug. “I know Mrs. Chung was thinking about us being co-editors. Figure we get on the same page, right?”
Sterling doesn’t respond. Just sets down her phone and returns to her open laptop on her desk. Brooks and Tasha look at each other and snicker. I’m coming across as one of these thirsty dudes trying to get at Sterling, but I don’t care how I look right now. Sterling and I are going to have a chat one way or another.
“I think that makes perfect sense,” Mrs. Chung answers for Sterling. “She was getting started with the letter from the editor. You both should take a crack at it.” She motions for me to join Sterling but I’m already two steps ahead of her. I push another desk right up against Sterling’s until they’re kissing, then plop down next to her.
“Hey,” I say, all calm and casual like we chitchat every day. “One of the first things we need to do is change the name of this lit mag. I mean, we can’t have other schools thinking that we all rock Uggs and Aeropostale while sipping high-end cappuccinos, right?”
Sterling ruffles in her seat some and pulls a document up on her laptop. “So, I was thinking about using the theme ‘Chill.’” She gets right into it. Doesn’t even look at me or exchange any pleasantries. It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk talk with me, so I have to play this real slick. “You know, this being a winter issue and all. Maybe we could get into all the iterations of the meaning of chill. Like cooling off, or hanging out with your friends . . .”
I nod, smile. Catching everything she’s throwing. “Or relaxing. And make some kind of mention about how one of the best things to do when it’s chilly outside is to get real cozy with something warm to drink and something good to read.”
Sterling finally glances over at me, her face glowing. “I like that. That’s good.” She makes a note of something in her laptop.
“You do? You know, I could take a look at what you have so far. Maybe give some feedback on where we could fit that in.”
Sterling rubs her thumb against one of her fingers, as if she’s trying to read my bullshit meter through touch. She gives a nod and shifts her laptop to my desk. I scroll through her rough draft, but my eyes shift to her menu bar below. It’d be so easy to click on her browser. See what she’s searched for before. Filter through her email and type in Nic’s name. Log in to her social media accounts to see her private messages. But Sterling hovers over me so close that her hair tickles my forearm. She may be willing to work with me, but she damn sure’s not leaving me alone with her top-of-the-line laptop. After all, Nic’s only her token black friend. That doesn’t mean she has to trust Nic’s black brother in a hoodie.
I force myself to concentrate on the words in front of me until I can read them as full sentences, and not just words floating in front of my eyes. I point to a spot in her paragraph. “See, right here. You mention something about fireplaces. This would be the perfect segue.”
Sterling leans even farther over me to review the sentence, then nods. “You’re right.” She takes her laptop back and my heart drops. “You know, you might be actually good at this.” One side of her face lifts as she begins to type. Not exactly a smile, but all she’s willing to give me for now.
“Yeah . . . that used to be me and Nic’s favorite thing to do during winter break,” I say, cracking my knuckles so my voice won’t crack instead. “We’d go to the bookstore, the one with the Starbucks inside of it? Sip on one of those holiday drinks while we’d flip through pages. I think one time we sat in the café for so long that I finished an entire book without paying for it. Felt bad for the author, though.” I force out a small laugh.