At the Crossroads (3 page)

“This whole thing is crazy to me. I mean, we’ve been down here for almost three years, and I haven’t even been to school. I liked school.”

“Now, you know why you haven’t been to school. We tryna stay together, ya heard. If I take you up to that school, then they gonna start asking questions … and the next thing you know, you’ll be in a group home. We family and families stay together. We get those white folks up in our business and it’s over. Maybe I can get a computer from somewhere, and you can go to school online or something.”

“Nah,” Franky said. “I need to be around people, Nigel. Doing things people my age do—playing basketball, football, tryna get into some girl’s panties.”

“You can do that without going to school. Plenty lil girls running round here with hot drawers,” Nigel said.

“Nah, man. I’m talking about regular girls. Girls who are about something. I need to be a part of something. Beta club, chess club, something. Anything,” Franky said with a hint of desperation.

“Now, when we first got here, you was all for staying out of school. You said you was tired of it.”

“So,” Franky said, raising his voice to his older cousin for the first time. He and Rico fought all the time, but he had never considered getting loud with Nigel.

“What do you mean, ‘so'?” Nigel asked.

“I mean, what kid likes school at my age? If you let most of us choose whether we go or not, I bet you over half of us wouldn’t step foot in a classroom. I wanna go toschool, cuz, but the thing is, I’m so far behind now that I don’t know where they’re gonna put me. I’m not about to sit in class with a bunch of seventh graders. I’m supposed to be in the ninth grade, and that’s where I wanna be.”

“Okay,” Nigel said. “So that’s why you’ve been walking around like a zombie?”

“I mean … I don’t know. Just this whole thing is crazy. We out here living by ourselves, man. Maybe I’ve been in a three-year funk, but it’s just now really hitting me. I’m fifteen years old, man, and I don’t do anything all day but play video games.”

“And sleep,” Nigel said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but when I wake up, I play video games and go back to sleep. I know my mom and my dad are looking down at me crying their eyes out. They didn’t raise me like this.”

“That’s the truth. Uncle Frank and Auntie had you all nerded up,” Nigel said.

“I wish I could go back to being nerded up,” Franky said. “At least I knew that I was going to eat every day and that my life was going to be about something. Right now I don’t know. Folks around here shooting at people all day and night. Crack addicts trying to break in the house—man, it’s crazy, and I don’t like it one bit.”

“Listen to me, boy,” Nigel snapped. “I’m doing the best I can. I stopped selling weed so I wouldn’t get locked up and leave you out here by yourself. So I don’t need you throwing in my face what we don’t have. I’m sorry I can’t provide a big pretty house like the one Uncle and Auntie had you in back in Nawlins, but I’m doing the best I can, ya heard?”

Franky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, cuz. I didn’tmean to knock you. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be or even if’d be living.”

“Yeah,” Nigel said. “Sorry is right. You think you the only one hurting? I’ll get you back in school, and I’ll get some food in the fridge, but I can’t bring back Auntie and Uncle Frank. If I could, I would, ya heard.”

“What you gonna do to get the rent money?” Franky asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’ma do what I always do,” Nigel said with a shrug. “I’ma figure it out.”

“And what is that?” Franky asked.

“I’ll figure it out,” Nigel said again. “You just worry about something to tell those white folks up at the school. You’re smart, so use your brain.”

“I’ll think of something,” Franky said as they walked into the store to get some much-needed groceries.

F
ranky was fast asleep in his bed when he was startled by the sound of gunshots. The shots were too close for comfort. He heard them all the time in their neighborhood but never this close. He jumped up and ran out of his room to make sure Nigel and Rico were all right. Nigel was sleeping peacefully, spread-eagle and wearing only his boxer shorts. The gunshots didn’t even make him stir. Franky backed away from his room and raced across the hallway to Rico’s room. He wasn’t there, but that wasn’t really that unusual. Nine out of ten nights, he would be on the streets somewhere doing something he had no business doing. Franky walked back to his room and sat on the bed.

Pow! Pow! Pow!

He heard more shots. His heart began to race, and he felt helpless. He slid off of the bed onto the floor, hoping none of the bullets would find their way into his bedroom.

Pow! Pow!

He heard more shots but this time from a different type of gun. Suddenly, someone was outside of his window. As if he were watching a low-budget action film, he saw someone leap through his open bedroom window and land on the floor with a thud. Franky jumped up, ready to fight.

The boy, who was about his age, give or take a year or two, held his hands up to his mouth, signaling for Franky to be quiet.

“Man, what the …,” Franky said, startled to the point where he felt as if he were on the verge of a heart attack. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Please, man,” the boy said with tears in his eyes. “These dudes out there tryna kill me.”

“Kill you?”

“Yes. Please, man. Please. I beg you to let me stay here for a minute,” the boy pleaded.

“I don’t know anything about that. You gonna have to get out of here,” Franky said, standing up and walking over to his bedroom door. “You can go back out of that window or use the door, but you need to leave right now.”

“Please,
man. I’m begging you. I didn’t do nothing, man. I’m not a thief or anything like that, man. I work every day,” the boy pleaded through his tears. “I don’t wanna die, man. My momma …,” he said, then dropped his head. “I don’t wanna die.”

Franky didn’t respond. He stood at the door watching the boy.

The boy popped his head up and started patting his pockets. “Here, I’ll pay you.” Desperation was oozing out of the boy’s eyes.

Something told Franky that the boy was okay, yet he was still wary. People played all kinds of games in the hood. This wasn’t some nice suburban area where you could give someone the benefit of the doubt. Franky cursed himself for leaving his window up, but the Georgia heat was making the house a sweatbox.

The boy must’ve read the hesitation in Franky’s eyes, because he started pulling wads of money from both pockets.

“Take it. Here, take it. Just let me stay here for a few more minutes. Please,” the boy whispered.

Franky heard footsteps and people talking in the backyard. They stopped outside of his window.

“Where that fool go?” one of them said.

“I don’t know. He gotta be round here somewhere,” the other one replied.

“That fool got some jets on him. He must be related to Houdini or somebody.”

The boy looked at Franky and held up his hands as if praying to the god of Franky.

“Frankyyyy,” a voice called from outside.

“Yeah,” Franky said, keeping his eye on the boy and walking over to the window. He turned away from the boy and acted as if he had been asleep. “What’s up?”

“You hear anything back here?” a man with a baritone voice asked him.

Franky recognized the tone and knew right away who he was talking to: Stick.

Stick was an older guy from the neighborhood and a complete born loser. He was at least thirty-five years old, and all he did all day, every day was run around the same ten-block radius of Atlanta’s west end with kids who wereyoung enough to be his children. He still lived with his mother and was always running some kind of scam. If you wanted a hot television, DVDs, or even the latest Blu-ray players or bootleg movies, Stick was the guy to see. He even sold chicken and steaks that had been pilfered from the local supermarkets. If a neighbor wanted to have lobster for dinner, he would ask Stick and miraculously the seafood would be on his table at dinnertime.

“Nah,” Franky said, wiping his eyes. All of a sudden, he felt sorry for the guy who was hiding behind him on the floor, holding his breath for fear that his attackers would hear him breathing. “Is that you out here shooting?”

“Yeah, came up on a lil lick, but the fool got away. He must be a track star or somebody, ‘cause baby boy was moving. Messed up my night, ‘cause I needed that money.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I can’t help you, Stick,” Franky said. “And use some silencers next time. I gotta go to school in the morning.”

“School?” Stick said with a frown. “You going lame on me?”

“Yeah,” Franky said.

“A’ight, lil homie,” Stick said. “Take your lame tail back to bed.”

“You see him?” Rico asked as he jogged up to Stick from the opposite side of the house. “Franky, you hear anybody back here?”

“Nope,” Franky said, disappointed but not surprised to see that his cousin was involved in this little scheme with the likes of Stick.

“A’ight, let’s walk up this way, Stick,” Rico said with a big smile on his face as if they were playing a game of hide-and-seek. “I know that fool can’t be too far away, ya heard?”

Franky closed the window and walked back over to his bed. He sat down and sighed.

“Thanks, man,” the boy said. “Those dudes are crazy.”

“You sho right about that,” Franky said.

“May I use your phone? I must’ve dropped mine when I was running for my life.”

“We don’t have a phone, whoadie,” Franky said, staring at the frightened boy.

The boy grimaced and rubbed his hands over his face as if the harder he rubbed, the quicker he could come up with a solution to his current predicament.

“Here,” the boy said, handing Franky the money. “A deal is a deal. You saved my life.”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t stay here.”

“I know,” the boy said. “Can you give me a little time to figure something out?”

“Might as well. You’re here,” Franky said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But one of those dudes …,” Franky started, but caught himself. He didn’t know this guy, and he didn’t want him returning with the police to take Rico away.

The boys sat in silence for a few minutes before Franky spoke. “Where did you get all of this money?”

“I work,” the boy said. “I was over here trying to buy a car, but the guy kept giving me the runaround. Now that I think about it, it was a hustle the whole time,” the boy said, shaking his head. “No wonder they kept saying bring cash. Cash only. Cash only.”

Franky knew exactly the hustle he was referring to. Take a picture of a nice car, something that young people would like—a Dodge Charger, a Chevrolet Impala, or somethinglike that—post it on a Web site that sells cars, and when the person comes to test drive it, the goons pop out. Some hustlers use a girl to distract the buyer and then they take his money.

Franky held the guy’s money in his hand. He leaned over so he could see a little better, then counted the bills. He was holding three thousand dollars.

“It’s like eleven o’clock at night. Why would you come to buy a car this time of night, in this neighborhood? Do you have a death wish? Or maybe you just wanna be robbed,” Franky asked.

“Nah. I just got off work. I jumped straight on the MARTA,” the boy said, shaking his head. “Wow. I could be dead right now.”

“Yes, you could,” Franky said, handing the boy back his money and standing up. “But you are not, so go home.”

The boy held his hand up and refused the money.

“Here,” Franky said, pushing the money to his chest. “Take your money.”

The boy took a deep breath, then reached out for his cash.

“Just be a little more careful next time,” Franky said.

“Man, can I give you some of it? You don’t know what you did for me.”

“Yes, I do,” Franky said, walking out of the room and leading the guy to the front door. “But I would want somebody to do the same thing for me. Take care, whoadie.”

“Man,” the boy said, looking around when Franky opened the front door. “My name is Davante. I’m not going to forget this. I have to give you something. Here,” he said, peeling off about half the bills and handing them to Franky.

“I already told you that I’m good, but since you insist that I take your money, then fine,” Franky said, thinking about the empty refrigerator, the bare cabinets, and the past-due rent as he took the wad of bills.

“I’ma come back by here and … I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I wanna let you know I appreciate this,” Davante said.

“Don’t sweat it, whoadie,” Franky said.

Davante reached out his hand, and Franky shook it. “Be careful out there, ya hear?”

“Yeah,” Davante said. He stepped out on the porch and looked around one last time before he took off running.

Franky watched him as he ran straight down the sidewalk without looking back.

The entire ordeal was crazy, but what bothered Franky the most was how normal he felt. He turned around, walked back to his room, and sat down on the bed. He counted his loot and smiled. He was six hundred dollars richer. He stashed the money in his sneaker and lay down on the bed. Before five minutes had passed, he was fast asleep.

T
he alarm clock sounded and Franky’s eyes popped open. He jumped up and almost ran to the bathroom to get his morning shower. Today was a school day—the first time he would attend school in almost three years. He was nervous and excited all at the same time. After his shower, he went back to his room and got dressed. He slipped his slender body into some crisp Levi’s and a blue-and-white-striped Polo shirt that fit nice and snug, and then put on his navy-blue Air Max 95s. He wondered how it would feel being back in a classroom after all these years of being stagnant.

“Franky,” Nigel said as he walked into his cousin’s bedroom. “Where did you get this money?”

“It should cover the rent, right?” Franky said, looking into the mirror as he brushed his hair.