No Way Out Page 3

  You shot Roylin, Harold thought to himself. You were in jail.

  “I made some mistakes last year. Big mistakes, but that’s ancient history,” said Londell, as if he could read Harold’s mind. “I got it all figured out now. In my line of work, you can’t draw attention to yourself like that. I know that now. ”

  Harold knew what kind of “work” Londell was talking about: Drugs.

  All Harold’s life, Grandma had warned him about the guys on the corner at all hours. Londell had been one of them. There wasn’t a day that went by where Grandma wasn’t telling him to come straight home and stay away from guys like Londell. He knew Grandma would be furious if she found out he’d taken Londell’s money.

  But what choice did I have, he thought.

  “You got parents at home?” Londell asked.

  Harold shook his head. “Nah. ”

  Londell nodded. “It’s not easy, raising yourself. ”

  “I got my grandma,” Harold said defensively.

  “Yeah, but you said she’s sick, right? A man’s got to think about the future. You know, in case something happens. Trust me, I know. ”

  Harold stopped at the corner before his apartment building. “I can take it from here,” he said.

  “Don’t want Grandma to see you walking with me, huh?”

  Harold smiled despite himself. “Yeah.

  She wouldn’t like that. ”

  Londell studied Harold for a moment. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I ain’t that bad. I helped you out, right?” Londell carefully placed the groceries on the sidewalk. “Remember that. ”

  “Thanks again for the money,” said Harold. “I’ll pay you back. I swear. ”

  Londell smiled and shook Harold’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe someday I’ll need a favor and you can help me out. Like I said, men like us got to think about the future. We ain’t got parents to take care of things. ” Londell put his hand on Harold’s shoulder. “But you know that, don’t you?”

  I do, thought Harold as he picked up the groceries, glancing back to watch Londell stride confidently down the street, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Chapter 3

  “Hey, fat boy’s back! What up, fat boy?”

  Harold barely made it through the doorway of Mr. Mitchell’s classroom Monday morning before Rodney Banks started up.

  “Shut up, Rodney,” yelled Darrell Mercer from the back of the room.

  “Nobody wants to hear your mouth. ”

  Harold kept his head down and walked to his desk in the back row. He passed Cindy, but she didn’t look up. Harold could feel the class staring at him. He knew everyone was wondering why Ms. Spencer sent him to the office last week.

  “What’s up, bro?” asked Darrell with a smile.

  Harold nodded and dropped his backpack on the floor, slumping wearily into his seat. He was glad to see Darrell, but he was also tired. He’d gotten up an hour early to help Grandma with breakfast and barely made it to school on time.

  “You okay?” asked Darrell. “Cindy told me your grandma got hurt. ”

  “Yeah,” Harold answered with a shrug. “She fell, but she’s all right,” he said, thinking of the stained bandage he’d changed this morning. He didn’t feel like talking about Grandma or anything else from the past few days.

  “Yo, Harold, I heard the cafeteria ladies missed you,” Rodney teased from across the classroom. “They were mad ’cause you weren’t there to suck up the extra food. ” Rodney made a sucking sound, and a number of students burst into laughter.

  Harold squirmed in his seat and glanced at Cindy. She sat at her desk and scribbled in her notebook, not once looking back at him.

  Great. She’s ignoring me, Harold thought. First the grocery store, and now this.

  “Rodney, your mouth’s so big, they coulda shoved all the extra food in it and you still wouldn’t shut up,” cut in Darrell. Hoots erupted at Darrell’s comment. Rodney stood up at his desk.

  “What’s the matter, Darrell? Your fat girlfriend need you to stick up for her?”

  Harold cringed. Sweat gathered under his arms as the class roared even louder. He felt everyone’s eyes on him.

  “That’s enough!” boomed a familiar voice. Harold turned to see Mr. Mitchell walk into class. “Sit down, Rodney. The next person to speak is headed to Ms. Spencer’s office. Understood?”

  “I got your back, man. Don’t worry,”

  Darrell whispered.

  Harold nodded weakly. He was glad Darrell was there. But Harold was also ashamed that he needed his friend to stick up for him. He wished he could be like Londell James, a person who could make everyone shut up with a single word.

  The class quieted down, though Rodney shot Harold a menacing glare before turning around in his seat.

  “Welcome back, Harold,” said Mr. Mitchell with a smile.

  “Thanks,” Harold mumbled. Great to be here, he thought bitterly.

  * * *

  At lunchtime, Harold stood at the back of the cafeteria and looked around the room miserably. He hated lunch period. Most days he sat with Darrell, but he didn’t see him at their usual table.

  Harold glanced over at Cindy’s table. She was sitting nearby with Amberlynn and several other girls who were chatting and laughing together.

  “Girl, what’s wrong with you today?” he overheard Amberlynn say. “You’re so quiet!”

  Then he saw Darrell waving.

  “Yo, Harold! Come sit with us,” he shouted. Harold looked over and groaned. The table was full of Darrell’s friends from the wrestling team. Harold always felt awkward around them. Darrell once felt the same way, but that changed when he joined the team. Sometimes Harold wondered why Darrell was still his friend.

  “C’mon man, hurry up! Let’s eat!” Darrell yelled.

  Harold forced himself to walk over and join them. “What’s up?” he said quietly, to no one in particular. The table was crowded with trays of spaghetti and meatballs, and the boys were busy shoveling down forkloads. Only one of them looked up at Harold.

  “’Sup,” he grunted between bites.

  Darrell laughed. “Don’t mind them.

  They’re just hungry. Where’s your lunch?”

  “It’s in my bag. ” Harold fumbled with his backpack and pulled out a flattened peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Darrell looked surprised. “I know you ain’t missin’ spaghetti day. It’s your favorite. ”

  “It is. I just . . . was late this morning and forgot to grab money on my way out. ” Harold felt guilty for lying, but he didn’t want to tell Darrell the truth. After breakfast, Grandma had fallen into a deep sleep on the couch. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up and ask her for money, especially since he knew how tight things were. Instead, he threw together a sandwich and raced out the door.

  “How’d you have time to make the sandwich?” asked Luis, one of Darrell’s teammates.

  “What?”

  “If you were late. How’d you have time to make the sandwich?”

  “Just forget it,” Harold snapped.

  Luis shook his head and wolfed down another fork of spaghetti.

  “So how’s your grandma feeling?” Darrell asked.

  Harold shrugged and bit into his sandwich.

  “Got any plans after school today? We got our final match of the season against Zamora High. You should come. ”

  “Nah. I gotta go home,” Harold replied. He was anxious to check on Grandma. Besides, he hated Darrell’s wrestling matches. He never had anyone to sit with. And watching the athletes with their friends and families cheering them on always left Harold feeling lonely and a little bit jealous.

  “C’mon man,” Darrell persisted. “Maybe it’ll take your mind off things. I bet Cindy’ll be there. ”

  “So?” Harold replied.

  “I saw you starin’ at her during English class today,” Darrell said with a grin. “Don’t try actin’ like you weren’t. ”

 
“Did you see how she didn’t look back?” Harold answered. He knew he was being grumpy, but he didn’t care.

  “I don’t know. She seemed real worried about you last week. The girl was nearly crying about your grandma. ”

  Harold grunted and took another bite of his sandwich . Cindy’s worried about Grandma, not me, he figured. Even if she was concerned last week, that was before he’d made a fool of himself in front of her at SuperFoods and in class. Now she wouldn’t even look at him.

  “Whatever. I got more important things to worry about,” he said.

  Darrell looked puzzled, but he let the topic drop. The boys ate in silence then, Darrell with his plate of meatballs and pasta, and Harold with the rest of his crushed sandwich. Soon the table was talking about the upcoming wrestling match.

  “So you ready, Mercer?” asked Kevin, a light-skinned junior with a shaved head and the hint of a mustache. He was the best wrestler on Bluford’s team.

  Darrell grinned. “You know it! I gotta keep my streak goin’. ”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Kevin hollered as he brought down his fist on the table, making the trays jump and clatter. “Coach says if you keep it up, maybe you’ll be captain by junior year. ” Kevin sat back in his chair and patted his stomach. “But then again, you’ll never be as good as me. ”

  The guys laughed and a few elbowed Darrell playfully, knocking Harold’s plastic sandwich bag on the floor. Harold rolled his eyes.

  Once Darrell was as shy and awkward as him, hiding each day from Tyray Hobbs, the biggest bully in their class. But a couple of months ago, Darrell used a wrestling move and broke Tyray’s wrist in a fight in the middle of the crowded cafeteria. Since then, Tyray left Darrell alone, and Darrell had grown popular.

  And I just grew fatter, Harold thought bitterly. Why am I even sitting here?

  “Seriously, man. You should come,” Darrell continued once the laughter had died down. “My family’s coming. You could sit with them if you want. ”

  Anger flared deep in Harold’s chest. He knew Darrell felt sorry for him, and he hated it. I don’t need you or your family, he thought. The words boiled inside him.

  “Guys, tell Harold he should come,”

  Darrell said.

  The table suddenly grew silent. Agonizing seconds passed in silence. Harold wanted to kill Darrell for putting him on the spot like this. Couldn’t he see how embarrassing it was?

  Finally, Kevin spoke up. “Yeah. Absolutely. You should come, bro. ”

  Harold’s face burned with shame. He grabbed his backpack and stood up.

  “Thanks, but I got stuff to do. ”

  “C’mon, Harold, don’t be like that,”

  Darrell protested. “I was just trying to help. ”

  Harold kicked his chair in and stormed off.

  * * *

  After school, Harold lumbered back toward his apartment. He was still fuming at what happened in the cafeteria.

  I don’t need Cindy or Darrell, he thought bitterly as he neared SuperFoods . I don’t need anybody.

  As he passed, he spotted his reflection in the store window. He noticed his full, round face and the creases where the straps of his backpack dug into the soft flesh of his shoulder. Sweat was beginning to stain his dark blue T-shirt under his arms and across his round stomach. It’s what always happened when he walked.

  “What up, fat boy?” Rodney’s words mocked him.

  Who am I kidding? I do need help. Harold thought bitterly. The events of the past few days flashed like lightning in his mind. Grandma’s wounds, the stacks of unpaid bills, the mysterious envelope with his name on it. Harold’s stomach churned as the familiar questions haunted him again.

  What if Grandma doesn’t get better?

  What if we can’t pay the bills?

  What’s gonna happen to us?

  “A man’s got to think about the future. ” Londell’s advice suddenly made sense. Harold pictured him with his wad of money and confident swagger.

  That’s what I gotta do, he thought with sudden determination. Next to his reflection was a sign he’d seen in the SuperFoods window before: Help Wanted.

  Harold remembered how Grandma told him not to get a job. But now it seemed like the only thing he could do. If Grandma couldn’t pay the bills, they would have nowhere to live. And if he had money, he could afford all the medical supplies she needed. No more cheap bandages. No more borrowing money from drug dealers.

  Minutes later, Harold stood in the personnel office of SuperFoods talking to George Marshall. He was the store manager, a stocky man about forty years old, with a face that reminded Harold of a bulldog.

  “Ever had a job before?” he asked.

  “No sir,” Harold answered nervously.

  Mr. Marshall talked very fast, as if he was needed urgently somewhere else.

  “Live nearby?”

  “Yes sir. Just up the street and around the corner. ”

  Mr. Marshall took off his glasses and looked Harold over.

  “You go to school?”

  “Yes. I’m a freshman at Bluford, sir. ”

  “Live with your parents?”

  “No, sir. With my grandmother. ”

  Mr. Marshall frowned. “I’ll need a note from her. Is that a problem?”

  Harold shook his head. “No. ”

  Mr. Marshall sighed. “You’re too young to be a cashier. Stock boy. Minimum wage. That’s all I got. ”

  “I’ll take it!” Harold exclaimed. “I mean, thank you, sir. ” Harold could not hide his excitement. Finally he’d be able to help Grandma pay for everything.

  “I’ll need you three days a week,” Mr. Marshall barked, ignoring Harold’s enthusiasm. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday from three to six. I expect you to be on time and ready to work. You can start Wednesday,” he said, leading Harold out of the office. “And wear a clean shirt,” he snapped.

  Harold ran out the front door of SuperFoods. He couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about his new job. She’d object at first, but he was sure he could convince her that this was a good idea. He would help with the bills and still be home in time to make dinner and finish his homework. Then Grandma could concentrate on getting better.

  Harold was about to turn up his block when he heard a familiar voice holler, “There’s my boy!”

  It was Londell James. He was parked at the curb in a gold Nissan sedan with deep tinted windows and sparkling rims that looked brand new. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

  “How’s your grandma doin’?”

  Harold shrugged.

  “Not so good, huh?” Londell said between drags of his cigarette. “No groceries today?”

  “Nah,” said Harold, embarrassed at the memory of the checkout line. “I got a job, you know, so I can take care of things from now on. ” For some reason, he wanted Londell to be impressed.

  “For real? Where you workin’?”

  “Here. At SuperFoods. ”

  Londell smirked. “Let me guess. For minimum wage, right?”

  “Yeah, so? ” said Harold defensively.

  Londell shook his head as if he’d just heard bad news. “Man, you’re better than that. ”

  “What do you mean?” Harold asked, surprised that Londell seemed to praise him.

  Londell flicked his cigarette and checked his rearview mirror. “I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of. Smart kid like you could be somethin’. Be successful. Make enough money to take care of himself. You can’t do that workin’ in a grocery store. ”

  Harold hadn’t thought about it like that.

  “I just want to make sure you get what you deserve,” Londell continued, his sharp, dark eyes shifting from the rearview mirror to Harold, then back to the mirror.

  Harold’s head was spinning. Moments ago he’d felt happy and relieved. Now he wondered if he’d made a mistake by taking the job at SuperFoods.

  Londell sat up in his seat and put the car into drive. “It’s your life, though,” he
said, preparing to pull away.

  “But what else could I do?”

  “You could work for me,” Londell suggested. “I’ll pay you three times what you’ll make at this broke-down store. And,” he added, leaning toward Harold for emphasis, “you’d have a future. ”

  Harold was stunned. No matter what Grandma said, he respected Londell. No one laughed at him, and he didn’t seem scared of anything. But Harold knew there was no way he could work for a drug dealer. All his life, Grandma told him about how drugs destroyed the families in their neighborhood, including Londell’s. He even knew kids at Bluford, like Bobby Wallace, who’d gotten hooked. He didn’t want any part of that.

  “No thanks,” Harold stammered. “I-I mean . . . I’m not like that. ”

  “Like what?” Londell asked defensively, with a slight flash of anger. “Like me? Like my brother? You think you’re better than us?”

  Harold looked nervously at the ground. “No! I didn’t mean nothin’ like that. It’s just, I can’t, you know, I couldn’t—”

  “You’d be surprised at what you can do if you need to,” Londell interrupted, his eyes intense and dark. “Maybe we’re more alike than you think. ”

  Harold felt a chill run down his spine. Something about the way Londell was talking frightened him. But he also felt a rush of excitement, as if he was about to learn a secret.

  “None of us got parents, Harold,” Londell said in a deep, rumbling voice. His words seemed to creep into Harold’s skin and down his spine. “All those boys you saw the other day—Jupiter, Bug, Keenan, all my boys—we on our own. Might as well be orphans. Just like you. ”

  Harold remembered the boy he saw outside SuperFoods with Jupiter. The thought of such a young boy without someone to protect him filled Harold with an awful, sickening sadness. And yet, if not for Grandma, he’d be in the same position.

  “We ain’t like those kids you see at Bluford, worryin’ about class, parents all savin’ up for college,” Londell said with a bitter laugh. “No one’s lookin’ out for us. I take care o’ my boys. I give ’em a family. I give ’em money. And a future. You think on that. ”