No Way Out Page 6

  “Okay, baby,” she said reluctantly. “You can tell Mr. Marshall we’ll give this new schedule a try. But I’ll be checking your homework,” she added, pointing her finger sternly. “I know I haven’t kept up on that like I should, but school comes first, understand?”

  Harold nodded. “I know, Grandma. I know. ”

  * * *

  That night, Harold waited for Grandma to fall asleep. He crept into the kitchen and sifted through the neat pile of bills she’d left for him to mail. Harold guessed which ones would be cheapest and carefully sliced them open with a knife. The electric bill was $38.15. Harold removed Grandma’s check, replacing it with $40 he made at SuperFoods. He did the same with the phone bill, which was $47.38, sliding in Londell’s $50 bill and then carefully resealing the envelopes with tape.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Grandma,” he whispered out loud, slipping the mail into his backpack. “I’m gonna take care of everything. ”

  * * *

  The next morning, Harold woke up early, his heart pounding with nervous energy. He showered and quickly made three ham and cheese sandwiches: one he left in the fridge for Grandma’s lunch, the others he stuffed in his backpack. Harold wolfed down two pieces of toast while he finished his English homework. Then he headed out the door, dropping the bills in the mailbox, and walked to school.

  All day he watched the clock. As soon as the last bell rang, Harold raced to his locker to unload the books he wouldn’t need that night. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Darrell Mercer walking toward him.

  Not now, he thought to himself. I don’t have time for this.

  “Yo Harold, what’s up with you?” Darrell said quietly, leaning against the wall of lockers.

  Harold shrugged. “Nothing. Just busy, that’s all. ”

  Darrell looked at him thoughtfully. “Busy? You barely said a word to me all week. If it’s what happened in the cafeteria the other day, I’m sorry. You and me, we’re boys. You know that. ”

  Harold slammed his locker closed and rolled his eyes. “I gotta go,” he said.

  “C’mon,” Darrell persisted. “What’s going on? Why you actin’ this way?”

  Harold zipped up his backpack and shook his head impatiently. “I told you. I gotta go,” he repeated. “I’m late already. ”

  Darrell threw up his hands in frustration. “What do you want me to say? Just tell me and I’ll do it. ”

  “Nothing,” Harold replied as he turned to leave. “Just stay away from me, Darrell. You’re better off. ”

  Harold rushed out the front doors of Bluford High and took the bus to 25th Street. He had to be home by 6:30 or else Grandma would ask questions. The earlier he got to the playground, the faster he could finish up and get home.

  Harold quickly made his way down the street past the rows of silent houses. It was warmer than yesterday. Overhead, the mid-March sun heated the neighborhood, filling the air with the thick scent of garbage and burned wood.

  Suddenly, Harold heard the sound of shattering glass. Up ahead, he could see someone covering his head and running. Harold gasped and ducked behind a car.

  Who is that? he thought fearfully, looking around for something he could use as a weapon.

  The crash of shattering glass boomed in the air again, closer this time. Harold peeked around the rusty bumper and saw a familiar young face.

  “Bug?” Harold called.

  “Hey, Harold!” said Bug with a grin. “What’chu hidin’ for?”

  Small shards of glass covered Bug’s head and the top of his bright yellow backpack. He was holding several rocks in his hand, and a small slingshot made from a rubber band and Y-shaped twig.

  “What’re you doing?!” Harold cried.

  “You scared me!”

  Bug looked confused. “I’m workin’. Breakin’ street lights like Londell said. ”

  “Don’t move,” said Harold as he brushed glass particles off Bug’s clothes. “You gotta be careful. You could cut yourself!” he said sternly.

  “Quit it!” Bug said squirming as Harold removed the glass from his hair. “That tickles!”

  “Hold still, Bug. I’m serious. ” Harold turned him around and checked his T-shirt for glass.

  “Got any more sandwiches?” Bug asked eagerly.

  Harold smiled. “I made one just for you. Ham and cheese,” he said.

  “For real?” Bug asked excitedly.

  “Yeah, for real,” said Harold. In the distance, he could see Jupiter and Keenan at the park, sitting on a rusty swing set. “C’mon. Let’s go. ”

  “You go to school, Bug?” Harold asked as they continued up the street together.

  “Yeah,” said Bug with a frown.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like school?”

  Bug shook his head. “I hate it,” he said quietly.

  “How come?”

  Bug shrugged and fiddled with his slingshot.

  “I bet you’re a smart kid,” Harold said.

  “My new foster mom say that, too. ”

  “You should listen to her,” he replied.

  Bug adjusted his backpack. “I guess. But I don’t know nobody at school. I’m always the new kid. Everybody be teasin’ me . . . not like out here. ”

  Harold winced. He’d faced the same treatment himself in school, but the idea of Bug getting hassled seemed crueler. Bug was just a kid, ready to follow anyone as long as they were friendly. He belonged in a good home and a good school, not on the corner with drug dealers.

  “I know it’s hard,” Harold said, hearing Grandma’s advice in his words. “But once the other kids get to know you, you’ll be okay. Just don’t hit ’em with any of your rocks. ”

  “I won’t,” Bug said with a chuckle. “Londell say I only gotta go to school for a couple more years anyway, till I’m big like Joop. Then I can work for real. ”

  “What’d he say?” Harold asked, but Bug raced up ahead, stopping directly under a streetlight. Harold watched as Bug squinted, craning his neck backward to examine it.

  “Plastic,” he mumbled, aiming the slingshot and hurling a small stone at the light.

  Thunk. The clear plastic cover cracked but didn’t shatter.

  “Careful!” Harold yelled protectively, rushing over to him. “Why’s Londell got you breakin’ lights?”

  “So the cops can’t see Joop and Kee when it’s dark,” Bug explained, as if Harold had asked a silly question. “Can I get my sandwich now? I’m hungry!”

  “Sure,” said Harold with a sigh, reaching into his backpack. “But you gotta be more careful. Maybe wear a hat or something so that glass doesn’t get on you. And no matter what Londell says, you gotta stay in school. ”

  “You gonna be here every day?” Bug asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

  “Maybe,” said Harold.

  “That’s cool,” Bug replied between bites of his sandwich. “You nice, Harold. ”

  Moments later, they stepped into the park.

  “What’s up?” Harold said to Jupiter and Keenan. “Londell around yet?”

  “’Sup,” Keenan nodded.

  “He ain’t here,” Jupiter said. He had a small bruise on his cheek.

  Harold glanced at his watch. It was almost 4:30. “Know what time he’ll show up? I gotta get home in a couple hours. ”

  Jupiter shrugged. “He’ll be here when he’s here. He don’t tell me nothin’,” he added, his voice slightly bitter.

  “Yo Bug, you done wit’ those lights yet?” Jupiter shouted. Bug was sitting on a rusty bench, rummaging through his backpack.

  “Almost,” Bug replied.

  “You better finish before it get dark,” Jupiter yelled.

  “I gotta do my homework,” Bug complained with a quick glance at Harold.

  “You got work to do, Bug,” Jupiter said impatiently. “And if you don’t do it, Londell gonna yell at me again. So get movin’. ”

  Bug wandered off, and the park was silent except for the gloomy squeak of the rusty swings.
Harold thought about Cindy; how she’d spent what little money she had on his grandmother’s bandages. He knew she’d never talk to him again, not after what she’d learned. Maybe it was best, he figured, looking at the bleak playground as quiet as a graveyard.

  Next to him, Jupiter gazed at a vacant house, tracing the long scar on the back of his hand with his finger. Harold recalled the day back in middle school when Jupiter punched that window, gashing himself and leaving a trail of blood droplets on the basketball court.

  “I remember when you did that,”

  Harold said quietly.

  “Did what?” Jupiter snapped.

  “Cut your hand. ”

  “Oh,” he replied, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Yeah. ” Jupiter was quiet for a moment. “They kicked me outta school after that,” he admitted, his voice trailing off.

  “You ever gonna go back?” Harold asked cautiously.

  “Nah. I’m supposed to be in Bluford now, but I ain’t goin’ to that place. No one wants me there, neither,” he said, his eyes fixed on a crushed beer can. “Now that Londell’s outta jail, he got me workin’ so . . . you know how it is. ”

  Harold nodded. He could hear Grandma’s voice in his head. She’d have told Jupiter to go back to school. He was about to say it too when a mischievous smile crept across Jupiter’s face.

  “Yo, remember that crazy art teacher we had in sixth grade?”

  Harold grinned. “Yeah. Ms. Kowalski. She used to dye her hair pink. ”

  “Yo, that chick was crazy!” said Jupiter, jumping up from the swing. “She’d always be wearing sunglasses in class, talkin’ about how we could be anything we wanted. She was cool though. She used to let me stay after school and play with all the paints. ”

  “Remember those paper pumpkins we made for Halloween?” Harold said.

  Jupiter nodded, as if he was remembering something wonderful he’d forgotten long ago. “They was cool. ” Then, Jupiter’s smile faded.

  “What’chu doin’ here, Harold?” he asked. It was the first time in years Harold heard him say his name. “I mean, this don’t seem like you,” Jupiter continued. “You was always quiet. I remember your grandma, too. She used to come to everything at school. Even the stupid stuff. ”

  “She’s sick,” Harold answered. “We need money. Londell said he could help me out. ”

  Keenan chuckled bitterly and touched his swollen lip. Jupiter spat into the dirt and shook his head slowly.

  “What’s wrong with your grandma?” he asked after a few moments.

  Harold shrugged. “A bunch of stuff. ”

  “My mom’s sick too,” Jupiter confessed. “Almost died last year. ”

  Harold looked up, surprised. “What happened?” he asked, but Jupiter didn’t answer. He was staring off into the distance.

  “It ain’t fun out here,” he finally said, kicking the dusty ground in disgust. “I mean, look at this place. What kinda life is this?”

  “Londell comin’!” Bug yelled from across the block. His voice shattered the heavy silence of the park.

  Harold jumped up from his swing anxiously. It’s about time, he thought, glancing at his watch. I gotta get home soon.

  Jupiter lingered for a moment, his eyes focused on the ground as if he was seeing something in the dirt no one else noticed. Then he hurried off to join his brother.

  “You Londell’s new delivery boy?” Keenan asked once Jupiter was far enough away.

  “Yeah,” said Harold.

  “Be careful, man,” Keenan whispered.

  “Of what?”

  “Of everything,” he replied, looking in Londell’s direction.

  Chapter 7

  Londell waved Harold over to the car and handed him two paper bags and a slip of paper.

  “Here you go. Two packages, two drops. ”

  Harold recognized the first address; it was the same house he’d gone to yesterday. The second address he didn’t know. He shoved the bags into his backpack and stood at the curb waiting.

  “Well, what’chu waitin’ for?” Londell said impatiently.

  “Aren’t you gonna drive me?” Harold asked.

  “Boy, I ain’t your taxi. Yesterday, I was showin’ you the ropes. You know what you’re doin’ now. So go get me my money,” he ordered.

  “But I gotta be home in two hours,” Harold replied, looking at the addresses. “I don’t think I got enough time. ”

  “Fine,” Londell snapped. “I’ll send Bug instead. I’ll give him your money too. Yo Bug!” he shouted.

  “No, wait!” Harold cried, glancing at the young boy fiddling with his yellow backpack. Even if he didn’t need the money, Harold didn’t want Bug out on the streets alone. “I’ll do it. ”

  Moments later, Harold was hurrying toward the white house with green shutters. It was ten blocks away, and Harold knew he had to rush to make it home on time. After two blocks, he felt a cramp rip into his stomach. A block further he was gasping for air.

  I can’t run that far, Harold thought, squatting on the sidewalk to catch his breath. Behind him, the broken front door of a boarded-up house creaked open. Harold took off running again, afraid to look back. He could hear the brown paper bags crunching in his backpack. He felt like a moving target.

  Drenched in sweat and out of breath, he finally crossed into the leafy neighborhood Londell had driven through yesterday. An elderly woman with a cart full of groceries passed him on the sidewalk.

  “You okay?” she asked. She reminded him of Grandma.

  “Yeah,” he replied guiltily. His backpack suddenly felt bulky and oversized.

  Could she hear the paper bags inside too? he wondered.

  “I’m fine,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “I gotta go. ”

  Harold rushed by her then, walking the final two blocks until he reached the white house. The lights were on. Inside he could hear a woman’s voice and the clank of dinner plates and silverware.

  Harold knocked on the door.

  “I’ll get it, baby!” he heard a man yell. A few seconds later, Shawn stepped out onto the porch and looked around nervously.

  “C’mon, hurry up,” he said tensely, scratching at his arm. His face was sickly pale and his eyes looked red and dry.

  “It’s one hundred dollars,” Harold said.

  Shawn paused and checked the street. “Where’s Londell?” he asked.

  Harold didn’t like the way he was acting. He seemed tense, more agitated than yesterday.

  “He’s around the corner,” Harold lied.

  “Oh,” Shawn replied as he reached into his pocket and handed Harold a roll of cash. Remembering Londell’s instructions, Harold counted it. There was only sixty dollars.

  “It’s a hundred,” Harold said, trying to sound confident. “You only gave me sixty. ”

  “C’mon kid. Help me out here. ”

  Harold took a step back. “It’s one hundred. ”

  “Who’s at the door, babe?” the woman called from inside the house.

  “No one!” Shawn shouted back. “Wrong house. ”

  “Here,” he snapped, shoving forty more dollars into Harold’s sweaty hand.

  “You happy now?”

  Harold reached into his backpack.

  “Don’t come so late next time,” Shawn added. “My wife’s home now. ”

  Wife? Harold thought. His heart raced as he quickly handed over the paper sack. What if she comes out here? Suddenly Harold heard something creeping up the sidewalk close by. He whipped around to see a little girl. She was stopped in front of the house.

  “Hi, Mr. Shawn!” she said with a grin.

  For an instant, Harold was frozen. He looked at Shawn, wishing he’d never met him, and then glanced at the little girl. She proudly held out a doll in her small hand.

  “It’s from Mommy,” she chirped, walking toward the house. “Wanna see?”

  Harold gasped and lowered his head, unable to look into her eyes. He suddenly felt dirty, unclean. He gripped his back
pack, terrified its contents would spill and the child would know why he was there.

  “Not now, sweetie!” Shawn called out. He smiled then, a gesture Harold could see took all his effort. “Go home to Mommy!” he said.

  “Who’s there?” his wife called out from inside the house.

  “Get outta here, man!” Shawn whispered angrily to Harold. “Go! ”

  Harold threw his bag over his shoulder and took off down the front walkway. He raced by the little girl, who stumbled backward.

  “Mommy!” she hollered.

  As Harold passed the house next door, he heard a door creak open and a woman’s voice call out. “Maria?! What’s wrong, baby?”

  Harold pressed his hands to his ears and ran.

  All his life, Grandma had warned him about the guys who dealt drugs and ruined neighborhoods. All his life, she’d fought to keep her block free of drugs and safe for kids to play. And now he’d become the very thing she stood against. His face burned with shame.

  He wanted to throw the remaining bag in the gutter and go home. But Londell’s warning echoed in his mind: “Don’t you ever come back to me short on what you owe. ”

  I gotta keep going, he thought, glancing at his watch. Just one more delivery.

  Harold’s heart raced. He tried to push the little girl’s face out of his mind, but there it was, condemning him, accusing him, calling him what he was: a drug dealer.

  * * *

  Harold reached the next address twenty minutes later.

  Great, Harold thought, looking up at the dilapidated house. The top two windows were covered in plywood; it was dark, except for a faint light on the first floor. He could see several people moving around inside.

  A sick, creeping feeling sank into the pit of Harold’s stomach. Every muscle in his body told him to get away, to drop the bag and run, but he knew that wasn’t an option.

  Just get it over with, he thought .

  Harold dragged himself to the front door and knocked. A dog snarled angrily on the other side.

  “Who’s there?” a voice shouted suspiciously.