Kenny Wright Page 9

  The crowd goes nuts after that one. I keep going.

  “We should clone people like Dr. Yetty and put her in every school. My grandma, who’s standing right there”—I point at her, but she keeps a stone face—“she always says, how can you educate or lead anyone if you don’t understand or care about where they’re coming from…or where they’re going? Dr. Yetty cares about both.”

  I’m really feeling it now. I don’t know where it comes from, but it just kind of falls out of my mouth. “And we demand that she be transferred back to Union Middle School—immediately. There is no way the school can be everything it can be without her!”

  And since I’m on a roll, I decide to just empty my soul or guts. Whichever one sounds cooler.

  “So before I close out, I just want to say I’m sorry to everyone I’ve done wrong by, especially my grandma, who does everything for me. She takes care of me, makes sure I’m not doing stupid stuff. She drives me to be better. She’s like my guardian angel, and she took me in when no one else would. What if she had treated me how Union has been dogged out, or how the rest of the schools here have been treated? I wouldn’t be standing in front of you now. I don’t know where I’d be…”

  I look down at G-ma and then close out. “Things are going to change. That’s a promise. How about, instead of those district people making all the decisions about how our schools should be run, why can’t people like my grandma, like Dr. Yetty”—and then I point out into the massive crowd—“people like YOU decide? I mean…who knows better about what the schools need than you?”

  They all yell in one big voice, “NOBODY!”

  “That’s right. The decisions should be yours. Power. To. The people. And—um…that’s all. Thanks!” I tell the crowd.

  I step off the little box where I’m standing, but everyone’s still cheering louder than ever. A bunch of people shout my name, too, and the mayor shakes my hand. Why not? I shake it back.

  It’s a weird feeling. Weird, and amazing. There’s a thousand people out there clapping for me, and all I did was give a little speech. The mayor’s standing next to me, and the cameras are rolling, and even though I still have G-ma to worry about, I’m not going to lie.

  I feel just a little bit like a hero.

  I’M ON TV that night. There’s a whole story about the march on the news, and they even show me talking for about ten seconds. I’m famous! It’s awesome…

  …for about ten seconds. Then it’s time for G-ma and me to have a big talk.

  Actually, I do most of the talking. I tell her about everything—from that first detention, to that car ride with Nicky, to the real reason Ray-Ray and I weren’t playing chess yesterday. G-ma doesn’t like it, but she listens long enough to let me get through it.

  “I’m really sorry, G-ma,” I tell her. “I lied way too much.”

  “One lie is too many,” she says, and I guess I can’t argue with that.

  “I’ll take whatever punishment you have to give me,” I say. “But there’s something else I want to say first.”

  “Haven’t you said enough?” she asks me.

  Still, I keep going. “You need to figure out that I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m eleven years old—”

  “And eight months, and twenty-two days,” she says. “What does that have to do with lying, Kenneth?”

  “Part of this—a lot of it, actually—has to do with what they call me at school,” I tell her. I know she’s not going to like this, but I can’t turn back now. “Grandma’s Boy,” I say.

  “What’s wrong with that?” she says. She even looks kind of hurt. “Why would they think that’s something to be ashamed of?”

  “See? This is part of the problem,” I tell her. “I mean…I like being your grandson. And I am Grandma’s Boy, here at home. But out there? At school? I need to start growing up. And you need to understand that.”

  “You’re still a child, Kenneth,” she says. “Not a grown-up. Not yet.”

  “But I will be someday,” I say. “And I am the man of this house.”

  I stop there because it’s making me think about my dad, and how I’ll have to grow up the rest of the way without him.

  But hey, if I’m lucky—if I’m really, really lucky—then I’ll be a whole lot like him when I get there. As much as I can, anyway. I don’t know if anyone can fill those shoes. But the thing I’m trying to tell G-ma is that I want to try.

  I think she gets it, because she’s crying, too. Not a lot. G-ma almost never cries. Still, I can see she’s holding back some tears, trying to be strong for me like she always does.

  “Even though you’re the only male in the house, that doesn’t make you the man of the house,” G-ma says.

  “Aren’t they the same thing?” I ask. I mean, really, aren’t they?

  “You’re going to grow up to be a fine man someday, Kenneth. But take your time. Enjoy being eleven. Enjoy the ins and outs, the ups and downs, and the bumps and bruises you’ll receive becoming a man,” G-ma says in a clear but trembling voice.

  “And…there’s one more thing,” I say. “I want to walk to school by myself from now on. Is that okay?”

  G-ma puts an arm around me and pulls me in close. She takes a deep breath and says, “All right. I’ll think about that.”

  Which is pretty close to a yes, if you know G-ma.

  “Cool,” I say.

  “Just as soon as you’re un-grounded,” she says. “Maybe after Christmas.”

  And I’m like, What? “But I told the truth!” I tell her. “The whole truth!”

  “Telling the truth isn’t an extra-credit assignment,” G-ma says. “It’s what grown-ups are supposed to do.”

  “But—” I say, before she keeps going.

  “Your steps are made of stone, Kenneth,” G-ma says. She turns sideways on the couch now and looks me right in the eye. “Always remember that. Whichever ones you choose to take—that’s it. The truth of those steps stays behind you, hard as rock. Forever. You have to live with them, consequences and all.”

  I don’t say anything to that. I know G-ma’s making sense, and I know I’m going to have to be grounded, like it or not. Once she decides something, that’s pretty much it.

  But there is one thing she got wrong. My steps aren’t made of stone.

  They’re made of steel.

  POP QUIZ!

  Question: What has two thumbs and just got invited by the mayor of Washington, DC, to be part of his new Student Advisory Council?

  Answer:

  I guess the mayor liked what I said in that speech. A few days after the big rally, I got an official letter in the mail. It said they were starting this thing up and wanted me to be part of it. We’re like “boys” now, the mayor and me.

  Now a bunch of kids from all over the city and I are supposed to meet once a month and come up with ideas to tell the district about how they can make school better for everyone. Crazy, right?

  I don’t know what I’m going to say yet, but G-ma tells me to think big. So that’s what I’m doing. Maybe we could get a new gym at UMS. Or at least enough desks for everyone to sit down in class. And some books that aren’t a hundred years old once in a while. Let’s try harder to keep the awesome teachers and principals we already have, like Dr. Yetty, and replace the handful of poseurs who don’t have a clue.

  Speaking of which, guess who’s back at UMS? That’s right—Dr. Yetty, baby!

  We did it! And I’d like to think my speech had a little something to do with it. Just a little.

  And who knows? Maybe…just maybe…this is the start of something even bigger for me. Maybe I’ll play a part in making things better in the whole city. You never know.

  I’m not saying this is going to turn me into some kind of big shot overnight. But then again, I never thought I’d give a speech to a thousand people, or get a letter from City Hall addressed to me. So who knows? Maybe G-ma’s right. Maybe thinking big isn’t such a bad idea.

  Meanwhile, things at school a
re going okay. Ray-Ray had his head shaved when he got out of the hospital, but he’s the same otherwise. He still talks all the time, and he never stops fidgeting. It just doesn’t bug me like it used to.

  And Arthur and I are cool again, too. We’re back to playing chess whenever we can. I save lunch and after-school for him. Ray-Ray and I play at other times. He comes over for dinner a couple of days a week now, so we usually get in a few games then. Even Nicky and Trayvon have dropped by to get their grub on. Crazy, right? I know.

  Which brings me up to the next problem.

  It’s Tuesday at 6:30, and Ray-Ray’s nowhere in sight. G-ma’s making spaghetti and meatballs tonight. There’s no way Ray-Ray’s passing that up on purpose.

  When I saw him at school today, everything was okay, so I don’t know what’s going on now. He’s not picking up his phone, either. And even though I’m still grounded, G-ma says I can run over there to see if Ray-Ray’s home.

  So that’s what I’m going to do. But I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  I KNOW THE door from the street is going to be unlocked when I get to Ray-Ray’s. And those stairs still creep me out.

  But when I get up to his apartment door, that’s open, too. Which is weird. Usually, Ray-Ray and Nicky keep that one locked.

  That’s when I see the knob is broken off. The door frame is busted up, too. I’m thinking maybe I should just turn around and go tell G-ma.

  Until I hear someone crying inside.

  Now I feel really weird, but I can’t just leave. So I push that door open a little more and look in.

  “Hello?” I say.

  Ray-Ray sits up quick. He’s on his mattress on the floor, and obviously he was the one crying. But he tries to act cool now.

  “Wassup?” he says.

  “That’s what I was going to ask you,” I say. When I look over, that padlock on Nicky’s door is busted, too. And there’s no sign of Nicky, either.

  “Ray-Ray, what happened here, dude?” I say.

  Ray-Ray takes a deep breath. I’ve seen him mad before, and happy, and hyper, and confused. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen him sad.

  “Nicky got locked up,” he says. Just like that. “He was gone when I came home, and his room’s all messed up. But there’s a message on my phone. Police came and took him away.”

  “What’d he do?” I say.

  Ray-Ray shrugs. “He never told me what he was up to. Maybe on purpose.”

  I don’t have a good reason to be scared, but I kind of am now. I’m not sure what to say, or even what to think.

  Finally, I ask Ray-Ray, “What happens next?”

  “I dunno,” he says. “They’re probably going to put me in a home or something. I’m kind of out here by myself.”

  “Nah, man. You’ve got me,” I say, and I sit down next to him. “And you’ve got G-ma, too.”

  Ray-Ray just looks at the floor. He doesn’t have anything left to say. And while I’m sitting there, I start thinking about G-ma and her starfish story.

  The truth is, I don’t know when things are going to get better at Union Middle School. Maybe it will be soon, and maybe not. But in the meantime, there’s one thing I know I can do for sure. And I don’t have to wait another second to get it done.

  So I stand up and put out my hand. “Come on,” I say to Ray-Ray. “Get your stuff. Right now.”

  “Where are we going?” he asks me when he gets up.

  “Where do you think?” I say. “We’re late for dinner.”

  HAPPY THANKSGIVING! COME on in and grab a seat—if you can find one. Our apartment is about as crowded as the National Mall on the Fourth of July. Mad packed from wall to wall. Maybe it just feels that way because we’ve never had this many people over. It’s all good, though.

  Mrs. Clark and her family are here. My aunt Nina, too, and my other aunt Sarah and my uncle Carl, and their three little kids. Also, Dr. Yetty and her husband. Who knew she was married? Lucky, lucky man. Who knows, maybe I’ll marry a lady as smart and pretty someday.

  Preemie and her mom are right over there. They live in a shelter, so G-ma said they should come along. I invited Arthur, too, because his dad has to work at the restaurant today.

  And Ray-Ray’s here, of course. Where else is he going to be? See, he lives with us now. G-ma’s still working out some of the details, but the social worker said we could keep it this way for the time being. He’s officially unofficially a part of the family now.

  One day, just out of the blue, we received a collect phone call from the DC Department of Corrections. It was Nicky. I don’t know how he found our phone number, but hey, it is Nicky Powell. The brotha is pretty resourceful.

  “It’s Nicky, Ray-Ray!” I shouted, and he hopped over the couch in the living room and snatched the phone. They spoke for a good fifteen minutes. Ray-Ray told me Nicky may be out within a year or so. They talk once a week. I don’t know how things will change once Nicky gets out. We’ll handle that when the time comes.

  For now, Ray-Ray has to live by G-ma’s rules, same as me. Which is almost funny. He’s reading every day, like it or not—mostly not. But he’s also seriously getting into my comic collection.

  I even told him about Stainlezz Steel. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. And get this—he says if I can be Stainlezz Steel in my mind, then he can be someone, too. He says his superhero is called—get this—A Brotha Named Zeus.

  I ask him, “Do you mean just Zeus?”

  He says, “No, bamma. You gotta say the whole thing. A Brotha Named Zeus. There could be all kinda Zeuses out there in the universe, you understand? But I am”—he points at me and we say it together—“A Brotha Named Zeus!” He says that’s the name he picked, and he’s sticking with it. Who am I to argue? He could call himself Tito Jackson for all I care.

  Besides, I have “young man of the house” business to tend to. It’s just about time to carve the turkey, and you know how much Ray-Ray eats. If I don’t get to that table on time, I’ll be lucky to get anything at all. He’ll smash all the collard greens, G-ma’s famous homemade dressing, her amazing sweet potato pie, and my favorite, the fruit salad.

  ONE MORE SURPRISE. Guess what we have at Union Middle School now?

  Chess club! We’re doin’ it big at Union now, baby. Yeah, seriously. It was my, Arthur’s, and Ray-Ray’s idea. Anyone who stays after school for detention or whatever, and wants to, can come down the hall and learn chess for an hour. G-ma even paid for some extra chess sets, so we’re all good to go.

  Of course, that means I’m hanging with the D-Squad a lot more than I was before. And those are the ones I spent the whole beginning of sixth grade trying to stay away from!

  But here’s the thing. Tiny, and Kwame, and Jerome, and all of them still think I have some secret rep. Like I’m connected to the streets somehow. The way they look at me, they’re not even sure I didn’t have something to do with sending Nicky Powell to jail. And let’s just say that whatever those guys don’t know won’t hurt them.

  No, wait. More like whatever they don’t know won’t hurt me.

  So am I going to let them know that I’m just a mild-mannered, easy-to-get-along-with chess geek who’s still almost as scared of them as I always was?

  Yeah, right. Do I look crazy to you?

  I didn’t think so. And while I’m keeping it one-hundred, I’m really not as scared of them as I once was. I don’t even sweat it, really. They’re just a bunch of regular kids, just like I am. I mean, they may have a few rough edges, but we’re really not all that different.

  HI, I’M SAMMY Hayes-Rodriguez. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m the kid everybody’s making fun of because my mother made me bring a robot to school with me—the dumbest, most embarrassing thing to ever happen to any kid in the whole history of school. (I’m talking about going back to the Pilgrims and Mayflower Elementary.)

  I need to tell you a wild and crazy story about this robot that—I kid you not—thinks it’s my brother.

  And gues
s where the dumb-bot got that goofy idea?

  From my mother!

  Oh, guess what? My father is in on this idiotic robot business, too. He even called Mom’s lame-o idea “brilliant.”

  Good thing Maddie is still on my side.

  Maddie’s absolutely the best little sister anybody could ever have. Aren’t her blue eyes incredible? Oh, right. Duh. The drawing is in black-and-white. Well, trust me—her eyes are bluer than that Blizzard Blue crayon in the jumbo sixty-four-color box.

  Anyway, Maddie and I talked about Mom’s latest screwy scheme over breakfast, which, of course, was served by one of Mom’s many wacky inventions: the Breakfastinator.

  Punch the button for Cap’n Crunch and cereal tumbles into a bowl, which slides down to the banana slicer, shuffles off to the milk squirter, scoots over to the sugar sprinkler, and zips down to the dispenser window.

  Want some OJ with your cereal? Bop the orange button.

  But—and this is super important—do NOT push the orange juice and Cap’n Crunch buttons at the same time. Trust me. It’s even worse if you push Cap’n Crunch and scrambled eggs.

  Maddie and I always have breakfast together before I head off to school. The two of us talk about everything, even though Maddie’s two years younger than I am. That means she’d be in the third grade—if she went to school, which she doesn’t.

  I’ll explain later. Promise.

  Maddie knows how crazy Mom and Dad can be sometimes. But to be honest, even though she’s younger, Maddie keeps things under control way better than I do.