WHEN I GOT TO THE SCHOOLYARD, Stick wasn’t there. I spotted Maxie sitting at one of the tables. I started toward her, but she saw me coming. She got up and hurried in the other direction. I almost went after her, but the look on her face let me know she didn’t want anything to do with me. I still didn’t know what to say to her, and the Stick situation was too big in my head today, anyway.
I walked over to Raheem, who was dishing out eggs to the line of kids at the table. Raheem watched Maxie rush out of the yard, then he looked me up and down. I didn’t appreciate the once-over. I already knew I wasn’t good enough. For Maxie, for the Panthers. Any of it.
“Where you been?”
I shrugged. “Around.”
“Not around here, though,” Raheem said.
“I’m looking for my brother.”
“He ain’t here.”
“No kidding,” I said, crossing my arms. I don’t know how it happened, but I felt myself slipping away from the calm and controlled me into something unfamiliar. “You know where he is?”
“Yeah.”
I fought the powerful urge to scream. I didn’t have time to play games. Raheem kept scooping food onto plates. He scraped up the last serving and lifted foil off a second pan. The yellow eggs captured the morning sunlight. My stomach rumbled at the light, salty aroma.
“Where?” I said, focusing on the hunger to distract myself.
“What’s up with you and Maxie?”
“Nothing.” I looked at my shoes.
“Don’t try to sell me ‘nothing,’” Raheem said. “I ain’t buying. What’d you do?”
My head snapped up. “She’s the one who—”
Raheem fixed a glare on me so hard I stepped back.
“It was me,” I said, holding up my hands.
“What’d you do?” he repeated.
“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s none of your business.” I wasn’t a fool, even if I’d acted like it toward Maxie. Raheem would mess me up for sure if I repeated what I’d said. I was lucky Maxie hadn’t told him, or I’d be on the ground already.
Raheem pointed his serving spoon at me. A tiny piece of egg flew off it and splattered my jacket. “You better fix it.”
“How am I supposed to fix it? She won’t even talk to me. You saw.”
Raheem handed his spoon to the guy next to him and wiped his hands on a cloth. He dropped the cloth on the serving table, then turned to me.
“Can I tell you something, man?”
“You can tell me where to find my brother.”
He motioned me closer. “You gotta come sit with me, ’cause this is heavy.” He walked over to a table where four of the young children sat. Raheem tugged one of the little girls’ braids. She grinned up at him, clutching the strand in her fist. I sat down beside him and he leaned in.
“When I go down on Wednesdays, I listen up, you know?”
I nodded, not sure where this was going, or what it had to do with Stick.
“I take notes and all that,” Raheem went on, lowering his voice. He glanced at the school building, then pointed his thumb at it. “They taught me how to read and write in there, but they ain’t given me nothing worth reading or writing down.
“Leroy gives me all these books to read,” he continued, “talking about poor people and black people, talking about the problems we have and what we gotta do to make things better.”
“I know. I got the reading list,” I said.
Raheem looked around. “Can you just listen up? I’m trying to talk to you, man. This is deep.”
“Sorry.”
“Leroy says the worst thing is for someone to feel hopeless. But, that’s what happens when you live where we live too long. You get so you can’t see past where you’re at, and you can’t believe there’s anything better for you. You with me?”
I nodded.
Raheem raised his eyes to the sky and back. He folded his hands on the tabletop and sat quietly for a moment.
“Whatever happened between you and Maxie messed with her head.” Raheem speared me with a gaze more intense than any I’d ever seen out of him. “It’s bringing her down, and I can’t stand that, ’cause whatever else happens to me, I gotta make sure that girl doesn’t spend the rest of her life in this ghetto.” His eyes dug into me, and I had to look away.
Raheem cleared his throat. “It’s hard, living down there, you know?” He looked me over. “I guess you don’t know, being from up the hill and all. Maxie, she’s still got the idea that she can make it. I’m gonna make sure that she does.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Even if it means patching things up between her and the likes of you.”
“She won’t talk to me.”
Raheem laughed. “You got a lot to learn about women, man. You’re the one who messed up, so that means you’re the one who has to fix it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do.” He stood up. “I gotta work.”
That afternoon, I looked for Maxie in the yard when I came out of school. She was nowhere to be seen. I asked a couple of people if they had seen her.
“It looked like she had someplace to be,” one girl said. “She tore on outta here.”
“Thanks,” I said. I headed for Bryant Street.
A couple of cops walked ahead of me, so I slowed down. They turned onto Maxie’s street. I slowed down more. If I didn’t see another cop as long as I lived, it would be all right with me.
I wasn’t in a hurry to get to Maxie. I still didn’t know how to fix what I had done. I looked away from the cops as I approached Maxie’s building.
I stood at the door and pressed her buzzer, 602. After a moment, I pressed it again. Nothing.
Two shrieking kids ran tearing out, and I caught the door. I went in. The hall stank of garbage, urine, and other thick smells I couldn’t recognize. There was a second locked door and set of buzzers, so I pressed 602 and held it. Nothing. Then I noticed a bunch of loose wires poking out from the edges of the button plate. I turned around and went back outside.
The cops were still there, standing by this kid Charlie, who was holding a large box. One of the cops had his nightstick out and was digging around in Charlie’s box.
I moved toward the sidewalk and looked up at Maxie’s building. In one of the sixth-floor windows, the curtain was drawn back. She stood there, her palm against the glass, staring down at the street. I knew she saw me, because her hand slipped a little, then she moved back where I couldn’t see her anymore.
I jumped at a loud crash behind me. Charlie leaned over his box as its contents tumbled onto the sidewalk. His eyes widened and he shook his head as the cop waved the nightstick at him like a scolding finger.
I held my breath. This could be Bucky all over again. I wanted to get out of there, but I couldn’t move.
A car pulled around the corner, slowing as it approached. It stopped suddenly and four guys got out. I gasped. Raheem, Leroy, their friend Lester—and Stick!
Raheem had a rifle resting against his shoulder; Lester carried one in his hands. They walked up to the curb where the cops were standing with Charlie.
“What’s the trouble here, gentlemen?” Leroy said, crossing his arms. He looked first at one cop, then the other. “Has this young man broken some law, caused some disturbance?”
The bearded cop eyed the two rifles warily. “Take it easy, boys. We’re just having a little talk. No need to get riled up.”
Leroy smiled. “Good. If we’re just talking, why don’t you go ahead and holster that nightstick?”
The cop glanced at his partner, then hooked his baton back onto his belt. He held up his hands. “All right, boys, you put those guns down, now. We don’t need any more of this nonsense.”
Leroy and the others stood without moving.
The cop’s face turned red. He raised his fist at Leroy. “Do it now!”
Leroy shook his head. “I don’t think we can do that, boys.” He leaned on the last word. “See, as long as nobody’s breaking any laws or causing any problems, there’s no reason for you to hang around, is there?”
The cops glanced at each other. Then the bearded cop hitched his chin at his partner. “Let’s go.” He took a step closer to Leroy. “You’d better wipe that smile off your face. You’ll be sorry you pulled this stunt. All of you.”
“You’ll be sorry if you don’t get out of my face,” Raheem said.
The cops backed away. The four Panthers watched as they walked down the street and disappeared around the corner.
I could feel the blood rushing through my body. Everyone else on the street watched in amazement too, as the cops slipped out of sight without another word.
The Panthers turned and walked back to the car. Leroy clapped Charlie on the shoulder as he passed.
“Take care, kid.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Leroy.”
As they neared the car, Stick looked across the street. Our eyes met, but he seemed to look right through me. His glance was empty, but I felt it, as surely as I’d felt the gun this morning. Now I knew why he needed it. Why he couldn’t tuck it away and forget about it. Stick blinked, then slid inside the car. Leroy pulled off down the street.
I had to get to Maxie, had to tell her what just happened. I turned around, and there she was. Right in front of me.
Her eyes were deep pools of accusation.
I swallowed hard. “Hi, Maxie. I was looking for you,” I said.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Raheem.”
Over Maxie’s shoulder, Leroy’s car turned the corner, headed the opposite direction from the way the cops had gone. I watched until the taillights disappeared.
“Did you see what just happened?” They hadn’t needed to fight, or even to talk too much. The guns had said it all.
Maxie nodded.
“What did you think of that?” My heart was still racing.
“Policing the police? We need that around here.”
I nodded. “It worked. They left.”
“Whatever gets it done.” Maxie crossed her arms. “You wanted to say something?”
I glanced around, feeling uneasy to be standing on the street where we were. “Yeah, but can we walk a little, first?”
Maxie nodded. We made our way down toward the lakefront and sat on our usual bench.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about the other day. I don’t want to fight with you. And, that thing I said at the end was stupid. I didn’t mean it.”
She looked at her hands. “It’s okay. You were right, anyway.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I said. “I was just—I don’t even know where it came from.”
“Forget it.” Maxie stood up. “Was that all?” She started to walk away. But something was still not right.
“Maxie? Where are you going?”
She turned around, fists on her hips. “Home.”
“I thought we could talk some more. Are you still mad?”
Maxie tapped her toe. “I thought you were different. I thought where we lived didn’t matter. I thought who our fathers are—or aren’t—didn’t matter.”
“I didn’t mean to say that.”
“It’s not that you said it. I care that you even thought it.”
“I was just mad.”
“Can’t you see how that’s worse?”
I pushed my hands into my pockets. “What do you want me to do?”
She stared at me, her eyes deeper than the lake beside us. “You worry that when people look at you, they see your father, right?”
I nodded.
“It’s the same for me. People look at someone, they see what’s messed up about their life, not what’s good about it.” She put her hand against my chest. “I thought we weren’t like that.”
“What do you want me to do?” I said again.
She stood quietly in front of me for a few moments, then she dropped her hand from my chest and stepped back. By the look in her eyes, I knew I had ruined everything.
“Can I walk you home at least?”
“I’m not really going home,” she said. “I have stuff to do.”
“What stuff?”
“Panther stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” She flipped her hair back. “You’re over it, right?”
“I do understand,” I said. “It’s just—”
“Right, well, I guess I’ll see you,” she said, moving away.
“We’re marching for Bucky tomorrow. I was hoping you’d come.”
Maxie turned back.
“Not for me,” I added. “For Bucky.”
Something flickered in her eyes. “I’ll be there.” Then she walked away.
My mind raced as I made my way home. I thought about Maxie, how she was able to throw herself so completely into things, how she didn’t seem confused. And I thought about Stick. Stick, who was so sure of everything too, while I didn’t know anything at all.
The house was quiet when I entered. Father was not here yet with directives for today, so I went to my bedroom.
I pushed open the door, and there was Stick, rifling through my dresser drawers. He jerked his head up, startled. When he saw that it was just me, he resumed his digging.
“Hey!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you, I need it back.” He slammed the last drawer shut and dropped to his knees between the beds. He started moving aside my books. I jumped onto my bed, flopping a lot so that he had to draw back his arm to avoid getting squished by the mattress.
“It’s not here.”
Stick straightened up and whipped toward me. “What did you do?”
“You won’t find it.” My pulse sped up. I couldn’t let him find it.
“Sam, I’m not messing around.”
“Me either.”
Stick advanced toward me, with a menacing scowl. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and hauled me to my feet.
“You can’t scare me,” I said, but my heart was pounding.
“Don’t bet on it.”
“I’ll never tell you.”
He pushed me away so hard, I stumbled back toward the window. “I don’t have time for this,” he said.
I rushed back toward him, pushing him as hard as he’d pushed me. “Good.” I shoved him again, toward the door. “Go. Without your stupid gun.”
“Stop it.” Stick fended off my hands with a sweeping arc of one arm. The other hand he planted on my chest, keeping me at a distance. He used to do that when we were little and fighting because he was bigger and his arms were so long that I could kick and hit and only catch air. He used to laugh at me, flailing in front of him.
So, I did what I would have done then. I swung my foot. It connected with his shin.
“I know,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “that you didn’t just kick me.”
“So what if I did?” My breaths came quick and shallow. Where were we going with this? It always had been a game, back then. I didn’t know what it was now. Stick’s hand was tight against my chest.
“Then you’re toast.”
He dove at me and we rolled to the ground. We’d fought before, but always in fun. This was different. Something real was at stake. We tumbled on the ground, no punches, just thrashing arms and legs and trying to get on top.
“Where is it?” he grunted, once he pinned me down.
“Not telling.” I pressed upward, flipped, and wriggled until the balance was off again. I thought I had a chance to get him, for once. Only because he’d been injured was I even able to match him.
Stick threw his weight and I kicked my feet at his, trying to flip myself on top. I missed. My right foot caught the block tower right in its base. I felt my shoe pass through the foundation. Blocks rained down on my leg.
“No, stop,” I yelled at Stick, but we were locked in it. Stick tried to stop it too—I was sure that’s what he was doing—but his foot followed mine, arcing across the face of the tower. More of it caved in, spilling around us.
“Sam?”
Stick and I froze.
“What’s going on?” Father’s voice boomed in the hallway. Stick and I broke apart. We leapt onto our respective beds, catching our breath.
Father appeared in the doorway. He glanced between us. A wave of emotions arced across his face. Anger. Frustration. Relief.
“Steven.”
Stick stood up. “Father.” They stared at each other for a long time. I stood aside, afraid to move or speak against the fragile balance in the air. Had Stick grown taller? His eyes gained power? He seemed as big as Father, and as strong.
“I have to go,” Stick said. He stormed toward the door. Father’s arm shot out, caught Stick around the waist.
“Not so fast.”
Stick stepped away, tugging the lines of his jacket back into place. “It’s the job,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to blow this.”
Father laced his fingers together in front of his chest, then tapped his lips with his knuckles. “I know you won’t,” he said. He stepped out of the doorway.
Stick nodded. But he didn’t move right away.
“How are you, son?”
Stick sagged a little, then drew himself up. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.” He glared over his shoulder at me, then swept past Father out the door.
“Why did you just let him go?” I stood up, too.
“If locking you two in this room for the rest of your lives would help anything, believe me…” He shook his head, like I should understand.
We looked at the block tower wreckage. It made me want to cry. The whole front part had collapsed, about a third of the whole. The remainder hung on precariously. I wished I could say the same for the hope inside of me.
Father cleared his throat. He probably guessed what had happened, but he didn’t comment. “Let’s get to work,” he said.
I followed him into the hallway. In the moments it took us to get to the living room, I wanted to tell him everything. Tell him about the fight. About the gun. Get it out of my room, out of my mind forever. Father would take it away so Stick would never get it back and I wouldn’t have to worry about what he might do.
Instead, I sat down on the sofa beside a stack of demonstration posters. And I didn’t say a word.