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Doris always says that the worst thing ever is a man dressed up in a sharp suit, wearing dirty shoes. And since we don’t wear no suits, that’s like saying the worst thing is a dude with a fresh haircut, wearing a wack outfit, which we agreed could not be us. Not for a MoMo party. So we sat around knocking our heads together, trying to figure out a way to get clothes. Good clothes. A fresh white tee right out of a three-pack wouldn’t cut it. We needed something with some flash to it. Something with a name so hard to pronounce that people don’t even try. The kind of clothes that would cost more money than any of us had, or ever had. There was no way for us to get it unless we did something crazy, which I wasn’t down for. Noodles, on the other hand, as usual, was all about pulling a caper.

“We need money to get these clothes.” Noodles sat in my living room drinking a soda, stating the obvious. Needles stayed outside on the stoop. I told him to come in, but I guess he didn’t want to, and I was starting to get it. I think he felt safe on the stoop. I couldn’t blame him. His brother knew how to make things real unsafe, real quick.

“That’s all, man. Money. Lots of it,” he continued. I sat at the window. Didn’t really have much to say to Noodles. I was still upset about what went down at Black’s. I was trying to move past it, but it was really bugging me. Plus, he’d jumped all over Needles for picking the money up off the floor and giving it to Black.

“You ain’t no dog! You don’t gotta pick nothing up off the floor, stupid!” he said, slapping Needles in the back of the head.

“What you gotta hit me for?” Needles yelped. He rubbed the back of his head. “And I ain’t stupid either,” he said.

“Tell him again, bro,” I said, backing Needles up.

“Yeah, whatever,” Noodles said. He turned to me. “Stay out of this.”

I should’ve said, “Hit him again, Noodles, and I’ll show you what Black should’ve done to you.” But I didn’t. For some reason I just didn’t feel like I had the right to step that far into family business, because family business is family business.

Now Noodles tapped the soda can on the kitchen table.

“Man, we can’t rob no bank, but we could jack a bodega, easy.”

Just the thought of robbing a corner store made me cringe, especially knowing all the drama it caused my family when my father did it. But I didn’t say nothing.

“Or go into the city where the fancy folks live with their little dogs, and snatch a purse. Probably be straight just from one bag. Take whatever cash is in it, and if it’s not enough, we could sell the bag and get Needles some fly clothes too.”

Nothing.

“Or we could just take Needles to a church and do the whole, my brother is sick with a syndrome and we don’t have no clothes, please help, bit.”

Nothing.

“Naw, that’s probably not a good one, because they won’t give us money, they’d probably give us clothes. Church clothes. And I ain’t wearing that mess to the party. Corduroys and whatnot.”

I still said nothing. He went on and on about different ways to steal money from this person and that person. How we could somehow cheat and either make a fistful of cash or a closet full of clothes suddenly appear. He even suggested that I ask my mother to somehow “get” some stuff from the store she works at, as if Doris was just going to say, “Of course I’ll get you and your little knucklehead friend a boatload of expensive clothes” without asking what we needed the clothes for. Or without yelling my head off for asking her something so ridiculous.

As Noodles made suggestion after suggestion, I looked out at Needles, sitting on the stoop, weaving the black yarn in and out with the needles just like my mother taught him. I could see that something had started to form. Something was being made, and even if it wasn’t anything specific, it was something, and I thought that was pretty cool. He was making progress. You could tell he was concentrating on every stitch and loving every moment while this black, messy glob of together-yarn was being created. And suddenly, without warning, he jerked. His left arm shot out, sort of like a toy with a spring-loaded karate chop. And just like that, the messy glob of together-yarn came loose again.

“Or we could just go see Dog and ask him to put us down for a trial run, see how good we can make a flip.” Noodles was still tossing out ridiculous ideas. Ideas like going to see Dog, the block’s dope boy, and asking him if we could sell for him. At that point it became pretty clear that Noodles was going crazy. He was willing to risk his life over an outfit for this party. “You hear me?” he asked.

I heard him, but I definitely wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, I hear you,” I said, straight and to the point.

“So, what you think about any of those ideas?” Noodles was finishing off his soda. He turned the can up to his mouth and took the last few swallows. Burp. Then he put the can on the table, broke the aluminum tab thing, the thing you open it with, off the top, and popped it in his mouth like it was candy.

“I think they’re terrible,” I said.

Noodles’s eyes looked like they were ready to fall out his face.

“You got something better, genius? Oh, I mean, moneybags,” he asked, all huff and puff. If he was a girl, he would’ve rolled his eyes. And his neck.

The aluminum tab in his mouth made it sound like he had a mouthful of loose teeth. I could tell he was trying hard not to drool when he was talking.

“Let me ask you something,” I said. “Why you so mean to Needles?”

I don’t know where it came from, but it came. For some reason I just couldn’t hold it in no more.

Noodles squinted his eyes like he didn’t know what I was talking about. “What?” he said in his usual grouchy tone.

“You heard me. Why are you always so mean to your brother? He’s your brother.”

Noodles took the tab from his mouth and dropped it into the empty can. He then grabbed the can and crushed it between his hands.

“You don’t know what you talkin’ about, Ali.”

“Just answer the question, Nood. You smack him around and give him all kind of flack for nothing. You shut him down every time he says something. It’s ridiculous. And all these folks around here don’t wanna say nothing, ’cause they not trying to be bothered with all your mess.” I could feel my voice starting to get a little more intense. “I know you, the real you, and I don’t care about your mess, so now I’m calling you out on it.” I wanted to say that I knew Noodles the comic book nerd.

“Ali, I think you crossing the line,” Noodles said, as if he was trying to say I better chill before he does something.

It’s not really like me to go off, but I couldn’t stop.

“Seems like all you do is give him hell for no reason, and he just takes it!”

“You don’t know nothing, Ali! You don’t know what me and Needles got going on! You don’t know what it’s like to have a brother with a syndrome! Jazz ain’t got no syndrome! So, who are you? Who are you to sit here and tell me how to deal with my brother?”

Noodles was now standing up. And so was I. His chest was all puffed up like he was seconds away from throwing himself at me. Let him.

“Yeah, you right, Noodles. I don’t know what it’s like to have a brother with a syndrome, but you the only person around here who treats Needles different. You ever notice that? You the only one! The rest of the hood treats him like he don’t have a syndrome at all. You the one who keeps treating him like he got some kind of handicap or something! Maybe you got the problem!”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I got a problem? Maybe I do! Maybe I got a problem with you not minding your business! And maybe we should solve this problem right now, Ali! What you think? You wanna solve it?”

Noodles was in my face now. His hands clenched tight. I still wasn’t scared because I could look in his eyes and see he wasn’t trying to fight me. My mother always said the eyes say a lot, and his eyes weren’t saying nothing about fighting. They were saying something totally different. Something sad. He looked like he was about to cry. I could tell I had hit a soft spot, but I couldn’t figure out how to cool the situation without seeming like I was backing down from a fight. I needed Noodles to know that I meant business as much as he did, and that he couldn’t intimidate me with all his yapping. But I did not want to fight him in my mother’s kitchen. I mean, he’s my friend, plus Doris would be pissed. I was hoping Jazz would magically appear from the back with a funny joke, but she was staying at a friend’s house. Then I hoped Mom would come home from her first job early. Anything to get him to back up off me without me having to tell him to.

We stood there chest to chest for a second, Noodles egging me on, telling me to do something and solve the problem. Then the door clicked. It clicked again. Someone was trying to get in. It clicked again, and then it opened. Noodles backed up as a man stumbled awkwardly into the apartment.

I looked closely to see who it was, one hand close enough to the kitchen knives to pull one easily, just in case. Then I recognized him.

“Dad?” I said.

The man, my father, finally got his balance and straightened up.

“Ali, wassup, man,” he said.

I walked over to him and gave him five and a half hug. Then suddenly he jumped back and threw a quick tap to the ribs, as a test to see if I was any quicker with my hands. I was slow on the block, and he tagged me. It stung a little, but I played it off.

“Too slow, son!” He laughed and palmed the top of my head, wiggling it around. I hated when he did that.

My dad, John, is a regular-looking dude. By that, I mean, there really wasn’t anything special about the way he looked. If a cop ever asked me to describe him, it would be hard because there have to be a million men who look just like him. He’s dark skinned, brown eyes, low haircut, full beard, earrings in both ears, no tattoos, average height, average weight, average dude. He was dressed in black jeans, a black button-up shirt, and black boots. Everything clean. Not bad for a booster, but nothing special.

“What you doing here?” I asked, confused. Not that I wasn’t happy to see him. He just usually gave a heads up just because he didn’t really like to stop by without knowing whether or not Doris was home. He usually sent some kind of warning to me. A text message or something.

“Man, I was around here doing some business, so I figured I’d pop in. Your mother ain’t here, is she?” he asked, peeking around.

“Naw, she ain’t here.”

“Jazz?”

“Nope. She ain’t here either.”

“Oh. Okay.” I could tell he was bummed about not catching Jazz home. She was definitely a daddy’s girl, and he was definitely a daughter’s dad. He looked over at Noodles. “Wassup, boy,” he said, slapping Noodles in the chest playfully.

Noodles pretended like it didn’t sting. “Wassup, John.”

It had slipped my mind that Noodles and I were seconds away from ripping each other’s heads off before John came busting in. John had no idea that he was right on time.

“Not much. Ain’t seen you in a minute, Noodles. Getting grown, ain’t ya?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s your brother?”

“Good. Sitting outside on the stoop.”

“I thought that was him. Wasn’t sure.”

Probably because he was knitting.

“Yeah.”

Then there was sort of an awkwardness that started filling up the space between us all, and I could tell that John knew something was up. But before he asked why we were acting weird, something else important dawned on me.

“Dad,” I started while pulling out a chair at the table, “I’m glad you came by, actually. I need a favor. Well, we need a favor.”

The one thing I know about John is that he’s a good guy. And he’ll do anything to prove that to his kids. He always tells me and Jazz to call him if we need anything, but we never call, only because we never really need anything. Mom pretty much takes care of everything, and what she doesn’t, Jazz and I take care of ourselves. But I needed him now.

“Okay, wassup?” he said, smiling. It was like he was excited to even be asked.

“Well, we need clothes. And I know what you do for money, so I figured you might have some.”

I didn’t know how else to say it. I looked at Noodles. I could tell he wasn’t expecting me to say that, but he caught on and fell in line quick.

“Clothes?”

“Yep, clothes,” I said. Noodles nodded his head in agreement, finally taking a seat next to me. Friends again.

“What kind of clothes?” John was now sitting on the arm of the couch, something that Doris would have his head for if she caught him. He looked comfortable. Like he lived here.

“I don’t know, the best kind?” I said.

John laughed. Hard. I mean, keeled over and slapped his knee laughing. I wasn’t sure if I actually said something funny, or if he just found Noodles and me asking for nice clothes so outrageous that laughter was the only possible response.

“The best kind? The best kind? I see,” he said, brushing his beard down with the palm of his hand. “So let’s just air it out, Ali. Where you going?” Parents always know. Even parents who only halfway parent.

“A party.” Figured I might as well just cut to the chase.

“Where?”

“You know MoMo?” I knew he knew MoMo. He probably remembered when MoMo was born.

John smiled. “Your mother know?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Your mother know, Ali?” John asked again. It’s funny. He was just enough of a father for it to matter. He wasn’t really there, but he also wasn’t a deadbeat. Sometimes it got confusing.

“No,” I answered honestly. I knew Noodles couldn’t believe I was telling my father the truth, when I could have easily just said that Doris knew. It’s not like John would’ve checked because John and Doris don’t really talk. At least not much. But I don’t lie too well. So I didn’t lie. Plus, John’s a pretty cool guy.

My dad smiled again. “So you sneaking?” I could tell by the way he asked that he was surprised. He knew I wasn’t really the sneaky type. That was more his deal. I couldn’t tell if he was concerned or proud.

I looked at the floor. “Yeah, but it’s kind of a big deal, man. We got invited, and nobody gets invited to these parties.”

“Nobody y’all’s age,” he shot back. He got up from the couch and walked over to where we were sitting. “But I remember what it was like being fifteen. I do. So here’s what we’ll do. We’ll trade.”

Huh? “What for what?”

“Clothes for a couple of text messages.”

“What you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll give you the clothes. But your scrawny ass gotta text me when you get there, and when you make it back home. What time the party start?”

“Eight.”

“Aight, so that means you need to be back by eleven. Got it?” He held out his fist.

I almost did a back flip. And I can’t even do a back flip, but I almost did one. I was trying to contain the excitement and be cool, and I could tell Noodles was trying just as hard.

“Got it,” I said, giving him a pound. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, thanks, John,” Noodles added. “Really appreciate it.”

“What you thanking me for?” he asked Noodles.

“Oh,” I started, “the clothes are for Noodles, too.”

“Aha,” he said, startled but still cool with it.

“And Needles.”

“Needles too! You trying to break me,” he barked. “My own son. Hustling a hustler. Whoever taught you that should be shot!”

He held two fingers to his head and pretended to blow himself away.