Decision Time

twelve

WESLEY

AS my court day drew closer, so did the unwanted visits from Claude and a few other goons, whose sole purpose was to intimidate and antagonize me. I decided to try to handle this on my own without getting my dad involved, because he was already dealing with construction workers who were repairing our house, as well as medical issues he was having from the burns he suffered when our house caught fire. I didn’t want to burden him with any more drama than I already had. I decided to report Claude to the principal, who called us both down to the office to have a discussion and to squash the beef between us. I arrived at the principal’s office first. The principal, Mr. Dewey, looked fairly young, about twenty-eight years old. He had light brown skin the color of corn muffins, cascading dreadlocks and was fond of wearing bow ties.

“How is your shoulder coming along, Wesley?” he asked as I sat in a seat in front of his desk.

“It’s okay. Just sore and stiff,” I answered.

“How long will your arm be in a sling?” he asked.

“The orthopedist says anywhere from ten to twelve weeks. Then I go in for physical therapy,” I said. There was a knock at his door and I looked over my right shoulder and saw Claude standing in the doorway.

“I got a message saying you wanted to see me,” Claude stated as if he were completely annoyed by the fact he was called into the office.

“Yeah, Claude, have a seat,” said Principal Dewey. Claude sat down in the empty seat next to me. “I believe you already know Wesley Morris,” said Mr. Dewey as he took a seat behind his desk.

“Nope, I don’t know him at all,” Claude lied as he slouched down in his seat. He fully extended his right leg, then placed his right hand on his crotch while simultaneously digging in his ear with his left index finger.

“That’s a lie,” I said, exasperated.

Claude glanced over at me and once again said, “I’ve never seen you before.” He removed his finger from his ear and flicked the brown, sticky earwax on his finger in my direction. I instinctively moved out of the way so his ear slug wouldn’t land on me.

Mr. Dewey got to the heart of the matter. “Wesley says that you’ve been harassing him. Is that statement accurate?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Claude stuck to his lie.

“Claude, you know you’re skating on thin ice. You’ve been involved in a number of altercations this year and if you get involved in one more, off to reform school you go. And I can guarantee you they are not going to put up with your macho attitude.”

“Macho? What in the world does that mean?” Claude asked, looking perplexed.

“He means that no one is going to put up with your bull,” I explained to him in a condescending tone as if he were dumb for not knowing the meaning of the word. Claude’s eyes were suddenly ablaze with hate. That’s when I knew I’d just made things worse.

“Claude, if I even so much as hear that you’ve bumped into Wesley, I’m kicking you out of this school. And Wesley…”

“Yes, sir,” I answered Mr. Dewey.

“Stay away from him and don’t aggravate or taunt him in an effort to get him to mess up.”

“Trust me. I don’t want anything to do with him,” I assured him. “He’s all ticked off at me because his cousin is in jail for trying to kill me.” Mr. Dewey leaned back in his seat and remained quiet. His eyes darted back and forth from me to Claude.

“All of this violence among young people has got to come to an end. It seems to me as if your generation is hooked on violence like it’s some sort of narcotic. Claude, is your locker near Wesley’s?” asked Mr. Dewey.

“I don’t know,” answered Claude.

“Boy, stop lying. Your last name is Morgan and Wesley’s last name is Morris, so I’m pretty sure your locker is near his.” Mr. Dewey removed a sheet of paper from his top desk drawer.

“Claude, I’m going to assign you a new locker on the other side of the school so you won’t be tempted to do something stupid. I’m going to save you from yourself. Wesley, is he in any of your classes?”

“No, sir,” I replied.

“Good. The less you two see of each other the better.”

“I like my locker where it is. Make him move to the other side of the school,” Claude complained.

“No, Claude. Effective immediately, I’m assigning you a new locker,” Mr. Dewey said unapologetically. “Wesley, you’re free to go. Claude, you wait right here while I fill out this locker transfer form and escort you to your current locker so that you can gather your belongings.”

“Thank you,” I said as I rose to my feet and hastily exited Mr. Dewey’s office.

“Wesley,” the principal called. I stopped and turned. “Don’t forget to pick up a hall pass at the front desk.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling very relieved.

When the dismissal bell rang, I waited by the gymnasium doors for Lori, who’d sent me a text message earlier telling me that she’d be taking the school bus back home with me. When I saw her coming down the hall, I smiled. She was wearing tight blue jeans, a green top and sexy high-heeled leather boots. It was obvious she was supremely confident and comfortable strutting in them by the seductive manner in which her hips swiveled. As other male students passed her by, they turned around to gaze at her behind. I glanced at her with a mannish smile, glad she was coming to meet up with me. Then in the back of my mind, images formed of us embracing in each others’ arms and kissing. I allowed myself to enjoy all of the intimate possibilities that could happen between us.

“Hey, handsome,” Lori greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s up?” I said as I led her out the door and toward the school buses.

“The usual stuff. Fighting with my mom and grandmother. They’re so damn old-fashioned. It’s annoying at times,” Lori complained. “How are things going with you?”

“Okay, considering.” I sighed.

“That doesn’t sound too good, Wesley.” Lori heard the uncertainty in my voice.

“Everything is fine. I just had a little problem, which I’ve taken care of.”

“Good, because I like a strong man who knows how to take care of business,” Lori answered, flirting with me.

“Well, I’m the type of guy who likes to use my head to solve problems and not my fists,” I proudly proclaimed as we stepped onto the school bus and took a seat.

Later that evening, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table working on my math homework. Grandmother Lorraine was at church making food baskets for women in a local homeless shelter. Dad was in his room looking over some documents regarding his long-term disability payments. I was about to work through my last algebraic equation when a phone call from Lori came through. I was going to ignore her, but decided to answer at the last minute.

“Took you long enough,” Lori whined.

“I’m busy doing my homework,” I said, feeling as if I really didn’t have to explain anything to her.

“Well, it’s time for you to take a break and talk to me.” Lori was being bossy.

“Says who?”

“Me,” Lori said. “So I was thinking that we should—” At that very moment another call was coming through. I glanced at the caller ID. Keysha’s name lit up the display.

“Finally,” I uttered.

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Lori was confused by my comment.

“Lori, I’ve got to go. I’ll holler at you later.” Before she could say anything further, I clicked over to Keysha.

“Hello,” I answered frantically.

“Hello, Wesley,” Keysha greeted me.

“I’ve missed you so much. Do you know that?”

“Yeah, right. You’re not missing me one bit.”

“Yes, I am. Believe me, I miss you an awful lot,” I insisted, stating my case.

“So, do you have something to say to me? You’ve been calling me like a deranged stalker.”

“That’s because I’m in love with you and my heart was broken when you didn’t return my calls.”

“Wesley, your heart is nowhere near broken. Last time we were together you seemed to be getting along just fine. And you know what really ticks me off with you, Wesley?”

“No.”

“The fact that you gave me the impression that things were so difficult for you there. You had me thinking that every day you were alive was a blessing. How could things be so dangerous? Yet you found time to kick off a new romance. What in the hell is that about?”

“Keysha, you don’t understand. It’s not—”

“Wesley!” I heard my father scream out my name. He then came running into the kitchen with a wild and panicked look in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I asked, immediately sensing something was way off base. He opened up a nearby closet door and removed one of several baseball bats Grandmother Lorraine kept hidden around the house in case an intruder got in.

“Call the police!”

“The police?” I was suddenly confused by his request.

“Don’t you hear my car alarm going off? How could you have not heard glass shattering?” he barked as he rushed out into the night.

“Keysha, I’ll call you back!” I hung up on her before she could say another word. I phoned the police and gave them the address. They said a squad car would be there within a few minutes. I then rushed out the door to catch up with my father. Sure enough someone had vandalized his car.

“Look at this.” Dad was at his wit’s end. Someone had poured yellow and green paint all over his car, then smashed out the passenger’s and driver’s side windows. “Oh, this is the last thing I need right now.”

“I’m going to go find out who did this,” I said as I started running down the street as best as I could with one arm in a sling.

“Wesley, get back here!” My father chased me down. Once he caught me, he walked me back toward the house. “You don’t need to go chasing someone like a lunatic. The police will come and we’ll make a report to the insurance company.”