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Germantown High School was situated in the northern- most part of Germantown, not far from the Mount Airy section. The school sat along the number 23 SEPTA bus route. The school looked like a prison with it being secured by black wrought iron gates. Except in the area where fifteen-foot-high chain link fencing had been put up. That was a security blanket that prevented the teacher’s vehicles from vandalism and break-ins.
Just five days ago, Dre was being scolded by his mother about selling drugs. It was the first day of school and Dre rode the 23-bus to school. He had resolved himself to the idea that he could not fail any class. He knew that his mother would render him hopeless and kick him out. He needed to do his best to avoid her wrath and a possible trip to boarding school.
Amazed at the mob of students camped outside of the school with no intent to go inside, Dre realized it may not be simple to attend class or study to be a nerd like Kareem. He stared at students clad in the hottest urban street-wear designs, and they seemed more interested in modeling than school, and Dre knew he’d fit right in. He hated his options, though. He could either be at that fashion show, or down North Philadelphia selling crack. How much money was he missing by being at the school. Fuck it, Dre thought. I ain’t tryinna hear Delores’ mouth, so school it is. I’ll just bring the drugs to the school.
The access to the school was a narrow concrete walkway surrounded by wild lawns and trees that shaded the path. Dre entered the school and was immediately trapped in an atmosphere that bred criminal cretins, rather than the attorneys that represented them.
“Get the fuck outta my way!” a student barked at another student, and gave him a shove to compliment the request.
“Damn, Kisha, ya ass got fat over the summer,” someone yelled out to Kisha across the hallway. Kisha was the only student in the school likely headed to an Ivy League university.
The darkness of the ill-lit hallway reeked of marijuana and stinking cheap perfumes. The stage was typical for a hood high school—four story brick structure with hundreds of students all acting the same. Students ebbed up and down the hallways. Some heads bobbing to CD walkman blaring hip-hop, some with pagers pressed to their hips, and very few worried about class.
Dre entered his advisory, and on Ms. Johnson’s walls were posters to cover holes in the walls and chipped paint. The desks were packed so closely together that Dre could not breathe. He searched his roster and knew that his 10th grade year would be over in no time if he stayed focused. The bell rang and he was off to his first period class: English 2.
Dre approached room 128 and saw a crowd of pupils in the hallway. They were in a gambling cluster. He passed the crowd and knew that he would never get to class with that sort of enticement. Troy Jackson had called him.
Fuck outta here, Dre groaned under his breath. He paused in the spray-painted hallway to see what the menace Troy wanted.
Troy walked toward Dre and his diamond studs blinged brightly in the dim hallway. Troy had a thuggish stroll that showcased his Adidas sweat suit. In Dre’s eyes, Mr. Jackson was financially up and worked overtime to expose his hood wealth. Dre noticed Troy’s image, but the new picture of beauty tied to Troy’s side was of more interest. They shook hands, as Dre admired the chick with Troy.
“Damn, Dre, what’s good with you? It’s been a minute since ya mother moved you to Andorra.”
“Yeah, but as she see, I am not going to no other school. I had to show mom dukes who was in charge. I see you’re on top of your game.”
“You know I am making a dollar on “The Ave”. Something small.”
“Man, I ain’t talking about your pockets. I am talking about this fine ass babe on ya hip.”
“Oh, this is...”
The girl cut Troy off.
“I’m Alize.” She twisted her hips and poked her ass out, and then said, “With the body like Beyonce.”
Her body language told Dre that she was not Troy’s property, so he proceeded full steam ahead.
“Um, Alize, like the drink?” Dre asked as he scoped her from head to toe. “I’d sure like a shot glass of Alize.”
Alize Bayoumi had an Egyptian father and a Black mother and the combination was lethal. She had long, straight, black hair, a perfect honey complexion, and aqua eyes. She told Dre, “Not right now,” and then walked up to him. She then put her lips to his ear and whispered, “I know a sip of any drink would have a brother tipsy, but a shot of this will have you drunk.” “Let me leave you two alone,” Troy said. “Dre if you’re trying to blow up, get with me,” he continued and then spun off just as the bell rang.
“That’s my cue to get to class,” Alize said, matter-of-factly. “Where are you headed?” Dre asked. He was in love and about to walk her to class.
“Mr. Jainlette’s. English 2.”
“Me too. Let’s be out.”
Seconds later, Dre and Alize entered the classroom last and had all eyes on them. Mr. Jainlette’s class was full of round tables and not desks. Alize walked to the back table and Dre followed. Dre sat down and Alize cleared her throat. He then jumped up and pulled out her chair as a gentleman should. Dre couldn’t believe her antic.
The limping Mr. Jainlette sat one writing text book on each table. The books were out of date with rigid spines and ready to crack at any moment. Mr. Jainlette did not have an assignment, he simply asked each student to share an anecdote of their summer vacations. This suited Dre fine, as he had no intentions of working: Alize was the only thing he wanted to work on.
***
Troy continued his craps game in the hallway after the bell rang, but his mind was saturated with thoughts of Dre. He knew that Dre was also in the game. Troy was jealous of Dre’s parents moving into an area so close to the suburbs, and sent him to school dressed all jazzy. Dre didn’t even have to hustle, and did. Then Dre had possibly pulled the baddest bitch in the school. Fuck that! Troy thought. Dre may be getting money down North like his dad, Dope. And despite his calm demeanor, Dre was a loose cannon, but I’m the only don on this campus.
***
Dre left English 2 and walked down the narrow corridor, which opened to the forties-wing of the school. He entered room 348, Ms. Frias’s Spanish 2 class, ignoring all admiring stares. He knew that mobs of girls were on to his father’s legacy, and he tried not to live in Dope’s shadow. He sat at an empty desk in the row that lined the window. He wanted to stare out onto Germantown Avenue and beyond.
“Dawg, you’re in my seat.”
Dre looked up at the person that made the comment. This clown must be high, Dre thought.
Staring down at Dre was a tall aquiline-faced teenager with a bald head. He had two scars in his scalp, and his head resembled a cracking chicken egg. “Yo, I said you’re in my fucking seat.”
“You see a hearing aide? I ain’t deaf,” Dre said and stood toe-to-toe with baldy. He was not for a fight and have to hear Delores’ mouth, but he planned to get down if he had too.
“Where’d the fuck you put my books?” the kid seethed half-heartedly.
Dre pointed to the seat behind the one in dispute, and then turned around.
The kid grabbed Dre’s shoulder. “Put ‘em back where you found them.”
Dre yanked away, raised his eyebrow, and said, “You have jokes?”
“That wasn’t a joke. Put my shit back where you found it.” Dre ignored his foolishness.
“Get my shit!”
Dre attempted to locate another seat once again, but the teenager blocked his path.
“I said get my shit.”
Eager to see a fight, other students began to look with great anticipation.
Now, this clown got me on stage. Now, I gotta act. Getting punked at even my twist. “My man, I’mma turn and walk away. Get your books and don’t touch me again, yo.”
“Fuck dat, pussy. I don’t care about ya dad. Put my shit back where you found it.”
The boy’s luck had expired. Being compared to other people, especially his dad, was a no-no. Dre was supposed to be down North making a quick dollar so that he can establish his own image and not dealing with this noodle.
Without warning, Dre punched the kid in the gut and he immediately bowed for the audience. Dre then delivered an uppercut to the kid’s nose And he hit the deck.
“Now pick your fucking self up, pussy!” Dre remarked curmudgeonly. He then pushed the books onto the floor and onto his victim. “Along with your books, bitch.”
Ms. Frias entered the classroom as the bell rang. Kenny Bivins climbed from the floor, as Dre calmly took a seat across the room. The other students were silent. Ms. Frias had no idea that a boy with a sanguine nose was perched in the back of the classroom.
“Clase de buenos días y bienvenidos a español dos,” Ms. Frias said joyously. Good morning, welcome to Spanish 2.
Trust me, this is not a good morning, Dre thought. Just a few more classes and then football practice. That was all Dre was concerned with.