It’s Saturday morning, and me, Mike, and Little Kevin head to the train station.
I try to change Little Kevin’s mind. “Kev,” I say. “You sure you want to go train-surfing? Check my hands.” I show him my calluses. “My hands are tough from handball, and you need strong hands to grip outside the train. Your palms strong? Let me see.”
I say this hoping he knows he’s weak because he is.
Little Kevin holds his palms up to show me.
Mike steps in between us and puts Little Kevin’s hands down. “Kev,” he says, “check my hands. You see calluses? No. And my grip is fine.”
Mike turns to me, asking, “Bruh. The other day you went on and on about how lit train-surfing is. Now you trying to talk him out of it? Nah. You can’t do that. It was lit, is lit, and stays lit, and you know it.” He faces Little Kevin. “Kev, you want to skip train-surfing?”
“Nah.”
“Where do you want to go?” Mike asks him.
“Wherever is clever.”
Mike smiles. “How about Chinatown?”
Little Kevin shrugs. “Yeah. There or wherever. I’m down.”
Mike turns to me. “You can stay if you’re scared.”
I don’t know why I feel like I need to look after Little Kevin. I’m not even sure I like him enough to protect him. But part of me wants to train-surf just to keep him safe.
I tell Mike. “You bugging if you think I’m scared. And you’re bugging if you think I’m letting you go without me.”
A new worker is in the MetroCard booth at our station. She’s busy with paperwork. Outside is as packed as it always is. People move fast in and out of turnstiles and the station.
Little Kevin asks if we have MetroCards or money.
Mike looks at him like he’s stupid, but Mike talks to me. “Bryan, tell him we don’t pay.”
Okay. Back when I told Mike I want to train-surf, I said I didn’t want to hop a turnstile.
“I have train money,” I say.
“But hopping the stile is part of the fun.” Mike won’t let it go.
I look at Mike a long time. I feel played.
“You going under?” he asks Little Kevin.
“No doubt.” He smiles. “But I never did before.”
“Watch us,” Mike says.
Mike ducks under the turnstile, and it shocks me that the MetroCard booth worker pays him no mind. His feet already disappear up the stairs.
I can’t pay and let Mike and Little Kevin hop the turnstiles, so I go for it too.
I’m shocked again when I don’t hear the MetroCard worker in the booth blast on the mic for me to pay my fare. Maybe it’s too packed in here for her to notice short kids ducking under turnstiles.
I see Mike’s kicks dip around a corner and I follow him. I wonder how Little Kevin is doing. Is he just standing there Stuck On Stupid the way I was when I first saw Mike not pay his fare way back in the day? I almost want to U-turn back to check on him.
Before I can, I know he ducks under the turnstile. I know because I hear a microphone shout, “Officers! Three boys didn’t pay.”
Officers?
I stop and look back, and two cops are chasing Kevin.
I don’t stay to look. I keep walking toward the end of the platform, hoping Little Kevin can stay ahead of the cops and hop on the approaching train to book with us.
The train slows into the station, and I see Mike chilling at the end of the platform.
“COPS!” I tell him.
“What? Where?”
“Chasing Kevin!”
The train beeps, BOOP! BOOP! then the speakers on it say, “Stand clear of the closing doors,” and we dive onto the back of the train.
As the train starts moving, I spot Little Kevin show up on the platform, heaving. I wish I could yell, “JUMP!” as we pass and I’d grab his hand midair and yank him onto the train’s back with us. But that’s some crazy movie stuff. There’s no way he can climb on this train. And there’s no way he can get on.
As the train zooms forward and we get closer, I see the two cops grab Little Kevin and shout at him.
My heart drops. I turn and yell at Mike, “THE COPS HAVE KEV!”
He can’t hear me because of the outside sound, but Mike is grinning. His eyes look like I don’t expect—happy. The cops’ve got Little Kevin, but Mike is just happy that he didn’t get caught.
Mike elbows my shoulder, letting me know it’s our stop. We get off in Manhattan and hustle onto the platform and jet up the stairs.
Outside, he grabs my forearm mad forcefully. He never touched me this hard. He whispers, “You think the cops saw us?”
I snatch my arm back. “Cops got Kev! And you just worried about you?!”
He looks around to see if anyone heard me. “Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” I whisper, feeling my hands ball into fists. “You don’t care that he’s probably in some cop car heading to a police precinct now?”
He smirks. “I’m not worried. Because before today I told Kev if we ever got caught doing something, we never snitch on each other.”
“Just because you told him don’t? Puh-leez. Bruh, he could be snitching right now.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. He ain’t. I also told him if he drops dime, he’ll catch a beatdown.”
I look past Mike and wonder, Catch a beatdown? From who? Mike? From his friends?
I look at the names of streets and stores around us. “Why we get off in Manhattan? And here?”
“Brooklyn and Manhattan cops don’t really talk. If BK cops radio each other, whatever. Manhattan cops probably won’t hear it and won’t check for us. But we need to forget Chinatown, the arcade, and everything. I’m not saying Kev snitched, but if he did, we can’t go where he knows. We need to do new until this afternoon.”
“Afternoon?! Bruh, I want to be back before that.” I want to see my mom. I don’t know why. I just really feel that right now.
“Around later in the afternoon is better. So if our fam knows, they had time to chill.”
“Why you saying all this when you think Kev won’t snitch?”
“We don’t have to worry, trust me. But we can’t be stupid.”
Trust Mike? I don’t trust him. I think of Little Kevin again.
This is too much too fast. First, cops. Next, who knows what’s happening with Little Kevin? Now our parents might find out?
“Where you think Kev is?” I ask.
“Who cares?”
I look at Mike like I can’t believe him, for real. Little Kevin stayed up under him like Mike was his big brother. Like Mike had Little Kevin’s back. If only he could be here, hearing him right now.
“Yeah,” I say, “but it’s our fault he’s in trouble.”
He laughs under his breath. “It’s not my fault. Who told him to follow us?”
I really can’t believe Mike right now. And all of what’s happening.
“Bust it, a Starbucks.” He points across the street. “Let’s go chill.”
As he crosses the street to Starbucks without me, I look at the back of his head and wonder.
I wonder how he’d react if it was me who got caught by the cops.
People rush by me—all busy—in front of me, behind me. Some grown man almost knocks me over on his way somewhere. People are everywhere, but I feel alone in all this craziness. Craziness that I let myself get into for months. That I let myself get into right now. I feel like I can’t talk to anyone about this stuff. I feel like I can’t go anywhere to be safe and I hate it. I have so many feelings I don’t know what to do. I stare at him disappearing into Starbucks. He’s the only one who knows everything. He’s the only one I have to trust. I hate it.
I rush and jaywalk to the Starbucks.