It was a Friday morning, and though Benji loathed school, he felt upbeat as he departed his home into the Southern California morning. For one thing, he felt pretty good about how he planned to deal with Mama and the youth conference mess. Plus, he was pretty sure it was pizza day in school, it was the last day before spring vacation, he was going to see Shante after school to get his hair braided, there was a house party later—and he was allowed to go.
It was going to be a great day.
As Benji exited his home into the Southern California sunshine, he could hear the faint sounds of Heatwave’s “Groove Line” coming from the distance. The song immediately brought forth images of the after-school dance last year. “Groove Line” was always guaranteed to pack the little dance floor created at school when the lunch tables were pushed against the wall. Skyline’s teenagers loved to scream the chorus in unison, except they replaced the song’s “Groove Line” lyric with “Skyline.” It was a fun party, but unfortunately, it was also a day of Benji’s humiliation.
Back then, Benji had a huge crush on Lisa, a light-skinned girl he thought was mixed with Italian or something because of her last name, but he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the entire school…probably in the whole neighborhood. Maybe even in all of Southeast.
Same thing he always thought when he had a crush on a girl.
As the dance ended, they started to play the song “Last Dance” like they always did and bring the lights up. Benji locked eyes with Lisa (or thought he did), and he really wanted to go ask her to dance—he’d been looking at her and wanting to dance with her all afternoon, and this was his last chance. Just as he thought he had the nerve to do it, she turned her back and started walking way. Then the song ended.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Not even close.
Benji followed along behind her, but at a distance—it seemed as if he were hypnotized, but he just wanted to see her walk away, get on the bus and leave school. When she turned around and saw him, he waved at her as he often did. But this time, something different happened—something Benji didn’t expect. Lisa waved back, like girls always did, even when they didn’t recognize him. But he heard the group of girls she was walking with break out into simultaneous laughter, and one girl looked back and dismissively screamed out, “Lisa don’t like you, boy!”
Benji was frozen.
This wasn’t like the basing he did with his homeboys which was often cruel but really was no more than insults intended to be funny without much truth attached to them. This was different. This was real. Benji could tell it was 100 percent true, and even so, it wasn’t meant to hurt him— it was just a fact. A fact Lisa couldn’t bring herself to tell him but her friend could relish in revealing in front of everybody. In an instant, Benji could see the truth as well—he was a joke to Lisa. Pitiful and pathetic. And he wondered how many other people Lisa told, how many other people knew the dark chocolate kid with nappy hair and thick glasses wouldn’t leave her alone.
Then another horrifying thought occurred to him— had his homeboys seen or heard? Because if they did, they would show no mercy.
Benji swallowed hard as he slowly surveyed the immediate area. No one was paying any attention to him at all, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face approaching him—it was Ricky.
And he was laughing.
Benji was struck by a feeling of terror for an instant. He had no idea what to say or how to respond. All he knew was—now, everyone was going to know. They were going to know all the waving, all the pretend girlfriends, the whole thing, was complete bullshit. He would not be able to take it; he would want to hide in his house forever, but that would make it even worse. Maybe he could make a joke out of it or something? Or pretend like they had a huge fight and he didn’t like her anymore anyway? Or even make up a lie about her to make her look bad? Benji was scrambling for answers.
As Ricky approached, I moved in close and whispered to Benji.
“Calm down—it will be OK. We’ll get through this. You’ll see.”
Nevertheless, Benji prepared for the worst.
As Ricky approached, he was laughing even harder with his eyes squarely on Benji. And the first words out of his mouth rocked Benji to his core:
“Fuckin’ Brian, G! That puto is always hungry!”
Benji stared at his friend as Ricky went into a story involving Brian that was supposedly amusing at a level just short of Fred Sanford having another heart attack— and it might have been. Benji didn’t know. He could see Ricky’s mouth moving and heard a humming sound, but it sounded nothing like words Benji could understand. Benji’s mind was clouded by a single thought.
That’s it? That’s what’s so funny?
Really?
Benji continued to stare at his noise-making friend who truly thought he was telling a funny story—he stared until Benji finally heard words coming from Ricky he understood.
“C’mon, vamonos, G – let’s go find that fool…”
Ricky didn’t know. Nobody did. Benji kept looking for evidence his private humiliation had been discovered, but the evidence never came. Benji felt a weight off of him that was indescribable. He felt light. He felt happy.
And that was the last time in his life he would ever wave at a girl he didn’t know.
“What it is, Doo?”
Johnny Davis’s morning greeting interrupted Benji’s momentary trip down memory lane. Johnny Davis was Benji’s next- door neighbor—he was one of those kids who was on the fringe of gang banging. Maybe he wanted to be one but he wasn’t a real gangster. It was more like, he was always in the know, always into something, always up on the latest slang and the latest music, and anyway— he was somebody else Benji could copy when he was trying to front.
Benji looked at his neighbor, shrugged lazily and quickly nodded a silent greeting to his neighbor. He’d watched Marcus return greetings this way a hundred times. Benji thought it just looked so smooth; it was like saying, “I hear you, and you’re cool and all, but I’m feeling mad slick and can’t be bothered to actually talk to anybody right now.”
I was glad. I was not a fan of Johnny Davis; he was a young man destined for trouble. I tried to urge Benji to give his nod and keep walking.
As usual, I was unsuccessful.
“I need a favor, Doo.”
Benji looked at Johnny Davis and remembered Marcus also telling him it wasn’t good to ask questions…especially to women. Marcus heard him asking Shante when she was going to braid his hair and informed him, “Women ask questions! Men don’t ask women questions…they make STATEMENTS.” Benji looked at him curiously and considered what Marcus had just said. And he was right. He would have sounded way stronger if instead of asking Shante when she was going to braid his hair, he said, “Hey, Shante, I’m gonna come by so you can braid my hair after school tomorrow.” or “I need my hair braided.” He hadn’t responded to Marcus, but after considering what he said, Benji vowed to make more statements and ask fewer questions.
His older brother’s advice came back to him instantly as his eyes focused on Johnny Davis, and he thought, “Johnny Davis knows the rules too. He didn’t ask a question; he made a statement.”
Interesting. Marcus was right: it did sound stronger. Benji made another mental note.
“What’s up?”
“Damn it,” Benji thought. That was a question, but there was no other way to respond. Maybe he should have just looked at Johnny until he spit it out. Yes, that’s it…much better…Benji made another mental note.
Johnny looked hurriedly around, and his voiced lowered to almost a whisper.
“Check this out, Doo…AP is out of town. I want to dip in his crib real quick and see what’s ringin’.”
Benji caught his meaning immediately, and he was stunned.
He wanted to rob AP.
What??
AP was Arthur Parker, who lived across the street. Arthur Parker was an OG, an original gangster. He didn’t say much anymore, but Benji knew his reputation— he was the type of guy Nick Thomas and Dink Jefferson aspired to be. He’d done anything and everything Benji could even think of; he’d been to jail and back numerous times, but he was rarely seen anymore. Whenever he made an infrequent appearance, it seemed like a hush fell over whatever group encountered him, but he was definitely not spoken to unless you were a gangster paying respects or a fellow OG and truly knew him. The constant look on his face and even the way he breathed inspired either reverence or dread…but it was commonly known while he was capable of an excessive amount of rage and occasionally put in work, he was for the most part out of the game.
And Johnny Davis wanted to rob him.
Why??
Benji was rendered speechless by Johnny’s statement and stared with perplexed eyes at Johnny.
Johnny smiled diabolically and continued, “I KNOW his ass caught seven days on some shit…my boy’s homeboy work wit him and overheard him trying to get a week off, but my other boy know he got some shit pending because he got it off this girl. And I know it’s today cuz I saw him leave, but he didn’t leave at the regular time like he workin’—he left late with a bag. I know he ain’t going to no work; I KNOW he goin’ in for seven cuz my boy say he got his week off! So where he goin’? C’mon man, I been watching; I know he got LOTS of shit in his place, and he ain’t gonna know! Looky here, man— we ain’t even trying to lift that much that he gonna know it’s gone. Plus I know dude ain’t tryin to fuck wit the man, nigga don’t wanna go back to the pen over some bullshit.”
His voice returned to a whisper as he said, “We can climb in the side window, baby…we hustlin’ now, Doo, in and out. Come on, man!”
I have to admit I was amazed as Benji looked across the street at AP’s house. I didn’t think he would need me to make this decision. But I watched him contemplating. And I was afraid for Benji.
To my amazement, Benji was considering it. I remembered Benji stealing his grandfather’s money. I also remembered the time Benji found the wallet with forty dollars in it. The person’s name and address were clearly marked on the driver’s license found in the wallet, and I literally screamed at Benji the right thing to do was to return the wallet to its owner. I really thought he heard me this time. I was disappointed but not surprised when Benji pulled the cash out, tossed the wallet, then spent the next month buying as many honey buns and slices of pizza he could eat.
Benji really loved honey buns and pizza.
He also loved stealing too.
Anyway, that was different. That was bad…but this was dangerous.
Benji heard the sound of Johnny’s voice, but as was his habit when deep in thought, he made no effort to respond to his neighbor because his mind was dominated by a single penetrating thought.
Benji did not want to do this.
He could talk the talk too. Maybe not as good as Johnny Davis, but he could talk it. Plus, he was perfectly comfortable with his more delinquent or even violent friends…well, they weren’t really friends anymore, more like people he knew. But he never judged any of the cliques that roamed Skyline—he figured smart kids studied, funny kids told jokes, holy kids went to church, athletic kids played sports, that one kid George did the weirdo Russian dance, and gangsters did gangster shit…it was just the way things were.
Benji had no problem with any of those cliques, but as he was being challenged to act by his next-door neighbor, the reality of the situation hit him. And the reality of the situation was Benji was no delinquent. He was no gangster. Not even close. It seemed fun when the real gangsters spoke to him and Nick called him “Ice” - it was like he had a gangster name now. As a matter of fact, that’s probably why Johnny made this incredibly stupid suggestion to him.
Well, maybe Benji had a gangster name now and maybe people thought he was something he wasn’t because they saw him with Nick, but in truth, he could not even see the fun of doing what Johnny was suggesting. Benji was mischievous, but he couldn’t understand why Johnny or anybody else would get any excitement from doing it or talking about it. And right then, Benji wished he were somewhere else. He wished he’d never run into Johnny Davis. He wished he’d just kept walking to school. He wished he didn’t know Johnny Davis and Johnny Davis didn’t know him.
But here he was. And I knew— Benji had a problem. His problem was he didn’t know how to say no. He couldn’t even say no to his mother’s plea from earlier in the day. He couldn’t say no to her…he couldn’t say no to boys…he couldn’t say no to girls. I knew people would talk him into things and ways of thinking that would really harm him in the future. Unless maybe, just maybe, if I could make him understand, I could keep him from a lifetime of followership that would not end well for him. So since I knew he really did not want to do this, I decided to try. I got close to Benji’s ear and whispered:
“Crossroad…”
Then I watched for his reaction.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. And I was hopeful.
As he proceeded down the street in the incident’s aftermath, Benji looked back, and he noted Johnny disappeared. As Benji surveyed the scene, he was suddenly filled with contempt for his next-door neighbor. And he made a silent vow to himself—he swore he would never again be influenced by Johnny Davis. His quiet rage was real…he did not intend to avoid Johnny Davis. No need. He did not fear Johnny Davis. He did not want the respect of Johnny Davis. As he surveyed the scene, it was if he saw Johnny Davis clearly for what he was—an irrelevant nobody. Benji realized no one else seemed to fall for his neighbor’s ridiculousness. It was almost as if Johnny smelled a neediness coming from Benji, a need to be accepted and belong to something. The realization gave birth to a new feeling of disdain toward himself. But no more. He was done with Johnny Davis’s bullshit.
And I knew he meant it.
It was a short walk to Ricky’s house—Benji wasn’t late; he always left a little early if he was going to Ricky’s…but even if he was a little late, Ricky wouldn’t care, if he was going to school at all. Benji thought if Ricky wasn’t going to school, it wouldn’t be because he was sitting outside making plans to rob a gangster. It’s more likely he was just too sleepy to get up in time. Benji was no huge fan of school either, so no patience was required, but whenever he went to pick Ricky up, it would take his friend twenty minutes to wake up, put on a sock, talk ten minutes, put on another sock, sit there speaking Spanish, comb his hair for another ten minutes, argue with his sisters, eat, lie back down for a minute, and just generally find everything to do but get ready for school and leave. Still…Benji’s mama did not react well to calls from school, so Benji tried not to be late too often. His Pops reacted even worse.
Benji didn’t realize how much he loved his neighborhood as he walked toward Ricky’s house. It would hit him as an adult, but as a teenager, he didn’t truly appreciate the chilly sunshine-filled mornings, the houses lucky enough to have breakfast smells coming from their windows, the preacher at the corner church where they played football preparing to mow the church grass, and school buses taking kids to school. Benji looked up when he heard the rumbling of the big yellow school bus; he truthfully missed riding the bus a little. As he watched the bus slow to a stop, then take on children, he remembered. He remembered how they all sang, “No more teachers, no more books…no more teachers’ dirty looks!” on the last day of school when he was little. He remembered, it was probably a couple years ago, he was riding the bus and a song by the Carpenters, “Top of the World,” started playing on the bus radio speakers and about halfway through the song, all the girls on the bus, were singing the chorus at the top of their voices. They weren’t just singing either…they were raising their arms, holding hands, swaying, laughing—they were truly into it Jackie Norman even slapped Benji in the back of the head, but not hard. He wondered if there was a message in her slap…she always smacked him at the “love” part—Benji wondered if that meant something. In any case, the irony escaped Benji at the time, but whenever he recalled the bus ride as an adult, he smiled at the thought of a busload of black kids from Southeast Dago loudly and proudly singing along to a song by the Carpenters like it was James Brown singing “The Payback.” He even grinned a little bit even now—he just didn’t realize why. Not a problem…he would understand completely when he was older and smile every time he remembered the moment or heard the song.
As Benji turned the corner, his senses were almost caressed by the smell of Mexican breakfast combined with the soft sounds of Rosie and the Originals’ “Angel Baby” seemingly hanging in the air. Benji knew immediately that meant Ricky’s brothers were up and listening to those old “Happy Days” songs Benji heard on television sometimes. Benji’s guess was they were outside pretending to fix some old bucket that hadn’t run in years and would never run again, smoking up a storm, and just generally cutting up. Sure enough, there they were: Francisco, Miguel, and a couple of other Mexican gangbangers Benji didn’t know, leaning on the car, smoking, and laughing loudly. They were drinking something Benji was about a million per cent sure wasn’t coffee.
As Benji approached, the Mexican quartet switched their focus and eyed him warily as he got closer and closer. Under normal circumstances, Benji would probably have crossed the street—in fact, under normal circumstances, he would not even have been in this neighborhood. Being Marcus Frazier’s little brother would not save him here, any more than it rescued him when he got trapped in a phone booth and terrorized by what seemed like fifty Mexican gang members until they got bored.
“It was only three boys,” I whispered to Benji with a smile. Benji looked my way as if he could really hear me, though I knew that was impossible.
Benji continued drawing near to his friend’s house, and though the older Mexican boys continued to stare at him hard behind hard eyes and gangster brims, it did not escape Benji’s notice when Francisco nudged one of the strangers and quietly said with a wink, “Mira listo, carnal…”
They were going to mess with him a little. Not a big deal, though; it was a test he’d passed numerous times.
“What the fuck you doing here, puto?”
Even though Benji knew it was coming, the steel in Francisco’s tone shook him up a little bit even so. Benji stayed calm though.
Benji stopped and faced the group— he nodded like he saw Marcus do, head pointed up. Benji nodded by dipping his head once and got slapped in the head by his older brother for not doing it “right”.
Benji knew the brothers already knew why he was there, so there was no need to answer the question. Instead, he came up with a response he thought was instant genius.
“I’m chillin’—gimme some of what you got in that cup though.”
Not a question, Benji noted wryly…I made a statement. He was learning.
The Mexicans broke character and roared with laughter at the irreverent remark. Benji wanted to smile, but he knew it would be a mistake; these were not his peers. Instead, he assumed a quizzical look and spread his hands in a way which clearly said to the group, “What’s the big deal, fellas? You gonna gimme a drink or not?”
Questions were feminine but questioning looks were definitely OK. In fact, Marcus said talking without saying any words was always considered cool. He said that’s what true players did.
As the laughter started to subside, Francisco nodded to the door and said with more than a hint of merriment and a dismissive wave, “He inside. Get the fuck outta here, schoolboy…pinche negrito…”
Benji shrugged his shoulders, nodded at the group, and headed for the front door. Ricky’s brothers and their partners in intimidation were still laughing as Benji walked away, and since his back was to the group, Benji allowed himself a grin as he heard Miguel call after him, “And you better tell us what you learned in school when you come back, puto, or I’m gonna beat your little ass!”
The Mexicans erupted in laughter again. Benji allowed himself a smile, but he didn’t look back; the test was over.
Until next time.
Benji could hear the house’s activity through the screen door, but before he could rap on the door, he heard his friend’s voice drifting in from a back room.
“Venga, G…chill out. I be ready in a minute.”
Benji thought it was a little funny. His friend was definitely 100 percent Mexican all the time, but at home? Two hundred percent. Ricky’s mother was born in Mexico. Her English was broken, but she and her children were proud of being Mexican. Some things were met with scorn in this house and this neighborhood. Benji remembered a conversation he overheard in the house when one of the neighborhood chicas had a daughter and named her Julie or something like that. He didn’t have to be fluent in Spanish to feel the scorn dripping from everyone present as they discussed the issue.
Benji opened the squeaky screen door, entered, and made his way through the house to hang out in the living room as he’d done a hundred times before. In the hallway he passed by Ricky’s older sister Leticia, who was walking while applying the bright red lipstick all high school Mexican girls seemed to love. Benji edged to the wall to give her room to pass, but as she passed, Lety lightly stroked Benji under the chin and then on his cheek with her hand, smiled, and said, “Hi, Benji,” without missing a beat before disappearing out the door.
“Well…that was pretty exciting,” Benji thought.
Lety was nice…very very pretty too…but she mostly ignored him. Probably because he was just her little brother’s friend, a little young negrito nobody. But it was right then Benji decided he liked girls touching his face like that.
He liked it a lot.
I knew Lety would never do it again, though. She was just being nice that day. Who knows why, but I sidled up to Benji and whispered, “Lucky day, huh?” Benji smiled…sometimes I really wondered if he could actually hear me.
Benji passed by the open bathroom and saw Ricky greasing his hair and combing it to the back like he always did. The two boys nodded at each other without speaking, but Ricky gestured to the living room. The fact Ricky was even up was kind of surprising—Benji figured maybe he was bored so he’d go to school to hang out. Sometimes they’d jack Ricky’s brothers for cigarettes, ditch class and smoke down the hill or right outside the hole in the fence surrounding the school. Sometimes they’d steal some Boones Farm Strawberry and drink it before class to make school more fun or if they could scrape up a couple dollars, they’d try to convince someone older to buy them some Old English Malt Liquor or some Mad Dog 20-20. They had to pay double because they had to buy one for whoever bought it for them but the fun, carefree day it guaranteed in school was worth it. Then again, sometimes Ricky would just hang out and wait while Benji went to class; and sometimes Ricky would go to class too. Whatever he did, though, he did it with a laugh. Ricky didn’t ever seem bothered about anything.
Benji heard the sound of water and dishes clanking in the kitchen. Ricky’s mother was probably in there, so he went in to greet her and show respect. She was at the sink, rinsing off plates as he entered the kitchen, and when Benji entered and said, “Hola, Señora Escamilla,” the overweight but kindly Mexican matriarch did not return the greeting as she turned to look toward the voice— but her eyes crinkled into a welcoming smile. With the water still running, she went to the cupboard for a plate, scooped mounds of still-warm refried beans and eggs from the cast- iron frying pan onto it, and set it down along with a fork and a soft “Come, Benito,” before returning to rinsing off dishes and putting her kitchen back in order.
Benji had already eaten at home, but it was rude to refuse her…so he sat and ate. It was really good too. Benji marveled at how Ricky’s mom could make simple beans and eggs taste like THAT. Even with no chorizo.
Benji’d just finished wolfing down breakfast when Ricky sauntered in, grabbed a big wooden spoon, piled it as full of beans as the spoon could hold, opened his mouth as wide as possible, and shoved every morsel into his mouth—just in time for Ricky’s mother to come and unleash a barrage of rapid-fire Spanish at her son. The only word Benji could make out was “cochino,” but he was sure he could translate the rest of the verbal bombardment. Probably “Put that damn spoon down, get a plate and a fork, sit your raggedy ass down, and stop eating like an animal, you dirty, stinky, filthy, disgusting little pig!”
Or something like that.
Whatever was said clearly tickled Ricky, who was barely able to keep the food in his mouth while trying to stifle a laugh. He did manage a cheerful “Lo siento, mommy” as he swallowed the last of his breakfast under the stern gaze of his mother. Even so…Ricky’s mother almost imperceptibly offered her cheek to her son as he approached to give her a goodbye kiss—even though a stone-faced grimace remained displayed on her countenance.
As the boys exited back toward Benji’s neighborhood to get Brian, Benji considered the rationale for going out of his way to get Ricky and then heading back in the opposite direction to get Brian before quickly dismissing the notion. None of the three ever really questioned it; it was just the way it was: Benji got Ricky, then the two got Brian. It’d been like that ever since the boys began heading to school together. Though Benji was oblivious to his unconscious rationale, the reason he normally picked Ricky up was he was protecting Brian from having to go to Ricky’s neighborhood alone. Brian wasn’t scared or anything, but he was just a happy-go-lucky Skyline teen—he liked to laugh, make other people laugh, eat, and sing. Nobody would bother Brian, but still…Benji had been jumped there before. Benji knew he’d do better at talking his way out of trouble, and he was a faster runner too. So though all three friends were unaware of the true rationale, the tradition continued.
Ricky began singing the chorus of a popular Stylistics slow jam in Spanish, an interpretation which brought grins to the group.
“What’s up with that ‘Rock to Bach,’ ese?”
He was referring to the school’s annual “Bach to Rock” music festival. Mrs. Springer was the school’s music teacher; young and pretty, she was the most popular teacher in their school. Her classes included dance, choir, and band. Then once a year, her students put on a nighttime show consisting of her advanced band playing while students sang a variety of songs from classical to current. It was a nighttime event, spread over two evenings; the auditorium was always packed; even gangsters stopped for the night to hang outside the school to listen and chill as live music and singing filled the air in the Southern Californian twilight.
Brian was in Mrs. Springer’s advanced band class. Benji thought back to the previous year’s concert—he was just going to attend and hang out. He knew Brian was playing, and it was dynamite to see him doing his thing. Benji turned away during an intermission, but his attention was suddenly yanked back toward the stage.
Hey! That’s Brian! Singing with a girl! And it’s good! Girls are screaming…for Brian!
Brian stayed humble through his mini-celebrity, and as friends sometimes did, even though they were mightily impressed, Benji and Ricky kept it cool, limiting their accolades to “Gimme some skin, blood…you was pretty good.”
But Brian was more than “pretty good.” Though he could not put it into words, Benji admired his short, slightly heavyset friend…because like Ricky, he always seemed unconcerned with who people thought he was. He was content with being himself, and his self-confidence seemed to give him a power, a sense Benji himself did not yet regularly feel. Benji could not put words to it, but he often felt like he was trying to fit in— as if he never perfectly fit in without trying, except when he was at home. He wasn’t a vato loco like Ricky, he wasn’t an artist like Brian, he wasn’t a superb athlete like Marcus, he wasn’t charismatic and cute like Sid, he wasn’t a handsome ladies’ man or funny or smart or a gangster or popular…he didn’t know what he was, so he was always frontin’. But Brian seemed to know exactly who he was and was secure in the knowledge.
Brian shrugged his shoulders and was noncommittal; he didn’t enjoy the spotlight and rarely, if ever, called attention to himself. He was content to hang with his two best friends, play his music, tell funny stories, and eat. So the boys trudged onward to school, making easy and free- flowing conversation as they crossed the field, made their way up the steep dirt hill, and slipped through the hole in the fence that served as their shortcut to school.
The bell rang as the threesome made it to their lockers and the boys went their separate ways to class, in tacit agreement they would meet for lunch and probably head home together—although for some reason, they sometimes made their way back home in a combination of two or even solo. Probably because each boy sometimes had things to do after school…band practice in Brian’s case, just hanging out in Ricky’s case, and sometime in Benji’s case— detention. Nevertheless, there was a definite unexpressed comfort in heading to school and having lunch together, plus their lockers were all side by side, so they would often see each other throughout the day as well to catch up and cut up.
“Come on, Benji.”
Benji grinned at the greeting from Tina Ngono, the girl he shared his locker with. Benji was the only one he knew who shared a locker with a girl, and it made him look like a player, kind of…he knew Shante and her friends didn’t like Tina too much, but he didn’t care. Tina had a ready smile and light-hearted personality—it made her seem different than the other girls in their school. Like…older. She was also funny and playful and really smart.
They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, though. Tina was new this year and was wandering the hall looking for a locker on the first day and just stopped behind him as Benji was opening his locker.
“Samahani kaka habari asubuhi jina lako nani?”
All three boys turned around at hearing these strange words they’d never heard before and a girl none of them had ever seen standing there, right in front of Benji—-pretty girl but she was just standing there, staring expectedly and innocently at Benji, waiting for Benji to answer what was obviously a question.
Benji looked over at Ricky, standing on his right; his friend shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
Clearly, she wasn’t speaking Spanish.
Benji then looked to his left at Brian.
His hungry friend had no response other than continuing to chomp greedily on the Milky Way which seemed to have magically appeared from his jacket pocket.
Benji returned his gaze to the strange, but pretty girl who’d continued to fix an innocent gaze on him, awaiting an answer.
Then she broke out in a beautiful laugh.
She continued “I’m sorry, I’m just kidding—-that’s Swahili, I was born in Cameroon…it means ‘Hi, what’s your name?’ I’m Tina”
Benji tried to deliver a smooth introduction but he fumbled—he was taken aback by the sweetness, simplicity, and sincerity of her statement. After he answered, her next question was likewise straightforward: “Are you sharing your locker with anyone? Do you want to share with me?” And from there— the friendship blossomed. Her real name was Tatiana and she kind of looked like the plastic statue of that African lady’s head Benji saw in his grandpa and grandma’s house…but prettier. She was easy to be around, and after the first morning, Benji wasn’t nervous around her…he could just relax and be himself. She laughed and teased him when Benji was awkward; she even laughed at her own awkwardness and goofiness. She said weird stuff and she didn’t care if it was weird, like the time she said “Do you know what you are, Benji? You’re an enigma.”
After which, Benji had to go ask Angela what “enigma” meant.
He looked up where Cameroon was on his own.
Benji really liked her a lot, but they were truly just friends. Even so, though…there was one time they went on a nighttime field trip to the telescope place. It was a 45-minute ride there and Shante didn’t go, so they sat next to each other on the bus. They’d talked excitedly all the way to the place; they’d spent the entire time together. She’d smiled, told Benji about stars and planets, called him nzuri which means “cute”, and walked around holding on to his arm the entire time. Then on the way home, Tina fell asleep on his shoulder, and they’d held hands in the dark all the way back to the school. Benji had his eyes closed too but he was wide awake. Somebody’s radio was playing Natalie Cole’s “Our Love” too. It was perfect.
Benji hadn’t wanted the bus ride to end; he figured Tina didn’t want it to end either; he wondered if she hadn’t been pretending to be asleep just like he was. Her mom was there to pick her up when the bus dropped them off at school so she ran off fast, but she smiled when she left. Still…the next time he saw her, they were back to being just friends again. Laughing on the phone, playing basketball in her driveway while she watched…friend stuff.
And Benji was reminded once again that he really didn’t understand girls.
At all.
Benji grabbed Tina’s books, and she released her books into his control as they made light-hearted banter on the way to English class. Tina sat next to him in English—she was a calming influence on Benji in a class she knew he struggled with. Tina knew Benji wouldn’t wear his glasses in school and even though they never talked about it, she knew why. But since he couldn’t see the board, he lost interest most of the time…all the time, to be honest. So Tina would quietly help him with what Miss Crouch was writing on the board. Benji felt pretty stupid sometimes. He thought back to fifth grade and his struggles with math— he’d been the only one in his class who couldn’t do long division. He just couldn’t follow along when the teacher was explaining it, and his failure to get it made him angry and hate school even more. Too bad Tina wasn’t around back then. Maybe he would have learned long division before he entered junior high.
But Benji had real problems with English and Miss Crouch though. One day when Tina was absent, because he was bored, Benji had decided to unbraid his hair in class— it was starting to itch. Miss Crouch took one look at the monstrous steel comb known as a “cake cutter” and immediately accused Benji of threatening to attack her with it. She started screaming hysterically and told Benji to put it down. Benji was truly confused…he really didn’t understand what she was saying or why she was saying it. She couldn’t seriously be talking about…his comb?
No way…so he ignored her and kept on taking out his braids. When she ran out of the class screaming, the entire class had been confused; everyone was looking at each other. No one knew what her problem was. Then she came back with the gigantic big-bellied shop teacher, Mr. Guerrero. He’d come over to Benji and said softly, “Let’s go, son…no one wants any trouble.” Benji still had no idea what was wrong or why the teachers were excited all of a sudden, but he left with Mr G. He sat outside the vice principal’s office for at least two hours before Mama came. He’d been suspended that day because they believed Mrs Crouch - I guess they though Benji was going to do something to her with his comb, but Mama wasn’t even mad. In fact, she went back in, and Benji could hear her yelling at the vice principal…and he wasn’t yelling back. Benji thought it was pretty funny.
But when Tina was around…that sort of thing didn’t happen.
With English done, Benji proceeded on to Shop class—Ricky was there, but in Shop, his Mexican friend really got into working with his hands. Most of the boys did…nobody sat, and Mr. Guerrero was alright for a teacher, but Benji didn’t like the class too much Not being able to see made school really difficult at times. And even making one of those little metal hammers required a precision Benji didn’t have; he just couldn’t see well enough. The shop teacher didn’t fail anybody, he still got a “B” but Benji made nothing in Shop class. And Ricky knew enough about his friend to never offer to help or even mention it. The boys were often entertained by making fun of each other, but Ricky instinctively knew shop class was off limits. Too humiliating.
Then physical education…math…pizza for lunch, just like he thought…social studies…homeroom…and to end the day…the class Benji hated worst of all: General Science.
And the only teacher besides Miss Crouch Benji could not stand: Dr. Deen.
Benji could fake his way through the other classes. He had Tina for English; Shop and PE were easy; he could figure math out later, or his sister Angela would help, and Social Studies was kind of easy too, Tina was there…but General Science was uncompromising and unforgiving. Benji did not understand the topic. The conversations went over his head, and he had zero motivation to even try to understand. And moreover—the way his fellow students presented themselves made Benji feel downright hostile. He despised watching them demonstrate their excitement and speak in such a scientific way.
And then there was Dr. Deen.
Benji hated her.
In addition to loathing the subject she taught, Benji thought she was so obviously biased toward the science geniuses. She gave off a clear disdain for Benji and the rest of the science dummies. If she even bothered to speak to Benji at all, the way her glasses sat on her nose and her expression said it all: “You are unintelligent. You are beneath me. I have no respect for you. I wish you to stop speaking to me and never think of speaking to me again.”
Or that’s what he heard, anyway.
Benji knew he would fail this class and hated it and her so much he was happy to fail it. Their science fair projects were due today, and Benji would be happy to proudly report he had not done one. He probably wouldn’t be happy when Mama found out…he’d be even less happy when Pops found out. But today he didn’t care one bit. Deen wouldn’t care either. She was too focused on the eggheads.
The good part about today, though—everyone was so busy rushing around, finishing their projects before spring break and sucking up to each other, no one noticed Benji at all. In fact, he even left a couple of times.
When the bell rang, it signaled not just the end of the school day but also the start of spring break. He wasn’t focused on science or even on his boys…he wanted to get going to catch Tina before break, them go see Shante and there was that party later. Everything school related was already been forgotten.
“Benjamin, may I see you for a moment, please?”
It was Deen.
This was surprising. And for Benji…annoying.
Deen kept her head down as Benji stood and stared, waiting for the teacher he loathed to speak so he could leave.
The science teacher lifted her head and for a moment, teacher and student locked eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Deen seemed to dip her head, and the stern expression on her face silently directed Benji to approach.
“Benjamin, I noticed you did not turn in a science project. I believe this is a mistake. Your project—or stated more accurately, your lack of a project—is troubling in that it is indicative of a lack of thought. Because when one is thinking, one is learning or reinforcing what has previously been mentally digested. It is not the complexity of the project that is most relevant.”
Benji stared and wrinkled his brow as though she were speaking a foreign language but remained silent as she continued.
“You will turn in your project when we return from spring vacation. If you do not, I will assume you do not intend to do so. Have a pleasant vacation, Benjamin.”
And with that, Benji knew he was dismissed.
“That’s it?” he mused with a little laugh. “She wants me to do a project…on spring vacation?
“She could have saved her breath. Too easy. Not doing it. Feel free to fail me.”