Jahlil sat on a bench on the high school campus.
He was still shaken from the robbery he had attempted last night but was happy that he was able to get out of there before the police had come. Jahlil assumed they hadn’t been informed, and even if the woman had called, she didn’t know his name or where he lived. To her, he probably looked like every other sixteen-year-old black kid in Chicago. No cops were banging on his door when he came home last night or when he woke up this morning. And no squad cars were there at school awaiting Jahlil today. He assumed he was in the clear.
When Jahlil had walked into the apartment last night, he wanted to apologize to his mother for the argument they had and for putting his hands on her.
He walked quietly through the rooms, stopped at her partially opened bedroom door. He knocked softly, and when she didn’t respond, Jahlil pushed the door open and stepped in. She was asleep.
Jahlil lowered himself to his mother’s bedside, listened a moment to the sound of her sleeping, and hoped that none of the horrible things he had done up to this point would come back on him. He would be better now.
He leaned over and softly kissed his mother on the cheek. “Sorry for everything, Ma, but I’m gonna be better. I promise,” Jahlil said, now planning to make the future he had envisioned last night with his family a reality.
This morning when he awoke, his mother had gone.
At school, for the first time in over a year, Jahlil was attentive in class. He raised his hand, answered the few questions he could, and had a real desire to learn the answers to the ones he couldn’t. He took notes, copied down his homework assignments, and didn’t once talk in class when he wasn’t supposed to.
After his social science class, as Jahlil was walking toward the door, his teacher, Mr. Bronson, asked him if he could come over to his desk.
Almost immediately, Jahlil felt himself covered with a nervous sweat. He walked over to the teacher, but the man didn’t say anything to him, just watched as the last few students filed out of the classroom.
Jahlil stood there, feeling light-headed. He stared out the classroom door, waiting to see police officers bust in, throw him to the floor, and handcuff him. That’s what this was, Jahlil told himself. The woman had told, and now it was all over.
When the last student exited, Mr. Bronson simply said, “You were very active in class today. Let’s keep that up, okay?” He smiled.
“That’s it?” Jahlil said.
“That’s a lot compared to how you’ve been behaving. Don’t you think?” Mr. Bronson said.
“Yeah,” Jahlil smiled. “Yeah, it is.”
Jahlil chose to eat his lunch outside alone today. The weather was warm, the sun was out, and the compliment his teacher gave him made him feel good, as though he was capable of anything.
Across the campus Jahlil saw Bug walk out of the lunchroom door. When Bug caught sight of Jahlil, he squinted across the hundred or so yards, as if to make sure it was him. When he seemed sure, Bug started quickly in Jahlil’s direction. He didn’t look like himself. He looked angered, distraught, and saddened all at the same time.
“Yo, what’s—” Jahlil said, but Bug hurried right up on him, and with both hands pushed Jahlil in the chest.
Jahlil fell backward onto the grass.
“You promised me!” Bug said, near tears. “You fucking promised!”
Jahlil pushed himself up on his elbows. “What are you talking about?”
“I just lost one best friend, and now I’m gonna lose you.”
Jahlil stood, brushing grass from his backside. “Bug, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid. Last night, you robbed a store. You robbed—”
“What? How did you know about that?” Jahlil said, shocked, throwing himself at Bug, grabbing him by his shirt.
Bug shook his head, dug into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. He tapped the tiny buttons, waited a second, then turned the screen so that Jahlil could see. What Jahlil saw was a surveillance video of him pointing his gun at the woman in the store, yelling something at her.
“It’s all over YouTube, man,” Bug said, angrily.
“YouTube? How the—”
“Police put this stuff on the Internet, askin’ for tips.”
Why didn’t he check for cameras? Jahlil thought. Why in the hell didn’t he check?
“It already got like five thousand views. Even some of the kids inside seen it and sending it to their friends. You promised you wouldn’t do it again, Jahlil.”
“I ain’t promise nothing,” Jahlil said, angry, pounding himself in the head with the side of his fist. If that was all over the Internet, then it was just a matter of time before someone contacted the police, told them it was him. If that was the case, Jahlil didn’t have time to stand here and explain to Bug why he had made the worst mistake of his life. Would he run? Would he try to somehow take Shaun with him? Would he even tell Shaun? His mother? His father?
“Did you hear me?” Bug yelled. “Why?”
“Because I had to!”
“You could’ve come to me, or your folks. You could’ve—”
“And what the fuck would you have done, Bug?” Jahlil lashed out. “Or them? Ya’ll ain’t done nothing before. Why would this time be any different? Tell me, Bug. You yelling all in my face, telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing when you ain’t got the fucking problems I got.”
Bug was silent, his eyes forced down.
“Good-bye, Bug,” Jahlil said, turning and quickly walking away.