IQ(14)

Marcus was a jack-of-all-trades, master of everything. Plumbing, electrical, tile, drywall, masonry, cabinetmaking, and fine carpentry; he could do it all as well as any professional. He’d crafted a cherry wood rocking chair for Harley Barnes, assistant director at the Long Beach Public Library. The rocking chair was a present for Harley’s mother who was turning eighty. She said it was too beautiful to sit on and kept it in her living room like a Christmas tree. Harley got Isaiah a part-time job checking out books and reshelving the returns. It paid minimum wage and that wouldn’t be enough. Marcus had also worked at Manny’s Deli. He installed new plumbing in the men’s room, replaced the locking mechanism on the walk-in freezer, reglazed the windows, stopped the leaks under the steam table, and basically kept the place from falling apart.

“Marcus was a good guy,” Manny said. “He had a good heart. The best.” Isaiah bowed his head and cried. “You need help?” Manny said, putting his hands on Isaiah’s shoulders. “I’ll help you, but working, right? No charity. Your brother would kill me.” Manny put Isaiah to work on weekends, busing tables, mopping floors, and washing the mountains of dishes.

Isaiah calculated his take-home pay from both jobs would be about seven hundred and eighty dollars after taxes. Six hundred and seventy for the rent left thirty dollars a week for groceries, cell phone, DSL, bus fare, and everything else. Dictating the action was easier said than done.


It was luck how he met Dodson. Both of them were waiting in the admin office, Isaiah for the guidance counselor, Dodson for the vice principal. Dodson had worn his gold chain to school and bling wasn’t allowed. When he was told to remove it he refused, saying the two Jewish kids wore those beanies and it was the same thing. Dodson sat in an orange plastic chair with his feet stuck straight out and talking on his cell. He was wearing jeans, Pumas, and a white T-shirt but somehow looked slick. You could tell he was short, even sitting down.

“My Auntie May kicked me out, you believe that shit?” Dodson said. “Talkin’ ’bout she knew I was selling drugs and didn’t want the devil’s minion in her house. Shit. I ain’t no minion, I’m her goddamn nephew.”

The receptionist, Mrs. Sakamoto, was glaring at him. She had short gray hair, a dark blue dress with yellow trapezoids on it, and a bunch of gold hoop bracelets that sounded tinny when they clinked. “Put the phone away, please, or you’ll get detention,” she said.

Dodson ignored her and dialed another call. “It’s me,” he said. “What? I was at Omari’s but not in his house. I was sleeping in that shed, yeah, in the backyard, one of them plastic things you get at Home Depot, couldn’t even stand up inside, in there with the flowerpots and fertili—hey, that shit ain’t funny.”

“Young man,” Mrs. Sakamoto said, “put that phone away.”

Dodson ended the call and dialed another. “Well?” he said. “Yeah, I can pay some rent. Where do I sleep? In the same room with who? Your grandmother? Fuck you, Freddie, and f*ck your grandmother too.”

“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Sakamoto said as Dodson dialed another call. “Put the phone down immediately or you’ll get detention!”

Isaiah felt sorry for her. No leverage except something the guy didn’t care about. Like threatening a stone with water.

“Your daddy don’t want a gangsta in the house?” Dodson said, his voice going up an octave. “You a gangsta!”

“I’m going to get Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Sakamoto said, her bracelets clinking as she walked away.

“Tell him I’m not giving up my chain,” Dodson said.


Isaiah talked to Mr. Avery, the guidance counselor. Avery wore black socks and sandals and wanted Isaiah to call him Seth. Isaiah told him he was quitting the team because Marcus was out of work and he had to get a job.

“Yeah, it’s a tough economy,” Mr. Avery said. “Tell Marcus it’ll be okay. When one door closes another one opens.”

What a bunch of bullshit, Isaiah thought. There are no doors without Marcus.

“You’re one of my favorite people,” Mr. Avery said, “and I have to be honest with you. We need you on the team. We’re not going to win the sectionals without your help. Now don’t take this the wrong way, but when I write recommendations for your college apps, well—just sayin’.”

He’s threatening me? This prick is holding college over my head if I don’t stay on the team? Like college means anything without Marcus?

“I don’t give a shit about college, the team, or you,” Isaiah said as he got up and walked out. “Just sayin’.”


Dodson was at his locker when Isaiah caught up with him. The inside of the locker door was plastered with pictures of Tupac and oiled-up naked women. Isaiah wondered if he was making a mistake but his brain was sizzling with static and he was in a near panic about losing the apartment.

“I’ve got a place,” Isaiah said.

“A place? What place?” Dodson said.

“A place to stay. A room to rent.”

“You got an apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else is living there?”

“Nobody.”

“You got your own apartment? You ain’t no older than me.”

“You need a place or don’t you?”