Tyler Johnson Was Here(13)

I watch him search his drawers for a change of clothes, and he tosses a clean pair of cheap boxers over his shoulder before he responds.

“Like I said: No one’s taking me away.”

I bite my lip and turn back.

“Hey, Marvin, one other thing.” We look at each other a final time. “I don’t say it a lot, but I love you, bro.”

I force a small smile at him before heading to my room. For the first time in a while, the air I breathe in, and everything else, is just… peaceful.





? 7 ?


Even though my stomach turns sour every time the thought of Johntae’s party enters my mind, I text Ivy and G-mo that the only reason I’m going is to play Spy on My Twin. None of us has an actual driver’s license, so we meet up at my place and pedal our way under the still, blue sky to some mystery location that Johntae sent Tyler in a text and my nuts get really sore and tender riding on my bike, the seat worn all the way down to the metal frame.

Two numb nuts and a handful of minutes later, I arrive with G-mo and Ivy to this brick warehouse–looking building that used to be a flea market. I believe they called it Pic-A-Rag or something. Yeah, that’s it. A trash market owned by an old friend of Mama’s that got closed down because of roaches and too many robberies. For the longest time, I thought this building was abandoned, never to be used again—or maybe a place for all the homeless people of Sterling Point to take up permanent residence. But it looks totally redone from the outside, and I can only imagine what the inside is like. I guess drug dealers can afford this kind of renovation.

The line to get in is strangely long, like all of Sojo Truth High School was invited and they just so happened to bring everybody and their mama. There’s a bouncer and a slew of security guards standing on both sides of the red carpet and cutoff line rope.

And I’m all like, “What kind of drug dealer gets security guards and a bouncer at a party?” More important, though, what kind of security guards and bouncers agree to work a drug dealer’s party—a drug dealer’s anything?

“Does it really matter?” G-mo says, slapping his dry hands together like he’s about to get some grub. He twists his marijuana-green hat, turning it backward to look more suave than he really is.

“Yeah, who cares? All I want is to find me a fine-ass honey,” Ivy says, her eyes all dolled up with gold eyeliner. She’s also wearing skinny disco pants—black ones, with a white tank top and a blue jean jacket. I’m in my Notorious B.I.G. hoodie and some black jeans. The three of us really could be our own pop group or something.

G-mo and Ivy shake up hands, like they’ve made a bro pact or something—that they both have to leave this party 1) with a girl and 2) without their virginity.

My fists clutch at my sides, and I find myself sighing a bit too loudly, looking around, and checking the long line over and over again, seeing it grow.

“What’s up with you?” Ivy says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You seem… tense.”

“Nothing,” G-mo answers for me. “He just desperately needs to get laid.” And he laughs at his own joke, like it’s the greatest thing ever, but even Ivy doesn’t laugh.

Out the corner of my eye, I see Tyler entering a side door with a couple other guys who belong to Johntae’s crew. The angst is all over my body now, like goose bumps. I remain fixed on him as the anxiety pinches at the back of my throat. I’m afraid to see something I don’t really want to see. I’m afraid of knowing the truth.

Images flash through my mind of the time I saw Tyler with Johntae, dealing in the middle of the day, at Sojo High. One image haunts me: Tyler ending up like Dad—in jail, just plucked from my life.

I’m stuck in this slippery gray area between grieving the absence of my dad and watching my brother slowly vanish before my eyes. My knuckles crack as I squeeze them together. I got to remind myself to lay low and keep an eye on Tyler.

“You worry about him a lot,” Ivy says.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I worry like hell.”

She rolls up her sleeves and puts both her hands on my arms, standing in front of me to block my view of the entrance. “Worrying is stupid—but, man, it shows you’ve got a big heart in your chest. Your brother’s lucky to have you, M. You always got his back.”

I smile, and she lets me go.

I look up at the sky, and something tells me that things just might be okay.





The inside is everything I expect it to be and more. We walk through a long hallway, like a tunnel, to get the main floor. Different-colored strobe lights line the ceiling. Loud music. People dancing—no, grinding on each other. The smell of sweat and lit weed weaving through the air.

There’s a girl walking toward me. She’s tall and showing her natural hair in an Afro. Her cheetah-print shirt, the matching bottoms, the glitter around her eyes. She’s fine as hell. When she’s closer, I see she’s wearing a necklace that spells out Faith.

She brushes up against me, giving me chills. And I’m just left staring at her, pressing every inch of her into my thoughts.

She winks at me, and I feel like I’m going to die of the world’s biggest, hardest erection, but I have to remind myself why I’m really here.

Not for girls. Not for girls.

I place my hands in front of my junk and watch as she passes by, the world feeling like it’s rotating slower and slower.