Tyler Johnson Was Here(20)

When we make it to 108 Sycamore Lane, I end up walking to the shabby wooden door with cracks and a floor mat that says WELCOME, LEAVE THE DRAMA OUTSIDE, and I knock.

I wait, and the entire time I look back at G-mo and Ivy, who stand there with scared and confused faces. All that’s running through my head is that Tyler is missing and I have to bail out a drug dealer so he can help me find my brother.

And a moment later, a girl peeks her head through a crack in the door, a shower cap in hand.

It’s the girl from the party. Faith.

She has her hair tied back in a single braided ponytail and curiosity on her face. She looks and smells sweet, and one waft of her makes me lose my words.

Her forehead wrinkles. “Can I help you?” I see her dark brown eyes. Dark brown, like umber.

Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. His name echoes in my head.

I put my arm behind my head and force myself to say, “Do—do you know Johntae?” And I can’t fucking believe I say doo-doo. And I can’t believe I ask her this stupid question. Of course she knows him.

Her smile fades, and then there’s a frown and an evil look in her eyes. “Why?” she asks. “Who wants to know?”

“Johntae sent me here to, uh, get money for his bail.”

“Well, you tell that no-good piece of shit that I said to fuck off next time you talk to him. Say it exactly like that.” And then she slams the door in my face.

Feeling my heart pick up speed, I pause and look back at Ivy and G-mo, who both just shrug. Then I knock again, telling myself to get it together as the door opens once more, and Faith stands there.

“Tyler Johnson,” I say slowly, so I don’t stutter. “Have you seen him?”

“No. I don’t know him.”

“He’s my twin brother and he’s missing, and I need help finding him. Please. He was at Johntae’s party. You had to have seen him. Please.” My voice rises.

“I don’t know him,” she repeats, even firmer than before, craning her neck sideways. “And I don’t know where he is.”

“Johntae knows things a lot of people don’t, like the secrets of Sterling Point and hideouts that Tyler never told me about.” I stop to take a breath, wanting to keep going, but the words dam up in my throat.

I don’t think she believes me. “Please,” I say firmly. Don’t start crying, I command myself.

She exhales, licking her lips, and I watch her face change, like she realizes my desperation. She swings the door open all the way. “And why did you come here?” she breathes out over my face, smelling like she’s just eaten fresh pineapple.

“I need the bail money for Johntae so he can tell me where my brother is. I don’t have it.”

I can feel the blood rushing in my ears while I wait for her to say something back—anything.

I know she wants to help me. I can tell by the look in her eyes.

But all she says is “I’m sorry, I can’t,” before shutting the door again and locking it.

Defeated, I walk down the sidewalk a few blocks with G-mo and Ivy, both of them telling me we’ll figure out another way to get the bail money to find Tyler, making lefts and rights when needed, taking in the hideous sight that is my origin story. The cracked sidewalks are like ripped paper bags. And everything, to me, just looks like a mound of trash.





? 10 ?


With no other way to get the money to bail out Johntae, it’s now up to me. Ivy, G-mo, and I go back to G-mo’s place to flesh out a plan and collect our thoughts, and his mom, Lupe—a short brown woman with long, curly black hair and eyebrows as bushy as G-mo’s—makes us chips and guacamole. I’ve never had it before and it tastes amazing, and something about the lime or the cilantro or whatever else is in it calms my nerves.

My phone buzzes with Twitter and Instagram notifications. People from school are uploading their pictures from the party, captioning them everything from Wild night to The night I almost got ganked. None of the photos have Tyler in them.

I sit in the middle of a brown, scraggly loveseat, Ivy to my left and G-mo to my right. Seventeen years I’ve known Tyler, and suddenly disappearing isn’t something he’d just do. My leg begins to shake from my thoughts, and I let out slow breaths.

I walk over to the window that’s across the room and press my face up against it, scanning the vastness and the limits of the city. G-mo’s apartment is only on the fourth floor of this apartment building, but I can almost see my house in the distance.

I feel someone creep up behind me. It’s Ivy.

“Hey,” she says. She takes off her blue jean jacket, revealing an Eminem/Slim Shady T-shirt, and then she starts to fan herself. “I admire you, Marv.”

I raise my eyebrows.

She flashes a smile, and I notice G-mo’s finishing off the guacamole straight tongue-to-bowl style. “I’ve never felt as tight with my siblings or anyone as I do with you and G. And I don’t mean that on no weird, straight, lovey-dovey shit either. But like family.” She looks away. “I don’t know what I would do if either of y’all went missing.”

I don’t even notice I’m crying until I feel the drops roll down my face. G-mo’s mom is in her bedroom, yelling something at him in Spanish. He answers back.

The glass bowl clinks down to the coffee table in front of the loveseat, and G-mo clears his throat. “Remember that one white girl who got kidnapped by her ex-boyfriend and it was like World War Three?”