On the Come Up(14)

“What about you?” I ask Malik, and suddenly, my heart beats super fast at the idea of lunch alone with him.

But he frowns. “Sorry, Bri. Gotta go to the lab and work on this documentary.” He holds up his camera.

Welp, so much for my idea. I probably won’t see either of them until we get back on the bus. See, Sonny and Malik have their groups at Midtown. Unfortunately for me, Sonny and Malik are my group. When they’re with their groups, I have nothing on top of being nobody. They’re both pretty damn brilliant, too. Everybody in visual arts loves Sonny’s graffiti pieces. Malik’s won a couple of awards for his short films.

I just gotta get through one more year in this place. One more year of being quiet, unassuming Bri who stays to herself as her friends get their glow-ups.

Yeah.

We get in line for security. “Think Long and Tate have calmed down since yesterday?” Sonny asks.

“Probably not.” They’re always power tripping. Last week, they put Curtis through an extra security screening, even though the metal detector didn’t beep when he went through. They claimed they wanted to be “sure.”

“I’m telling y’all, the way they do security is not normal,” Malik says. “My mom doesn’t do people like this, and she deals with criminals.”

Malik’s mom, Aunt ’Chelle, is one of the security guards at the courthouse.

“Y’all do realize they’ve gotten worse since last year, right?” says Malik. “Seeing that cop get away with murder probably made them think they’re invincible too.”

“You might be on to something, Malik X,” says Sonny.

That’s been our nickname for Malik since the riots. The whole situation shook him up. It shook me up too, can’t lie, but Malik’s been on another level, always talking about social justice and reading up on stuff like the Black Panthers. Before the riots, the only Black Panther he cared about was T’Challa.

“We need to do something,” he says. “This isn’t okay.”

“Just ignore them,” says Sonny. “They’re more talk than anything.”

Curtis goes through the metal detector with no problems. Then Shana, Deon, the three sophomores, Zane. Next it’s Sonny, followed by Malik. I stroll through after him.

The metal detector doesn’t beep, but Long puts his arm out in front of me. “Go back.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because he said so,” says Tate.

“But it didn’t beep!” I say.

“I don’t care,” Long says. “I told you to go back through.”

Fine. I go through the metal detector again. No beep.

“Hand over the bag,” Long says.

Oh, shit. My candy stash. If they find it, I could get suspended for selling on campus. Considering how much I’ve been suspended over other stuff, shit, I may get expelled.

“Hand. Over. The. Bag,” Long says.

I swallow. “I don’t have to—”

“Oh, you got something to hide?” Long says.

“No!”

“Put that camera away!” Tate tells Malik.

He’s got it out and pointed at us. “I can record if I want!”

“Hand over the bag!” Long tells me.

“No!”

“You know what—”

He reaches for my backpack strap, but I snatch it away. By the look that flashes across his eyes, I shouldn’t have done that.

He grabs my arm. “Give me that backpack!”

I yank away. “Get your hands off me!”

Everything happens in a blur.

He grabs my arm again and pulls it behind me. The other one goes behind me too. I try to yank and tug away, which only makes his grip tighter. Before I know it, my chest hits the ground first, then my face is pressed against the cold floor. Long’s knee goes onto my back as Tate removes my backpack.

“Yo! What the fuck!” Sonny shouts.

“Get off of her!” Malik says, camera pointed at us.

“You brought something in here, huh?” Long says. He wraps plastic around my wrists and pulls it tight. “That’s why you didn’t want us to see it, huh? You li’l hoodlum! Where’s all that mouth you had yesterday?”

I can’t say a word.

He’s not a cop.

He doesn’t have a gun.

But I don’t wanna end up like that boy.

I want my mom.

I want my dad.

I wanna go home.





Five


I end up in Principal Rhodes’s office.

My arms are tied behind me. Long dragged me in here and made me sit down a few minutes ago. He’s in Dr. Rhodes’s office now. She told her secretary, Ms. Clark, to call my mom and keep an eye on me, like I’m the one who needs to be watched.

Ms. Clark looks through my files on her computer for Jay’s work number. Surprised she doesn’t know it by heart by now.

I stare straight ahead. The office has inspirational posters on every wall. One is a complete lie: “You can’t control what other people do. You can only control the way that you react.”

No, you can’t. Not when your arm is jerked behind you, or you’re lying on the floor with a knee in your back. You can’t control shit then.