Juilliard or Else
I dedicate this book to my wonderful husband.
For always being so patient with me in this process.
For always being there, for always loving me.
One choice can make you or break you.
That one choice can be life changing.
Choose right or choose wrong.
What's more important…Fun or Happiness?
That one choice is yours.
-Nichele Reese
"
This going to be enough?" the stranger asked, looking at what I had given him, opening his hand and then closing it fast again.
"Should be," I answered quickly, then glanced down the street because I heard police sirens getting closer to us as they headed our way.
One police car rounded the corner, and I watched as it pulled over to the curb to stop in front of us with its lights flipped on. "Stay still, man," I told the stranger who complied. "Whatever you do, don't run." I turned my body and looked at the lit up vehicle. Of course, I was pretty sure I knew who was driving it: the one and only Officer Daniels. He always patrolled this area and knew me pretty well, including all the shenanigans I had gotten myself into over the years.
Sure enough, it was Officer Daniels who stepped out of the patrol car. He slowly walked over to us, taking his sweet time with one slow step after another. He had on his usual policeman attire, but today he had on an extra jacket. The weather took a turn for the worse, making it a very cold and windy during this early morning. The wind was so cold that it almost felt like tiny paper cuts on my face. In Brooklyn, it always got really windy around the beginning of September to remind us that winter was coming.
"Tucker," Officer Daniels growled and nodded his head. My body went stiff as a board when he used my name like that. He already knew what I'd been doing this morning.
"What, Daniels?" I snapped, shoving my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie.
"I hope you're not selling your product out here to this guy…or should I say boy."
I glanced over my shoulder at the kid, who slowly backed away from me. I knew he was young, but he was old enough to know what the hell he was getting himself into by contacting me and coming into this part of town. Watching him back away from me some more, I already knew what he was planning to do, and before I could say anything to stop him, he took off down the sidewalk at full speed.
"Goddamn it, Tucker! You promised you were done with this shit!" Officer Daniels yelled at me while pulling off his Walkie Talkie to give out the description of the kid who took off and which direction he was headed in.
I heard the sirens of the rest of the cop cars that always patrolled this area with Daniels. No matter what, the kid was going to get busted; he didn't stand a chance against the cops around here. He was a noob in the drug world – even I could tell that. But if I didn't get rid of it fast, my buddy would be in even more trouble – life or death kind of trouble.
Daniels just glared at me. "You said you were done, Tucker, or should I just finally take your ass into custody?" Daniels knew my situation at home. He knew I didn't have any money to get myself out of jail; my mother wouldn't bail me out either. She didn't have a dime to her name, and even if she did, it would evaporate faster than water.
I put my hands up, defending myself as I heard more sirens coming in our direction. "I'm done, Daniels, swear."
He let out a big breath that I could see in the cold morning air. "Get outta here," he warned me and jerked his head to the side.
"Alright, man," I muttered at him, turning around to leave, cutting through the alleyways to head back where I belonged: Bushwick, Brooklyn.
The morning sun was beginning to shine through the spray painted buildings, which were marked up in graffiti. The sound of beer cans echoed through the empty alleyways as the cold wind blew around them.
I made my way back to the run-down apartment I shared with my mother. The cold air was hitting my face harder than before, so I pulled up the hood from my gray hoodie to help keep warm, wishing that I had worn something heavier.
As I rounded a corner, I kicked an empty pop can most of the way back. Thinking about what Officer Daniels just told me, I really did need to stop dealing, or I was going to find myself in a situation I would regret. As I passed more buildings, black trash bags lined most of the front walls – just another day to show that the garbage man could give two shits about our trash. Most people considered where I lived an unwelcome part of the neighborhood, and it was. You shouldn't be caught walking around here after dark, carrying any money or wearing any sort of jewelry on you. It was simple; you shouldn't come to this part of town, but if you did and you were smart, you'd carry a gun.
A screaming woman on the sidewalk shouting at her husband didn't make me move any faster as I buzzed myself into my cold, dirty building and walked up the creaky four flights of stairs to my apartment. The screaming woman reminded me of my mom and my dirt bag of a father always fighting. When I was eight, I would scream at them to stop, but my dad just ended up beating me until I stopped or passed out. They could never get along and my dad finally left us. He left me and my mom dirt poor and in a shitty apartment. He never came around at first, but then he started coming around sporadically to beat my mom and take what little money she'd had. But I haven't seen him in a couple of years now, so I don't know what's happened to him.
As I climbed the stairs, my eyes scanned over the dirty green and brown flowered wallpaper stripping away. The holes in the walls seemed to grow larger by the day, and the broken banister looked like it had its day a hundred years ago when the building was first built. The hallway lights flickered as if they were trying to stay on, but the electricity was deciding on something else. This building was so run-down and old that you had to watch your every step on the stairs or you might just fall through the boards; each step almost felt like it would be your last.
A little warmer now that I was inside, I pulled my hood down as I reached the top of the dirty stairs. I paused a moment as I heard loud bass music coming from the end of the hall where my apartment was.
Groaning, I knew when that type of music was playing, it meant Skinner was with my mom. I made my way down the hallway to my apartment and reached above the doorframe for the little copper key. When I stepped into the apartment, all the lights were off. The music pounded away as if the speakers were ready to blow, and my eyes scanned the room, looking around for evidence of Skinner.
Inside the apartment was shittier than the building itself. Garbage was everywhere; fur stuck to the carpet from my mom's three cats, and the crappy furniture looked even trashier since she never vacuumed. Dishes with old food stuck to them flooded the sink. Newspaper was crumbled up all over the counter and table. I stomped my foot hard at one of the cats, making it hiss and skitter away fast as lightning.
