Just Another Hero (10 page)

Kofi heard Jericho sigh. “Yeah, lookin' back, it was pretty stupid, missing that shot, you know. So I called the man and he let me have a private audition a couple of weeks ago.”

“That's cool. How'd you do?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Jericho replied with a laugh. “I played my trumpet so sweet and so good they wanted
to change the name of the school to Jericho University!”

“You crazy, dude. So is that where you're going in the fall?”

“Well, I also had a football scout from Michigan State come talk to me.”

“Shut up!”

“He's offerin' me a full ride—books and everything,” said Jericho.

“Man! You think it's too late for me to learn to play the drums or get good at ping-pong or something?”

Jericho laughed. “You got straight As, Kofi. That ought to get you something. And I've seen you play ping-pong, so forget that one!”

“So what are you gonna do? Which one are you gonna take?”

“I don't know yet, man. I applied to a couple of other schools too. Olivia says go with my heart and trust my gut, but I don't know what that is. I just don't know.”

Kofi was quiet for a moment. “Funny. Dana tells me the same thing. Holler back tomorrow, man. Peace out.” He shut the phone.

Kofi lay restlessly on the bed, thinking about his parents. He knew he'd have a hard time falling asleep. The prescription bottle in his pocket started calling out to him.
Boy, if I don't get out of this house soon, I'll end up just like them.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21

ARIELLE PADDED DOWN THE HALL IN HER
bare feet to shower and brush her teeth before bed. She loved the feel of the thick, cushioned carpet between her toes.

I'm beat,
she thought, stretching her arms above her head.
I could sleep for a year.
She yawned.

Like a bad dream, Chad came out of the bathroom, startling her. He wore a lush black silk bathrobe with matching slippers. “Did you finish your homework?” he asked her.

“Yes. All of it.” She hoped his interrogation would be brief.

“Dinner dishes washed and put away?”

“Yes.”

“Kitchen floor swept?”

“Yes.” Chad employed a maid service that came in twice a week, but she couldn't figure out why. It seemed like he made her do all the cleaning before they even got there.

“You have exactly three minutes in the shower,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The water bill was a little high last month.”

“I know,” she said with resignation. She started to ask him how long
he'd
taken in the shower, but she didn't want to get into another confrontation.

“You are so wasteful. I left you a bar of soap from one of my hotel trips and a half inch of toothpaste on your brush.”

Arielle hated that hotel soap—it was harsh, didn't lather, smelled like perfumed medicine, and made her skin dry and itchy. Plus, it was so small it barely filled the palm of her hand.

But all she said was, “Thanks, Chad. Good night.”

She closed and locked the bathroom door and leaned against the cool yellow tiles. Egyptian cotton towels and rugs the color of buttercups decorated the room. But like all the other rooms in the house, it seemed to Arielle to be just another pretty prison.

She stayed in the shower a full ten minutes, just to spite Chad, and took her time drying off and putting on her pajamas and robe. The bathroom, warm and steamy, was a pleasant respite from the rest of the house, which Chad kept on the chilly side. She unlocked the door and headed to her room.

The door of the bedroom her mother shared with Chad was slightly ajar, and she could hear their animated, agitated conversation. She knew she shouldn't listen, but, well, they should have shut the door if they didn't want her to hear, she reasoned.

“Don't tell me how to run my business or my household!” she could hear Chad saying.

“I don't care how you treat your clients, but this is our
family
, Chad.”

“Even a family needs structure, Michelle.”

“But…somehow it feels like…you're using a hammer instead of a hug to control things,” her mother said hesitantly.

“Hugs are a waste of time.” Chad's voice was gruff.

“Not to me.” Her mother was silent for a moment.

Arielle tiptoed closer to the door.

Chad said suddenly, “You should have met my father.”

“You hardly talk about your dad.”

“Army general. Tough. Hard. Proud. I felt his iron fist many nights.” Chad's voice sounded tight and tense.

I bet his dad was a real piece of work!
Arielle thought, shaking her head.

“That must have been rough for you as a kid,” Michelle said gently. “But surely he had a soft side too.”

Yeah, right—Chad the huggable baby. Hah!

“Heroes don't hug.”

“Daddies do.”

Good one, Mom!

“Perhaps. But fathers do not.”

“Oh Chad, in some ways I feel sorry for both of you.”

“I don't need your sympathy, Michelle.”

Then her mother asked, “Do you think Arielle is as strong as you were as a child?”

Arielle leaned forward to hear better.

“Arielle? She's a puff of smoke.”

So that's what he thinks of me?
Not that she was surprised, but it still hurt to hear him talk about her like that.

“If that's true, do you think maybe you're too hard on her?”

Good lookin' out, Mom!

“She needs discipline.”

“Give her a chance, Chad. She's just a kid.”

Thanks, Mom.

“By the time I was her age, I had a straight A average and I'd been accepted at West Point.”

“She's not you.”

“Look, I don't ask for much—just do things my way.”

Of course! Because your way is the only way! What a narrow-minded piece of scum….

“I know, but—”

Don't cave in, Mom. Stand up for me!

“Aren't you happy here?” Chad interrupted her.

“It's lovely. I love this house, the roses in the yard, the furniture, the paintings, even the plates and glasses. Every time I come in the front door, I take a deep breath and smile with pleasure.”

Me too, but I'd never admit that to him.

“Doesn't all that make you happy?” asked Chad.

“I can't hug the carpet, Chad. It's people who make happiness, not furniture.”

Another good one, Mom!

“I've never been one to show emotions, Michelle. You knew that when you married me. I've given you all I can. If that's not enough, then…then…maybe it's time to move on.”

What? Uh-oh! But maybe this is a good thing.

Her mother exhaled loudly. “Are
we
happy, Chad? When's the last time we went out and did something just for fun?”

“The office Christmas party,” Chad replied.

“That wasn't fun—that was a required appearance.”

“You looked drop-dead gorgeous that night.” Chad's voice went low.

“Thanks, but what was I—just another holiday decoration?”

Mom sounds sad,
Arielle thought.

“Michelle, what do you want from me? I've given you and Arielle so much.”

“And we appreciate it, Chad.”

“It can all go away, you know.”

“Is that a threat?” her mother asked.

I woulda asked the same thing.

“I need to get some sleep,” Chad said, his voice dismissive and final. “I have to be at the gym at six. Turn off the light, Michelle. We'll discuss this more at a later time.”

“Should I make an appointment?”

Good final jab, Mom.

“I'll ignore that. Go to sleep.”

Arielle tiptoed back to her room, but it was a long, long time before she fell asleep.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 24

“QUIT HOGGIN' ALL THE PIZZA!” DANA SAID
with a laugh, grabbing the warm, greasy slice from Kofi.

“Girl, don't be messing with me and my food!” he said, snatching it back.

“You had six pieces!” she cried out, pulling it away from him while he was in mid-bite.

“Don't you want me big and strong so I can protect you from monsters and dragons and stuff?”

“I might need protection from your dragon breath!” she teased, holding her nose. “That garlic is kickin'!”

He leaned over and breathed heavily in her face. “All to keep you under my spell, my princess!”

“You're wack, Kofi.” She snuggled closer to him on the sofa.

“Seriously, I'm glad you stopped by, Dana. You always know when I need company—or food!” He grinned.

“Where's your mom?” Dana asked.

“Who knows? Thursday is ladies' night at lots of the clubs, and she gets in free. She'll probably hit several of them before she drags in here.” He picked up a frayed sofa pillow and punched it.

“And your dad?”

“He's at work, I think. He's been taking late shifts at the post office. I gotta admit—he seems to be trying.”

“I like your dad,” Dana said.

“You do?”

“Sure. He looks like you—only a little grayer and fuzzier. And he's got a great sense of humor. He cracks me up with his corny jokes.”

“Yep, that's my pop. Always ready with a funny line and a tip on which horse is sure to win at Turfway.” Kofi sighed.

“Does he still spend a lot of time at the track?”

“There, and at the casinos. Time and money,” said Kofi. “Way too much of both. Every credit card we have is charged up to the max, plus he has several of those payday check-cashing loans to pay back.”

“Does he ever win?”

“Sometimes. He comes in whooping about how he won a thousand dollars at the slots. But he forgets that he lost two thousand trying to do it.” He took a bite of the slice Dana held out to him.

“Just think, in a few months you'll be far away from all of this,” Dana reminded him.

“But what's going to happen to them if I leave? They'll end up evicted in no time.”

“You're the kid,
not
the parent here, Kofi!” she told him
sternly. “It's
not
your responsibility to take care of them! They're adults!”

“If I go off to college, I'll probably come home and find them living in a cardboard box downtown.”

“Well, if they are, you just stop by the box and say hello, kiss them both on the cheek, then leave them there! You're not responsible for what your parents do…or don't do.”

Kofi looked up at the cracked ceiling. “I guess you're right,” he admitted.

“I know I am.”

Sitting on the worn, lumpy sofa with Dana, listening to the rain outside, made Kofi feel better than he had in a while.

“My parents love me, you know,” he said finally.

“Of course they do.”

“Maybe I'm having second thoughts,” he said, rubbing the fuzz on his chin. “It wouldn't hurt for me to stay home for a couple of semesters and keep an eye on them. Maybe I can get a better job, a full-time job, and save more money for school.”

“Kofi Freeman! If you give up on MIT, I will break up with you—no lie!” she warned.

“You wouldn't!” he said, checking her face to see if she was serious.

“No more of these sweet, juicy kisses. No more hugs on this hot, sexy body!” Her words were teasing, yet her tone was not.

“I couldn't handle that. I'd go flush myself down the toilet!” He leaned over to kiss her, putting his hands around her waist.

She pulled back, however. “I'm dead serious, Kofi.”
Then she looked thoughtful. “Have you checked your mail today?”

“It's raining, girl. Gimme some of them lips.”

“No. That letter might have come from the McDonald's scholarship folks. Go check your mail.”

“You cold, Dana.”

“Mailbox first. Dana body next.” She folded her arms across her chest and grinned at him.

“Do you know how many teenagers work for McDonald's?”

“Thousands, I'm sure.”

“And how many do you think applied for that scholarship money?”

“Lots.”

“So what makes you think I have a shot at it?”

“Because you're cuter than the rest of them! Now go check the mail!”

He pulled his long body up from the couch, stretched, and gazed at his saucy girlfriend.
I'm the luckiest dude in the world,
he thought.

“Why are you cheesin' like that?” she asked.

“Just thinkin' about you and me.”

She smiled. “I can't wait for prom,” she said. “I already bought my dress. It's white and slinky and cut down to here, and up to there,” she said, pointing to her upper thigh.

“Aw, man! I'm gonna need a million dollars just to graduate!” He slapped his forehead.

“I don't need a limo or a fancy dinner for prom. Just you. Only you.”

“Girl, you the bomb!”

“Go check the mail, silly.”

Kofi shivered as he ran out to the edge of the porch, where the mailbox hung by one rusty nail. He lifted the lid and pulled out a handful of damp envelopes. He did not look at them. Instead he saw the sagging wooden porch beams, the blistered, peeling, faded blue paint, and the door that barely closed on rainy days like this one. It looked like crap.

“Anything good?” Dana asked as she took the pizza box to the kitchen.

He ripped open the first one. “Well, it looks like we have three days to pay the electric bill, or they cut off the power.”

“Can you pay it?” she asked.

“The folks at the electric company billing office downtown office know me by now. I'll give them a little something when I get paid tomorrow and work out a payment plan—another one.”

“You sure got a handle on that one,” Dana told him.

He shrugged. “I figure it out as I go.” He opened another envelope. “Here's an offer for a credit card for my dad. Are these people stupid?”

“We get those things at our house all the time too. Don't they check credit records or stuff like that?” Dana asked him.

“I think they just get names out of the phone book.” Kofi ripped the letter into little pieces. “They should send me a medal and thank me for saving them the trouble of chasing down my father every month for their money!”

Then he paused at the next envelope. The return address simply had those familiar golden arches in the upper left-hand corner.

Dana looked over his shoulder. “Didn't I tell you?” she said excitedly.

Kofi grinned, put down the rest of the mail, and ripped open the envelope. His heart beat fast as he hurriedly unfolded the letter. “Oh, Dana!”

“Read it! Read it!”

Kofi read the first paragraph. “‘Dear Mr. Freeman: The McDonald's National Employee Scholarship Program is one of many examples of McDonald's commitment to employee development and recognition. The program recognizes and rewards the accomplishments of McDonald's student-employees who excel in their studies, serve their communities, and work hard to deliver an outstanding experience for our customers.'”

“We knew all that already,” said Dana. “Get to the good part!”

Kofi's face fell as he read the next paragraph. “‘Although we admire your dedication to your studies and excellence as an employee, we regret to inform you that your application was not chosen as a winner this year.'” He tossed the letter and the rest of the mail on the coffee table.

“Well, that sucks,” Dana said, dropping back onto the sofa.

“I told you. It was a million-to-one chance.”

“You applied for other grants and stuff, didn't you?”

“Yeah. But all of them have hundreds of kids like me with their hands out for help.”

“Don't give up hope, Kofi. I believe in miracles,” Dana told him.

“You sound like my mother,” he replied glumly.

But Dana picked up the rest of the mail and proceeded to go through it. “What's this one, Kofi?” she asked, sliding an envelope from the bottom of the ads for home-goods and hardware stores. She passed it to him.

Written on thick, cream-colored stationery, the letter was addressed to Mr. Kofi Freeman. He rubbed his fingers across his name.

“Who's it from?” she asked.

“The Freedom Achievers Association in Washington, DC.”

She inhaled. “Is that the group that picks one student from each state?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Just fifty kids from the entire United States who will get a full ride to the college of their choice?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He held the letter like it was breakable.

“When did you apply?”

“I guess I filled out the application last year. Actually, I forgot I even sent it in.”

“So open it!” she implored.

“I'm afraid to read it,” he admitted.

“I have a feeling this is good news,” she said softly.

“McDonald's just blew me off,” he reminded her.

“What does McDonald's know?” Dana urged him again, “Open it!”

“Nah, one disappointment a day is about all I can handle.”

“Kofi, open it! Or I will.”

“Chill, woman.” He slid his finger under the flap and
pulled out a sheet of the thickest stationery he'd ever seen. His hands shook.

“Kofi?” she whispered. “Read it to me.”

He cleared his throat. “‘Dear Mr. Freeman.'” He looked up at Dana. “See, it's just like the other one. There's no point—”

Dana bopped Kofi in the head with a sofa pillow. “Tell me what it says!”

Slowly, Kofi continued. “‘It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you have been selected as the Freedom Achiever Scholarship Award recipient for the state of Ohio.'”

He could barely breathe.

“Keep reading!” Dana insisted.

“I'm reading! I'm reading! ‘Only one student from each state is chosen for this prestigious honor. This award will provide full tuition, as well as room and board and books, to the college or university of your choice. If you maintain a 3.5 average in your college studies, the award will be renewed for up to four years.'”

Dana pounced on Kofi, causing both of to them fall off the couch. “Oh my God! Kofi, you did it! You did it! They're going to pay for everything! It's gonna happen!”

Kofi sat on the floor and finished reading the letter, which talked about the necessity of high grades for the rest of the senior year, an awards ceremony in Washington, DC, and tons of paperwork to be filled out in the next few weeks.

He gulped, then gasped. Then he hollered “Whoopee!” and leaped onto the battered sofa and started jumping up
and down like a little kid. He grabbed Dana's hand and pulled her up next to him, and the two of them jumped and bounced like jelly beans and hugged and kissed and jumped some more.

“I'm goin' to MIT!” he said, dumbfounded.

“I'm so proud of you I could just scream!” she replied.

“So scream, baby! There's nobody home but you and me.”

She shrieked. She screeched. She hugged him again. Gasping and out of breath, they flopped back down on the sofa.

“We oughta call Natasha Singletary, that reporter on Channel Five who wears too much lip gloss!” Dana suggested with enthusiasm.

“Why would she care? And who notices lip gloss?”

“Me and my girls in the fashion police,” she told him with a laugh. “But your scholarship is big news, Kofi! The only award given in the whole state? Everybody in town ought to know!”

“Naw, no reporters. It's enough you're proud of me,” Kofi told her.

“Well, okay—if you say so. But read it again!” she said. “I want to hear every beautiful word one more time.”

Relaxed and grinning this time, Kofi started to read the letter once more.

“Dear Mr. Freeman,” he began, trying to make his voice sound deep and dignified. “It is with great pleasure—”

“Kofi, what's this?” Dana asked, interrupting him.

The mood of the room changed as quickly as a summer storm changes the day from sunshine to thunder clouds.

Dana held a small amber container with the childproof white cap.

“Uh, nothing.” He hadn't even noticed that the bottle had flipped out of his pants pocket. He tried to grab it back from her, but she angrily held it away from him.

“You told me you quit.” Her voice was dangerous.

“I did!”

“These are half gone and…” She paused and looked at the date on the label. “This was just filled last week!” Her words were like sharp knives.

“I spilled some.”

“You LIE!”

“I don't really need them,” he told her, looking down at the floor.

She turned to him, lifted his chin with her fingertips, and looked him directly in the eye. “You are about to screw up the rest of your life!” she growled.

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet.

“You just got a free ticket to the Superbowl and you're peeing on it!”

“Dana, I don't
want
to take them, but I can't help it,” he protested. “It's not my fault.”

“That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life.” She looked at him again—this time with a frown.

“It's just that my parents are
so
hard to deal with.”

She poked him hard in the chest. “Don't you
dare
blame this on your parents! Do they beat you with a stick and force those pills down your throat? I love you, Kofi. But if you don't get control of this,
you
will end up living with your parents in that cardboard box! Is that
what you want?” He had never seen her so angry.

“I'm not going to be able to get any more meds anyway,” he told her. “Dr. Stinson told me no more refills. He figured out I was using them as a crutch. He's no dummy.”