Lovers & Haters (15 page)

Xavier enthusiastically patted Doug on the left shoulder. “Isn't this man a saint? He has my vote for head security officer of the year. A regular Santa Claus to kids all year round. A man who—”

“Mr. Hunter, cut the crap.”

“—cutting the crap, sir.”

Doug looked at the ID card clipped to Samantha's lapel for confirmation of her name. “I love when young people obey the rules—she has her ID card clearly visible. Mr. Hunter, you can learn a great deal about the rules around here from this young lady. Ms. Fox, may Mr. Hunter and I have a moment alone?”

“Uh-oh,” Xavier said. “Looks like I'm in trouble.”

“Sure, Doug. He's all yours. And remember, whatever you do to him, I won't be available to testify at the trial.” She preciously smiled and winked at them both before disappearing behind a cafeteria door.

“Now, Doug. Would you like to discuss the budding greatness of LeBron James, how some boxing analysts are falsely accusing Floyd “Money” Mayweather of being a coward because they claimed he was ducking Manny Pacquiao—”

“More like why little birdies around campus are singing that you are the big bird who controls Zulu muscle.”

“—or why the gas prices—not that I have a car anyway—keep going up or—”

“Mr. Hunter, please, enough with the charades.” Doug folded his arms to assume the position of authority. “With the information that I have obtained from certain channels, I can have you run out of the school, but I won't. Despite what your motives are for doing what you've done, I want you to know that even though you've managed to pull it off, there are some consequences. One of which is that you've caused the smaller gangs around Coleman to unite. The word is that Zulu is the biggest dog in the school. Dutch Westwood and Dylan Dallas are linking up to have a go at Zulu. They're calling the new gang Straight Eight.”

Doug made sure to look around before he spoke again. “See, Mr. Hunter, I know you meant well, but when people start taking the law into their own hands, all hell breaks loose. I want the school to be safe too, but I have to adhere to policy and procedure. You might have made the school safe for a little while, but that's the calm before the storm. I can feel a storm brewing, a proverbial clash for power.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Xavier said defensively.

“Of course you do.” Doug placed a strong hand on Xavier's shoulder. “Do the right thing, son. You are a very intelligent young man. Yeah, I check up on those who are worthy of being checked on. You have a four point oh GPA, top of your class. Please exercise that same intelligence to abort what you've started. Your dad would want you to do the same thing—”

A sudden crash escaped the thin cafeteria walls, a sound of chairs and tables being overturned, coupled with a few high-pitched female screams and the unified student chant of “get 'im.” With Xavier on his heels, Doug snatched opened a cafeteria door to absolute pandemonium. A thick circle of students had gathered around the two combatants. The first combatant was a no-brainer to distinguish. White boy Danny Sanford's six-foot-ten frame towered above the rest.

Doug unclipped the radio from his side to call for help.

By unspoken agreement, Doug and Xavier started peeling back layers of students. The more they removed the clearer it became who was actually the second participant in the brawl.

Cheese was going to need more than a chair to slay the basketball playing Goliath in front of him. But the little Mexican possessed huge cojones and was not backing down. He held the chair out in a threatening gesture, like it was a baseball bat. The light complexion of his brown skin made it easy to recognize the long, deep scratch across his forehead. Crimson red blood dribbled from the left corner of his mouth. The right breast pocket on his plain white V-neck shirt had been ripped and was hanging on by mere stitches.

Danny Sanford stood his ground, without a mark on him.

The beef between the two had been going on for a while now, stemming from the lunchroom incident involving Danny's girlfriend, Eve Ross. Cheese and Eve had had words that led to her trying to punk him, which led to Cheese grabbing her thumb and trying to rip that joint from its socket.

Once they broke through the crowd, Doug went and disarmed Cheese, while the mere presence of Xavier standing before Danny acted as the white boy's restraint. On the court, it was all Danny's world, but he knew what time it was with Xavier. The end game for crossing that line wouldn't be favorable.

The south door of the cafeteria opened up, and a half dozen beefy, uniformed security guards rolled in with urgency etched on their faces. They quickly worked to reestablish order. Cheese and Danny were swiftly escorted to the main office.

The course of punishment that would ultimately be selected by the principal really didn't concern Xavier. The society in which he lived would automatically move to exonerate the most popular. Danny Sanford was good for the school. He was a white boy who was holding his own in a school where his kind was the minority. It was a feelgood story to boost Coleman's credibility as an institution that encouraged diversity, a fighting sense of pride for the white students. He was the first white Irishman from Coleman to make it in the form of a rags-to-glory story in a column for
Sports Illustrated
magazine. Basketball aficionados had predicted Danny to spend one year playing college ball and enter as the top pick in the NBA draft.

Principal Skinner would probably go easy on Danny. The boy would probably wind up getting a slap on the wrist. But politics were the least of Xavier's worries. Westwood and Dallas were plotting to make a play for respect. Doug was right. Xavier had created something that was way bigger than him and was now threatening to spin out of control and could potentially end with spilling innocent blood.

What a time for something like this to happen
, Xavier thought. He spied out Romello. The boy thought he was super slick in passing what looked to be a piece of paper to the enemy, one of Westwood's henchmen. And right up under Xavier's nose. Something was happening to his homeboy. Xavier had been paying close attention to him over the past week. The earlier powwow at the lunch table about the distribution of E pills to students hadn't been the first time the subject was brought up. Romello had vaguely mentioned it in a text, only hours before Go Go and Arson had their wings clipped by five-o.

Was this coincidental?

A house divided was prime real estate for somebody to step in and take over. As Xavier watched Romello laugh and chuckle with the enemy, he realized, for the first time, that he had gotten way in over his head. Something was telling him that he'd been used as a pawn to open up the door for—as Doug had so eloquently stated—all hell to indeed break loose.

 

Xavier saw Dex walking toward the back parking lot on his way home. Dex called out to him.

“X, man, what's been up with you?” Dex asked. “Ain't been seeing you around lately—not since you've become all big time on a brotha.”

Xavier said, “I know, dog, stuff's been crazy for me.”

“Look, X, we go way back, man. I always considered you my best friend.”

Xavier peeped the concern in Dex's face. “And since we go back so far, say what you need to say.”

“You just kicked a brotha to the curve for Romello and that bunch you've been hanging with.”

Xavier shook his head. “Homeboy, trust me, it's not what you think.”

“Well, why don't you invite me to hang out with you and your new crew?”

“These cats are off into other stuff, man. Trust me, you're good like you are.”

“X, these guys are bad news, dude. What you hanging around Zulu for?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Make me.”

The hurt inside Dex's eyes was painfully obvious. Xavier wanted to tell his homeboy everything. Simply lay it all out for him but he couldn't. Since Xavier had gotten with Zulu the times he'd chilled with Dex had dramatically decreased. He felt bad that he'd neglected his longtime friend. Dex had been there with him since junior high school. And now it was like Xavier had thrown him away.

“Dex, come on, man, it's not what you think.”

Dex put his head down and said, “Take care of yourself, X.”

Xavier watched his homeboy walk away. There was nothing he could do to preserve his friendship with Dex right now. Xavier was on a mission and he wasn't going to let anybody get in his way. He wanted to tell Dex what was going on—but how could he explain to his friend that he was a car thief?

N
obody ever knew what was troubling Sally Peoples. She was forever going off on the other students for the most childish reasons. To the point where the teacher had gone to the principal and requested that Sally undergo therapy with an anger management counselor on campus. She was always disruptive in Ms. Gorman's classroom, but today, the first Friday in February, she was off the chart, attacking anything with a pulse.

“Ms. Gorman, I don't see why we have to do this stupid research paper,” Sally rudely yelled out like she had the angry version of Tourette's syndrome.

“Sally, you're one step away from Mr. Skinner's office,” Ms. Gorman warned.

Sally was insistent on having the last word. “I'm tired of you threatening me with that Hair Club for Men, bald spot, receding hairline fool!”

Because Ms. Gorman was aware that her student had a problem, she was more patient with her than the rest. Usually all it took to calm Sally down in the past was the threat of expulsion. Today the little heifer was pushing it.

The other kids didn't want Sally on their heads, so they zipped it and just acted like spectators, but not Xavier.

“Sounds like somebody was in a rush this morning and forgot to take her crazy pills,” Xavier blazed, trying to stifle a chuckle.

Samantha tapped Xavier on the shoulder and disapprovingly shook her head.

Sally's antennas instantly tuned in on Xavier.

“Xavier, do you think that was nice?” Ms. Gorman asked, folding her arms and standing in front of the blackboard.

“No you didn't, boo-boo,” Sally snarled at Xavier. “Don't think you're the King of Detroit up in this piece and can't be touched. Zulu, Tofu, soul food—Creflo Dollar, whoever those dummies are that let you control them. Well, I ain't scared of you, or them.” Sally stormed from her seat and put her hands on her hips, her neck rolling with every word. “All I gotta do is call my brother—one phone call, boo-boo, and he and his boys will be up here in a heartbeat.”

“You hear that?” Xavier asked Ms. Gorman. “The girl threatened me with her brother and those chumps he calls a street team.”

“Xavier—” Ms. Gorman began.

Sally was quick on the draw and wasn't buying Xavier's bull today. She responded, hitting way below the belt. “Oh, I forgot. Everybody”—she turned to the other students—“everybody bow down to the king. I get it. You only saved Ms. Goody Two Shoes”—Sally pointed out Samantha—“over there because you would've struck out with her if you hadn't stopped her from almost being attacked in the auditorium.”

“Sally, go to the principal's office!” Ms. Gorman yelled, almost losing her composure. “Now!”

Samantha didn't even bother to respond. Long ago, her father had taught her that the angriest people were those who had undergone some serious hurt in their lives—not that Sally's comment didn't sting, but Samantha was strong enough to let it go.

Xavier, on the other hand, wasn't as forgiving.

As Sally slowly walked to the door with tears in her eyes, Xavier took one last shot.

“Take these days off that Skinner is about to give you and call your doctor to tell him that he needs to pump up the volume on them crazy pills, you feel me?”

Everybody in the classroom was rolling. They laughed Sally right out of the room. The girl slammed the door so hard, she almost shattered the window.

“Xavier, you caused that,” Ms. Gorman blamed. “Your punishment will be a five-hundred-word essay on human feelings and emotions—aside from your book report. And to celebrate Black History Month, I want you to research black inventors. That book report is not to exceed two thousand words.”

The students thought it was funny until Ms. Gorman turned on them with her wrath.

“You students think everything is funny,” the teacher scornfully said. She walked over to a tall, free-standing locker in the corner next to her desk. She grabbed a ring of keys and opened it, removed her purse and locked it again. “Your assignment is a thousand-word book report on the subject of your choosing—approved by me of course.”

There were groans of disapproval.

“I have to go to the principal's office. I don't want a peep out of anyone in here. And you can thank Xavier for your assignment while I'm gone. You are to write ‘I will be kind to my neighbor' two hundred times.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, we only have fifteen minutes of class time left. But make it five hundred times. You can take it home for homework.”

A boy with a lemon-shaped head named Charlie Bronson had the nerve to say, “Going old school on us, huh, Teach?”

“Yes, Charles, and for your unsolicited outburst, you can spend your weekend doing some extra-credit work. Aside from choosing the topic for your book report, writing out five hundred times about being kind to your neighbor, I want you to give me two hundred times ‘I will learn to speak when spoken to.' Now if I hear a sound out of any one of you when I shut this door, you will be joining Sally!”

A
fter school, Xavier borrowed the 2001 Buick Le Sabre from Romello. Romello didn't need the ride because he had a date with an older woman who had her own wheels.

The trip to Fairlane Town Center provided fresh gear for Xavier—a new pair of black Timberlands, a crispy pair of jeans, and a black leather jacket. Xavier didn't usually go this hard when he laid down some scratch on new threads, but this time was different. He felt like he had to represent. Tonight, he would be stepping out with a dime whose beauty was so far out there that he didn't want to get caught up looking unworthy.

He also wanted to have his game tight for after the flick. She didn't know it, but they were going to get their grub on at Starter's Bar and Grill. It was a hip Detroit-based, family-friendly restaurant that had spawned a few operations, a Fairlane Town Center location, a location on the campus of Wayne State University, and the one they would be dining at on Plymouth. The place attracted a hodgepodge of urbanites—local rap stars, thugs and hoodlums, wannabes, gossipers, nosy folks, on down to the Sunday hat-wearing, after-church brunch crowd—with a fun menu offering a special array of delicacies that were deliciously off the chain.

When Samantha arrived at his front door, Xavier was in the bathroom taking a shower. Though the water sprayed out onto his muscular physique in a roar, he could still make out the doorbell. Shopping for the clothes that would custom fit the occasion had put him behind and he was now pressed for time. His anticipation of having a long, relaxing hot shower was cut short. Xavier turned off the water in time to hear the second ring of the doorbell.

His question was where the hell was Ne Ne? Before he jumped into the shower he'd told her to keep an eye out for his company. The third ring almost put him into panic mode. You just didn't leave a five-star chick like Samantha waiting on the porch. Water beaded his body as he wrapped a white towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door, getting ready to go to her.

Ne Ne walked by the bathroom with an unpleasant look on her face, like she was angry at the world. “I got it,” she said with attitude. “Waiting ain't gonna make the little rich witch melt. Us ghetto folks don't want her little prissy ass.”

Xavier had become accustomed to shaking his head in resignation at his mother's diva ways. But at this moment regret slapped him in the face. He had been so happy about the date that he'd shared information about Samantha's background with his mother when he'd arrived home from the mall.

Bad idea.

Ever since then Ne Ne's jaws seemed tight and her disposition stank. Xavier reluctantly closed the bathroom door and set his mind to finishing up, and quickly! Samantha was a once in a lifetime cutie that probably wouldn't come back around for another seventy-five years, like Halley's Comet. Time was definitely not on his side. He couldn't afford for his mother to blow this opportunity for him.

No she didn't let the doorbell ring a fourth time, with her probably standing and looking out the window
, Xavier thought.

The front door opened and Xavier could hear Ne Ne's fake greeting.

“Hey, girl, come on in and make yourself comfortable. Xavier will be out shortly.” The door closed behind Samantha.

“Ms. Hunter, you have a beautiful home and I just love your sofa set,” Samantha complimented, but Xavier could detect a note of nervousness.

“Have a seat,” Ne Ne offered. “Can I get you anything—water, soda, tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“He should be out in a minute—you know how men are. But in the meantime, let's have a little girl talk.”

Xavier almost cursed. His mother was up to no good. He'd dated a few girls, nothing serious. But Xavier had never brought anybody home to meet his mother. And the simple fact that Samantha was sitting in front of her told Xavier that Ne Ne probably knew this girl was special. Jealousy wouldn't be too far behind. His mother's personal life was crap. Nate wasn't exactly winning any boyfriend of the year awards. Xavier was aware of how his mother was cut. If her personal life was jacked up, then she wanted everybody else's to be miserable. He wasn't giving her the twisted pleasure of driving away Samantha. Moving so fast, he almost forgot his deodorant.

“So, I hear your folks are rich and you live in a mansion.” Ne Ne cut right to the chase. “Are y'all like single-, double-, or triple-digit millionaires?”

“Ne Ne,” Xavier yelled out, a bathroom echo following his voice. “Would you please stop embarrassing me? That's none of your business.” Being almost the sole breadwinner in the house extended him a little latitude for challenging his mother's stupidity, an attitude that would've gotten him in serious trouble before he started making the cash flow.

The bathroom door opened to a mild gust of wind that felt good on Xavier's warm, moist skin. Even though he had thrown on some underwear, he was still wearing the towel around his waist. The bathroom was right next to his bedroom. It made it easy for his half naked frame to slip in to dress without being seen.

Ne Ne's questions were getting more and more personal. He was afraid if he didn't finish dressing fast enough—giving Ne Ne's nosy behind more time—Xavier would be chasing and begging an angry Samantha as she made a hasty retreat through the cold wintry streets.

But pride went into every stitch of clothing that Xavier put on, starting with jeans and Timberlands. Then he noticed that the black V-neck T-shirt was still nestled inside a Champs Sports bag.

Oh crap, it would need a hot iron ran across it. That would prolong his agony for at least another five to ten minutes while he listened to Ne Ne yap on.

“Girl, those boots are smoking. If you don't mind me asking, what kind are they?”

“Gucci,” he heard Samantha answer.

Xavier was trying to read Samantha's voice, to see if there was any frustration there. Samantha seemed to be a good sport. But somehow, Xavier knew that his mother's prying nature was going to come back and bite him in the buttocks. Good thing that the ironing board was always kept in his room. Xavier set it up, plugged in the iron, and steamed like he'd never steamed before.

“Oooweee, expensive. Oh, and that's a bad leather jacket you have on. Looks really expensive too. What does your old man do for a living?”

“Ma!” Xavier cried out in desperation, breaking Ne Ne's number one rule about her children not calling her
Ma
.

“Daddy owns a few companies and—”

Oh my God
, Xavier thought.
Not the
Daddy
bomb—not with Ne Ne.
This wasn't gonna be good. Xavier almost burned a hole in his shirt trying to smooth out the wrinkles. This was flat-out sabotage. He had to hurry up and get her away from his mother.

“Yes, that's how I refer to him.” Samantha started to sound a little agitated.

“What type of businesses?”

Xavier could hear a short silence. He thought that Samantha was gonna get up and jet. But the girl still maintained a good attitude.

“A mortgage company, car service, and a furniture store chain.”

“So that big guy who got out of the car and held the door open for you—he works for your dad. . . . Excuse me, I meant to say works for
Daddy
?”

“Yes.”

“Must be nice to be chauffeured around, wear designer clothes, and live in a big fancy mansion. Does your father need a mistress?”

“Samantha, are you ready to go?” Xavier asked, rushing in and saving himself from further humiliation.

“You look real nice, Xavier,” Samantha complimented.

“Yeah, you too.” Xavier was already scooping Samantha from the couch and herding her toward the front door.

“Yes, that's my son. I changed his diapers, wiped his snotty nose, and was here when his daddy went to jail and disowned the family.”

“Okay, Ne Ne,” Xavier said, shrinking from embarrassment as he pushed Samantha out the door. “Don't stay up.”

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hunter,” Samantha said.

Xavier and Samantha were off the porch and walking around to the passenger door.

Ne Ne started waving like the two teens were about to board an airplane and fly off to a foreign destination across the Atlantic.

“My last name is Alexander, but nice to meet you too, little rich girl,” Ne Ne said, smiling sinisterly.

The devious smirk didn't get past her son. He helped Samantha into the car and went around to the driver's door. Xavier was furious with his old girl. Samantha's beauty and status had fed the belly of Ne Ne's growing insecurities. She was clearly intimidated, and by a sixteen-year-old girl.

But as Xavier started up the car and backed out of the driveway, he came to the logical conclusion that it wasn't actually all Samantha. His mother was in her early thirties and didn't have too much to show for her time on this planet. She'd solely lived off the wallets of the men she sought to keep company with. Samantha's father's success was a mirror reflecting Ne Ne's image, a broken down woman who was now living off her son's dime.

It was a pathetic existence, one that was going to get more pathetic when Xavier hit her with the news that he was getting out of the game. His illegal occupation was beginning to bear the stripes of frustration and stress. The feeling of danger flashed brightly inside his mind like the crimson red lights of a railroad crossing. Something just wasn't right. Romello wasn't telling him everything. Pieces of the puzzle didn't fit. They had done many jobs in the past; some that were really smooth operations, at times right under the noses of five-o. Now Arson and Go Go were locked up. Something was wrong and all fingers were pointing to Romello.

 

“So, foxy Fox,” Xavier said, as he lay back in the booth at My People's soul food restaurant with his back to the wall, watching everybody come in the doors of the little soul food joint on Seven Mile Road in Greenfield. Starter's Bar and Grill had been on bump, with a two-hour waiting time. So they settled on soul food. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“Yea, I really did. But next time, I'm picking the movie, Xavier.”

“What's wrong with my selection?”

“Let's just say, Xavier, Hollywood has run out of ideas.”

“Whoa. Pump the brakes. What you're saying is that you can do better?”

“I'm getting tired of the world being saved from aliens.”

“So the movie was bold, is that what you're trying to say?”

“I'm sad to say that the interaction you had with Sally today was more entertaining. You really let that poor girl have it. I felt bad for her. And what did she mean about you being in control of the Zulu gang?”

“All rumors,” Xavier lied. “Sally's a clown and everybody knows that homegirl wants me dead. Besides, I'm supposed to be your Black Knight. I felt that you were a damsel in distress and I had come to your rescue.”

“Is that right, Xavier? I'm sure glad that you are full of yourself. And isn't it supposed to be a ‘White Knight'?”

“When it becomes your fantasy, you can have your White Knight, but Black Knight seems to work just fine for me.”

Even though they were both chitchatting, Xavier could feel her uneasiness. She seemed jumpy and uncomfortable. He figured that she had become so brainwashed by her exclusive surroundings that she was painfully out of touch with her people. Xavier just wanted to give her a taste of chilling with some down home peeps. He got a kick out of Samantha almost jumping to the ceiling and clinging there like a fraidy cat by her fingernails at the sound of silverware dropping, sudden loud laughter, and restroom doors slamming.

Samantha looked around her environment. “So, Xavier, do you bring all of your dates to this place?”

Xavier smiled. “You mean to tell me that you never had food from My People's soul food restaurant? This just so happens to be the hottest joint in the city. Oh, my poor dear black girl, what has bougie-ville done to you?”

Samantha looked over at the next table where some big, black, bald-headed dude with tons of sweat on his forehead was going to town on fried chicken, mustard greens, macaroni and cheese, and corn bread. The brother's lips were so greasy that they looked like they could be sponsored by Armor All.

Xavier could feel Samantha's stomach churning. The look on girlfriend's face was priceless.

Xavier smiled. “That”—he nodded in the brother's direction—“ain't nothing but a little chicken—just a little cackle bird. Don't tell me you're afraid of grease?”

“Grease, certainly not, Xavier. But that looks like more than just a little grease—grease trap maybe. I didn't go out with you to suffer from high cholesterol.”

“You are silly—it's a dry silliness, but still funny. 'Member I told you not to quit your day job. I mean you're not gonna win any talent shows with your dry corn bread routine.”

A lively mocha-complexioned waitress with a curly weave shuffled over to their table. Xavier ordered baked chicken, pinto beans, and collards. For Samantha it took a while to find something that she felt she could keep down. She finally exercised her golden rule: when in doubt—get the chicken Caesar salad.

“Samantha, salad, really? I bring you to a four-star soul food restaurant and that's the best you can do?”

“A lady has a right to order what she wants, Xavier.”

“Oh, you're going to play the ‘woman' card. Okay, much respect. Well, since you're going to go there, let me ask you a question.” A more serious look appeared on his face.

They both paused to allow the waitress to set down water glasses and napkins with silverware neatly placed on top.

When she was gone, Samantha said, “I don't know if I like the look on your face, Xavier. But I will grant you your question.”