The Battle of Jericho (6 page)

Jericho was enjoying this. And he was enjoying the fact that somehow all his shyness had disappeared. “Yeah, my best girl. Zora.” He picked up the leather trumpet case and slowly unzipped it. He removed the trumpet with care, then carefully wiped its smooth, shiny bell with the soft cloth he kept just for that purpose. “Arielle, I want you to meet Zora.”

Arielle smiled and reached out to touch it. The fire still flickered, and its reds and oranges reflected off the trumpet's metallic body. “She's beautiful, Jericho,” Arielle whispered.

“Most people think I'm stupid to name my trumpet, but somehow I knew you'd understand.” He deftly tapped the finger buttons, listening with an experienced ear to the muffled sound of the valves inside the casing of the trumpet.

“How long have you been playing?” she asked as he attached the mouthpiece.

“Since third grade.”

“I heard about you getting asked to play at the Bengals game. That must have been awesome.”

“It was the most exciting thing I've ever done in my life. All those people. The lights. Just me and Zora. If I had been by myself I would have been nervous. But I'm never scared when I have my trumpet with me. She's like my best friend. Does that sound stupid?” he asked suddenly.

“Not at all. I know where you're comin' from. Did you love it like this from the very beginning—like love at first sight?” She giggled.

“Actually, I didn't like it at first. I wanted to play the violin. But I was late turning in my instrument money, all the other kids had picked the cool instruments, and all they had left was a trumpet.”

“That's really funny!” Arielle said.

Jericho just smiled. “But as soon as I started playing it, I fell in love. It talks for me, speaks to me, sings my songs. I'm never completely alone or unhappy when I'm playing. It's like part of me, part of who I am.”

“That's deep,” Arielle whispered. “Can you play something for me?”

Jericho shrugged but then, placing his fingertips on the three pearl finger buttons, put the trumpet against his lips and let it speak the words he could never say to Arielle. He closed his eyes and the fireplace faded, then the walls, and finally the rest of the world became the golden notes he felt inside. Arielle sat on the sofa, listening breathlessly.

“Zora is amazing,” she said when he finished. Then she blushed. “Where did you come up with that name?”

“In sixth grade our teacher read us a story by Zora Neale Hurston. She's one of my favorite writers now. But at the time I just thought she had a cool name.”

“It fits,” Arielle said, “because your Zora-trumpet certainly tells a tale when you play her. It's like I can imagine stuff while you're playing.”

Jericho felt his heart pounding—she understood! He picked up the trumpet and let Zora speak again. This time he played a quick tune with lots of trills and leaps and rapid repetitions. It was a tale of confusion and anger, and
ended suddenly, in a minor key. 'That's how I feel most of the time,” he told Arielle, “but not tonight. This has been different. I'm glad you decided to come.”

“Me too,” she said quietly.

“I've got a big trumpet competition comin' up the last Thursday of January,” he told her suddenly. “Maybe you can come and give me good luck.” He was suddenly embarrassed. “But maybe you won't want to sit through dozens of kids playing their instruments one at a time. It's kinda boring sometimes—like a track meet—you wait for hours for your three minutes on the track.”

“But I bet those three minutes that you're up there playing are dynamite!” she told him. “Maybe I will come. Who knows? That's not till next month.”

Jericho couldn't believe how nice she was. He felt like he didn't deserve it for some reason. “I don't hear them arguing downstairs anymore. We'd better go check and make sure everybody is still alive,” he suggested. He headed with Arielle toward the basement.

“Nice playing down there, Jericho!” Josh's mother yelled from an upstairs bedroom. “You must have some new inspiration with you tonight!”

“Thanks, Aunt Marlene!” Jericho yelled back. He didn't answer the second part.

When they got downstairs, Josh and November were cuddled together on the sofa, obviously no longer angry with each other. Dana sat by the CD player in one corner, earphones on her head, pointedly ignoring Kofi, who sat in the farthest corner of the basement, playing a video game with unnecessary fierceness.

“I better get home, Dana,” Arielle said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Can you drop me off at my house?”

“Yeah, let's raise up out of here. I've had enough of these little boys.”

“I had a good time,” Arielle said quietly, glancing at Jericho as she said it.

Kofi never stopped playing the video game, never even acknowledged that anyone else was in the room. Dana continued to ignore him as well.

After Dana and Arielle left, Jericho called his dad to pick him up, and asked if he could take Kofi and November home too. Then he went back upstairs and played a series of soft, sweet melodies on his trumpet in the living room while the fire died in the fireplace.

THE SCHOOL DAY ON MONDAY SEEMED TO
drag on forever. Jericho kept checking the time, hoping the loud clicking of the classroom clocks and droning voices of his teachers would move into fast forward. When the last bell finally rang at three o'clock, Jericho grabbed his book bag, hurried to where he knew Arielle's locker was located, and grinned as she looked at him with pleasant expectation. They walked quickly to the warehouse, which was only a couple of blocks from the school.

Jericho shivered a bit—partly from the excitement, partly from the weather, and partly because Arielle was walking so close to him. Jericho knocked and the door opened immediately. Michael Madison, one of the Warriors who had come to their table last week, smiled and offered his hand. No one ever called him Michael. He was called simply “Madison” by students and teachers alike, “Mad Madison”
behind his back because he always looked angry. But he didn't look angry now.

“Welcome!” he said. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” Madison's head was shaved completely bald, which made him look stark and serious, but he seemed to be trying to make everyone feel welcome.

Josh and November arrived a few minutes later, followed by Kofi, who came alone. From what Jericho could tell, about ten of the people in the room were members of the Warriors of Distinction. Another ten were guys he recognized from the meeting last week, and he guessed the girls who were with them were their guests. Mr. Culligan hovered in the background; the Warriors seemed to know what they were doing.

When everyone had arrived, Madison climbed on a table and spoke to the group. “We're glad you're here. This afternoon, and the rest of the days we meet here until Christmas, we'll be sorting, wrapping, and later, delivering these toys.” He pointed to what seemed like a mountain of toys behind him.

In one corner of the room a scraggly Christmas tree leaned against a wall. “Over there,” Madison explained, “is the tree we will be giving to an orphanage. All the ornaments are donated.” He laughed for no apparent reason then, and the other members of the Warriors laughed with him. Jericho couldn't see what was so funny.

Just then Dana walked in, dressed in black leather pants and jacket, and leaned against a wall. She did not look at Kofi and she spoke to no one.

Madison nodded at her and continued. “We've been collecting
this stuff all year. If you check the charts posted on the walls, you'll see where you'll be working. Any questions?”

Dana raised her hand at that point. Jericho was sure she was going to ask why there were no girls in the club. He glanced at Kofi, who looked angry. “Is this just a Christmas project or do we include Hanukkah and Kwanzaa?” Dana asked. Jericho sighed with relief. He wanted to get in this club before Dana started causing trouble.

“Good question. We have a large list of families that we serve. If our records indicate that a family's Jewish, we provide enough gifts for each night of Hanukkah. If we know that the family celebrates Kwanzaa instead of Christmas, we again provide multiple gifts, ones that agree with the seven principles. We try to provide whatever the family needs.”

“I have another question,” Dana continued. Jericho knew what was coming. He tensed. “Why are there no girls in this club? I'd like to be considered for membership, and I want to know why I wasn't asked to join.”

Madison looked bewildered. “Uh, no one has been asked to join yet. We're just working on the toy drive today.”

“Good,” Dana replied. “Then there's still time.” The members of the Warriors looked at each other in consternation. Clearly, this had never happened before.

Jericho noticed Eddie Mahoney then, standing at the far end of the warehouse. His face looked tight as he glared at Dana.

“Well, let's get started!” Jericho said quickly. He was
hoping Dana wouldn't ask another question—for her sake and for theirs. He didn't like the look he saw on Eddie's face.

“Good idea,” Madison agreed. “There's plenty of chips and soda on the table at your left, bathrooms are down the hall to your right, and the music is loud and sweet and starts right now!” He turned on the CD player.

“Good choice of tunes,” Jericho murmured to Arielle, who didn't answer. She seemed to be taking it all in—the scrape of boxes across the concrete floor, the crackle of wrapping paper, the soft laughter and conversation, and the dominant figures of the Warriors of Distinction.

As the activities began to fall into place and everyone began to figure out what they were to do, the members of the Warriors—dressed in black-and-red Warrior sweatshirts—mingled, assisted, and observed. Jericho noticed a couple of the Warriors with clipboards and notepads. They didn't seem to be checking on the progress of the toys, however; they seemed to be checking on the people. They watched the new volunteers, their interaction with the members, even the actions of the girls who had been brought as guests. They especially watched Dana, who worked swiftly and efficiently. And Jericho noticed that Eddie never took his eyes off Dana.

Jericho found his name on the poster on the wall and headed to the first station—sorting. Rick Sharp, another Warrior, had already started on the pile in front of them. Rick was wide and broad-shouldered. He had a short, stubby neck—so short that his round head seemed to balance on his shoulders like a bowling ball.

“He looks like he's wearing shoulder pads,” Jericho whispered to Arielle as they approached him. “And where's his neck?” He stifled a laugh. He liked whispering in her ear—her hair smelled good.

“I'd hate to meet him in a dark alley,” she whispered back. But Jericho noticed that she looked more excited than intimidated.

Rick grabbed both their hands and shook them firmly when they got to the sorting table. “Okay, we sort the pile into gifts for girls, gifts for boys, gifts for either. Sometimes girls want footballs and boys want dolls. That's cool too—we try to give them what they ask for.”

“Sounds pretty simple,” Jericho said, taking a step back to observe the huge mountain of toys.

“It's not hard—it's just so much!” answered Rick. “We work all through the summer asking companies for donations. They know us here in town, so they get more generous every year.”

“I'll do the girl stuff,” Arielle offered. She started pulling packages out of the pile.

“I had a truck like this when I was five,” Jericho mused as he picked up a large yellow truck. “That was a great Christmas that year. Mom and Dad were still together, and my world was toy trucks and motorcycles.” He sighed.

Josh and November worked on wrapping and stacking with Madison, while Dana sorted toys with an honor society member named Demetrius Stanford. Jericho noticed that Kofi kept glancing at her, looking pained as she joked with Demetrius while they worked. Kofi and a kid named Rudy seemed to be trying to match wrapped, labeled toys
with lists of families. They worked with Eddie Mahoney, who never once cracked a smile.

Jericho asked Arielle, “What's up with Dana and Eddie? He keeps lookin' at her like she slapped his mother or something.”

“The way I hear it, Eddie's father does a pretty good job of slapping his mother around.”

Jericho remembered the scene at Eddie's apartment building. “Eddie's got some really serious issues,” he told Arielle.

Arielle nodded. “Dana told me that Eddie used to ask her out all the time when we were in ninth and tenth grade. She didn't really like him, and he was way too short for her, so she kept blowing him off. You know, Dana will probably fight somebody for what she believes in, and break rules just to make a point, but she won't play games.”

“So what happened?”

“He had tickets to some concert last year, so one day in the cafeteria, in front of all his Warrior brothers, dressed in his cool-looking Warrior jacket, he asked her to go. I guess he figured she couldn't turn him down with all that support behind him.”

“What did she do?”

“She laughed at him—told him to take his short little carcass out of her face!”

“Man, that's cold.”

“I don't know if I would have turned him down,” Arielle mused. “Not with all those Warriors standing there.”

Jericho looked at her oddly, but made no comment. “So why is she here today?” he asked her.

“I don't know. Kofi probably asked her to come before they got in that fight at Josh's house. Maybe she wants to show she's bigger than he is.”

“Well, she's taller for sure!” Jericho laughed.

“Tougher, too,” Arielle said with admiration. “She's not scared of anything!”

“What are you scared of, Arielle?” Jericho asked suddenly.