The Twelfth Card (22 page)

Keesh paid her way. She had two jobs—doing extensions and braids on her own and working the counter in a restaurant four days a week (the place was in Manhattan, but miles south of Harlem, to make sure she wouldn’t run into people from the neighborhood, which would blow her cover as the DJing bling-diva of 124th Street). She spent carefully and socked away her earnings to help her family.

There was yet one other aspect of Keesh that set her apart from many girls in Harlem. She and Geneva were both in what was sometimes called the “Sistahood of None.” Meaning, no sex. (Well, fooling around was okay, but, as one of Geneva’s friends said, “Ain’t no boy putting his ugly in me, and that’s word.”) The girls had kept the virgin pact she and Geneva had made in middle school. This made them a rarity. A huge percentage of the girls at Langston Hughes had been sleeping with boys for a couple of years.

Teenage girls in Harlem fell into two categories and the difference was defined by one image: a baby carriage. There were those who pushed buggies through the streets and those who didn’t. And it didn’t matter if you read Ntozake Shange or Sylvia Plath or were illiterate, didn’t matter if you wore orange tank tops and store-bought braids or white blouses and pleated skirts . . . if you ended up on the baby carriage side, then your life was headed in a way different direction from that of girls in the other category. A baby wasn’t automatically the end of school and a profession but it often was. And even if not, a carriage girl could look forward to a heartbreakingly tough time of it.

Geneva Settle’s inflexible goal was to flee Harlem at the very first opportunity, with stops in Boston or New Haven for a degree or two and then on to England, France or Italy. Even the slightest risk that something like a baby might derail her plan was unacceptable. Lakeesha was lukewarm about higher education but she too had her ambitions. She was going to
some
four-year college and, as a coal-savvy businesswoman, take Harlem by storm. The girl was going to be the Frederick Douglass or Malcolm X of Uptown business.

It was these common views that made sistas of these otherwise opposite girls. And like most deep friendships the connection ultimately defied definition. Keesh put it best once by waving her bracelet-encrusted hand, tipped in polka-dotted nails, and offering, in a proper use of AAVE’s third-person-singular nonagreement rule, “Wha-ever, girlfriend. It work, don’t it?”

And, yeah, it did.

Geneva and Detective Bell now arrived at math class. He stationed himself outside the door. “I’ll be here. After the test, wait inside. I’ll have the car brought ’round front.”

The girl nodded then turned to go inside. She hesitated, glanced back. “I wanted to say something, Detective.”

“What’s that?”

“I know I’m not too agreeable sometimes. Pigheaded, people say. Well, mostly they say I’m a pain in the ass. But, thanks for what you’re doing.”

“Just my job, miss. ’Sides, half the witnesses and folk I protect aren’t worth the concrete they walk on. I’m happy to be looking after somebody decent. Now, go for another twenty-four multiple choice in a row.”

She blinked. “You were listening? I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“I was listening, yes’m.
And
looking out for you. Though I’ll fess up, doing
two
things at once’s pretty much my limit. Don’t go expecting more than that. Okay, now—I’ll be here when you get out.”

“And I
am
going to pay you back for lunch.”

“I told you that’s on the mayor.”

“Only, you paid for it yourself—you didn’t get a receipt.”

“Well, now, lookit that. You notice stuff too.”

Inside the classroom she saw Kevin Cheaney standing in the back, talking to a few of his crew. He lifted his head, acknowledging her with a big smile, and strode over to her. Nearly every girl in class—whether pretty or plain—followed his stroll. Surprise—then shock—flashed in their eyes when they saw where he was headed.

Hey, she thought to them triumphantly, wrap your minds round
that
.

I’m in heaven. Geneva Settle looked down, face hot with pumping blood.

“Yo, girl,” he said, walking up close. She smelled his aftershave. Wondered what it was. Maybe she’d find out his birthday and buy him some.

“Hi,” she said, voice trembling. She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

Okay, she’d had her moment of glory in front of the class—which would last forever. But now, once again, all she could think of was keeping him at a distance, making sure he didn’t get hurt because of her. She’d tell him how dangerous it was to be around her. Forget snapping, forget yo’ momma jokes. Get serious. Tell him what you really feel: that you’re worried about him.

But before she could say anything he gestured her to the back of the classroom. “Come on over here. Got something for you.”

For me? she thought. A deep breath and she walked after him to the corner of the room.

“Here. Got you a present.” He slipped something into her hand. Black plastic. What was it? A cell phone? Pager? You weren’t allowed to have them in school. Still, Geneva’s heart pounded hard, wondering about the purpose of the gift. Was it to call him if she was in danger? Or could it be so that he could get in touch with her whenever he wanted to?

“This’s phat,” she said, looking it over. She realized that it wasn’t a phone or beeper, but one of those organizer things. Like a Palm Pilot.

“Got games, Internet, email. All wireless. Wack how those things work.”

“Thanks. Only . . . well, it looks expensive, Kevin. I don’t know about this . . . ”

“Oh, it’s cool, girl. You’ll earn it.”

She looked up at him. “Earn it?”

“Listen up. Nothing to it. My boys and me tried it out. It’s already hooked up to mine.” He tapped his shirt pocket. “What you do is, first thing to remember, keep it ’tween yo’ legs. Better if you wear a skirt. Teachers don’t go lookin’ there, or they get their ass sued, you know? Now, the first question on the test, you push the one button there. See it? Then push that space button and then type in the answer. You down with that?”

“The answer?”

“Then, listen up, this’s important. You gotta push this button to send it to me. That little button with the antenna on it. You don’t push it, it don’t send. Second question, push two. Then the answer.”

“I don’t understand.”

He laughed, wondering why she wasn’t getting it. “Whatchu think? We got a deal, girl. I’ll cover your back on the street. You cover mine in class.”

The realization hit her like a slap. Her eyes looked up, bored into his. “You mean cheat.”

He frowned. “Don’t go talking that shit out loud.” Looking around.

“You’re kidding. This’s a joke.”

“Joke? No, girl. You gonna help me.”

Not a question. An order.

She felt she was about to choke or be sick. Her
breathing came fast. “I’m not going to do it.” She held the organizer out. He didn’t take it.

“What’s yo’ problem? Lotta girls help me.”

“Alicia,” Geneva whispered angrily, nodding and recalling a girl who’d been in math class with them until recently, Alicia Goodwin, a smart girl, a whiz in math. She’d left school when her family had moved to Jersey. She and Kevin had been tight. So that’s what this was all about: When he’d lost his partner, Kevin’d gone looking for a new one and picked Geneva, a better student than her predecessor but not nearly as good-looking. Geneva wondered how far down on the list she’d fallen. Anger and pain raged in her like fire in a boiler. This was even worse than what had happened at the museum this morning. At least the man in the mask hadn’t pretended to be her friend.

Judas . . .

Geneva raged, “You got a stable of girls feeding you the answers . . . What’d your GPA be if it weren’t for them?”

“I’m not stupid, girl,” he whispered angrily. “Just, I don’t need to learn this shit. I’ll be playing ball and getting tall paper for endorsements the rest of my life. Better for everybody for me to practice, ’sted of study.”

“ ‘For everybody.’ ” She gave a sour laugh. “So that’s where your grades come from: You steal them. Like you’d fiend somebody in Times Square for a gold chain.”

“Yo, girl, I telling you, watch yo’ mouth,” he whispered ominously.

“I’m not helping you,” she muttered.

Then he smiled, giving her a lowered-lid gaze. “I’ll make it worth yo’ while. You come over to my place anytime you want. I’ll fuck you good. I’ll even
go down on you. I know what I’m about in
that
department.”

“Go to hell,” she shouted. Heads turned.

“Listen up,” he growled, gripping her arm hard. Pain surged. “You got the booty of a ten-year-old and you go round like some blondie from Long Island, thinking you’re better’n everybody. A peasyhaired bitch like you can’t be too choosy when it comes to a man, you know what I’m saying? Where you gonna find somebody good as me?”

Geneva gasped at the insult. “You’re disgusting.”

“Okay, girl, fine. You frigid, that’s cool. I pay you to help me. How much you want? A C-note. Two? I got tall paper. Come on, name yo’ price. I gotta pass this test.”

“Then study,” she snapped and flung the organizer at him.

He caught it in one hand and yanked her close to him with the other.

“Kevin,” a man’s voice called sternly.

“Fuck,” the boy whispered in disgust, closing his eyes momentarily, letting go of her arm.

Mr. Abrams, the math teacher, walked up and took the organizer away. He looked at it. “What’s this?”

“He wanted me to help him cheat,” Geneva said.

“The bitch’s wack. It’s hers and she—”

“Come on, we’re going to the office,” he said to Kevin.

The boy stared at her with cold eyes. She glared right back.

The teacher asked, “You all right, Geneva?”

She was rubbing her arm where he’d gripped her. She lowered her hand and nodded. “Just want to go to the bathroom for a few minutes.”

“Go ahead.” He said to the class, all staring, all
quiet, “We’ll have a study period for ten minutes before the test.” The teacher escorted Kevin out the back door of the classroom. Which filled suddenly with rapid-fire gossip, as if somebody had clicked off the mute button on a TV. Geneva waited a few seconds then followed.

Looking up the corridor, she saw Detective Bell, standing with his arms crossed, near the front door. He didn’t see her. She stepped into the hallway and plunged into the crowd of students heading for their classes.

Geneva Settle didn’t make for the girls’ room, however. She came to the end of the hallway and pushed through the door into the deserted school yard, thinking: Nobody on earth’s going to see me cry.

*   *   *

There! Not a hundred feet from him.

Jax’s heart gave a fast thud when he saw Geneva Settle standing by herself in the school yard.

The Graffiti King was in the mouth of an alley across the street, where he’d been for the past hour, waiting for a glimpse of her. But this was even better than he hoped. She was alone. Jax looked over the block. There was an unmarked police car, with a cop inside, in front of the school, but it was some ways from the girl and the cop wasn’t looking at the school yard; he wouldn’t be able to see her from where he was even if he turned around. This might be easier than he’d thought.

So quit standing around, he told himself. Get your ass moving.

He pulled a black do-rag out of his pocket, slicked down his ’fro with it. Easing forward, pausing beside
a battered panel truck, the ex-con scanned the playground (which reminded him a lot of the yard at prison, minus, of course, the razor wire and gun towers). He decided he could cross the street here and use the cover of a Food Emporium tractor-trailer that was parked along the sidewalk, its engine idling. He could get to within maybe twenty-five feet of her without being seen by Geneva or the cop. That’d be plenty close enough.

As long as the girl continued to look down, he could slip through the chain link unnoticed. She’d be spooked after everything that’d happened to her, and if she got a glimpse of him approaching, she’d probably turn and run, shouting for help.

Go slow, be careful.

But move now. You may not get a chance like this again.

Jax started for the girl, picking his steps carefully to keep his limping leg from shuffling leaves and giving him away.

Was that the way it always worked?

Did boys
always
want something from you?

In Kevin’s case, he wanted her mind. Well, wouldn’t she have been just as upset if she’d been built like Lakeesha and he’d hit on her for booty or boobs?

No, she thought angrily. That was different. That was normal. The counselors at school talked a lot about rape, about saying no, about what to do if a boy got too pushy. What to do after, if it happened.

But they never said a word about what to do if somebody wanted to rape your mind.

Shit, shit, shit!

Her teeth ground together and she wiped the tears, flung them away on her fingertips. Forget him! He’s a lame asshole. The calc test—that’s all that’s important.

d over dx times x to the nth equals . . .

Motion to her left. Geneva looked in that direction and, squinting against the sun, saw a figure across the street, in the shadows of a tenement, a man with a black do-rag on his head and wearing a dark green jacket. He’d been walking toward the school yard but then disappeared behind a big truck nearby. Her first panicked thought: The man from the library had come for her. But, no, this guy was black. Relaxing, she glanced at her Swatch. Get back inside.

Only . . .

Despairing, she thought about the looks she’d get. Kevin’s boys, who’d give her the bad eye. The bling girls, who’d stare and laugh.

Get her down, get the bitch down . . .

Forget about them. Who gives a shit what they think? The test is all that matters.

d over dx times x to the nth equals nx to the nth minus one . . .

As she started back for the side door she wondered if Kevin would be suspended. Or maybe expelled. She hoped so.