Bright Lights, Dark Nights (29 page)

“How's the demo going?” I asked. Jason was standing by a wall of books with his eyes glued to a thick one he was holding.

“I don't rap anymore,” Jason said, not looking up to acknowledge me. He turned a page in his book. “More important stuff to do.”

“We need to talk,” I said. “I know you're on there posting stuff about me. On that Facebook page. Is that your page? Are you running it? I get that you're mad, but this is serious stuff. And Naomi's getting hit there, too. It's messed up.”

“It's just online,” he said, and shook his head. “Don't worry about it.” He shut his book and stuck it back on the shelf.

“This is our lives, not some game,” I said. “You're riling people up and you're trying to turn people against my family. Have you seen some of the comments on there? What did I do to make you so mad?”

“I'm just being honest, and you guys are wrong,” Jason said. He picked another book off the shelf, refusing eye contact, not making any effort to think of me as a human being. “If you disagree with anything I say, you can post there, too, like your dad does.

“I'm friends with Cal, so I have to take his side in this,” Jason said. “That's that. I'm pro-black, I'm anti-cop, anti-profiling, and honestly I'm not really down with you dating my little sister, either. So none of this should be a big surprise to you.”

Lester and Beardsley joined the circus, coming into the library out of the snow like a burst of unwanted cold air, and streamed right toward Naomi. Beardsley threw his bag on a table.

“Is that Beyoncé Knowles in our little library?” Lester asked Naomi at the computers. “Oh, no, that's Miss Naomi Mills, diva in her own right!” Always charming.

Jason went back to his book. “Listen to these facts,” Jason said. “Traffic stops have grown seven times in the last decade. Young black men and Hispanics are five percent of the population, right? But we're over forty percent of the traffic stops. Only six percent of these stops lead to an actual arrest, and they give these cops quotas to meet, they tell them to go bring in as many people as they can, so where do you think they go?
Us.
It's not just that, either. I don't drive, so that doesn't happen to me, but I get followed around in stores. People walk extra far from me on the sidewalk, I see old ladies holding on tight to their purses. I'm not that guy. I'm friendly. Stuff you wouldn't understand. You aren't me, you aren't Calvin. You're Walter Wilcox, son of Officer James Wilcox.”

“Nice,” I said sarcastically, and shook my head. I was Walter Wilcox, period. And what was wrong with that? I wasn't going to apologize for being who I was. I didn't live in some blissed-out white paradise like Jason and Lester seemed to think I did, either. I was just a person, same as anyone. And I was sick of being compared to some kid I'd never met. He was as tangled as you could get into my life, but I couldn't verify his actual existence.

“It's nothing personal, okay?” Jason said, grabbing his book bag off the table. “May the right side win.”

That was when Naomi got the attention of the library. “No one asked you to wait for anything, Lester,” she said, standing up and drenched in attitude. Voice raised. “Walter was right about you. You're a jealous, insecure, egotistical clod! And not very truthful, either. I tried to defend you because I thought we were friends, but we are
not
. Bye.”

Naomi was out of the door before the librarian was up to shush her.

“Oh shit,” Jason said, looking at me.

Lester called after her. “Whatever, let's see what you say next week.” He looked around at the library. He didn't see me, as far as I knew. “Let's see what she says then. I'll be here.”

I had to pass Lester to get my stuff. I was the pissed-off one, he should be ducking me, but that wasn't Lester. He locked his sights on me, gave me a nod. “What's up, Wally,” he said. I ignored it, got my stuff, and went outside.

People looked at us outside. They talked to each other still, but they saw me coming out, they were waiting for me, and they were watching Naomi.

She was pacing like an army lieutenant. “Can you believe that?” Naomi asked me. “He said you were my practice run and now I need to get with a real man. He said I'm making him look bad; he doesn't wait around for girls. I told him I'm with you. Then he said, ‘Which one of us do you want on your arm? I'm bigger, better-looking, and my skin matches yours.' Who says that? Who even thinks it—this isn't 1960 or whatever. And Lester's supposed to be like family or something. What does Jason think of that? What's my dad gonna think about that?”

“Do you want me to go talk to him or something?” I asked, although I didn't intend to leave her alone. She was melting down.

“Here's another thing: I'm sick of anyone having something to say about me, or about us,” she said. “Next time someone says something to me—I don't care if it's ‘You're a cute couple'—I'm smacking them in the face! I'm taking my boots off and going at them!”

“Stop,” I said, and put my hands on her shoulders, I tried to get her to stop pacing, get her energy down a notch before she went back in there and caused a bigger scene. “Stop, calm down. This isn't good. We need to cool down.”

“Why?” Naomi asked. “I don't need to calm down.
You
need to get angry.”

I brushed the dusting of snow off the brick wall rail that ran along the stairs, and sat down. “Take a deep breath,” I said. She did, reluctantly. We sat there for a few seconds, but I didn't think she'd sit much longer without saying anything.

“What kind of stuff are you hearing?” I asked. “We can talk about it.”

“Doesn't matter. Let them talk—let everyone talk,” Naomi said. Her foot was bobbing up and down, her determined gaze settled on nothing. “I've got something for them.”

“I thought everyone was preoccupied with themselves,” I said. I laughed. She didn't.
Nope.
“Everyone's obsessed with everyone else. Look at those celebrity tracking sites, every sociopath murderer we know every detail about. Everyone wants to know everything. I mean, that's it—that's what we're stuck with. There's no way around it. No point in fighting it.”

“So what are you saying? You want to break up?” Naomi said matter-of-factly.

“No,” I said. It was hard to talk to her sometimes. “Stop it. I'm just talking. I'm just thinking aloud. There's a lot to process.”

She crossed her arms and took a long breath.

“Sorry,” Naomi mumbled. She reached over and touched my wrist. She took my hand, squeezed it. “I get it, this isn't easy. I'm sorry. I'm not going anywhere, 'kay? I didn't mean that.”

“I wish I could skip school for the rest of the year,” I said with a sigh. That would make things a whole lot easier. “Do you want to get out of here before Lester comes out and crushes my head?”

“I wouldn't let him,” Naomi said. A smile crossed her face. “You know I'm tougher than Lester Dooley, right?”

I did know that. I knew it now, for sure.

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

I stood at my bedroom door after dinner, listening for footsteps or TV noise, or any indication that Dad was anywhere other than his own room. That was what it had come to; I stayed in my room mostly and Dad in his. It was down-pouring change, and neither of us dealt well with that. The Wilcox family plugged our ears and waited change out. Dad was on a mission, though. He was playing a character, the down-on-his-luck underdog detective, out to break the case and clear his good name, and I was in the audience, meant to sit back and idly observe.

I decided it was quiet enough that I could head to the kitchen, but once I stepped outside my door, I saw Dad was reading an article on the Internet. He shook his head.

“God, this is serious stuff,” Dad said, eyes still glued to the monitor. Dad had been receiving threats in his e-mail, threats that apparently I was a part of. “Could be ‘trolls,' as you put it, but I can't take that chance. I've seen this stuff too much.”

“What stuff?” I asked.

“You name it. You think I haven't seen violence out there?” Dad asked, closing the browser and facing me. “I see kids with guns, knives. I respond to threats. I see what goes on in people's homes. I'm not kidding you when I say it's a slum. I'm not just being colorful. Bad stuff goes on out there. Daily. This is where we live now, and you can thank your mother for that.”

“It's not that bad,” I said. “At least not with the people I know and go to school with.”

“You're not going to like this, but I need to do my job as a parent,” Dad said. This was what I'd been hiding in my room to avoid. “I want you to come right home from school for the next few weeks. However long this goes on. And I want you to stay offline.”

“I'm not going to stay offline,” I said. He was trying to keep me from Naomi. He could use all the rationale in the book, but if the end result was that I couldn't see Naomi, then we both knew what he was doing. “I need to go online for homework and stuff.”

“You know what I mean,” Dad said. “There's a lot of sick stuff on there you don't need to be reading. A lot of lies, a lot of negativity, and, like I said, actual threats.”

I'd read the threats and I'd had the same thoughts, wishing Naomi could stay offline, wanting to protect her. But we needed to know what was going on, and we needed each other.

“I'll do my best to stay safe. I'll spend more time at home, but I'm not going to stop seeing Naomi,” I said. This wasn't the kind of change I was going to wait out.

“Naomi isn't my concern right now,” he said. “Life is my concern. Paying the rent is my concern. Keeping you safe is my concern. And she's better off home with her parents, too, if you're really worried. Just give me some time, okay?”

“
If
I'm worried?” I asked. “You better believe I am.” I wondered if he ever had a leg to stand on, if that kid did confess. I questioned it more and more each day.

“Stop with the drama,” Dad said. “When did you get so dramatic?”

“This stupid case is ruining my life,” I blurted out. It was as if some path to the darker cabinets of my brain had opened up. These thoughts were there already; I'd just never accessed them before this moment, and now they were wide open. “I'm trapped in this mess! I finally have a life, and it's ruined! Is any of this even true? Am I going to lose my girlfriend over some allegations you're too stubborn to admit to?”

“You don't know enough about anything to make those kinds of accusations. You're just a damn kid,” Dad said. He was cornered, I had cornered my Dad and he was fighting his way out. Dad stood up from his chair. “And I'm ruining your life? You aren't exactly a ray of sunshine in mine lately.”

“Sunshine? I don't even exist,” I said. “You didn't even notice me at all until you lost your Internet privileges and stopped arguing with teenagers online. Is that how you acted with Mom?”