Authors: Dwayne S. Joseph

Growing Pains (6 page)

BOOK: Growing Pains

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He's your student.

She's off-limits.

Off.

Limits.

Move on
.

He watched her, and, suddenly, as if reading his mind, she turned and looked at him and smiled.

Dammit.

She was wrong for that.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “Maybe someday I can treat you to that mojito.”

Deahnna closed her eyes a bit and then smiled. “Someday might be nice,” she said.

Jawan gave her a nod, then took a sip of his own bottle and turned back to look at his students.
Policy? What policy?
he thought.

They were both chaperoning the dance, yet for the rest of the night, neither he nor Deahnna moved from where they stood. They chatted some more about light topics, and then, before they parted ways, they exchanged phone numbers.

“Policy be damned,” Jawan said later that night to Grady, who lay with him on his bed, watching ESPN.

In his dreams later on, with the crashing waves, and the moonlight, it wasn't Janet Jackson he was caressing. It was Deahnna Moore. And in the background, BeyoncÃ©'s song was playing.

Brian sat quietly in his seat, waiting for the bell to ring. Unlike any other day, he had no plans to rush out of the classroom. He wanted to have a conversation with his English teacher. There was something that he needed to make clear. He'd seen the way Mr. White had been talking with his mom. More importantly, he'd seen the way he'd looked at her.

So had his friends.

And they hadn't hesitated to comment about it at the dance, after the dance, via text message the next day, and all day during school. All of the chattering and sarcastic comments had been getting on his fucking nerves. So he waited for the bell to help his teacher understand . . .

His mom was off-limits to everyone.

There was nothing personal against Mr. White. It was just a rule that he'd set in stone when he was six years old. That was when he'd first begun to ask questions about his father's existence. Who was he? Was he still alive? If he was, why wasn't he around? Didn't he love them? Was he mad at them?

They were innocent questions. Questions that, at six years old, Brian expected to be answered. But they never were. Eventually Brian stopped asking, and the older he got, the more it became evident to him that his mother's unwillingness to provide even the simplest of answers had been because, at some point in time, the man who'd given his sperm to create him had hurt her badly.

Because of that, Brian refused to let any man get close to her, and so as the years passed, he did whatever he had to do to sabotage any relationships she tried to have, by letting the men know with either words or actions that their presence was unwanted. How well they treated his mother never mattered, because in his eyes, they had the potential to bring his mother more pain.

Mr. White was cool, and seemed to be a good and, to a certain extent, trustworthy man. Brian had actually allowed the wall that masked the pain he'd felt from being a bastard child to come down a notch, because he appreciated the fact that, other than his mother, his teacher had been the only other person in his life who was constantly on his ass about him doing the right thing for his future. Brian put up resistance to the talks because, well, he couldn't just make things that easy, and he also wanted to do things his way. But he appreciated the talks nonetheless.

Deep down he believed that Mr. White had nothing but good intentions, but Brian still owed it to his mother to let the man know what was up. Whatever thoughts Mr. White had in his head concerning his mother, he needed to let them go quickly.

When the bell rang he would send that message loud and clear.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket suddenly. Brian looked to make sure Mr. White hadn't noticed, as cell phones were prohibited, and when he was sure that he hadn't, he pulled his phone out to see a text message from Tyrel:

Meet me an' Will at pizza shop. Wanna talk more bidness.

Brian looked up at the clock on the wall above the classroom door. School would be over in five minutes.

Discreetly, he replied:

A'ight. But I'ma B a minute. Gotta do somethin'.

Seconds later, Tyrel responded:

A'ight then meet me at Will's crib at 7.

Brian replied that he would, and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. As he did, he wondered about what business Tyrel wanted to discuss. After the way things had gone down with the Laundromat, he was surprised Tyrel even wanted to be around Will. They'd had little beefs here and there growing up, but things had never been as bad as they'd been that night. There'd been a look in Tyrel's eyes that made Brian feel that had the .45s been loaded, something very tragic would have happened. Will had challenged him in a way he never had before, and that surprised Brian.

Business.

The business that night hadn't really been for shit, and that frustrated Brian. But Carla had helped to ease that frustration. So much so that he couldn't bring himself to leave her side before her mother came home, so he hid in her closet until her mother went to bed, and then spent the rest of the night holding her in his arms. He'd slept longer than he intended, and he had to hightail the two blocks home, trying to beat his mother's early rise.

Of course, he hadn't.

At the party after the Laundromat heist, Tyrel and Will were cool, but the tension had been thick between them and they'd barely spoken to one another. Brian hoped that when he got to Will's later that night, things would be back to normal.

The bell rang for dismissal. Brian waited for the other students to hustle out, and then approached his teacher, who was erasing the chalkboard. “Mr. White, you got a second?”

His teacher turned around and looked down at his watch. “Sure,” he said. “I have about fifteen minutes to spare.”

“Cool. This won't take too long. I just wanna talk about somethin' really quick.”

Mr. White nodded, and then sat down on the edge of his desk. “What's up?”

Brian cleared his throat. “I just wanted to talk about the dance on Saturday.”

His teacher smiled. “It was fun,” he said. “It looked like you and Carla had a good time.”

Brian gritted his teeth as his teacher continued to smile. He couldn't help but think he was smiling because of his mother. “Yeah,” he said unenthusiastically. “It was cool.”

“So, what's going on?”

Brian gave his teacher a hard stare. “Remember when I said I was watching you?”

Mr. White nodded and laughed. “I remember.” Brian wasn't smiling as he said, “Mr. White, you're a cool dude, and I have mad respect for you, but I'ma need for you to leave my mom alone.”

His teacher's smile dropped instantly. “Excuse me?”

Brian straightened his back as he puffed out his chest a little. “Look, it's nothing personal, but I have to look out for my mom. She has enough to deal with, and the last thing she needs right now is for some nigga to be pressing up on her.”

Mr. White raised a single eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. He looked at Brian for a cool couple of seconds before speaking. “Look, Brian, first things first, I'm no nigga. So save that for your boys. Second, as out of line as it is, I respect what you're trying to do. You're looking out for your mother's best interests and that's honorable.”

“My momâ” Brian started.

“Your mother is a grown woman, Brian. And she's free to talk to whomever she chooses. She knows more than you do what she has on her plate. Now, as I said, I respect your intentions. You care about your mother and don't want anyone hurting her. I get it. And if I were in your position, I might do the same thing, although a little differently. But let me assure you, I'm not out to hurt your mother. As a matter of fact, I'm not out for anything at all. We talked, we enjoyed each other's company, and we said good-bye. End of story. Now, do yourself a favor and don't approach me this way again. I'm your teacher, and, more importantly, I'm a man who demands respect, and believe me, the last thing I'm going to do is sit here and listen to you warn me about who I'm allowed to interact with.”

“Youâ”

“We're done, Mr. Moore. I have somewhere I need to be, and you need to be somewhere else.”

Brian flared his nostrils and stared at his teacher. Aside from his mother, no one had ever gotten away with speaking to him in that manner. He'd never allowed it. He wanted to be mad. Hell, he should have been. But as he watched his teacher, who was watching him with just as intense a glare, Brian felt something that surprised him.

Admiration.

Mr. White had kept it very real with him, and Brian couldn't help but have respect for that.

He took a breath and let it out slowly. “A'ight,” he said with a nod.

Mr. White nodded back, said, “Good,” and then held out a closed fist for a pound.

Brian looked at his fist and then at him.

“Are you going to leave me hanging or what?” his teacher asked.

Brian looked at him for a second longer and then shook his head.
I definitely have to respect him,
he thought. He said, “Nah,” and then dapped his teacher.

“Listen, Brian, you having your mother's back is a good thing, OK? But I want you to think about something: your mother's happiness. It's obvious she was dealt a bad hand with your fatherâyou both wereâbut he was only one bad apple. I know it's not easy, but you're going to have to learn to step back and let your mother live. She needs that, and, quite frankly, she deserves it, too. Now you're her son, her first man, and no one will ever be closer to her than you are. But the company you provide for her can only go so far. Believe it or not, there are good men out there, and you need to back off and give your mother opportunities to find one, or else she just might miss out on something. More importantly, you might too. OK?”

Brian nodded. “OK.”

“Cool. I'll see you on Wednesday.”

“A'ight.” Brian turned to leave, but before he exited the classroom, Mr. White called out to him.

“Hey, Brian, hold on a sec.”

Brian turned around. “Yeah?”

“Did you hear about what happened at Patel's Laundromat this past Friday night?”

Brian's heartbeat took a pause as he looked back at Mr. White, who was watching him closely. He said, “Yeah. I heard.”

Mr. White shook his head and frowned. “Mr. Patel claims that three young black men with ski masks robbed him. He also said that one of the three yelled out the name Brian.”

“Oh, word?”

“Yeah. The police came in this morning to get a listing on all of the Brians in the school. I think they're going to try to seek them out and ask questions.”

“Lot of Brians here at Lane,” Brian said.

His teacher nodded and kept his eyes on him. “Just figured I'd tell you so you're not surprised if you're approached.”

“Good lookin',” Brian said.

His teacher stared at him. Brian looked away, the glare making him uncomfortable.

“You're making sure to avoid getting into any li'l somethin's with your boys, right?”

Brian nodded. “Yeah.”

“I see you on Jamaica with them sometimes. Tyrel and another kid. What's his name?”

“Will,” Brian answered reluctantly.

“Will Banks. That's right. He's older than you and Tyrel, right? He used to be a student here but he dropped out.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “He's got his brother and sister to support.”

“Must be hard on him financially.”

“He's holding things down.”

His teacher looked at him.

Brian looked away again, and cracked a couple of knuckles on his hand.

Walking back behind his desk, Mr. White said, “Stay out of trouble, Brian.”

Brian nodded and, without a word, quickly walked out of the room. When he got outside, he wiped nervous sweat from his forehead. The police had his name. “Will, you fuckin' damn-ass nigga.”

He shook his head.

At seven he would meet with Will and Tyrel to discuss business. They wouldn't like it, but the three-man cartel was going to lose a member.

“So, how was the school dance? Did you meet any sexy eligible bachelors? And I don't mean students.”

Deahnna laughed and looked at her friend of twenty years in the mirror in front of her. Had she met any eligible bachelors? She smiled as her mind went back to the Friday night dance and Jawan White. Brian's teacher. She still couldn't believe she'd flirted with him the way she had. That had been completely out of character for her. Being open with a man just wasn't something Deahnna ever was. Brian's father, and then an ex after him, showed her that being open only meant being open to heartache, to pain. Love, she realized as years passed, was highly overrated. And because it was, she kept her heart sealed airtight, and her emotions in check. She'd been a fool twice, and she'd be damned if she'd be taken for one again.

But Friday night.

She hadn't been open, but, damn, the door had certainly creaked ajar ever so slightly, and, for the life of her, Deahnna couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as though she hadn't met attractive men before, because she certainly had, so she couldn't say that Jawan's looks had been the sole reason. And it wasn't as though she'd never met anyone else who was charming, either.

So why?

If not for his non-threatening, but very good, looks, his disarmingly sexy smile, his ass, which she'd taken a moment to check out as he went to get her some water, or his personable and genuine lighthearted personality, then what had it been about him that had given her the chills? What about him had put her so at ease and made her feel almost safe around him? The topic of significant others had never come up, but he hadn't been wearing a ring on his finger, which Deahnna knew meant nothing. So what about Mr. Jawan White had prompted her to take his phone number?

Had she met any eligible bachelors?

Deahnna looked at her friend, Heather, lifted a shoulder, raised her eyebrows, and said, “I don't know.”

Heather Rose looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean you don't know?” She planted her hands on her wide hips, one hand gripping a styling comb, and said, “You either did or didn't.”

For Heather, life was all about the yeas or nays, dos or don'ts. “To be's” or “not to be's.” There were no uncertainties with her. If she was going to do something, she did it. If she was going to say something, she just said it. And if she was feeling something for someone, she didn't take the time to analyze and try to figure out if what she was feeling was real or not, she just felt it and went for it. In Heather's mind, the world was black and white. There were no shades of gray with her.

Although Heather's “it was or it wasn't” mentality had brought her a few bumps and bruises along the way to happiness, Deahnna often wished she could have been more like her at times. But life experiences had made Deahnna a thinker, a contemplator.

“So?” Heather pressed, spinning Deahnna around in the styling chair she was planted in.

Deahnna hesitated for a pensive moment, and then smiled. “I did.”

Heather smiled, exposing a gap between her two front teeth. “Aw, shit!” she said. “I want details, honey. Now!”

“Yes,” someone said from a chair to Heather's right. “Details!”

Heather rolled her eyes, sucked her teeth, and looked over. “Excuse you, Rico, but I don't remember ever hearing anyone say, âRico, please be a part of this conversation. '”

Rico Rose, whose real name was Richard, but who insisted on being called Rico, gave Heather a scowl. “Uh, excuse you, sister dear, but we all know that, I, Rico Suave, need no invitation. Nothing is sacred to these ears.”

Heather rolled her eyes again. “Yes, we all know, queen Dumbo. It's hard for anything to be kept sacred from those big-ass flappers. Now, kindly A, B, C your way out of our conversation.”

Deahnna and the other two clients inside of Heather's styling salon laughed out loud.

Rico rolled his eyes at his sister, and then looked at Deahnna. “Excuse me, Deahnna, while
someone
over there chooses to be a rude ass, can you please enlighten us as to whom it is who has you open?”

“I didn't say he has me open,” Deahnna said.

“Yes, brother dear, she didn't say all that.”

Rico “hmph'd.” “Sister dear, please. Deahnna is interested in a man. Shit, she may as well be open, because you know that don't happen.”

Heather nodded. “OK,” she said. “I will give you that.” She looked back to Deahnna. “So speak, girl. Who has you open?”

Deahanna shook her head. “As I said, I'm not open. I'm just . . . intrigued.”

“What's his name?” Heather asked.

“Jawan White.”

Heather thought about it for a moment. “Nope. Never heard of him before.”

“Neither have I,” Rico said.

Deahnna looked at him. “Trust me, Rico, he doesn't hang out on your side of the playground.”

Rico raised his eyebrows. “You'd be surprised to find out who does,” he said. “I could give you some stories.”

“The only thing we want you to give, brother dear,” Heather cut in, “is your attention back to Marie's hair.”

Rico rolled his eyes again as his client, Marie, nodded and said, “Amen.”

“So, girl, tell me about this Jawan White.”

Deahnna smiled. “He teaches eleventh grade English.”

“Is he cute?”

Deahnna nodded. “Very. And he's very nice, too. Seems really genuine and down to earth.”

“Hmm. Is he taken?”

Deahnna shook her head. “I don't think so. I didn't see a ring on his finger.”

“Means nothing,” Rico cut in as he braided Marie's hair. “I know plenty of men with rings on their fingers.”

“I would tell him to butt out, but he's right,” Heather said.

“I know,” Deahnna agreed. “But, as I said, one, he doesn't play for that team, and two, I really think he's unattached.”

“Hmm,” Heather said. “Good-looking, nice, easy to talk to, possibly single, and he's intelligent. So . . . what's wrong with him?”

“What do you mean what's wrong with him?” Deahnna asked.

Heather sucked her teeth. “Girl, you know you'll find something wrong with him sooner or later. You always do.”

“I just have high standards.”

“Girl, you don't have high standards. You have ridiculous standards.”

“Not ridiculous, Heather. I just don't want to settle. I don't need any more Terrances or Marcs in my life. Especially the Terrances.”

“I know what you went through with Terrance was hard, and I know Marc really hurt you, but it's in the past now. It's time for you to stop blocking happiness, girl. There are more good men than there are Terrances or Marcs in this world.”

Deahnna frowned. Terrance had raped her physically and mentally, and the emotional scars had taken a lot longer than the physical scars to heal. But Brian helped to absorb all of the pain and hurt, and eventually she found a way to move on. And when she did, Marc came into her life. Just like Jawan, he was an attractive man, with a sexy smile and a nice personality, though a little possessive. But Deahnna hadn't minded much, because after going so long without love, it just felt good to be with someone who was attentive. But nine months into the relationship, she discovered that Marc was married with three kids. Deahnna gave up on love after that.

“Listen, being cautious is a good thing, D. But as unfair as life can be sometimes, you only get one chance at it. So if there's really nothing wrong with the brother, I say you should just go for it.”

“I second that,” Rico said.

Deahnna said, “I know you're right.”

“OK, then,” Heather said.

“But there might be one thing wrong with him.”

“Oh, Lord. We knew you'd find something,” Heather said.

“Well . . . It's not a major, major issue, but it is something.”

“So what is it?”

“He's one of Brian's teachers.”

“I see. How does Brian feel about him?”

“I don't know. He's never mentioned him or any of his teachers to me. Of course, we don't really talk anymore like we used to.”

“Don't worry. That will change after his teenage years.”

“I hope so.”

“He's just feeling himself. Thinks he's a man now, I'm sure.”

“Oh, definitely,” Deahnna said, thinking about her argument with him.

“Terri went through that with her son. Things were bad for a while, but once Freddie got out of high school, things started to get better. Same thing went for Erica and her son.”

“Well I can't wait to get past this phase,” Deahnna said. “Hopefully I'll still have my hair.”

“Don't worry about that, girl,” Heather said. “I can always hook you up with some good yak hair.”

“Ew. No, thank you!”

Both women laughed, as did Rico and Maria. The third client was sitting beneath a dryer and hadn't heard anything.

“Anyway, back on this teacher,” Heather said. “Are you going to see him again?”

Deahnna shrugged. “Technically we haven't even seen one another the first time yet. We just happened to both be chaperoning the dance.”

“So then we need to formulate a plan to get you two together again.”

“Well, I did get his number.”

“Well there you go. Have you used it yet?”

“ No.”

“And you're waiting for what exactly?”

“As I said, he's Brian's teacher. I don't want Brian to be uncomfortable with this.”

“Deahnna,” Heather said, giving her a scolding look, “Brian is seventeen years old, and I'm sure he has more important things on his mind than worrying about you talking to his teacher. He has a life, unlike you.”

Deahnna sighed. “I know what you're saying is right, but it's easier said than done. Especially when you're sitting in the chair I'm sitting in.”

“D. I know it's not easy, but you're going to have to start living. Your sanity depends on it, and so does your coochie, because you ain't had none in a while.”

Rico said, “Ooh.”

Deahnna and everyone else laughed.

“Whatever,” Deahnna said, playfully shoving her friend's arm.

Heather waved her hand in front of her nose. “I can smell you from here, girl. It's stale.”

More laughter and “ooh's.”

“You know what?” Deahnna said. “I can find another boutique.”

“Sure you can. But I'm sure they won't be styling you for free.” Heather raised her eyebrows.

Deahnna smiled. “OK, you do have me there.” She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Heather had hooked her up with a Mary J. Blige shoulder-length cut with blond highlights. Heather had never been the brightest student in school, but if there was one thing she could always do, and do well, it was hair, and the proof showed. “My hair looks good, girl.”

“Of course it does. I only do good work. Now let me walk you out of here.”

Deahnna rose from the chair, slipped on her jacket, kissed Rico good-bye on his cheek, and followed Heather out of the shop as she zipped up her jacket.

“Damn, it's freezing out here,” Deahnna said, shivering.

“Mm-hmm,” Heather agreed. “That's why you need to get to that school and snag that man so that you have someone to keep you warm at night.”

“You act like I'm desperate.”

“Not desperate, girl. You're just in need of some tune-ups. Why do you think I look so good? Because I hit the gym every damn day? Hell to the no! I look this good because I get my oil and battery checked every couple of days, that's why.”

Laughing, Deahnna asked, “So how are you and Ivan doing?”

“Lovely,” Heather answered. “My Ivan is a man and a sweetheart.”

“You are lucky, girl.”

Heather put up her hand and flashed her diamond engagement ring. “Don't I know it,” she said, smiling and lighting up a cigarette.

“I thought you quit.”

“Quitting's for losers. And I ain't no loser.”

“You need to quit.”

“You quit your part-time job yet?” Heather asked, looking at her intensely.

Deahnna frowned. “Not yet. I want to, but can't afford to do that yet.”

BOOK: Growing Pains

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