Knockout Games (15 page)

“Good. This is Mr. Rodney Graves, a special investigator from the juvenile division. I know many of you know him because he's a strong member of this community and always out on the streets walking the walk. He's come here to Truman because he believes there's a serious problem that involves our students. Mr. Graves . . .”

Joe Lee was whispering something in the cop's ear as he stepped up to the mic. Nobody clapped. Joe hung back, his eyes surveying the crowd.

I pulled my hoodie up over my head.

The cop had a slight Southern accent and an easy way about him. “How many of y'all know about the Knockout Game?”

I covered the bruises on my hand with my long sleeves.

We all glanced around at each other. He had no patience. “Come on, no one's being arrested here. I'd like to know. How many of you know about this game?”

A few hands went up. Then some more. He kept encouraging us, so after a few seconds about half the assembly had their hands up.

Me and Destiny kept ours down.

“About half of you have heard of this. How many of you think it sounds like fun?”

There were some giggles and smiles and even more hands went up, mostly from the boys showing off.

“Alright. It's just a game, right?”

Several jokers cheered.

“Yeah! I hear you,” he said all folksy. Then he got serious. “Now how many of you have
played
the Knockout Game?”

There was about a second delay before all the hands came down. Graves laughed. “Well, I figured that. See, the thing is, it turns out this game, after years of defying any kind of pattern or stats that we could follow up on, now has a pattern that can be identified.” His eyes carefully studied us. “There have been twelve attacks in the last four months. And if you charted these out on a map, do you know where ground zero for these attacks would be?”

No one raised their hands.

“You all sitting on it. This school. And the middle school next door.” He let that sink in.

“There have been witnesses who have described kids wearing colors similar to the school uniforms here and at Joplin. So it doesn't take a genius to tell me that sooner or later, arrests will be made.” He rubbed his chin like he was surveying his crops. “Sooner or later, a witness will be willing to stand up in court and the ‘club' that some of you belong to will be locked up—and I'm not just talking juvie here. I'm talking being tried as
adults
. For first-degree assault. With a deadly weapon. That's fifteen to twenty years right there, yup. How many of you think
that
would be fun?”

No one.

“Mm. Didn't think so. In my experience, it's hard for y'all to put yourself in the other person's shoes. That's what you call
empathy
. But prison—that you can understand, am I right?”

No one moved, laughed, or joked around. “The rules are changing on your little game. So I'd suggest that you all realize NOW that maybe sending someone to the hospital for no reason other than getting your kicks is maybe
not
in your best interest.”

He paused for a long time, looking everyone in the eye. I swear he stopped when his eyes met mine. “Now, last night, everything changed. There was a peaceful protest lead by Mr. Lee here and apparently, some of you decided it'd be a good time to stage . . . a water balloon fight.”

Laughs broke out. Graves smiled and nodded along. “Pretty funny, right?”

Destiny looked at me grimly. I shrugged.

He continued. “The only problem is, in the middle of the melee that broke out last night, one of you decided to knock out a protester as he made his way through the crowd. Except
that
person, who's now in the hospital, is a city councilman. So now the mayor has decided to make this a high priority alert and arrests will be made.
Convictions
will be made.”

My eyes shot around the room and I saw Prince, his head in his hands, a little more than worried. I nudged Destiny and she saw him too, but said nothing. Then I remembered: she left with him last night.

“Did you see it?” I asked. She didn't answer.

Joe came up and whispered something else in Graves's ear. Graves nodded. “There were witnesses this time, and despite prior descriptions of the group, the suspect is a non-black male, approximately sixteen, with short dark hair cut in a Mohawk fashion.”

All eyes drifted Prince's way. He slowly pulled his hoodie over his head. He was probably pissed off at Kalvin and wanting to make his own statement. Well, he made it all right.

“Instead of showing witnesses the usual mug shot book to identify the perp, this time we have a new book.” He held up the Truman yearbook. Murmurs broke out in the room. “This is serious business, people. Some down at the station think it's just a small group doing these crimes. Others think that as many as 15 percent of you and the middle school kids are playing. As far as I am concerned: You are all potential suspects. And we will find you and prosecute you. Right now, I'm your friend. I'm here to help and listen and keep you all out of juvie. That's my mission. The rest is up to you.”

With that, he stepped back and let the words sink in. Everyone started talking at once. The teachers moved in and began dismissing the students.

I spotted Prince trying to slink out, only to be stopped by Mr. Jamison. He wanted a word. I watched as he walked him to the corner of the stage where Evans and Graves were waiting for him.

Shit.

“What are we gonna do?” I asked Destiny.

She looked at me as if it was all my fault. “You better stay away from TKO.”

She got up and left with the rest. I wasn't sure if that was the advice of a friend, or a warning.

22

As soon as the last school bell rang, I set out for Kalvin's place. His house was a good mile away, but I didn't care. There was so much swirling in my brain. Walking would help clear my head.

I had to pass a couple of The Watchers to get to his apartment building. Right before I went in, I glanced back and saw them filming me. I ignored them. The front door to Kalvin's building was open as usual. I made my way up and stood in front of his place, ready to knock.

But what was I going to say? I was so pissed about the video and upset about the assembly, I didn't know where to begin. Rip his head off or hide in his arms?

Before I could come up with an answer, the front door swung open and a woman who was on her way out jumped back, startled by my presence.

“Oh, my! You scared me, honey,” she laughed. “Who you? What can I do you for?”

She was dark skinned, much darker than Kalvin. Her kind brown eyes considered me closely behind her librarian specs.

“I'm sorry, I was looking for Kalvin. . . .”

She smiled when she saw my school shirt. “Oh, Truman. Hi, I'm Kalvin's mom.”

“Uh, hi . . . I'm . . . Erica.” I stood there awkwardly.

“Hello, Erica. Are you dropping off homework for Kalvin? He says he's keeping up while he's . . . you know . . . on leave,” she shook her head. “Always a different friend showing up. . . .

Glad you all can help him, though.”

I sighed. “Is he here?”

“He'll be here in about fifteen minutes. Out walking that dog of his. You can come in and wait if you want to.”

“Uh, no thanks; I can come back.”

She took my hand. “Nonsense. Come on in; you must be thirsty.”

I guess I was. She took me into the kitchen and sat me down, plying me with juice and cookies. Maybe I looked younger than I was, but I didn't care; I scarfed them down anyway.

“How is school, Erica?”

I was still surprised by her appearance. She seemed so homey, a good motherly type. Not like a woman who gave birth to the Knockout King. “Uh, fine.”

“I haven't met you before, have I?” Then suddenly, something clicked when she noticed my red hair. “
Oooh
. You're
Erica. . . .
” she said, knowingly. She winked at me. “One of Kal's
special
friends.”

What did that mean
? I blushed, staring into my glass.

She smiled. “Oh, it's OK. He never introduces me to his girlfriends, so it's nice to finally meet one.”

One?

“I shouldn't show you this,” she whispered. She got up and opened one of the kitchen drawers, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She smoothed it out on the counter and brought it gently over like it might crumble into nothing. “The reason I know your name is, I was cleaning his room the other day and when I emptied the trash, I found this.”

She handed me the paper. It was in Kalvin's writing. “A poem?” I said, surprised.

“He was probably too embarrassed to show you. Still, you must be quite something to inspire him to write poetry again.”

Again
? “Kalvin wrote a poem? For
me
?”

My eyes quickly scanned the page.

Red hair flaming

Eyes on fire

She don't go blaming

She ain't no liar.

She a fish staring out

From her underwater tank

Recordin' the truth

Like its money in tha bank

She got weight to her

And I don't mean how much

She feel heavy inside

You can feel her touch

She suck the air out

from all ‘round me

She ain't afraid

She see right thru me

She will say what up

Right to my face.

She keeps me real

She no basket case.

But that hair of hers

Is like a match—

One strike

And she'll burn ya

that'll be the last.

But for now

She my latest thing

She got weight to her

She my bling bling

Where did that come from? My anger kept falling away as I reread his words. But then it came rushing back when I thought about the video he sent to Destiny.

His mom paused thoughtfully. “It's nice to see him writing after all these years. He used to write me all kinda poems when he was little. His hero was Muhammad Ali. You know,
float like a butterfly, sting like a bee
?”

Kalvin, the boxing poet. This was getting too much.

“Yes, he had quite the way with words. ‘Course I'm talking back when he was five, back when he was a happy little guy. He used to call them
pomes
. Wait here; I'll show you something else.”

Then she just walked out of the room, leaving me there alone. Maybe she had to go to the bathroom. . . .

She returned a minute later with her iPad. “I just had these pictures transferred from my old scrapbooks. It's so much easier these days.”

Two minutes in and she's showing me baby pictures. Not what I had in mind. . . .

The first one was with a boy around three, cute as can be, sitting on her lap.

Even then, his eyes were intense.

“Where did those eyes come from?” I said, pointing them out.

“That's all his father left him with, those eyes. Striking, isn't it? He was such a happy kid in those days. Interested in all kinds of things. Always asking questions, how to do this, how to do that. Just soaking it all in.”

“And now?” I asked.

She shrugged, forwarded to the next image. It was a silhouette shot at sunset—Kalvin around six on the shoulders of a man—tall, big and muscled.

“His dad,” she said. “He was trouble . . . but I was attracted to trouble back then, like any girl is. I was rebellious, mostly against my parents, I guess.” She stared at the picture. “We had our moments. He was a good man, but also a hard man. He drove Kal to become tougher because he believed . . . that's what it took to survive. Then he left us.”

I knew that story. “Yeah, he told me. I'm sorry for your loss. I know what it means not having a dad around.”

She looked surprised. “Oh? Your daddy's in prison too?”

I was confused. “You mean he's not—”

I heard the front door open, the dog yapping. Kalvin was back. I shoved the poem in my pocket.

“Not what, honey?” she asked. She saw Kalvin coming, then glanced mischievously back at me. “Oh, he's not going to like this.”

Kalvin took one look at me with his mom and her iPad and knew it wasn't good. He walked over and grabbed it from her.

“Kal! There's no harm in sharing pictures with your friend.”

“Some things ain't for friends!” he said. He glared at me and saw that I was more pissed off than he was. He grunted. “So I suppose you got it in for me too. Come on.” He walked toward his room.

His mom sighed. She was used to it. “You want some more juice, honey?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Barnes. I'll have a few words for your Kal, then I'll be going.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn't waste your breath. He won't listen anyways. He doesn't listen to anybody.”

He was sitting on his bed, holding his dog in his lap, when I walked into his room. I shut the door behind me. It was a little weird with his mom just on the other side, but I needed to unload.