Knockout Games (23 page)

He and Mom talked about me staying home from school, but Dad was determined that I act like everything was normal. “Only a guilty person hides,” he said.

Mom was concerned for my safety, but after speaking to Principal Evans, he assured them that Mr. Jamison would escort me between classes. That way I could at least finish out the term. Dad would take me to and from school, so I was covered. Other than that, I'd be grounded. No phone, no friends. And no contact with TKO crew.

Mom had been reluctant to go to work that first day I went back to school, but Dad said he had it under control. It was weird waking up Monday morning for school and seeing Dad in the kitchen. He was already on the phone making calls when I walked in. While I was eating breakfast, I saw him going through his briefcase and that's when I saw he'd brought his
gun
. I almost choked on my Froot Loops.

“Really?” I said, pointing.

“Tillman thought we should have some protection. Hopefully, I won't need it while I'm here. But according to you, I could be knocked out by a twelve-year-old at any time. If any of your little boyfriends tries that on me . . .” He took out his gun and checked the chamber. One bullet.

I don't know what was scarier, the idea that we might be attacked or that my dad was packing. I knew he'd never fired that gun in real life, except at the shooting range. In fact, he always kept only one bullet in it at any time.
You can do a lot of stupid things with six bullets,
he'd say.
One forces you to make a real choice—and to choose wisely.

The gun was just for show, something to impress all the sketchy characters that came into his business at one in the morning looking to bail out their buddies. But he did go to the range and had made it a point to take me before we moved here, so I'd know how to shoot it as well. He suggested we get one for the house, just in case, but Mom wouldn't have anything to do with that.

Maybe she wouldn't be so against it these days. Dad had gotten a newspaper before I even got up, and Mrs. Lee's death was on the front page. TEACHER KILLED BY KIDS read the headline.
Are Today's Youths Incapable of Empathy?
read another opinion piece. Details were being withheld pending investigation, but seeing Mrs. Lee's photo in the paper made me dizzy.

Alice Lee, fifty-four, an art teacher and community organizer, a mother of two, both in their twenties now. Her husband, Joe, had been a medic in the Iraq war; he had been wounded and retired.

They didn't seem like the reactionaries I imagined them to be. They lived near the library and went there a few times a week. Friends and colleagues said she loved her students.

That last detail got me. I wondered what she was thinking when she saw me with all those kids attacking her and her husband. Did she still love us then?

I wondered if she had any inkling that morning that it'd be her last. Is that something you can feel coming, like right before a storm when the wind kicks up and the air turns heavy? Or was it a complete surprise?

Her husband Joe was in the hospital. He had a broken jaw and swelling on the brain. They said he didn't remember anything. One minute, he was at their favorite library; the next, he woke up and his wife was dead.

I felt sorry for him. I remembered Kalvin saying,
What do you care what happens to them? You don't know them. They could be child abusers for all you know
. But they weren't.

I thought about our other targets and wondered what had happened to them. Were they afraid to go out anymore? Did they hate the world because of us?

Then, I saw that Mrs. Lee's funeral had been set for Wednesday. I tore out the notice and put it in my pocket. There was going to be a candlelight vigil tonight as well. Maybe I'd go to that.

Dad saw me reading the piece, but didn't say anything. What could he say?

35

When we arrived at school, the word was already out. I could tell because everyone looked at me like I had rabies or something. When Jamison and his crooked eye came marching up to talk to Dad, I spotted Prince and some others watching me and I knew they knew. They were thinking the same thing:
snitch bitch.

“This isn't gonna work,” I said.

Dad corrected me. “This
will
work. I know it's not a perfect situation, but Mr. Jamison will escort you everywhere you need to go.”

I looked at Jamison. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or my dad.

“That's the problem.” I scanned the front lawn. “The whole student body is staring at me. They already know I sold them out.”

Then I spotted the flowers piled up around the flagpole in front of the school. Some students were signing a poster with Mrs. Lee's picture on it.

“I think we should go home,” I said.

Dad saw what I was looking at and put his hand on my shoulder. “I think you should think of her and not yourself. I know it's not easy. But you are doing the right thing. That's not always the popular thing. Believe me, I know. I see plenty of losers in my line of work.”

“So I should stay?” I asked.

“We have to carry on. Despite everything. Just remember, you are my daughter. And believe it or not, I still love you. As long as you are protected, you'll go to school.”

He kissed me on the head. “Just think of Mrs. Lee when things get tough. She'd want you to go to school.”

He said good-bye and drove off. Jamison gave me the once-over. I could tell this was not his idea. “It's a sad day. And you should know, I'm only doing this for Mrs. Lee. If it was up to me—”

“It isn't.” I wanted to be clear about this. “And I know. Let's just . . . get on with it, OK?”

He decided not to challenge me. “There's going to be a memorial for her today. A big assembly with both the middle school and high school, out in the bleachers. Other than that, you go to your classes and I'll escort you in between. Questions?”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

He frowned. “Save it for your breaks. If you go during class and I'm not around, you'll be on your own.” He started walking.

First thing I saw once I got past the metal detectors at the school entrance was a poster that said,
Today is Mrs. Lee Day: Respect and be kind to your fellow humans!

A voice hissed, “Snitches get stitches.”

I wheeled around, but the hall was so crowded I didn't see who said it. People were watching me, so it could've been anyone.

“Come on,” said Jamison. “I'm not waiting on you.”

We headed to my homeroom, the one where Destiny sat behind me. When we got closer, I spotted her waiting outside the door. She saw Jamison, shook her head, and went in.

Jamison put his hand out to stop me. “Hold up.”

Now what?

“Just so we're clear here: no drama.”

Too late for that.

I sat in homeroom trying to ignore people's stares. Destiny was burning a hole into the back of my head with her eyes. Finally, I felt her nudge my elbow when the teacher had her back turned. A note.

I need to talk to you!

I wrote:
Ok, but Jamison is watching.

There was a long pause. The note came back:
Sit next to me at the assembly
.

I nodded.

The assembly happened after third period. Thank God. That was the period where I would have had to sit through art class without Mrs. Lee and I don't think I could've handled going there. Instead, we were told to report to the football field even though it was freezing. Jamison said he hoped it would wake us up.

Students walked in herds, making their way from class. When we reached the bleachers, I saw a stream of middle graders coming from the opposite end of the field, which bordered their school. By then, of course, everyone knew about Mrs. Lee. There was an oversized picture of her by a mic stand in front. People were somber and upset.

I spotted a few of the TKO Club: C-Jay and Tyreese and some others. Tyreese seemed super nervous and C-Jay kept a hold on Tyreese's shirt as if to keep him from running. They didn't see me, and I ducked into a row to avoid them. The rows filled in; I kept my head down, covering myself with my hoodie.

“No hoodies,” Jamison said.

“It's cold. Everyone else is wearing hats,” I pleaded. He backed off.

Destiny sat next to me. “That was fucked up what you did,” she said, instead of hi.

“Which part?” I knew she was pissed. “I'm sorry I ran out on you,” I added. “I just freaked . . . big time.”

Her jaw was clenched. “Yeah, well, you left me to deal with that stupid Mr. Graves and his crew. They kept me for two hours. My
mom
had to come get me. They were gonna take me in unless I told them who you were.”

“You gave me up?”

“No!” she hissed. “What do you think I am, a snitch?” She eased up. “That cop noticed your name on the bottom of your camera.”

“Well, I got screwed, if it makes you happy. My parents know everything. My dad drove in from Arkansas. I got a lawyer and—”

Destiny cut me off. “I hope you didn't say nothing.”

I couldn't look her in the eyes. I just shrugged it off.

“Erica . . .”

“What am I supposed to do? Mrs. Lee is dead and I'm an accomplice!” I hissed as quietly as I could. “I can't just let it pass.”

“And Kalvin?” she asked.

I didn't answer.

The principal gave a heartfelt tribute to Mrs. Lee. She'd been at Truman long before he came in and he recounted how she'd made him help paint a school mural with the students as a way to bond with them. She was always involved and always pushing for more after-school programs and arts funding and was willing to do almost anything to get them. She would be missed. The principal called for a minute of silence and we all stood. Jamison stood at the end of the row, head bowed.

After the longest minute in the history of mankind, the principal said we all needed to take a good hard look at ourselves and added that we should take a pledge of nonviolence and goodwill toward our fellow humans. We didn't have to stand up with our hands on our hearts or anything for that, but he asked us to think about our teacher and what she meant to the school. I'd already done plenty of thinking.

When he mentioned the Knockout Game, I winced. Even though they had spoken about it before, he had a special speaker he wanted us to hear from, a young black guy who could've been a senior here. The guy acted nervous and uncomfortable in his suit and tie as he stepped up to the mic. Even his glasses and close-cropped Afro seemed out of place.

That's when Destiny went pale. “Oh shit,” she said.

“My name is Tuffy Jones.”

“What?” I whispered.

She got all quiet. “That's my brother.”

I studied the guy. He did look kind of like her. “Why's he talking?”

She didn't answer.

“You didn't know he was going to be here?”

She was grinding her jaw. “He called me the other day in the park and wanted to make things right. But I could tell he still had a thing about Kalvin and he was trying to pry information from me. I didn't know . . . that he'd show up here. . . .”

Tuffy seemed awkward up there behind the mic. I could tell he wasn't used to speaking in public. “I went to school here three years ago. Mrs. Lee tried to keep me on the straight and narrow, but I didn't graduate 'cause . . . I was in detention. And I don't mean the kind after school.”

Everyone quieted down.

“I went to Joplin Middle too. That's where I started playing the Knockout Game.”

I glanced at Destiny: she had a look of horror on her face. She turned pale, her eyes drained of life. I'd never seen her look so worried.

Tuffy cleared his throat again and gathered himself. “In my head, it was funny—knocking people out. I liked the thrill of proving I was a man, even though I was just a kid, really. I used to have marks on my wall for how many knockouts I got. For real. We did five knockouts in one night once. By the time I came to Truman, I was top dawg—the Knockout King.”

Someone giggled behind me and someone else tried to shush him. I heard, “The real Knockout King would whup that boy's sorry butt.”

I ignored them. I felt like Tuffy was somehow going to speak to me in a real way. I was sitting fifty feet from him but in my head, it was a close-up, the sounds of the crowd dropping away. He was talking to me at that moment, like I was sitting in an empty theater staring at the big screen.

He looked right at me. “What y'all is doing now is stupid. I mean, we was some badasses but we never did no old heads and definitely never did no teachers. Never. Mrs. Lee is the only teacher who took a interest in me. What happened to her ain't right. It ain't right by a long shot.”

All I could hear was the sound of my heart beating in my ears. Until...

“I thought he failed that class,” said the guy behind me. “Dang, you go away for a while and you get all weak in the head.”