Knockout Games (26 page)

Heavy. “Is that how come he ended up in juvie?”

She laughed bitterly. “No. An hour before the trial, the girl disappeared. The boys had gotten to her, convinced her to not testify. Kalvin . . . made me hide her at Prince's cousin's house till the judge had to finally throw out the case, a mistrial. Everyone got off, made a big show of it. People were pissed.”

“So how'd they get your brother, then?”

“'Cause he was an idiot. Thought he was invincible. He hit a reporter who asked the wrong question, right outside the courthouse! In front of everybody!”

“And that's how Kalvin took over?”

“Yep.”

She kept kicking at the ground. “They're not going to take any chances this time.”

“Who? Kalvin?”

“No, the city. If they're not 100 percent convinced you can win the case for them, they will drop you and walk away. They can't afford to be embarrassed again.”

“And why didn't you bring this up
before
I agreed to testify?” She gave me the stink eye. “Um, because you ran away?” Right.

Dad was drinking coffee and working at the kitchen table when I walked in.

“The police raided the school today,” I told him.

He nodded. “Graves called me. Quite a list of charges they had. Assault, collusion, witness intimidation, second-degree murder.”

I'd never get used to hearing that word
murder
. “How did they know Kalvin intimidated me?”

Dad studied me for a moment. “Not you. Joe Lee.”

“What?”

“Online stuff. Plus making threatening calls and leaving messages in his mailbox. Stupid stuff.”

I thought of Joe sitting by his wife's grave. The man had no recollection of the attack, but still, they had to make sure he got the message.

“So what do we do now?”

Dad collected his papers and put them in his briefcase.

“Now we wait.”

We were told it'd take two months for it to go to trial. The prosecutor was hoping a few of the younger ones would turn on Kalvin, after spending some time in a cell. There was very little evidence, I guess, so the case seemed to rest with me. They needed more, but no one else was coming forward. Even Joe was hesitant to say anything, because his memories were playing tricks with his head.

Meanwhile, life went back to normal, except all I had was time to think about what I was doing. Graves checked in with us every few days, making sure that I wasn't getting cold feet. He'd just drop by, as he was always out patrolling the neighborhoods, looking for certain kids before they got too deep into their criminal ways. He always brought us something: donuts, candy. And he always had the same message: “You're doing the right thing.”

I wasn't so sure.

40

Graves wasn't the only one counting days and checking in. I finally looked up online how long you could go without a period and not be preggers. Ten days.

Today was the tenth day.

I called Destiny. She knew it was important because I was calling, not texting.

“I haven't gotten my period yet,” I told her.

She knew what that meant. “Are you late?”

“A little....”

She thought about it. “You been under a lot of stress. That can fuck with your insides.”

I didn't say anything.

“If you're worried, we can find out. If you want to.”

I swallowed hard. I had pushed this out of my head long enough. But now it came roaring back in.

She was not one to bullshit me. “Come on, no use adding extra worry to that head of yours. The last thing you need is to be Kalvin's Baby Mama.”

She took me to a drugstore where we headed for the home-pregnancy-test section. She scanned the selection and picked one in a blue box.

“You seem to know what to look for,” I said.

She gave me a glance that said it wasn't her first time in this aisle.

“Come on.” She led me back to the bathrooms.

“Aren't we gonna pay for it?” I asked.

“You don't think you been paying for this yet?”

She came in with me and locked the door.

“How come we always end up in the bathroom together?” I asked.

“'Cause you always fucking up,” she answered without thinking. She tore open the box and pulled out a plastic thermometer-looking thing and held it up to the light. “I didn't mean that....”

I took it from her. “I know.” I looked at the “thermometer.” Two options:
pregnant
and
not pregnant
.

“You gotta know,” she said, seeing my hesitation. “You don't wanna be carrying around his seed in you.”

“Nice way of putting it.”

“Just—”

“I'm gonna do it,” I said. “Fuck . . .” I stuck the thing in my mouth.

She just looked at me like a child and pulled it out of my mouth. “You
pee
on it, idiot.” She handed it back to me.

I knew that.

I waited for her to leave, but she stayed put. “You just gonna stand there?”

She sighed and turned around. “You ain't got anything I don't.”

I sat and waited for the pee to come. “What if—”

“There is no
what if
. There's only
what is
. But either way, there's options.”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I thought back to that night on the roof. It felt like forever ago, but everything changed in three weeks. I remember staring up at the moon with him. This was not where I expected to be.

Destiny stood there waiting for that plastic thing to reveal the truth. I saw her eyes straining for the answer.

“Well?” I asked.

“Hold on . . . it's coming.”

I couldn't take it. “Tell me!”

Her face was all tense and then . . . she dropped it and took two steps toward me and wrapped her arms around me tight.

I looked down at the thing on the ground.

Not pregnant.

The next day, I got my period.

41

Christmas happened, but I can't say it was merry. We did our best to have a normal family holiday, with the gifts and the tree. It even snowed for about twenty minutes, but soon that turned to brown mush.

For a present, Dad got me some fancy drawing paper and new pens, hoping maybe I'd take up drawing again—like that would cheer me up.

As soon as I could, I'd donate it all to the new art teacher.

My phone vibrated with a blocked ID. I answered anyway.

The operator said there was a collect call and then I heard this tiny voice say, “It's me. Tyreese.” An image of him curled up under his bed in that cell flashed in my mind.

The operator asked if I'd accept the charges, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He'd just make me cry, and I was tired of crying.

“Sorry, wrong number.”

Shortly after, I received an e-mail from Destiny. I guess it was too personal to text.

She'd talked to Tyreese. He told her how hard it was in juvie. Fights broke out all the time. The juvenile authorities kept trying to get him to turn against Kalvin. But Kalvin was there too, waiting to be transferred to an adult facility, so that made it impossible. He was sure Kalvin was out to get him in his sleep or something.

Kalvin kept telling Tyreese that in Missouri, a twelve-year-old could be tried as an adult for murder (it was true; I Googled it). Tyreese was begging Destiny to help him. He promised he was done with the TKO Club, done with fighting. He said he couldn't stop thinking of Mrs. Lee—it had been an accident; he just wanted to knock her out, not kill her. He was scared, scared that Kalvin would do something if he said any more.

After that, I saw Destiny less. Seeing her made me think of Kalvin, which made me think of Tyreese. Instead, I tortured myself by watching all those movies we never finished with Kalvin—
A Clockwork Orange, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Bonnie and Clyde
. Now I knew why we never saw the endings: things ended badly for the “heroes”—all winding up dead or in prison or brain damaged. Now suddenly, I could see the movies for what they were: tragedies.

I guess the joke was on us.

A couple days before New Year's, I was walking home from the market when I saw Joe Lee struggling to carry his shopping bags. He no longer had a walker or the neck brace. But his arm was wrapped in a sling and he limped so badly, he needed a cane. It was a fight just to carry his three plastic bags.

It was cold and a little icy. I was going to walk away before he saw me, but after watching him struggle for a few seconds and seeing nobody was offering to help, I found myself next to him.

“Do you need some help?” I asked.

He had two bags on the ground and was leaning against a light pole, resting. “No thanks. I'll manage.”

“Really?” I said.

He laughed at that. “No. I just . . . doctor won't let me drive yet and my brother couldn't make it and you know . . . gotta eat!”

I looked around for a taxi or a bus he could take home. “Well, don't they have one of those dial-a-ride things?”

“That's for old people. I'm not old.”