Lovers & Haters (2 page)

He had wondered on more than one occasion if he really belonged to the family. His mother, father, and baby brother were fair-skinned—which left him standing out in family photos like a chocolate dot and feeling as though his mother had had a disgusting romp between the sheets with the mailman. He did admit to himself that Rufus Jangle, the neighborhood letter carrier, was blacker than night. But he'd feel sorry for himself later. He had to pee.

Xavier took the last stall next to the wall to handle his business. He had just finished when the lavatory door burst open like somebody had kicked it. The voices entering were highly recognizable: wannabe thugs.

Xavier quietly zipped and buckled while stealing a peek over the stall door. He knew all four knuckleheads and the dude they were disrespectfully pushing around. Some freshman geek named Sebastian Patrick. The fifteen-year-old boy was in Xavier's fourth-period computer class. He was short and thin, with glasses almost thicker than car windshields. He was shaking so bad that Xavier felt sorry for him.

“So, nephew”—Xavier knew this voice belonged to Dylan Dallas—“it doesn't look too good for you. My homeys here have told me that you don't value our protection anymore. What is it? You think you're too good for us? In this school you will find that freshman life ain't nothing but nine months of bullies and beatdowns—that is unless the newbies get smart and get somebody to watch their backs. That's where we come in. We provide a service and we expect to be paid . . . and you're late with our money.”

Dylan Dallas was a seventeen-year-old Tupac wannabe—green bandanna tied around his bald head, oversize hoodie, jeans, and Timberland boots. He even had bushy eyebrows and a nose piercing like the late rap star. He used to drop straight As on his report card—that was until he came up with the bright idea that robbing other students would be easier than graduating high school and going off to get a life.

“That's right, Dylan.” This voice belonged to Danger. He was a sixteen-year-old wannabe thug who had grown tired of getting beat up and hooked up with Dylan for protection. “Yup. Sebastian here owes you for an entire month. By my calculations, that's a hundred bones.”

As Dylan ran down Sebastian's list of offenses, Xavier stealthily removed his cell phone, ducked back down, and typed out a text.

When Xavier was a freshman, he'd had a run-in with these cats on the first day of school. Words had been exchanged, but before anything could jump off, school security moved in and squashed the beef.

Xavier was careful to peer over the stall door again.

There was a huge seventeen-year-old goon standing behind Dylan. This was his enforcer, an enormous dude who had earned the nickname “Knuckles” for his ability to knock guys out in one shot.

This wasn't his fight
, Xavier told himself. If he was going to be kicked out of school, it had better be worth it. He didn't want anything to affect his GPA. Not to mention, being suspended for three days and having to be at home with his nagging mother would be enough to drive him crazy.

“I know about you, Sebastian,” Dylan prattled on. “I've been peeping you every day since school started, watched as your old dude picked you up in his expensive whip.... What model of Mercedes-Benz is that, anyway?”

“I believe that pretty mofo is an E-Class,” a tall, skinny guy sitting on one of the sinks answered for Sebastian. He was bug-eyed, with a huge, pointed nose and dressed in a black Dickies outfit and a Detroit Tigers baseball hat turned backward.

The fool with his baseball hat turned backward had been the clown who Xavier believed had bumped him purposely on the first day of school. Word around school was that he packed heat. He went by the nickname “Trigger,” and rumor had it that he'd spent time in juvie for shooting some dude who was talking smack while Trigger was trying to get the dude's sister's phone number at a house party.

“Now, nephew,” Dylan said to Sebastian. “You can't expect to floss like that and not pay us for protection. I don't know what school you came from, but this is Coleman High. And since you've been short with the bread, I've decided that your protection fee has just doubled from one hundred to two hundred. Oh, just in case you don't get the picture”—Dylan pointed to the smallest boy in his crew. He was fifteen and went by the name Dirty—“show him.”

At the order, Trigger grabbed and pinned Sebastian's arms behind his back, exposing his stomach. Dirty was wearing a pair of True Religion jeans, a gray Detroit Pistons sweatshirt, and Timberland boots. He stepped up and delivered a menacing Floyd “Money” Mayweather type of blow to Sebastian's midsection. Tears trickled from underneath Sebastian's glasses as the boy fought to fill his lungs back up with air.

“Dirty, I don't think Sebastian is feeling us,” Dylan boasted.

Knuckles chimed in, admiring the heat being brought. “Damn, Dirty, I taught you well.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet,” Dirty explained. “Take his glasses off. I'm about to give him something to really cry about.”

Xavier had seen enough. He was not gonna just stand by and let them beat an innocent boy senseless. One thing he hated more than thieves were bullies. He kicked open the door of the stall so hard that everybody in the lavatory almost jumped out of their skin.

“Get off him,” Xavier demanded of Trigger.

“Or what?” Knuckles asked, stepping to Xavier. The two boys stood eye level and both were powerfully built for combat. Xavier was looking for a reason—any reason—to just knock Knuckles out.

Xavier stepped closer to Knuckles. “I could say ‘or I would beat the ugliness from your face,' but I am afraid that would be an all-day gig. But all the same, homeboy, cut Sebastian loose.”

“OMG,” Dylan said, smiling. “Xavier Hunter—nephew, why do you want to stick your nose in my business? I mean, we gave your freshman ass a pass on the first day of school last year as a courtesy to your old man. Noah Hunter was a legend in the streets, a true pioneer of the game. I grew up admiring your dad. But your old man ain't in the game anymore—this is my show, playboy. As one last courtesy to Papa Noah, I'm gonna let you bounce.” Dylan nodded his head at Knuckles, who slowly and hesitantly backed away.

“Kill that, Dylan,” Trigger shouted. He slung Sebastian to the dirty floor and was about to rush Xavier.

“Trigger,” Dylan said, “I said let 'im bounce. Now, what don't you understand?”

Trigger went off. “Man, let's do this fool. Don't nobody care about his old man. That junk is ancient history. This chump disrespected me last year—ain't no way I'm letting it slide.”

Dirty said, “B has a good point, Dylan. We let this fool get away with dissing us, how long before all these other fools at Coleman start trying us on?”

“Well, nephew,” Dylan said to Xavier, rubbing his chin, “the majority has spoken. Looks like Sebastian won't be the only cat limping out of here in pain.”

“Let's do this,” Xavier proclaimed with no fear in his voice.

Dylan and his crew circled Xavier, but before fists could start flying, the bathroom door opened. In walked three students, two built like apartment buildings; the other one was of average height, wore expensive designer shades, and resembled Usher Raymond.

“Whoaaa, look what we walked in on,” Designer Shades announced. “Dylan, man, you're slipping. Four on one—we can't let you get down like that, you feel me?”

Xavier looked at the newcomers and then back to Dylan. “It's your move, clown. Are you gonna let Sebastian bounce or are you gonna make a go?”

Dylan bit his lip in anger.

“Romello Anderson,” Knuckles said to the boy sporting the designer shades. “Homeboy, you are biting off more than you can chew.”

Romello laughed. “Don't worry about how much I can chew. Like X said, we gonna do this or what?” Romello glanced up at his two enormous companions, sixteen-year-old Ray Taylor and sixteen-year-old Clyde McElroy, and then back to Knuckles.

Trigger looked like he wanted to say something, but the glare from the massive monster on Romello's left side shut down anything cute that he had to say.

Xavier helped Sebastian up from the floor. “Go to class and I'll holla at you later.”

Sebastian straightened his glasses, wiped away his tears, and left.

“From here on out your protection is no longer needed, Dylan. And if I ever catch you trying to step to Sebastian again, I'm gonna stick my Nikes so far up your butt, homeboy, you'll have the taste of shoe leather on your tongue for weeks.”

“This ain't over, nephew,” Dylan ominously assured Xavier. He nodded his head at his crew and they all filed out of the restroom.

After they left, Xavier slapped Romello five. “Man, I thought you were never gonna show after I texted you.”

“Dog, I was trying to get up on some honeys in the gym when you texted. Luckily, big Ray and Clyde were getting their sweat on in the weight room.”

Xavier thanked Ray and Clyde for their assistance.

Before the two football players exited, Ray Taylor said, “Xavier, my father used to run with your dad. They're both in the same prison and they told me to watch your back. So if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

“Xavier,” Romello said, “you owe me. You can start by rolling with me to the State Theater on Friday—teen night, on me. ” He started moving his hips. “Dancing, honeys—the whole shebang. And I won't take no for an answer.”

Romello was sixteen years old. Xavier had known Romello since junior high, where he had a two-faced reputation around school. Some said that he was only loyal to one thing—and that was getting paid. The boy belonged to Deuces, one of the many gangs inside of Weber Junior High. Dude stayed in trouble. The two had started hanging around each other after Xavier helped Romello fight off three rival gang members. And even though Xavier was up on Romello's shady, ratchet rep, they became friends.

“Ain't nothing to talk about,” Xavier exclaimed. “I'm there. Now get your Usher Raymond wannabe butt to class,” Xavier joked.

“Later,” Romello said.

But it was really no laughing matter. Xavier had just punked out one of the school's shadiest thugs. He knew that someday, Dylan Dallas and his goons would try to return the favor. It wasn't his problem, but Xavier had a big heart and he couldn't let Sebastian get stumped out. If Xavier was trying to stay low key and lurk in the background to keep his grades tight, that plan was dead. Playing the hero had put him on the front line for an impending war. It was time for him to start surrounding himself with cats that would have his back when trouble stepped out of the shadows.

 

“Mr. Hunter,” Ms. Gorman said as Xavier walked back into class to take his seat. “I'm glad that you could grace us with your presence, just in time to introduce yourself to our newest student.”

The beef with Dylan was still so fresh in his mind that Xavier hadn't even noticed that the girl sitting directly to his right was new. He was slippin'—a fool like him usually noticed the honeys. The new chick was not only gorgeous, but a dime piece—straight Beyoncé in the face, long, flowing hair, a soft brown complexion, and juicy lips that had been designed for extra intense kissing sessions. Her eyes were her most endearing feature. They were big, brown, and almond shaped, with naturally long eyelashes.

Xavier couldn't see much of her body because she wasn't advertising it—meaning the girl wasn't dressed like a skank. Skinny jeans, T-shirt, chocolate brown UGG boots, same color leather biker jacket, and a nice pair of diamond stud earrings made this girl look like a superstar. A brown Michael Kors bag sat on the floor by her feet. The fragrance that girlfriend was rocking smelled better than any Xavier had ever come across.

“I'm Xavier.” He reached his hand out to shake hers.

She looked hesitant at first, but shook his hand. “I'm Samantha—Samantha Fox.”

“Fox, hmmm—yes, you are, ma. Maybe we can have some lunch, get to know each other.” Xavier was quick with his game.

“Pump your brakes, Romeo,” someone yelled from the back of the room. The entire class laughed.

“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” Ms. Gorman butted in. “Please try to contain yourself.” The teacher went into her desk and retrieved a thin book. “Everybody, can you please take out”—she held it up in full view of the class—“Shakespeare's
Hamlet
.” Ms. Gorman said to Samantha, “Looks like we are short one play. I won't be able to get another until tomorrow, so would you mind sharing with someone?”

Xavier saw his chance. “Ms. Gorman, I'd like to volunteer my play.”

“Respectfully—Xavier is it?” Samantha asked in a serious tone. “My father taught me never to accept anything from bad boys.”

“Ooooh,” a few of the male students instigated.

“Oh, it's like that?” Xavier asked, still slyly smiling. “Don't say that because most girls love us bad boys. This school ain't the most secure place in the city for a beautiful girl such as yourself to be walking around alone. You might need somebody like me to protect you.”

Samantha smiled flirtatiously and batted her long, thick eyelashes. “Your offer for bodyguard services is tempting, but that's why the school has security.”

The “oohs” and “aahs” started again.

Cheese butted in, “Girl, the jackers will be off with your goods before these security guards get off their butts to do something.”

Some of the students laughed at Cheese's sense of humor.

“It's all good, Cheese,” Xavier said. He turned to Samantha. “Security, huh? Okay. But just keep in mind that my door is always open for you, gorgeous.”

Samantha blushed, smiling.

“Excuse me, Xavier,” Ms. Gorman said. “This is not some mall where you can openly flirt. The only hook up that will be happening in my class is you hooking up with William Shakespeare. Now that you've volunteered your play to Samantha, tell me how will you be keeping up with the rest of us?”