Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series) (4 page)

“
Whatever, kid. You don’t want us here, you won’t see us.” Peter rolled up his window and blew out of the parking lot a minute later.

CHAPTER 5

“
Hey, check him out. Dude’s driving a tricked-out Caddy,” Labron pointed out to his buddies as they watched a brand new Cadillac pull into the Loring High School parking lot.

The two-story high school’s location, wedged between Chicago’s urban and suburban districts, gave it a mostly white population with a minority of Mexicans, African-Americans, and Somalis. The brown, all-brick, block-like building sat right on the edge of a four-lane highway with residential areas on all sides. Students always congregated at the back entrance near the gymnasium due to the lack of wall-mounted cameras and rarely got busted by the staff for smoking, drugs, and fighting.

“
Who the fuck is that?” asked Deon, the alpha of the group of boys. At nineteen, he was the oldest and should have already finished high school if not for his failing grades. The four watched as a black teenager like themselves got out, looked himself over, picked up his backpack, and walked toward a car with an older white guy and a black guy sitting inside. After a minute, the car drove off, and the teen walked toward the entrance of the school with his head down and his eyes focused on the ground. He made no eye contact and never looked to see if he knew anyone. He was doing his best to remain anonymous.

For most kids, the first day of school is traumatizing. But Deon and his boys didn’t give a damn. He thought getting good grades was for the white kids. His failing grades made sure no one ever accused him of “acting white.” Deon only came to school to avoid his mother’s violent boyfriend and to avoid being taken to juvenile detention. “Looks like chocolate is a preppy mother-fucker. He’s dressed straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.” He fist-bumped the others as they laughed at the newcomer. In contrast to Tyler’s preppy attire, Deon and his click wore their pants just below the butt with their boxers showing and a muscle shirt or a sports jersey along with a doo-rag on their heads.

The four boys hung out just to the side of the back entrance and watched with rapt attention as Tyler walked in. Tyler ignored the stares and kept his eyes trained on the double set of doors. “Yo! Chocolate!” Tyler’s pulse doubled, and he tightened his fists, but remained silent, pretending not to hear. “Hey, chocolate!” the kid yelled again, this time louder and with more bravado.

Tyler figured if they were going to talk to him, they’d have to come get him, and that’s exactly what they did. Their leader bounced off the wall and took after Tyler to impress his buddies and to prove he shouldn’t be ignored and fucked with. When Tyler got within arm’s reach, he shoved Tyler in the back, nearly sprawling him out on the ground.

“
Why did you ignore me, boy? You think you better than us?”

Tyler looked around and saw everyone giving them room and some hoping for a fight. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear you,” he said sheepishly.

“
Bullshit. You heard us, bitch. Your preppy ass thinks it can just come in here and act like everything’s cool,” the kid said as the other three joined his side. “Things don’t work like that here. You’re my bitch now. How do you like that? You’re not even real chocolate.”

Not wanting a confrontation, Tyler turned and walked toward his class. The bell had already rung, and the halls were beginning to thin out.

“
I’m not finished talking to you, mother-fucker. Don’t you turn your back on me.” Instead of turning and facing his tormentor, Tyler kept walking. “That’s right, bitch, just keep walking and crying. Go to class like a cracker, and cry like a little bitch.”

Tyler slowly learned to endure the teasing. He built a wall around himself, which made it virtually impossible for others to hurt him, but it also kept out those whom he might have been able to trust. He knew he could get away with talking back to his mother. Talking back to guys his age was another thing, and he avoided confrontation at all costs. Tyler quickly learned the guys’ routine. He knew they smoked pot in the restroom between classes. To avoid them, he changed routes, parked in different places, and ate at different tables. The first two weeks went by without any problems.

At first, Tyler kept to himself, only talking when people initiated conversation or when teachers called on him in class. Even though he was bullied, he was a good kid; he got good grades and prided himself on learning. Math came easily to him, and he excelled at it. His teacher, Mr. Johnson, had a knack for teaching and recognized talent when he saw it.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and lunchtime. They all packed up their things and headed for the door.

“
Mr. Cogan, may I have a word with you for a moment?” Despite his label as a teacher, Johnson had an even-keeled temperament, except when students lied and tried to bullshit him. His short and stocky frame made for all sorts of Napoleon jokes. He had more hair in his mustache than on the top of his head.

Tyler looked at his teacher, fearful of what he had in mind. Being singled out was not something he enjoyed. Silently and cautiously, he approached the desk and stared at the ground, fiddling nervously with change in his pocket as he awaited the verbal onslaught.

Once the room emptied, Johnson sat on the edge of his desk and looked over his student the same way a father would his child. “What’s going on, Tyler?” Tyler listened, but did not reply, preferring to look away. “Tyler, you’re not in trouble; don’t worry. I’m not here to chew you out.” Still silence. “Look, Tyler, I know you’re Shantell Cogan’s kid. The students here don’t care who you are or care about politics; they’re only interested in texting and Facebook. Do you have any friends yet?” he asked with genuine interest.

Tyler nodded. “Yeah, I hang out with some girls at lunch. That’s about it,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“
You need some friends, Tyler. I used to be a shy, quiet, and sensitive kid when I was your age. As I got older, I became more assertive and confident. I put myself into situations where I forced myself to talk to strangers and be vulnerable. It wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to do it.”

Tyler looked up and made eye contact with him. “What if I don’t want to?”

“
Then you’ll be stuck alone forever. I don’t think you want that, do you?” He paused. “Can I tell you something?”

“
I guess.” Tyler shrugged.

“
Remember the first day of school, when Deon gave you a hard time?”

“
How could I forget?”

“
I watched you. The principal said you were coming, so I hung out in the doorway where I waited for you. You did a good thing by not reacting to them, but you need to find a way not to avoid them. Sooner or later, your luck will run out, and you’ll have to deal with them. And frankly, many people would rather cheer Deon on than help.”

The image of students cheering on his adversary made him want to vomit. “I think I need to go.”

“
Hold on, I’m trying to help. Can I do that?” Tyler sighed and let him continue. “I’ll take that as a yes. Before we can deal with your fear of confrontation, I want to find a way to make you feel more comfortable around other students. You’re a smart kid, smartest in any of my classes. I think you could help someone else out who needs your help just as much as you need mine.” Mr. Johnson stopped long enough to judge Tyler’s response to his idea, but Tyler remained silent. “Ever mentored anyone?”

Tyler shook his head. “Nah.”

“
I want you to come in after school. I’ve already arranged for you to sit down and mentor a boy just like you. His name is Dan Monroe, and he’s a nice kid, too. He’s struggling with his math homework and doesn’t have anyone at home to help him out.” Tyler’s attitude switched from fear and withdrawal to fascination. “So how ‘bout it—you interested in helping him?”

“
Sure, but I’m not too good at math either.”

“
Don’t be so modest, Tyler. You score the highest on all my math quizzes. You’re an absolute whiz. Be at the library at seven-forty-five tomorrow night. He’ll be waiting.”

Tyler’s mind raced as he made his way to the cafeteria. Never had someone given him positive feedback, much less wanted his help. The feeling of being needed and acknowledged overpowered him. He looked straight ahead just in time to see Deon coming toward him with his eyes locked on him like a hawk, although this time he ran solo. Even without the support of his buddies, he gave Tyler the stare-down. Tyler upped his step in time to find the end of the lunch line in the cafeteria. As much as he wanted to look behind him, he thought better of it and stared at the back of the head of the person in front of him.

Just then he felt the sensation of warm, moist air blowing lightly over his neck and ear, then a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Still afraid of me, chocolate?” Deon spoke only an inch from his ear. “Still acting like a pussy, you little bitch? Oh wait, you don’t like pussy, because you’re a faggot. That’s right, you’re still my bitch, and you’re a queer. I haven’t forgotten about you. I will be in your dreams; don’t you forget about me. I’m going to make your life a living hell.” He snapped his jaw shut for added effect.

Tyler closed his eyes and hoped the thug would go away.
It’s all a dream, it’s all a dream…
His eyes flickered open, and he looked around for Deon. He stood in the middle of the room and watched as people passed him up in the line. It was as if Deon had disappeared, and he was in some sort of alternate universe with the world spinning around him. Going from elation to terror within a span of mere minutes shook him to his core. His lip quivered, and he ran for the nearest exit in an effort to get away. Tears flowed in torrents as he reached his car, and he flung his book bag and himself into the back seat. As the tears came, so did the emotions. He swore at the top of his lungs and beat the back of the seats with his fists. He hated school, hated himself, and hated the world for what he was. Most of all, he hated that he couldn’t defend himself.

CHAPTER 6

Tyler glanced at his watch: 7:35 p.m. In ten minutes, he would begin his session with the student he’d mentor, Dan Monroe. He wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts and passed through the double doors of the high school library, then through a one-way turnstile and toward the center of the cavernous room. The well-lit library hall had two levels with an open atrium area where students could study and look up and view both levels from below. Tyler chose a table large enough so he and Dan Monroe could spread out their books and have some privacy. He laid his backpack on the chair, then turned and almost hit another student. Reflex kicked in, and he stopped his forward momentum just in time to prevent an impact.

“
Sorry, man,” Tyler said to the boy who was two years older and three inches taller. His tan complexion and long blond hair gave the impression he came from Southern California. Although he was eighteen, his surfer style made him look twelve.

“
No problem, Tyler,” he said as he plopped his bag on the table. “I’m not late, am I? I just came from football practice, and we ran late.”

“
Wait, how do you know my name?”

“
No offense, but there’s not too many black kids wearing Polos around here, if you know what I mean,” the boy said with a look of incredulousness.

Tyler flashed him an expression of acceptance. “You must be Dan,” he said as they shook hands. They exchanged eye contact for a moment longer than he expected. Paranoia sank in, making him apprehensive. Tyler dismissed the thought, sat down next to Dan, and took out his math. “I’ll be honest—this is my first time helping someone out, so you’re going to need to tell me what you want to study.”

“
We both have Johnson for math, and I’m freaked out because I have an algebra test on Friday, and I have no idea what’s going on,” said Dan. He took out his homework assignment. “Look at this,” he said, as his hand lightly grazed Tyler’s arm. “I don’t get any of it. I’ve stared at it for an hour, and I came up with nothing.”

The touch sent a wave of electricity up Tyler’s arm as he struggled to maintain his composure. To keep from being distracted, he shut his eyes for a split second and shoved the rush of thoughts out of his head.

Dan told him he and his parents had moved to Chicago from Seattle because of his father’s job; it was only the five of them—he, his parents, and his younger twin sisters who were still in elementary school. From his trendy clothes, brand-new backpack, vintage Starbucks coffee mug, and designer sunglasses perched on his forehead, Dan appeared to be well off.

As Tyler began to speak, Dan interrupted with small talk. “I’ve seen you around a few times. How do you like Loring?” He leaned in and rested his weight on his elbows on the table.

Tyler’s mind immediately switched to an image of Deon, and a rush of anger and resentment filled him. He almost blurted out his hatred of the guy, but thought better of it. His breathing doubled, and he clenched his jaw and fists. “Fine. I like it just fine. It’s not McGraw, but it’s okay,” he said in reference to the private school from which his mother had pulled him.

“
Why did you come here then?”

Tyler looked into his new friend’s eyes. “There’s not enough room for two Cogans in Shantell’s life,” he said and then regretted throwing her name out there. “My mother wants to run for President and figures it looks bad to her constituents if I go to a private school, so here I am.” Tyler put his hands up as if defeated. “Everything she does is geared toward getting her elected, including putting me…” he stopped himself before admitting he’d been to a treatment center for his homosexuality. “…putting me in this high school.”