Dear Martin Page 10

  For a minute, nobody says anything, and Jus is sure his coming here was a mistake. But then Quan starts talking. “Aiight, listen up: where I come from, resistance is existence, homie. Every day I woke up in my hood coulda been my last. You wanna survive? Get wit some niggas who won’t turn on you, and y’all do whatever it takes to stay at the top, you feel me? My dudes…they’re like family to me. They’ve got my back as long as I have theirs. Somebody tells you to make a move, you make a move. No questions asked.”

  Jus shakes his head. “Not buyin’ it, dawg. Don’t forget I grew up right around the corner from you.”

  “Last I checked, your way got you capped and Manny killed,” Quan says.

  Jus can’t really respond to that.

  “I know you all about gettin’ ahead and everything, Justyce, but you gotta face reality at some point. These white people don’t got no respect for us, dawg. Especially the cops. All they ‘protect and serve’ is their own interests. You just gon’ continue to bend ya knee after they proved that shit by killin’ ya best friend?”

  Again, Jus has nothing.

  “Can’t even say I was surprised when I heard, man,” Quan continues. “You and Manny were good dudes, and y’all still got a raw-ass deal. That’s why I wanted to see you. Talk. I got a counselor here, but I can’t tell that white lady none of this shit. She won’t get it.”

  Jus nods. “You know what, Quan? I feel you.”

  And he really does.

  “It’s fucked up—there’s no escaping the BMC,” Quan says.

  “The BMC?”

  “Yeah. Black Man’s Curse. World’s got diarrhea and dudes like us are the toilet.”

  “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

  “Let me tell you when I learned: my second time in juvie, I was fourteen. There was this seventeen-year-old rich white boy there, Shawn. Dude had got up in the middle of the night and stabbed his dad like eight times.”

  “Damn!”

  “Right? They tried to get him on an attempted murder charge, but homeboy’s lawyer got some doctor to come in and say dude was sleepwalking. And the shit worked! Judge dropped the charge down to simple assault. Guy got sixty days at a youth development campus, then got to go home.”

  “You serious?”

  “Yup. Meanwhile, they locked my ass up for a year on a petty theft charge cuz it was my ‘second offense.’ Prosecutor actually referred to me as a ‘career criminal’ at the hearing.” Quan shakes his head. “I think that was prolly the moment I gave up. Why try to do right if people will always look at me and assume wrong?”

  Justyce can’t respond to that. He knows Quan committed actual crimes, whereas his only error was reaching to turn the music down, but Jus has to admit he’s thought that same thing—what is the point in trying to do right?

  “So what do I do, then, man?” he asks, surprising even himself with the question. “What’s the alternative?” He swallows the next thought: Winding up in jail doesn’t seem like the way to go.

  Quan shrugs. “Well, as a wise man once told me, the solution is twofold: first, you gotta use the power you already got, man. People fear dudes like us. When they fear you, they don’t fuck with you, feel me?”

  Jus doesn’t feel Quan, but he nods anyway.

  “Second, you need to get you a crew to roll with. There’s strength in numbers. Matter fact…You should give Martel a call,” Quan goes on. “He’s like a big brother to a lot of us. Taught us everything we know.”

  This makes Justyce’s heart race. He knows exactly who Martel is and what he’s about (hello, Black Jihad?). The last thing he wants is to get involved with some gang leader. “Nah, man, it’s cool. I’ve learned plenty from you.” He peeks over his shoulder at the exit again.

  Quan grins. “I’ma give you Trey’s number. He’ll put you in touch with Martel.”

  “You really don’t have to do that, Quan. I promise you, I’m all right.”

  “It’s hard out there by yourself, man. Martel gets it.” Quan looks Jus right in the eyes, and a stone drops into Jus’s gut. “You’ll be welcomed if you want in,” he says.

  “For real, dawg. I’m good. Besides, I don’t have anything to write with.”

  “I’m sure you’ll remember the number until you get back to your phone. You ready?”

  As soon as Quan recites the last digit, a guard Jus failed to notice says, “Time’s up!” The whole way back to his car, some of Quan’s words run laps in Jus’s head: Resistance is existence….These white people don’t got no respect for us….There’s no escaping the Black Man’s Curse….It’s exactly the kind of thinking Jus tried to combat with the letters to Martin.

  But asking What would Martin do? didn’t help, did it? That’s why he stopped writing them.

  There’s one thing Quan said that Jus can’t dispute: doing things Jus’s way got him and his best friend shot. Yeah, Quan’s in jail, but at least he’s alive.

  That’s more than can be said for Manny.

  Before sticking the key into the ignition, Jus grabs his cell phone from the center console. Before he can change his mind, he punches Trey’s number in.

  Turns out not using the number is harder than Jus anticipates, especially when he’s alone with nothing but memories of his homeboy. He’s hanging out after school in Doc’s classroom to avoid making the call a few days later when SJ busts through the door like she’s being chased by rabid dogs.

  The sight of her punches the air right out of Jus’s lungs. They haven’t really talked since the funeral a couple of weeks ago, but seeing her so…SJ? Well, it centers him in a way he doesn’t expect.

  “You guys!”

  “Yes, Sarah-Jane?” says Doc, the picture of calm.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on right now?”

  “Can’t say we do,” Doc replies.

  “Where’s your TV remote?”

  Doc pulls the remote from his desk drawer and passes it to her. Once the TV is on and tuned to the right channel, Jus finds it hard to breathe for a different reason.

  There on the screen, big and bold and bright and blatant, is a picture from Jared’s Halloween-Political-Statement-Turned-Brush-with-Death. Of course everyone else—Blake the Klansman included—has been cropped out of the version making national news. It just shows Justyce McAllister as Thug Extraordinaire.

  “We’ve heard about his grades, SAT scores, and admission to an Ivy League school,” the anchor says, “but a picture speaks a thousand words. This kid grew up in the same neighborhood as the young man accused of murdering Garrett Tison’s partner more or less on a whim.”

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Jus says.

  People all over the country have rallied to the cause: wearing Justice for JAM T-shirts (JAM being Justyce and Manny) and riding with their music loud from 12:19 until 12:21 every Saturday afternoon to commemorate the time of the argument between them and Garrett. But if there’s one thing Jus knows from the Shemar Carson and Tavarrius Jenkins cases, it really doesn’t take more than a photo to sway mass opinion.

  SJ crosses her arms, and the three of them lean in to hear the “analysis” of some anti–gang violence pundit who appears on a split screen with the anchor. “I mean it’s obvious this kid was leading a double life,” the guy is saying. “You know what they say, Steven: you can remove the kid from the thug life…But ya can’t remove the thug life from the kid.”

  SJ: You son of a bitch.

  Doc: Shhh…

  SJ: This is blatant defamation of character!

  Pundit: There’re all these reports about how great a kid Emmanuel Rivers was. But if this was the company he kept? Well, I really don’t know, Steven.

  Jus: [Shakes his head.] Unbelievable.

  Steven: We’ve received some reports that this other young man you mentioned—Quan Banks—is a relative of Emmanuel Rivers. You know anything about that?

  Pundit: It wouldn’t surprise me if both boys had ties to Banks. Who’s to say Officer Tison didn’t see them
on the scene the night his partner was murdered right before his eyes? You have to put the pieces together, Steven: Garrett Tison and Tommy Castillo respond to a complaint about loud music, there’s a Range Rover parked in the driveway of the offending domicile, and some thug kid pops out of the backseat with a shotgun. Now that we’re learning about all these connections, who’s to say it wasn’t the same Range Rover Emmanuel Rivers was driving? Officer Tison says these boys pointed a gun at him, and after seeing this picture, I can’t say I’d put it past them.

  As the news cuts to another segment, SJ turns the television off.

  Doc looks too furious to speak. All Jus can do is put his head in his hands.

  “Effing Jared,” SJ says. “If that cretin wouldn’t’ve—”

  SJ’s phone rings, and Jus lifts his head. When she sees the screen, her eyebrows jump to the ceiling.

  “Who is it?” Jus says.

  SJ holds out the phone. Douche-Nugget is the name displayed. “Speak of the spawn of Satan and he shall make his presence known.”

  “Jared?” Jus asks.

  “Yep. I’ll take it in the hallway.”

  As she pulls the door closed, Jus hears her yell: “SEEN THE NEWS TODAY, ASSHOLE?”

  Doc throws an arm around Jus’s shoulder and gives him a shake. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “This is some bullshit, Doc!” Jus kicks the desk beside him and it topples onto its side.

  “Yep.” Doc rights it.

  “Is it not enough that Manny’s dead, man? It’s like these people want Garrett to get away with it.” Jus shakes his head. “I knew I shoulda said no to Jared’s idea. Definitely shouldn’t’ve let him take that picture…But I ignored how I was feelin’ about it because I was tryna be like—” He grits his teeth.

  “Like Martin?”

  Jus nods.

  “You still writing your letters?”

  “Nah, man.”

  “Why not?”

  Jus shrugs. “Don’t see the point. My ‘experiment’ obviously didn’t work. Don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

  “I see.”

  “You know what’s crazy, Doc?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got one memory of the day everything happened: sharp pains in my chest and shoulder, and then not being able to breathe. In that moment when I thought I was dying, it hit me: despite how good of a dude Martin was, they still killed him, man.”

  Doc nods. “I know. But I don’t think knowing he’d be killed would’ve changed the way he lived, Jus. He challenged the status quo and helped bring about some change. Pretty sure that was his goal. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “All I know is he and Manny are dead, and I’m being cast as the bad guy.”

  “I get that. Look, Jus, people need the craziness in the world to make some sort of sense to them. That idiot ‘pundit’ would rather believe you and Manny were thugs than believe a twenty-year veteran cop made a snap judgment based on skin color. He identifies with the cop. If the cop is capable of murder, it means he’s capable of the same. He can’t accept that.”

  “Well, that’s his hangup. Shouldn’t be my problem.”

  “You’re right. But it is your problem because you’re affected by it. I know it’s shitty, excuse my language, and it’s definitely not fair. But these people have to justify Garrett’s actions. They need to believe you’re a bad guy who got what he deserved in order for their world to keep spinning the way it always has.”

  “How does that help me, Doc?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  Jus shakes his head again. Trey’s number flashes through his mind. “So why even try to be ‘good’?”

  “You can’t change how other people think and act, but you’re in full control of you. When it comes down to it, the only question that matters is this: If nothing in the world ever changes, what type of man are you gonna be?”

  A dense silence settles over the room, but just as Jus is about to speak again, SJ comes back in. For a minute, she just stands with her back against the doorframe and her eyebrows furrowed.

  “SJ?” Doc says. “Everything all right?”

  She snaps out of the daze. “Assclown Christensen seems to be shedding his douchey skin, you guys.”

  “Huh?” from Jus.

  SJ comes over and drops down in the empty seat next to him. She turns to look at him. Right in his eyes. “He wants to clear this up,” she says.

  “Wait.” Jus shakes his head. “Back up. I’m confused.”

  “Jared. That was him on the phone.”

  “Got that part.”

  “Well, he’s pissed about what they did with the Halloween picture. Says his dad is calling some people so they’ll show the entire shot, Blake’s Klan idiocy included.”

  Jus doesn’t know what to say. Isn’t this the same guy who was about to press charges against Manny for the beatdown he got? Why the hell is he being Mr. Noble all of a sudden? “What do you think is up with him?”

  “I honestly couldn’t tell you. He seemed a little…disillusioned? Like I picked up the phone and called him an asshole, and it sounded like he just kind of crumpled. ‘I can’t even disagree with you, SJ,’ he said. ‘This is all my fault.’ I had to look at my phone to check who I was talking to.”

  Jus’s jaw clenches. “So now he wants to be the Great White Hope—”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Doc interrupts, “but Manny and Jared were good friends, right?”

  Jus shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “It occur to either of you that maybe the guy doesn’t want his friend’s name dragged through the mud any more than you do?”

  Neither SJ nor Jus responds.

  “Cut Jared some slack. He’s grieving too.”

  Jus’s eyes drift across the room to where Manny and Jared used to sit side by side in Socio Evo. “Yeah, okay, Doc.”

  “I need to hit the men’s room.” Doc stands. “Excuse me.”

  When Doc leaves, Jus’s awareness of SJ’s presence kicks up a notch. He looks at her hands on the desk and sees that her nails are painted green. It makes him smile: during one of their tournament prep sessions at her house, they’d taken a break to make a snack run to the local drugstore. Just before they checked out, SJ asked Jus what his favorite color was. When he told her green, she ran off and came back with the bottle of nail polish.

  Justyce clears his throat. “So—”

  “Wait, I need to say something.”

  “Okay.”

  She turns to face him. “I owe you an apology. For…bailing.” She picks at her nails. “After the tournament. With no explanation. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” Some emotion he doesn’t recognize surges in his chest. He’s on dangerous ground and he knows it. Especially considering the way she’s looking at him. “You, uhh…mind explaining now?”

  “I panicked?”

  “You panicked.”

  “Well, there was Melo…and I didn’t know where you stood with her or how I fit? Anyway. Point is, it won’t happen again.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it, Jus. I want to be here for you. Anything you need. A friend, a hug, whatever.”

  “Thanks, S.” Jus bumps her with his shoulder. “I really appreciate it.”

  She nods. “So we’re good?”

  “Yeah.” Jus smiles. “We’re good.”

  VP RELEASED FOR RABBLE-ROUSING!

  BY: SONYA KITRESS

  For The Tribune

  Julian Rivers, executive vice president of Davidson Wells Financial Corporation, has stepped down from his position following troubling reports of his involvement in the Justice for JAM movement. According to CEO Chuck Wallace, photographs of Mr. Rivers on the front lines of an Atlanta march that shut down traffic for hours last week triggered the loss of several high-profile clients and approximately $80 million in revenue for the asset management firm. In a press release yesterday afternoon, Wallace stated: “While we respect the gravity of the tragic loss of a child
, involvement in publicly disruptive activity is grounds for investigation and potential dismissal. Mr. Rivers has been a tremendous asset at Davidson Wells for well over nineteen years, and while we hate to see him go, we’ve mutually agreed to part ways.”

  Rivers’s son, Emmanuel, was killed in a shooting during a dispute over loud music in late January. A trial date for the shooter, who was indicted last month, has not yet been set.

  There’s not a whole lot Jus is sure of these days, but he knows he shouldn’t be in this seat at the back of the number 87 bus right now. If it weren’t for the newspaper article in his pocket, he’d be studying for finals or hanging out with SJ. But all he’s thought about over the past few days is how sad Manny’s parents were when they invited him over to tell him they were moving.

  Doc gave Jus a copy of the article about Mr. Julian “stepping down” the morning it was released. His first thought: instead of Sonya Kitress, the name on the article should be Nunya Bidness. Manny’s parents more or less sponsored the Atlanta chapter of the Justice for JAM movement, so of course they’d participated in the local marches. It wasn’t their fault the one they were photographed at overflowed onto the highway, blocking all northbound and southbound lanes.

  The day the Riverses shared their relocation plans, they also told Jus that Mr. Julian had received an ultimatum. Basically: Sever all ties with that so-called movement or clear out of that corner office (in so many words). Mr. Julian told Jus he “calmly explained the meaning of civil disobedience” before removing his framed degrees from the wall.

  Jus is on the number 87 bus, the final bus in the commute from Oak Ridge to Wynwood Heights, because what Quan said—there’s no escaping the Black Man’s Curse—has been echoing in his head since he left the Riverses’ house. He has no idea where else to go or who else to turn to. SJ’s great, but not for this, and while he could go to Doc, Jus doesn’t really want to hear any more stay good even though the world craps on you advice.

  Mama would throttle Jus if she knew where he was going—everybody in the neighborhood knows who Martel is—but frankly, she hasn’t been any help lately either: every time he calls or stops by, she brings up SJ.