“What’s up with Chaz?” I ask Jade.
“Mmm-hmm.” Jade shrugs, her attention already back on Coming to America. “No telling. Trouble probably.”
Chaz has been nothing but trouble for a long time. Like most kids, he thought he’d be a baller, get drafted one day. If it isn’t rapping, it’s sports. In the hood, those are a boys’ dreams when anything seems possible. Most dreams don’t last long on this block of rude awakenings.
Our three sets of eyes stretch wide at the sound of a helicopter overhead outside. The cops have been cracking down lately. Sometimes it feels like they’ve forgotten us here in Compton, like they give up on trying to regulate the violence and death we’ve become numb to. One minute, you’re on the playground swinging, hanging on monkey bars, and the next you’re dodging bullets. The cops come on their terms, usually when they’re looking for somebody. That bird in the sky tells us they’re looking for somebody. I don’t say it, but Chaz’s response to the pager and the helicopter that sounds like it’s right on top of us has me wondering if this time they’re looking for him.
“Amir.” Ms. Bethany, Amir’s mom stands on our front porch, her usually pleasant face stern through the bars over the screen door. “Bring your narrow butt home right now.”
“But, Ma.” Amir gestures to the television. “We coming up on the barber shop scene where Eddie Murphy plays all the different characters.”
“And I’m coming up on that butt if you don’t get to that house like I told you.” She sends a worried look up to the sky. “Go to the closet.”
The three of us exchange glances. The violence has been so bad lately innocent people have been getting caught in the crossfire. Just last week one of our neighbors caught a stray bullet sitting in his kitchen. Drive by. After that, Ma and Ms. Bethany told us we should go to the closets when we hear gunfire or even helicopters. Most times, those birds are looking for guys who run and shoot first, not caring where the bullets land until later.
“Hey, Bethany.” Ma walks up the hall from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Everything all right?”
“That bird.” Ms. Bethany flips her head up toward the sky. “They looking for somebody.”
She aims a careful glance at Jade, pausing before going on.
“Word on the street’s they’re looking for Chaz.”
Jade’s troubled eyes meet mine. Chaz bounces between our houses sometimes. I’m not even sure Ma knows he’s here.
“For Chaz?” Ma looks down the hall. “Chaz, you back there?”
The answering silence tells me he’s gone. Probably snuck out through my bedroom window. My heart starts banging on my ribcage, dragging back and forth like on prison bars. My breath goes short. Mama says we have extra senses, things the streets teach us to survive. We smell danger. Feel trouble disrupting the air. In just seconds, an invisible hand is choking our whole block as that bird hovers, and none of us can breathe.
“Amir, I said come on.” Fear adds a few lines around Ms. Bethany’s tight lips. “Now, boy.”
Amir drags himself to the door.
“I don’t want to leave,” he gripes. “Ain’t fair.”
“Fair?” Ms. Bethany pops his head with her palm. “Get your fair butt ’cross that street.”
She glances over her shoulder at my mother. They watch out for each other. Amir eats at our table as much as I eat at theirs.
“Mittie, let me know if you hear anything about Chaz.”
With that, she’s gone, retreating into the house to seek shelter until what we all feel coming passes over. Ma grabs the remote and turns off the television, standing to block the screen. She points back down the hall to my bedroom where we hid the last few times.
“Get to the closet.”
Before we can groan and complain like Amir did, a tall figure in uniform at the screen door distracts us. My cousin Greg takes after his mother. He and Jade share the same almond-shaped eyes and walnut complexion, where Chaz and I have skin like deep caramel, like Ma and her brother.
“Aunt Mittie, I need to come in.” Greg’s face is sober. He darts looks around our small living room, alert. “Hey, Jade. Marlon.”
I flick my chin up like I see the older boys do, trying to be cool. Jade just stares at her brother. His decision to become a cop divided our family, and she doesn’t know from one day to the next whose side she’s on.
“To that closet,” Ma repeats, her lips set in a line. She opens the door for Greg, not checking to make sure we obeyed. We walk down the hall but linger to eavesdrop as soon as we’re out of sight.
“What’s going on, Greg?” Ma finally allows the worry to seep into her voice now that she thinks we’re out of earshot. “This about Chaz? They say ya’ll looking for him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Greg’s heavy sigh covers all the scrapes and trouble Chaz has been in leading up to today. “He’s wanted for questioning in that shooting yesterday off Rosecrans.”
“Shooting? The kid?”
“He was sixteen. He was a Crip, Aunt Mittie.”
That’s all he has to say. Between Crips and Bloods, color is the only offense needed.
“He ain’t here.” Ma’s voice goes harder. “And your mama is working a double shift, so she ain’t home yet. Greg, you look out for your brother now.”
“Aunt Mittie, I’ve been trying, but he never listens to me. He’s always tripped about me becoming a cop. A lot of folks here in the neighborhood did.”
“I understand, Greg. You wanted to change things. I get that, but you know cops haven’t made friends here. It’ll take some time, but folks will come around.”
A shot cracks the air beyond the front porch.
“Go!” Ma’s voice becomes urgent. “If Chaz did what they think, he’ll have to deal with the consequences. Just protect him, Greg. Just . . . for your mama. Okay?”
“I gotta go.”
Jade and I slide down the wall, faces turned toward each other, connected by our fear and worry.
“What’d I say?” Ma stands in front of us, her eyes fired up with frustration. “Get in that closet. Now.”
She points to my bedroom, looking from Jade to me.
“I know you’re scared for Chaz, but be scared for yourself. A stray bullet could take you out. Now, get in there.”
We stand and start down the hall. Ma grabs my elbow, pulling me around to face her. At twelve, I’m almost as tall as she is, but I’m straddling childhood and adolescence. Half the time I think I know best and don’t need her. This is the other half of the time when I want my mama to hug me and tell me it will all be okay. That we’ll all be okay.
“Remember what we talked about?” she asks softly. “You go in that closet and don’t be scared.”
“You can’t make yourself not scared, Ma.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“That’s true, but you can distract yourself. You’re a sharp boy. You got a memory like an elephant. Recite some of them poems you’re always reading in Ms. Shallowford’s class. Sing a song. Say the pledge of allegiance. I don’t care. Just don’t leave that closet until I say so.”
I nod and enter my room. Michael Jordan, NWA, Tupac, and the LA Raiders plaster my walls. Other than a small bed and dresser, that’s all the decoration the room requires. Jade isn’t in the closet. She’s standing by the window Chaz must have left open when he snuck out.
“In the closet, Jade.” I walk in, expecting her to follow. For a second, her face defies the order. She glances through the window and out to our front yard. Both her brothers are out there. On opposite sides of the law, but both at risk.
“There’s nothing you can do.” I make my voice certain like I hear Ma’s even when she isn’t sure at all. “Get in here.”
As soon as Jade sits beside me in the tiny closet, the wail of approaching sirens splinters the air. Fear widens her eyes, and she clenches skinny arms around her legs. She presses her forehead to her knees and quietly cries. Jade is more sister than cousin to me. Nobody messes with me if she’s around, and nobody messes with her if I have anything to say about it. Her tears, I can’t take.