We Don't Need You Here

by Henry Louis Haynes

The mean streets that feature stray pit bulls and drive-by shootings are no place for a naďve and innocent middle-school student from an exclusive, gated community in the exurbs. In the young adult story We Don’t Need You Here, Pedro “Pete” Chu-Wright’s world has been turned upside down when his father relocates his well-to-do family to a rough inner-city neighborhood where his father grew up. The father, a famous lawyer and former college basketball legend, has been tapped by the political establishment to start a political career as a state representative from his old neighborhood. However, he must actually live in the ‘hood to meet the residential requirement for election, and he also enrolls his children in the public schools there to make a good impression. Can Pete make the adjustment from attending private schools to attending the same decaying middle school his father once attended? And most of all, can he make it in a world ruled by Malik Jenkins, a complex character who is at once a braggart and a streetwise bully, but is also smart, irrepressible and perceptive? Malik was once an outstanding student but now, under the influence of a half-brother who has returned home, has drifted into a life of gangs and delinquency.

978-1-59431-908-2

Young Adult/Mystery/Suspense

Chapter 1

Sonny Hamilton told me we were nearing the school grounds.

We walked by a row of stripped-down cars that folks had left behind. One of the cars was rusted out and tilted up over the curb. As we walked beneath an overpass, we had to detour into the street to avoid broken glass, a used syringe, paper and other trash that was scattered along the sidewalk. The glass was blue, green and gold, so I figured it came from several different bottles.

"What is that awful smell?" I asked, frowning.

"What smell?" Sonny asked.

"Can't you smell it?"

"Smell what? Oh, that. Don't worry about it. We'll be through this part in another second. Just that lots of winos and pipers and bums stay around here, beneath the overpass. They have their ways."

"I don't see any of them now. Where are they?"

"They come and go."

"Can't they go into a building to find a bathroom?"

Sonny shrugged. "I guess they do. Sometimes. Say, are you worried about today?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard above a nearby ambulance siren.

"Yep. Good thing I at least have you to help me make it through my first day. And remember, don't say a word about who my father is."

"Not a word about him from me," Sonny said. "My lips are sealed."

We turned the corner and saw a ball court just ahead.

"The school is just about a block beyond those courts," Sonny said, pointing. "Uh, there is one thing I better warn you about. One person, that is. It would probably take me a year to explain him to you, but we don't have that much time."

Sonny started to explain, but before we knew it we had drawn alongside the rusty fence by the ball courts.

"Hey, what we got here?" called a tall, muscular boy who had just made a lay-up.

"Brace yourself," Sonny whispered.

The boy tucked the basketball under his left arm and stomped over to us. He used his right forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. "Who you?" the boy demanded.

Sonny spoke up. "This here is my new friend, Pedro Chu-Wright. Pete, he likes to be called. He just moved here over the weekend, right down the block from me. I met him yesterday. He's already registered at our school. And, Pete, this is Malik Jenkins, the one I was warn- the one I was just telling you about."

"Hi, nice to meet you," I greeted, smiling and offering my hand.

Malik Jenkins gave me a once-over and didn't come close to shaking my hand. He squinched his nose and didn't seem impressed with me. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me-- Short? Scrawny? Newcomer? Outsider?

"These the B Street courts," Malik growled. "I own these courts, 'less you wanna make somethin' of it."

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"You play ball?"

I looked down at the concrete for a moment, then back into Malik's fierce dark eyes. His whole face was scowling at me.

"A little," I mumbled.

"Speak up, boy."

"I said I can play a little, but I'm not that-"

"Good. You be on my team, see what you got. You lucky. It be an honor for a chump when I pick 'em for my team. A dream come true for a scrub like you. Sonny, you get your tail on the other team. They skins today, so get that jacket and shirt off. 'Less it be too cold for you?"

"No, this is warm for autumn. But do we have time?" Sonny asked. "I mean, we'll be late for school and all."

"I said get on the other team," Malik snapped. "They don't stand no chance, five-on-five. Maybe if they had an extra scrub like you, they can keep it close."

Sonny removed his lightweight blue jacket, red flannel shirt and white T-shirt and joined the team opposing Malik's team.

We played on the court nearest the fence, which was the only court there that had a basket with a full net hanging from its rim.

The game lasted only a few minutes.

"My team done whupped you chumps enough for one day," Malik boasted. "I did it all. I'm the greatest. Man, I'm it. I'm the latest and the greatest. Mr. Superstar. Supe. The man. I did it, man, I did it all!"

"Malik, you great," said one of his teammates.

"You the man, Malik," said another.

Malik beamed and his chest seemed to swell like a balloon. He put up one more hook shot, then made a few spin moves while dribbling the ball, just to show off.

Suddenly, he whizzed the basketball toward my stomach. If I hadn't caught the ball, it would have knocked me right over.

"Yo, you looked like you might have game," Malik said. "See your move. One-on-one."

I stared at him. "I don't know. Don't we have to get to class? I don't want to be late my very first day."

"I don't care 'bout no class! See your move."

I sighed. "We already know you're the best, Malik. You don't have to prove it."

"How you know?"

"You looked pretty good in the game we just played. I'm not nearly that good, even in my dreams."

"Ain't nobody good as me. Ain't nobody close. Glad you know that."

"So why bother?"

Malik looked me over, frowned and pointed a finger of warning at me. "If you don't make your move, I'm gonna make it for you."

"Go on, Pete," said Sonny, nudging me forward. "You've got nothing to lose."

"I'll even let you choose which hoop," Malik said.

I looked carefully at the other baskets. "What's there to choose?" I questioned. "Far as I can tell, only one basket even has a level rim. Only one has a hoop with a net or chain hanging from it. And the other backboards are rusted right through and have holes in them. I don't see how you can even use them."

"What you talkin' 'bout?" Malik barked. "Basket's a basket. These the best ones we got. They ours."

"I choose the one we're at now."

"Don't say I didn't give no choice," Malik said.

I shrugged. Malik and I took our places. I drove toward the decent basket and made a whirling move. I threw up an underhanded shot that hit the front of the rim and bounced away. Malik snatched the rebound from the air with the ease of a bird snapping up an insect. But instead of dribbling, he angrily drilled the ball back at me. The ball was traveling too fast for me to catch it. The best I could do was bat it down.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed. "That stung."

"I said make your move!" he snarled. "Don't mess with me."

"That was my move," I said.

"That was your move!" he belched. "You sissy, I'm gonna wipe this court with you. Won't take but a minute. You ain't got no game. Now I got game."

And take but a minute it did. Malik was all over me. He could dribble behind his back, and dribble between his legs, and dribble east and west, and dribble north and south, and dribble high and low. He could shoot a hoop like he had radar.

Malik beat me five hoops to none.

Sometimes I played "air guitar" while standing in front of the mirror and listening to my favorite tunes. But that didn't prepare me for what I saw next. Malik held up an "air microphone" and started interviewing himself, using a deep, heavy, make-pretend voice for the interviewer and then answering in his regular voice and tone:

'With this latest outstanding performance, does that make you the greatest player ever?'

"I ain't braggin' none, but I'm the all-time superstar, greatest legend ever."

'Power to you for being ever so great.'

"Thank you, man. Wish this could happen to all you little nothin' folks, but it can't 'cause you ain't got the talent I do."

'Thank you for this great honor and pleasure of allowing me to speak to someone as great as you.'

"The honor and pleasure was all yours."

We were all laughing.

"Malik, you could be one of them funny ones on stage who make people laugh," said one of Malik's pals, giggling.

Malik grinned. "Nah, I ain't no comic. Too serious for that. Now y'all tell me who the greatest ever?"

"You are," many standing there recited.

"Who the real deal?" Malik asked the group.

"You are."

He turned his attention to me. "Now, just you alone say 'I ain't got no game' three times."

"Are you speaking to me?" I asked.

"Naw, I'm talkin' to myself. Yeah, I'm speakin' to you!"

"Come on, Malik," I whined.

"Say it!"

I sighed heavily and refused to say anything.

"Say it! Say 'I ain't got no game' three times."

"I will not!"

"I think you will."

"I won't! Not in a million years!"

"You gonna say it."

"You crude jerk! Who do you think you're talking to? Do you know who I am? Do you think you can make me say something against my will?"

"You gonna say 'I ain't got no game' three times. Thing is, I got all day, and we ain't leavin' this spot till you say it."

"No chance!"

Malik's scowl turned into a quizzical look. "What!"

"You heard me. What's the matter? Did I throw you off your game?"

Malik used both hands to grab a healthy portion of my jacket and shirt collar. The scowl had returned to his face. "This ain't no game. Boy, this is life. Your stinkin' life. It on the line." He released me by shoving me backward about ten feet.

I glanced at Sonny, who gave an expression that told me I'd better hurry up and say what Malik wanted me to say.

"No," I said, insisting.

"We gotta pay dues around here," Sonny said calmly. "No one will think any less of you if you say it. We understand. Don't let it be a pride thing, man. That's how you get in trouble."

"Don't keep me waitin'," Malik threatened, "or we be rollin' all over this playground."

I gulped, then mumbled, "I don't have a game three times."

"I ain't hear you. Louder, boy!" Malik commanded.

"I don't have a game three times."

"I'm hard of hearin'. Didn't hear it."

"I don't have a game!"

Malik shrugged. "You know what I meant, fool. Say what I told you to say three times. Don't think I won't mess you up."

"I-ain't-got-game-I-ain't-got-game-I-ain't-got-game."