Point Of It All
A novel by Lajill Hunt
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by K. Elliott
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Published by Urban Lifestyle Press
P.O. Box 12714
Charlotte, NC 28220
Smashwords Edition
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ISBN (13):
ISBN (10):
Copyright © 2012 by Urban Lifestyle Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. For information, For information, address Published by 21Blackstreet, LLC P.O. Box 12714, Charlotte, NC 28220, visit:http://www.21blackstreet.com/
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Prologue
The Principal's Office
"Amir, I'm waiting. Tell me where you got the gun," I stared into the dark eyes of the chubby cheeked twelve-year-old-sitting in front of me, looking more like he should be starring in his own television show on the Disney Channel; rather than sitting in my office because of a gun found in his locker.
Amir didn't respond; he just stared at me, as he'd been doing for the past ten minutes.
"Look, I don't have time for this, I'm calling the precinct so someone can come and pick him up," Milton Gilbert, the head of school security, snapped. Unlike me, Milton didn't have much patience with the students. His main concern was that no one at the school: got shot, stabbed, beaten up; had any drugs, alcohol, or weapons; and he didn't have to write an incident report to the school board. He wasn't concerned about their home lives, test scores, attendance, or social lives. As far as he was concerned, that wasn't his job; keeping them safe was what he was there to do. Whereas, as principal, I felt that most of the students at Carter G. Woodson Middle School were misguided, misunderstood, and needed to be led in the right direction; and my concern was not only for their safety, but their overall well-being.
I waited for Milton to leave my office; after the door closed I kneeled down and touched Amir gently on the shoulder. "Amir, you gotta help me to help you. Officer Gilbert is calling downtown. Once they get here, everything is out of my hands. So, I'm gonna need for you to work with me. Tell me who gave you the gun."
Amir looked down and shrugged. "I'm already in trouble, so, it don't even matter where I got it from."
I wanted to snatch him up out of the chair and threaten him. If your li'l ass don't tell me where the hell you got the gun, you're gonna be in even more trouble; but instead, I simply told him, "It does matter, Amir. You matter. And if you tell me where the gun came from, you may not be in as much trouble."
All I could think about was Amir being taken downtown and the gun being traced back to some random unsolved murder that probably happened before he could even walk, but that wouldn't matter to the detectives because now they had a weapon and a suspect. I didn't want that to happen to him. He was a smart kid and a typical seventh grader who had been in my office, more times than I could count, for random acts of mischief: running in the halls, talking and laughing in class, the occasional cursing--nothing this major. When it came to the major school rule violations, there were other students that I would think of being brought in, not Amir.
"I got it from the supply closet," he mumbled.
I leaned in closer to make sure I heard what he said, "You got it from where?"
My office door opened and Milton walked in, just as Amir repeated himself, this time a little louder, "I got it from the supply closet."
I frowned and stood up, hoping that Milton hadn't heard what Amir had said. I turned to see him smirking in the doorway and knew that he had heard. As I walked behind my desk and sat down, my head began pounding as hard as my heart. I tried to remain calm and collected, reminding myself that I was the principal. "The supply closet where, Amir? Here at school, in a classroom, did you find it there?"
"No," Amir shook his head.
"I know where he's talking about," Milton said, "the one on Jacob's Street, right?"
Shut up, Amir, I thought to myself. Go back to playing the dumb role. Act as if you don't know what he's talking about, please.
Amir nodded. "Yeah, the one at Be Right Barber Shop."
He's gotta be lying. He didn't get it from there. There's no way.
There was a knock at the door, and two uniformed officers walked in.
"I'll call your grandma, Amir," I said as they took Amir out of my office. He looked back at me, and it took all the restraint within me not to rush over and hug him tightly.
"I got some additional information on the gun," Milton hurriedly told them, as he followed.
Calling Amir's grandmother broke my heart, but I assured her that I would do everything in my power to help him in this situation. I know she had her hands full with not only Amir, but the other three grandchildren she was raising alone on her social security income.
After speaking with her, I sat at my desk, unmoving and staring at the framed poster hanging on my wall which read 'Faith Makes Everything Possible...Not Easy.' Nothing in my life was ever easy, not my childhood, my family, my job, and damn sure not this whirlwind of a relationship that I had found myself in. I tried to think of what my next move would be. I quickly pulled out my cell phone and called my boyfriend, Bernard, and told him to meet me in twenty minutes.
"Baby, it's one o'clock on a Friday afternoon, you know this is my busiest day of the week. There's no way I can meet you," he said. There was a lot of background noise and music. I could imagine the place was packed and my timing couldn't have been worse, but there was nothing I could do. I had to act quickly.
"I don't give a damn what day of the week it is. Obviously, there's a situation that we need to handle right now. I'm leaving the school, and I'll meet you in twenty minutes," I told him. The door to my office was still open, so my voice remained calm and low.
"Danni, I got three customers…"
"Fuck your customers, okay?" I hissed. "This is serious."
"Fine, where?" He said, after a few moments.
"Chubby's," I replied and ended the call.
Chubby's was only three minutes away, but I knew I would need time to think. I couldn't believe this was happening. Against my better judgement, I had taken a chance--and now--I had this situation to deal with. Grabbing my purse, I walked into the main office of the school and told the secretary I would be leaving for the day. Assistant Principal Ferguson was out for a few weeks because his wife was having a baby. I wished he was here to help me deal with this. He was much older than me and had a lot more experience, which I valued. It surprised me that I had been hired as principal instead of him. He said he didn't want the headaches or the extra drama that came along with the title, and now I knew exactly what he meant.
"Are you okay. Ms. Eaton?" She asked, "Officer Gilbert said Amir got the gun from Be Right's. Is that true?"
I looked over at the older woman and said, "I don't know, Mrs. Butler, but that's what he says."
"I don't believe that. Mr. Wright has done too much for this school and this community. I know he has something of a reputation, and there are some things that he does that I don't agree with, but I can't see him giving Amir a gun. That's not him."
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," I shrugged. I told her she could reach me on my cell if she needed me and walked out of the building. I prayed that Mrs. Butler was right. Because if Amir had gotten the gun from the supply closet of the barber shop, owned by the man I was in love with and had been secretly dating for the past six months--the infamous Bernard Wright--who I was on my way to meet, God only knew what the outcome was going to be.
The First Dance
"I just can't believe someone would send this to my baby. This is just atrocious and something has got to be done, Ms. Eaton. It's just sickening, that's what it is, just sickening!"
I nodded my head at Mrs. Bowden, the mother of one of my eighth grade boys who was sitting in my office. I had only been the principal of Carter G. Woodson for one week, and on more than one occasion, I had to convince myself that I could handle it. Within my first week, I had survived one food fight, four fist fights, and two fake fire drills. Mrs. Bowden was my ninth parent conference. To say it had been a long week would be an understatement, and I still had the first school dance of the year, which started in less than three hours. And now, as I stared at the distraught woman, holding a cell phone at me, I was starting to wonder if maybe God had really made a mistake and given me more than I could bear. When I was appointed principal of my own alma mater, I was overjoyed, thinking that I was finally being put in a position where I was truly needed and could make a difference. I knew the job wasn't without its challenges, and I felt that I was well-educated, well-experienced and well-prepared for whatever those were. What I didn't expect was to be sitting with a concerned parent over a picture of a half-naked girl which she had found in her son's phone. The girl clearly had taken the shot herself in the bathroom and her face was half-hidden; I couldn't really tell who she was. The truth of the matter, even if her face had been visible in the shot, the school had over twelve hundred kids, and I probably wouldn't recognize her.
"It is disturbing, Mrs. Bowden. I am just as shocked as you are," I said. "Did you ask your son who sent him the picture?"
"He claims he doesn't know. The picture was forwarded about thirty times, from what I can see," Mrs. Bowden answered. "I don't know what bothers me more, the fact that he received a picture as disrespectful and degrading as this, or the fact that this girl even sent it to someone. Where are her parents? Doesn't she realize the magnitude of what she's done?"
Mrs. Bowden was right, the fact that one of my middle school students felt compelled to take a nude shot of herself and send it out for all the world to see was a bit much to comprehend.
"I don't think she does, or she wouldn't have sent it. I will talk with the guidance department and see if we can come up with some sort of workshop and stress how dangerous sexting can be," I told her.
"Sexting? There's a word for this stupidity? It has a title?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's more prevalent in high school, but I see that maybe we need to touch on the subject here at our school," I glanced back down at the photo.
"Here you go," Mrs. Bowden reached into her purse and handed me a manila folder. "I printed out copies of the picture and the numbers it was sent to, that way you can find this fast behind little girl and get a hold of these little perverts."
Sure enough, there was the photo of the girl on 8x10 glossy paper, in all of her glory. I quickly closed the folder and thanked Mrs. Bowden, "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. I will do everything I can to take care of this."
"I hope you find out who she is before she gets bolder than this. I know you got that school dance tonight. I would keep a good look out for what's going on, because these kids are getting out of control," she told me as I walked her out.
"I will make sure we do," I said.
I returned to my office and fell back in my office chair. I looked down at the folder lying on my desk and called my best friend, Brandi, to share my latest dilemma.
"Sounds like you had a long day," she laughed.
"It's not funny," I sighed. "You got me into this mess."
"I didn't get you into anything. I just told you about the opening. You were the one who wanted to be the superhero and return to Woodson. I told you it wasn't like when we went there, it's a whole lot different. I bet you'll believe me next time I warn you," Brandi said. "You were doing just fine over here with me at Segundo Middle. We don't have those sorts of issues."
"No, y'all don't. Everything at Segundo is perfect and BORING!" I teased. "You know you wanna be over here at Woodson where the action is."
"I don't think so. I'm fine right here."
"Well, I gotta go and get ready for our Welcome Back to School Gym Jam. Too bad you all aren't having one."
"No, we had a perfectly drama-free pep rally this afternoon, and the kids were well behaved," she said. "I'm sure you'll be calling me later to tell me how much excitement went on at the Gym Jam, as you call it."
"I'll be calling to tell you how much fun the kids had," I remarked.
"I can't wait to hear all about it."
After talking to Brandi, I rushed forty-five minutes across town to my condo, took a quick shower, and was almost back to the school when I noticed the fuel light on my car was on. I knew there was no way I was going to feel like stopping on my way home after the dance; I pulled into the parking lot of Chubby's, a convenience store, to fill up. Chubby's had been there since I was little, and from the looks of things, nothing much had changed, not even the gas pumps that didn't take credit or debit cards. I hurried inside, disgusted at myself for not planning ahead. The line at the register was long. I decided to kill time by grabbing a much needed bottle of water and a bag of hot fries, which I couldn't resist. They had been my favorite as a kid. I got back in line behind a great smelling, well dressed gentleman who found it necessary to hold an entire conversation with the owner, Chubby, who was still working behind the register.
"Looks like someone is gonna have a great night," Chubby laughed as he rang up the guy's items. I couldn't help but look down and notice a box of condoms, two Red Bulls, a box of Tic Tacs, and a large pack of gum. To me, all that seemed to be missing was a slow jam CD and a bottle of Moscato. I hadn't been on a date in so long, that I was a bit jealous of whoever he was prepping for.
"Naw, not for me, it's for my nephew," the man laughed. His voice was deep and husky, and I tried to get a look at him without being obvious. I wanted to put a face with the voice and the scent.
"Your nephew?" Chubby asked. "Isn't he like nine?"
"Naw, he's older than that. He has his first dance tonight at Woodson, and I want him to be prepared for whatever goes down," the gentleman replied. "You know what I mean?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Here this man was buying condoms and Red Bull for a student at my school. He was practically encouraging his nephew, whoever that was, to have sex. I was beyond repulsed and about to say something when the man turned and looked at me. In an instant, I was rendered speechless as I stared into a face I hadn't seen in years.
"Danni? Dannica Eaton, is that you?" He smiled.
At first, I was so shocked that he remembered me that I couldn't respond. It was as if I was in the middle of a dream rather than standing at the register of Chubby's.
"I knew you looked familiar," Chubby smiled.
"Yes," I was finally able to mutter. "How are you...um….uh?"
"B.," he said, "B. Wright."
It wasn't that I didn't know his name. It was just that I couldn't get it out. He was still the finest man I had ever seen. He seemed a bit taller and thicker than the last time I had seen him, which had to have been over twenty years ago. It was as if he oozed sexiness and no doubt about it, trouble. B. Wright was always a bad boy. The kind that good girls--like me--knew to stay away from, and yet couldn't resist. I couldn't believe he remembered me. I scolded myself for throwing on a pair of basic black pants and a cardigan to wear to the dance; instead of jazzing myself up in a skirt and some heels. The least I could have done was put on some eye-shadow to go along with the mascara and lip gloss that I was glad I had on.
"Bernard Wright," I said, touching my hair, which was freshly permed, thank God.
"You were always the only one who called me by my 'government' name, Dannica Eaton. I'm good. What about you? You back here in the old neighborhood?"
"I work over here," I nodded.
"Really? Where?"
"I'm the new principal at Woodson."
"You're kidding, right?" He laughed, "That's cool. I heard there was a new principal, but I didn't know it was Dannica Eaton."
I looked down at the items he had still laying on the counted and said, "Yeah, it's me, and I have my work cut out."
Chubby grabbed the items and bagged them up. I noticed Bernard give him a funny look and then handed him a fifty dollar bill. Oddly enough, Chubby didn't give him any change.
"It was nice seeing you again, Danni. I'm sure we'll see each other again real soon. You can count on it," he turned, smiling at me.
I stood and watched him walk out the store. Condoms and Red Bull for middle school students. I inhaled and put my water and chips on the counter.
"It's paid for," Chubby said, nodding toward Bernard, who was getting into a black Denali parked in front of the store.
"Well, I still gotta pay for my gas," I said.
"It's paid for," Chubby shrugged.
"How? I haven't even pumped it yet," I told him.
"Full tank, already paid. All you have to do is pump now. Next customer," Chubby said. "Good luck with the school, Danni. I'm glad you're back."
"Uh, thanks, Chubby," I said and walked out just in time to see Bernard pulling out of the parking lot. I almost stopped him when I looked down at my watch and saw that I was now running late. Trouble, that's what Bernard Wright was, nothing but trouble. And if there was one thing in my life that I didn't need, it was trouble.
"So, how was it?" Brandi asked.
It was after eleven, and although the dance had ended at nine, I was just leaving the school. I stayed around to make sure that everything was locked up and back in place. I was dog tired, but felt compelled to help the staff break down tables, move chairs, and pick up trash; they seemed appreciative of the help, and I was glad I decided to do so.
"All in all, it was pretty uneventful. The songs the deejay played were awful, but the kids knew all the words and the inappropriate dance moves that went along with them. Oh, and guess what? A math teacher caught a couple of the boys passing around a cell phone with another picture in it and confiscated it. I may have a lead on my sext queen star," I sighed.
"I swear, Danni, your school is better than reality television. I'm so glad you get to be principal and share all of these great stories," she laughed.
"Wait, I have to tell you what happened before the dance," I said, then proceeded to tell her all about running into Bernard at Chubby's.
"WHAT? YOUR B. WRIGHT? Like, from back in the day? What the hell? Oh my God, Danni? That is so random," she laughed. "What did he say? How does he look? Is he still fine as hell…or did he get old and pudgy, and lose all his hair?"
"He's not my B. Wright, Brandi. And he's still nice looking, I guess."
"What do you mean, not your B. Wright? Do you not recall making me see New Jack City three times, in one day? Because after watching it the first time, you had to see--B. Wright and his crew--walk in just as we were leaving the movies. Of course, we had to stay. And then, you made me sit by that creep Freddie while you and B. Wright held hands and shared popcorn."
I laughed at her recalling my first so-called date, "That was only twice."
"Oh no, heifer, don't even try it. We saw it three times because when I called my Aunt Nita to pick us up; she was in route to see that movie and offered to pay if we stayed. I swore, if I ever heard someone ask 'Am I my brother's keeper?' one more time, I was gonna scream!"
Brandi had me laughing so hard that I was crying. She had been my best friend since second grade, and her accuracy was on point. I was such a nerd back then while she was the popular girl; the fact that I had a crush on Bernard was much more her style than mine. But there was something about him that drew me in, and I had been mesmerized by him from the moment we were assigned to be desk partners in eighth grade. At first, I could barely say two words to Bernard. His family had money, and his dad owned the barbershop where all the boys in school went to get their hair cut. He was just as popular as Brandi was and came to school dressed daily in his Ralph Lauren polo shirts, Levi's button fly jeans, and Air Jordan sneakers. We sat at the back of the classroom, and he would always just look at me and smile. One day, he stopped me in the hallway before school and asked if I had finished my lab homework.
"Can I get it? I'll give it right back to you when we get to class," he said, staring into my eyes. There was no way I could say no; I reached into my book bag and handed it to him without saying a thing, "Thanks, Danni. I'll see you in class."
The day seemed to drag on, and finally it was time for science. Bernard sauntered in, cool as ever, and took his seat beside me. He reached into his science book, slid my now crumpled homework to me, and winked. At the end of class, when the teacher gave the next assignment, I smiled and said, "You wanna meet me same time tomorrow?"
Bernard grinned and nodded at me, "You know it. Sounds like a plan."
"Okay, so, you do the assignment tonight and I'll get it from you tomorrow morning," I told him.
"What?" Bernard asked, and I could tell he was confused.
"I did the assignment last night, and you copied the answers from me, so tonight, you'll do it and I'll copy your answers. It's a plan, right?"
"So, you're not gonna do it for us? You may wanna rethink this. I'm not good at homework," he shook his head.
"You have a science book, and you can read. It's fill in the blank, Bernard, it's not that hard. See you in the morning."
I walked away, leaving him standing in the back of the classroom. Later, as we walked home from the bus stop, I told Brandi what I did.
"You told him he had to do the homework for you? That's funny. You know you're probably the first person, let alone, the first girl to actually do that to him. B. Wright always gets his homework from someone else. Good for you. But I'm telling you, you'd better do it yourself, because he's probably not gonna do it. And if he does, it's probably not gonna B. Wright!" Brandi laughed.
The next morning, I waited for Bernard to show up, but he didn't. He wasn't even in class when I got there. I was glad that I had listened to Brandi and done the assignment for myself. Class was almost over when the door opened and he sauntered in, looking as cool as ever.
"What's up, Danni," he whispered as he took the seat next to mine.
I didn't say anything and ignored him for the remainder of the class. And I kept ignoring him.
"I told you," Brandi said a week later as we walked home, "He's no good."
"Well, he's the one that's gonna fail, not me," I told her, unwrapping an apple Blow Pop and popping it into my mouth.
"Your teeth are gonna fall out by the time you're twenty," Brandi shook her head at me. I had always been a candy and junk food fanatic. I ate a Blow Pop daily on the way to school and on the way home; unlike Brandi whose father was a dentist.
"I don't care," I said, mad at myself for still thinking about him. I was still disappointed in Bernard. All people ever talked about were how cool he was and the clothes he wore. But, I knew there was something more to him. I had no problem letting him copy my homework for the rest of the school year, because I truly wanted to use this as an opportunity for him to show me his true character--and he had failed.
"Danni, wait up!" someone shouted.
We both turned around to see Bernard running toward us. By the time he made it to us, he was out of breath, "What's up, Brandi?"
"What's up, B. Wright?" she said, turning her attention away from him. "Um, I gotta get going. Call me when you get home, Danni."
I stood there silently, waiting for Bernard to speak.
"Why are you mad at me?" He panted.
"I'm not mad," I said, trying to talk with the lollipop still in my mouth.
"Then what's up with the silent treatment?"
"I got nothing to say, that's all," I shrugged.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I messed up and I feel really bad about it. But, I tried to do the homework and…"
I popped the candy out of my mouth and shook my head, "It don't matter. You told me you couldn't do it, and you didn't."
"Danni, don't be like that," he said, "I'm not a bookworm like you."
I looked down at his sneakers and asked, "How many rebounds did Jordan have in the game against Philly last week?"
"Huh?" he asked.
"How many?"
Bernard laughed and then began spewing off stats like he was a commentator for ESPN.
"Goodbye, Bernard," I told him, shaking my head.
"What? What did I do?"
"You're smarter than you think you are. If you put just as much effort in your homework as you do your outfits, you'd be surprised," I put my candy back into my mouth and walked home.
The next morning, Bernard was at my locker when I got there. I almost choked on my candy.
"Hey, can you look over this and make sure it's right?" he asked, handing me his crumpled paper. I looked at it and nodded, and Bernard smiled back at me. Then, he did something unexpected; I thought I would melt right on the spot. He reached and took the candy out of my mouth and popped it into his; winking as he said, "See you in class."
In all of my thirteen years of living, never had I imagined something like that. It was as if Bernard had placed some magic spell on me. From that moment on, I lived and breathed all things Bernard Wright, and for the next two months, life was perfect. It didn't matter that people were saying that Bernard had joined a gang and was hanging around with the wrong crowd. I overlooked the fact that he had missed more days out of school than he should have, because when he was there nothing else mattered. Often we would stand in the hallway, his fingers touching my face; or his hand rubbing my leg under the desk during class, sending heat waves throughout my body. I even knew that Bernard had other girls, but to me, we had a secret love affair going on that no one knew about except us.
"Danni, I'm telling you, B. Wright is no good. Take it from me, I know things," she said. "And the things I know aren't good."
"And I know Bernard," I sighed. "You know how people talk, Brandi. It's just gossip."
"Danni, I don't want you to get hurt. Sometimes you act like he's your boyfriend."
"What? That's not it at all," I lied, knowing that deep down, I did want Bernard as my boyfriend.
"I'm just saying…."
"You don't have to say anything. Bernard and I are friends. That's it."
"Okay," Brandi said and turned the subject to the upcoming Spring Dance. Everyone was excited, including me, and I was secretly hoping that Bernard would ask me to go. He had mentioned it in class a couple of days ago and asked if I was going. When I told him I wanted to, he said we'd talk about it. I didn't want to get my hopes up, and Brandi's doubt-filled conversation didn't help.
Bernard never asked me to the dance. He never returned to school. Two days later, his father was gunned down in front of his barber shop in what was suspected as a drug-related shooting. A few months later, my family and I moved across town. It had been twenty years, six months and four days since I had laid eyes on Bernard Wright.