Virginia Hamilton Read online

  “Anyhow, Tom-Tom is walking along, headin’ the soccer ball—you know, knocking it around with his head. …”

  “We know. We know,” the leader says. They are riding three in a row across the road. They try to keep their minds on the story, ride with style and listen for cars coming up from behind at the same time.

  Style loses.

  “Well, it was funny, is all I’m talking about.”

  “What was funny?” the leader says. “What happened?”

  “Nothin’ happened. What it was, I couldn’t see that they were talking to each other. Tom-Tom was in front of Levi. And every time Tom-Tom would grin, Levi would nod behind him. Or one of them would shake his head and the other would frown right back. One did something and the other did something that fit with what the first had done.”

  He looked at the other two for approval, for confirmation. Vaguely, he was aware that he hadn’t made himself clear. He hadn’t thought far enough, perhaps because what he wished to say was not yet clear to him.

  The two who had been listening made no comment. All three raced over the B&O tracks to the top of the hill and on across town. Once in the neighborhood, they found the rest of the boys scattered away from the corner of Dayton and Union. So they took a route along a side street to be less conspicuous, and came out again at the far end of Dayton. Seeing them, the rest of the boys began gathering. All were still waiting long after the last of the parents on Dayton Street had gone to work. Every mom and dad had driven off, except for Dorian Jefferson’s mom, Mrs. Leona Bethune Jefferson, and his dad, Mr. Buford Jefferson. She was the only one now at home all day. It used to be that Tom-Tom’s and Levi’s mom was home all day, too, but not now. She had driven off like the others—but she was late, as usual.

  It felt to the boys like it took all day for nine o’clock to come and go. By nine-fifteen, they were racing around on their bikes and unsettling dust the length of the street. The clear sunlight of early morning had gathered above them like a misty brown stain of pollution. Heat was oppressive, and boys were dripping sweat around their necks and hairlines. Every boy in Justice’s Pickle and Cream Gang had made it home at least once, using the house keys tied safely on cords now dripping wet around their necks. They were silent, entering homes left mussed and dish-strewn from the morning’s rush. They could always find something to eat—dry cereal eaten directly from the carton, or a piece of bread, toast with jam. They found jars full of sugarless gum and stuffed their pockets with it.

  One had thrown down his key on its cord the moment he came into the kitchen. Slick, the leader of the three who had been on the early-morning run down the Quinella Road looking for Tom-Tom by the river. Now he finished a can of cream soda while standing in the light of the open refrigerator door. He swallowed the pop and it hit him that he had to catch a bunch of snakes, enough to fill up his peanut-butter container—cram it as full as he could get it. A lot of little snakes were needed. It gave him the creeps to think about it. He concentrated on the sticky-sweet soda. At last, he closed the refrigerator, which had cooled him off some.

  The house was creepy, though, with just him in it—the reason why each day he stayed in the streets. Or maybe three or four of them would go fool around at the community center, but they got bored with pool. And fooling around, they were liable to miss whatever went on in the neighborhood. Who knew when Tom-Tom was going to call them to the field? Without question, without a thought, he knew that Tom-Tom was not the same as the rest of them.

  He smoothed down his hair and thought to wash his face and neck under the kitchen faucet. His face stung him as water hit under the eyes. The skin over his cheekbones was raw from sunburn. He dried off in a hurry and forgot to pick up his house key from the counter. And with the race on his mind, he slammed out of the house, locking himself out for the whole day.

  It might have been hours later, the boys down at the far end of the street were so worn out from waiting. Yet it was only ten o’clock. Where there had been an empty corner at Union and Dayton a moment ago, there now swung into view three figures. Their well-kept bikes made the thinnest, sleekest sound of perfect working order in the suddenly silent street. Pausing, they swung onto Dayton and away toward Tyler, where the smallest figure broke formation and executed a lazy, no-hands figure-eight in the middle of the street.

  “Lookit that Justice!” one of the boys said loud. “She has to be in on everything!”

  Justice gave them a wave of her arm before tearing back after her brothers. She took her place alongside the one they’d seen had a bunch of things, yellow containers, slung up his arm. There was no mistaking Levi, anyway. Although he rode the same kind of bike as Thomas’—a black, high-seated racer—he rode with his shoulders hunched too high; his head bowed too low, as though worry made it too heavy to bear.

  Suddenly, the boys, close to ten of them, raced out from the far end of Dayton Street.

  “They’re going to be outta sight,” one of them yelled, “and we’re sitting here!”

  Just as Dorian Jefferson tore down the steps of his house. He wore a once white T-shirt now old and faded pink. He was barefoot, with brown overalls cut off, curiously, just below his knees. They noticed his legs were pockmarked with mosquito and chigger bites. Falling over himself into the street, he grinned from ear to ear and leaped on the back of the nearest bike as it was passing. The bike wavered, zigzagged, before it steadied.

  “Man, Dorian,” yelled Slick Peru, “why me?” And then: “Fool, where’re your shoes?”

  On cue, Dorian’s shoes came sailing out of the house, hitting the shoulders of a couple of boys. All of them had stopped by now and had come over to group their bikes in front of Dorian’s house. They caught a glimpse of Mrs. Jefferson as she slipped back inside. Something in the way she paused, holding the door open before she went in—they hadn’t seen her face. Her hair wasn’t combed; she still wore a dark robe. But they knew she hadn’t thrown his shoes outside in anger. They noticed her, realized once again that they were responsible for Dorian, and forgot her.

  “Dorian, man!” Slick said again, Dorian wasn’t quite grinning. He had jumped off of Slick’s bike and now sat in the street struggling to get knots out of his frayed shoelaces. One of the fellows leaned over, grabbed up the other shoe and quickly untied it. Handing it to Dorian, he took the other shoe out of Dorian’s hand and untied it while Dorian worked to put on the first shoe.

  The three figures had come back into view at the other end of the street.

  “We almost ready,” Dorian called to them.

  Justice had a mind to go down and see what was going on. Her view was of bikes and a pack of boys in a bunch, when she divined it was Dorian in there on the ground, putting his shoes on.

  Knowing Thomas and Levi were next to her. Inwardly, she was suddenly aware of a delicate but foreign touch along her thoughts. It was not the same as the friendly, shining observer that lately she would imagine came to her just as she awoke or went to sleep. But this remote touching was like someone hiding from her and listening in on her mind. She had lately recognized for a few minutes at a time that it was a presence among her thoughts; and she understood that it had been with her over a long period of time, perhaps even years. She understood for a few seconds that Mrs. Jefferson erected shields to protect Justice as best she could from the presence, and to keep her from understanding too much too quickly of the bright watching. No sooner did Justice have this clarity than it began to fade.

  Wait!

  Awkwardly, she reached with something that felt like a flow of electric current. Its sparkling essence surprised and thrilled her. And with it, she was able to pull her mind away from the presence trying to read her.

  You, Thomas. She was careful to trace this only to herself.

  Cautiously, she skirted the looming presence, which was unable to disguise itself as anything other than an outsider and an intruder.

  There!

  Abruptly, all ultra-sensory turned off for her, as if a
vast, shining window had its dark shade pulled down. Swiftly, Justice lost completely the ability to see inwardly and had no knowledge that she ever could. She was unaware of the moment when Thomas left off his scan of her thoughts. But he had, a second or so after her ability ceased. He had emptied out of her mind and sat there on his bike with a grim expression on his face. Once again, he’d found nothing; yet he knew there was much there to discover beyond Justice’s unresolved impressions, which was about all he ever found.

  “You-youuuu guys!” His voice burst down the street. All of the boys down there hushed and sat still.

  “G-g-ge-ehht in l-line!”

  The boys raced up the street on their bikes and grouped around Thomas, Levi and Justice.

  Thomas and Levi exchanged thoughtful, identical looks. Right afterward, Levi began explaining things:

  “You guys could of gone down to the Quinella any time before ten. You could of had your snakes already back here. Now we’re running late and going to look conspicuous.”

  “What’s that mean?” someone whispered.

  “Attract attention,” was the loud whisper back.

  They all listened, somehow knowing it was Thomas making himself clear through his brother.

  “You’re to ride in twos,” Levi told them, “and keep to the side. Now we have to worry about cops noticing us and wondering what we’re doing.”

  The boys looked upset that they had started out wrong. Most of them were still eager to please. But one or two looked belligerently at Levi. That passed quickly when they caught Thomas watching them.

  “C-c-come on!” He wheeled his racer around in a cloud of dust and was fifteen yards away before any of them had made a move.

  Justice and Levi were the first to react. They started up, getting the boys in formation as they went. There were eleven kids counting all, including themselves, and ten bikes. With Thomas gone ahead, it worked out even when Slick and his rider were centered alone behind Justice and Levi. Thomas in front and Justice and Levi riding behind him. Third came the single bike of Slick’s with Dorian hanging on the back. After them, the rest of the boys came on in twos to make it even at the end.

  They sped across town, hugging close to the right side of the road. They were some out-of-town contingent in search of the local parade. But there weren’t a great many people at this hour around to see them. People were at work and sidewalks were empty. There wasn’t a police cruiser anywhere in sight as they came to the light at Xenia Avenue on its green signal. Without an iota of caution, they all saw Thomas streak through. They followed at breakneck speed.

  The Quinella Road! She felt the air puff her hair like the bulging of a sail. Gathering such speed on the downward Quinella, they all did, that she created wind along the path of her rush-through.

  I am flat-out and flying!

  Levi with her, and the rest of the boys right behind them. But no bike could overtake Thomas on his. How could it be when they both had the same bikes—his and Levi’s—that his was fastest?

  He had a head start, Thomas did. But his is always fastest anyway.

  Justice was herself coasting dangerously fast on the downward road. Smack in front of a whole pack a boys she thought. All of them older’n me. And with my brothers, on the way to making The Great Snake Race.

  Thoughts sang on the wind in her ears.

  How do I slow down everybody, she wondered, so they can see me perform?

  Justice had pictured it differently. She had imagined herself as somehow on high, doing her bike trick to perfection. The boys would be in a circle, looking up at her and wildly applauding when she had finished.

  Now she knew better.

  Break formation and I’ll cause the worst accident anybody’s ever seen.

  She had a vivid picture of boys, unable to stop, crashing into one another. Bent wheels and tires going flat. Broken bones and blood!

  She tasted disappointment. She was about to give up all hope of performing the trick she’d practiced all week when it came to her how it could be done.

  She speeded up and cut fast diagonally, away from Levi, to the right side of the road. She was going down at really fast speed when she began to squeeze the brakes ever so gently. She was way to the side and out of the way of oncoming bikes. Startled boys gave her questioning looks as they raced by her. They didn’t break formation.

  She had a fleeting glimpse of Levi straining to see where she’d gone to before he was engulfed by the armada.

  “Justice!” she heard him calling.

  “I’m coming last!” Yelling as loud as she could. It was not loud enough. She heard boys shouting to Levi: “She’s going to come up last, she says.”

  “What for!” Levi again.

  “She didn’t say!” Boys answering.

  Justice brought up the rear, careful to keep her distance but not so far back that she would lose sight of them on the other side of a hill. She speeded again, with her mind on having the boys pass the flat place in the road and on to the fence just when she reached the flat place. Thomas would be furious at her for breaking formation and would probably say, “Justice, whater you doing?” He would stutter it—something like that, anyway. And then she would perform her trick, with all eyes watching. They, none of them, would expect it to be so expert and professional. Levi would probably say she was a true artist, she knew he would. And the boys would stare at her like they’d never seen her before.

  Wind was in her hair, pressing in her face. She talked to herself in it. She felt it like a veil of coolness. She heard herself laughing, only it was the way she might sound when she was older. Then she quit laughing and talking to herself. She concentrated on the last hill and over, and the downward coast. Oh, it was so fast!

  Spread out below were all of the boys, with Thomas, way in front, turned in the road to wait for them. But he seemed to be looking beyond the boys toward Justice coming down the last unbelievably fast hill.

  She released the handlebars and folded her arms across her chest. At such speed, she had to hold her feet exactly even, rock-still on the pedals all the while, steering with the lower half or her body. She was leaning slightly forward, but remained rigid, sort of a post, leaning. She was in complete control and kept her sight on that flat, empty place in the road where she would perform. It was coming on fast.

  The bike armada had passed the place in the road and was gathering where Thomas waited in front of the fence at the field. As Thomas went on staring beyond the boys, they turned in unison to see. They all watched, puzzled, as Justice sped down.

  All this happening in the green, dusty stillness of country in seconds; and Justice knowing they were all watching. She saw boys suddenly pull their bikes off the road. Did they think she would perform right in front of them and not in the flat place just above them? Actually, the place was a slight hollow or depression in the general incline of this part of the Quinella Road before it became flat and uneventful.

  Justice was nearly there.

  Ready!

  She gave a careless glance to the side, reasonably certain that nothing was coming down the hill. She thrilled to see the empty, forward road. Nothing, not one car coming on. She saw boys jerking their arms to the left, telling her to get out of the road. She was intent on her performance and paid them no mind.

  The wind was in her hearing; it grew loud.

  Set!

  Down at the base of the hill, there was less of an incline. She definitely lost speed. Grasping the seat beneath her, she took her feet off the pedals. She stretched her legs stiffly up and forward until they rested on the handlebars.

  Boys were yelling at her. She thought to smile for them. Levi looked stricken, his mouth open.

  Don’t worry, Levi!

  Thomas was walking back toward the boys. His face looked startled, staring at Justice—no, she noticed, he was looking beyond her.

  She was in her graceful couch pose, ready to make the slight lean that would start her bike turning in clean circles. Abo
ut to let herself Go! and be Spectacular Justice, to loom in the minds of her brothers and the other boys as better than The Great Snake Race. She was holding herself so tight together, and yet so relaxed. Her heart beat fast and steady against her chest.

  A horn, blasting, split her eardrums. The sound of it tore through her, blaring and bending its tone in a mournful wail. She lost her balance. Speeding away, the car blasted her dream.

  Justice spun off the bike and toppled on her side. Her own momentum swept her over onto her hands and knees. Her riderless bike sailed on past the boys and Thomas. It hit something at the edge of the road. It lifted and plunged into high grass, leaping toward the fence, where it stopped on impact and fell over.

  Somebody had her under the arms. Her hands were stinging and throbbing. Her knees felt like they had holes of pain. She must look like an idiot, she thought.

  Levi lifted her up.

  “Oooh … ooow …” There were shivers of pain in her legs and down her side.

  “Justice, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  She limped around, shaking her head to let Levi know she wasn’t hurt badly. But she was hurt. She imagined blood where a knee was scraped, it hurt so, and refused to look again. She kept her face turned away from the boys, standing quietly with their bikes.

  “Honest, I thought you were going to get killed. What were you trying to do?” Levi asked her.

  “Wait till I get my bike and I’ll show you,” she said, her voice unsteady. She was still stunned and shaken from the sudden, screaming blast of the car horn.

  “Look,” Levi said, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear, “I told you to stick with me. Now, I mean it! No more tricks—was it a trick you were trying to do? Do you want Tom-Tom to get started on you and me, too?”

  She was silent. The last thing she wanted was to cause Levi some trouble. She covered her palms with her fingers. The palms were bruised and tender, hurting enough to make tears come to her eyes. She imagined her knees had deep gashes running with blood that was seeping dark and wet through her jeans. She flexed her knees. They hurt and were probably bruised.