The Gun Read online

  “I’m gonna make some changes,” Tyray said. “You’ll see.”

  “You better, boy,” Dad said, grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

  Tyray cursed under his breath and headed off to school.

  Chapter 8

  When he arrived at Bluford, Tyray learned that a pep rally had been scheduled in the gym for just before lunch. All freshmen were expected to attend. Tyray did not mind such events during football season, when he got to attend as an athlete. But this pep rally was for winter sports. That meant the wrestling team and Darrell Mercer would be included. The last thing he wanted to do was see people praise Darrell.

  “We’ve had a great season this year,” Coach Lewis said, talking about the wrestling team. “A couple of our seniors are going to the state championships. And from the looks of things, a number of our freshmen may be there one day too.”

  Tyray rolled his eyes. He would rather be in Mr. Fitch’s history class. He listened as the coach praised several wrestlers and then mentioned the team’s success in a recent match against Lincoln High.

  “Each year the team selects an award for the most improved member on the team,” the coach continued. Tyray’s eyes widened. “This year’s recipient is Darrell Mercer.”

  Tyray watched in horror as Darrell stood up and waved. Many kids in the bleachers clapped loudly, and a few even chanted, “Dar-rell, Dar-rell!”

  Amberlynn Bailey and Jamee Wills squealed loudly at the news, and several guys on the wrestling squad patted Darrell on the back.

  Tyray stood up. Each clap for Darrell was like an insult aimed directly at him, making his head throb even more. Desperate, Tyray spotted Mr. Mitchell sitting with his section of freshmen and mumbled, “Gotta go to the bathroom. I’m sick.”

  Mr. Mitchell nodded, and Tyray ran down the bleachers towards the hallway.

  “Hard to take, Tyray?” Jamee jeered as Tyray descended the steps. “What goes around comes around.”

  Tyray made it to the bathroom and went inside. The room was empty, and Tyray kicked a trash can, sending it smashing into a bathroom stall. His head ached, and he rubbed the wound repeatedly while listening for the end of the pep rally. Finally, after about ten minutes, the rally was over, and Tyray heard everyone leaving the gym. When he came out of the bathroom, Mr. Mitchell was standing there waiting for him.

  “Feeling better, Tyray?” Mr. Mitchell asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Tyray said, turning to walk away. “Somethin’ I ate, I guess.”

  “You’re upset, aren’t you?” Mr. Mitchell asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man,” Tyray snapped.

  “Kids are mean, Tyray. They’re a lot like chickens. When chickens find one of the flock vulnerable, they peck it to death. Darrell was on the receiving end of the pecking a while ago, and now I think you’re catching some of it. I know how tough it can be,” Mr. Mitchell said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Mr. Mitchell. I ain’t no chicken. Look, I gotta get to class.”

  “Tyray, this will all pass,” Mr. Mitchell added. “One day you’re gonna realize that none of this is important. But there are some things you can do right now to change things. You’ve got to own up to your part in this, and you gotta get that chip off your shoulder and reach out to the other kids.”

  “I ain’t reachin’ out to nobody. I ain’t got problems. Don’t waste no time on me, Mr. Mitchell,” Tyray insisted, walking away from the teacher.

  At lunchtime, Tyray approached Lark in the cafeteria.

  She glanced up at him and then turned away. Tyray wondered what he would say if she asked him about the money. Would she give him more money if he asked for it?

  “Hi, Lark,” he said, sitting next to her. “Girl, you look good today.”

  Lark opened her can of soda but said nothing. She avoided eye contact with him. “Yesterday, I went with my friend Livvie to see her grandma in the nursing home where your mom works,” she said. “Livvie’s grandma is pretty sick.”

  “Too bad,” Tyray said trying to figure out what Lark had to say.

  Lark raised her gaze and looked right at him. “Your Mom was there, Tyray. We got into a conversation about birthdays Of course, I kept the necklace a secret. She told me she just celebrated her birthday two months ago,” Lark said, taking a deep breath. “Have you been lyin’ to me just to get my money?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

  Tyray’s heart sank. He glanced down to escape her gaze. “You . . . uh . . . I didn’t really get her anything nice, so I thought I’d give it to her as a late present as soon as I could afford it,” he explained.

  “That’s not what you told me before,” Lark said, shaking her head, a look of disappointment on her face. “You said you wanted to get it for her this year. You acted like you had to get it soon. I told your mom we’re friends at school, and she seemed real glad about that. I asked how your sick aunt was doing, and she said there wasn’t anyone in the family that was sick. I didn’t say anything else ’cause I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “She’s lyin’,” Tyray blurted out awkwardly. “Mom’s like that. She don’t like people knowin’ her business.”

  “No, Tyray. I think you’re the one who’s lying,” Lark replied. “Everyone kept telling me not to trust you, but I didn’t listen. I kept hoping that they were wrong, that you were different from what they said. Well, I guess I was the one who was wrong.”

  Tyray’s mind spun wildly as he searched for something to say. “Okay, okay. Do you really want the truth? The truth is that I . . . was embarrassed to tell you why I needed the money,” Tyray said, thinking quickly.

  Lark’s eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “I owe some guys a lot of money, and they said they’re gonna hurt me if I don’t pay. They did this to me last night,” Tyray insisted, bending forward to show her the gash on the back of his head. “I still gotta get fifty dollars or they’re gonna hurt me again. I didn’t want to admit that to you.”

  “Tyray, they can’t get away with something like that,” Lark said. “You have to go to the principal and tell her what’s happening.”

  “No, you don’t understand. The principal hates me. She’s just lookin’ for a reason to kick me outta Bluford,” Tyray said.

  “Well, go to Mr. Mitchell. He’ll help you. He’s great about helping kids with problems,” Lark suggested.

  “Baby, you don’t get it. If I bring anyone else into this, those guys are gonna make it worse for me. All I can do is pay them off. That’s why I asked you for the money. You’re my only hope.”

  “Tyray, I can’t keep giving you money. I already gave you everything I had. I believed you when you told me about your Mom’s present, and you were lying to me. How can I be sure that you’re not lying to me right now? I don’t know what to do.” Lark’s eyes began to water, and she wiped them with her fingers.

  “Just walk away then,” Tyray said bitterly, surprised at how much Lark’s tears bothered him. “That’s what everybody does. No reason you should be different.”

  “Tyray!” Lark sobbed.

  He glanced up to see Jamee Wills coming towards them. Passing Tyray in icy silence, Jamee rushed to Lark’s side and put her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Come over and eat with us, Lark. You don’t have to stay here.” Lark got up slowly. “Me and Amberlynn are gonna go to the mall after school. My sister is driving us. We want you to come too, Lark,” Jamee said as they walked away.

  “You need to mind your own business,” Tyray snapped at Jamee.

  “My friend is my business,” Jamee shot back. “And it’s my business when she gets mixed up with losers like you.”

  Jamee pulled Lark to a table on the far side of the cafeteria, where Amberlynn was sitting. Tyray knew by the look on Lark’s face that she was confused. As he watched her wipe tears from her eyes, he experienced a twinge of guilt.

  Tyray looked around and realized he was completely alone in the middl
e of the crowded cafeteria. So this is how it’s gonna be from now on, he concluded. His only comfort had been the knowledge that he would soon have a gun. Tomorrow he would meet Bones as they had agreed to nearly a week ago. But without money, Bones would just laugh at him.

  Just then, a light bulb turned on in Tyray’s head. There was one place where he had not yet gone for money, a place with more risk than robbing a bank. His mother’s money stash.

  Mom had savings she called her ‘cheat money.’ Every payday she hid cash in her dresser drawer. When it grew to a nice sum, she would use it to take her mother to dinner or buy herself something she needed. Dad knew about the stash, and he often borrowed from it. Tyray knew if Dad found him taking money, he would be in the worst trouble of his life.

  But he had to do something.

  Mom’s money was the only answer. As long as he returned it quickly and without Dad knowing, nothing bad would happen. Once he got the gun, Tyray figured he could start scaring kids. They would start paying him again, and he could replace Mom’s cash before anyone knew it was gone. By then, everything would return to normal.

  As soon as his final class ended, Tyray sprinted from Bluford, rushing to arrive home before his mother. He had about five minutes to spare when he walked into the house. Making sure no one was home, he went quickly into his parents’ room. He cautiously opened the drawer and found the ‘cheat money’ hidden between two folded shirts. Tyray counted one hundred and twenty dollars. He took out fifty dollars and carefully arranged the clothes in the exact position he had found them. Unless Mom looked for the money immediately, there would be no way she would know what he had done.

  Tyray’s hands shook as he folded the bills and shoved them deep into the pocket of his jeans. Immediately, he felt dirty. He had done many bad things in his life that did not bother him, but this was different. He had never stolen anything from his mother.

  Struggling to push the guilt from his mind, Tyray focused his thoughts on the gun. “My gun is gonna change everything,” he whispered to himself, quietly fighting the images of Lark and his mother, which gently haunted him in the darkened bedroom.

  When Tyray went to bed that night, he slept fitfully, tossing every few hours, unable to get comfortable. At one point, he dreamt of Lark’s face. Tears were in her eyes. To his horror, Tyray realized she was sitting alone in a church pew crying. Before her was a coffin, and in it Tyray saw his own body, a gun resting on his chest.

  Chapter 9

  Friday at Bluford passed by in a blur. Tyray struggled through each class, waiting for the bell to ring so he would be one step closer to the end of the day.

  At lunchtime, Lark sat with Jamee, and only once did Tyray see her glance in his direction. He also saw Darrell laughing with a group of kids. Just wait, he thought, feeling the weight of his mother’s money in his pocket. Just wait.

  After school, Tyray swiftly walked to the fast-food restaurant where he had run into Bones a week earlier. He never felt more eager. His arms shook with nervous energy, and his stomach felt uncomfortably tense. The smell of hamburger, which usually enticed him, now slightly nauseated him.

  Without looking at anyone, Tyray climbed onto a stool at the counter and waited.

  “Gimme a burger with the works,” said a deep voice behind him. Tyray turned to face Bones, who had crept next to him.

  “Hey, Bones,” Tyray said softly, looking at the paper-thin skin stretching across the man’s forehead.

  Bones did not turn his head. For a second, Tyray thought Bones had not heard him. But then the skinny man spoke up. “You don’t know me, boy. Remember that,” he said under his breath.

  Tyray nodded and looked away. He figured Bones did not want to be seen in public with someone he was selling a gun to. Tyray had seen other kids in the neighborhood act the same way when they were selling something illegal. Without a word, Tyray sat as Bones ate his burger and swallowed black coffee. Then Bones walked out onto the street. Tyray waited a few seconds before following him.

  “You’re learning, little brother,” Bones said when Tyray met him in the alley around the corner. It stank of garbage. Bones began to cough violently, his chest heaving uncontrollably.

  “You all right?” Tyray asked.

  “No. I’m the walking dead, boy. I got lung cancer,” Bones said.

  Tyray looked up at Bones, stunned at his frankness. For an instant, he did not know what to say. It was true that Bones looked sick, but Tyray never figured it was that bad. “So . . . you gonna see a doctor or what?” Tyray finally said.

  Bones coughed again, spitting something red onto the ground. Then he turned and looked into Tyray’s face.

  “You gonna kill somebody, ain’t you? I can see it. When a man is fixing to kill somebody, he gets a funny look. Maybe it’s the blood pumping. Maybe it’s the fear.”

  Tyray stepped back, unsure how to respond. He just needed the gun. As long as he got the gun, he would say whatever the sick man wanted.

  “I was about your age when I took out my first,” Bones said, breaking the tense silence. “He had this baby face. He was young, yeah . . . funny . . . I don’t remember the others, but I remember him. He was a bad dude, but he had this baby face, big, wide eyes like a cartoon. You remind me of him.”

  Just shut up and sell me the gun, Tyray thought, struggling to remain calm.

  “I remember him when he was dying . . . the way his eyes went wild and his cheeks puffed out . . . the blood and all.” Bones took a long hard look at Tyray and then shook his head. “You were just a little punk when I first met you. I always knew you were headed for trouble. Warren was always worried about you. He’d be all over me if he knew what I was doin’. Let’s get this over with before I change my mind. You got the money?”

  “Fifty bucks,” Tyray said, handing over his mother’s cash.

  Bones counted the money slowly, straightening each bill. “I know I shouldn’t sell you a gun, but I ain’t stupid. If I don’t sell it to you, some other fool will. And right now, I need the cash.” Bones folded the bills and placed them in his jacket pocket.

  “Boy, you got a choice to make. This ain’t on my hands. If you take that dude out, his face is gonna be with you until the day you die. You’ll know it better than you know your momma’s face. Be the last face you see every night before you go to sleep. Be the last face you see before you die.”

  There was a long silence. “I’m sicka all you kids,” Bones growled as he moved down the alley.

  “What about my gun?” Tyray asked, his voice rising in alarm.

  Bones turned slightly and pointed a skinny finger at a rusting metal dumpster. “Look for the white bag on top of the dumpster.”

  Tyray rushed to the dumpster and saw a small white bag perched on a pile of trash. Quickly he snatched up the bag and ripped into it. Inside was a small solid object wrapped tightly in newspaper. Tyray’s hands were shaking so badly, he nearly dropped the bundle. Finally, after removing several sheets of newspaper, Tyray broke through to the object.

  A small metal revolver rested in his palm.

  Tyray looked up into the alley. Bones was gone. Stuffing the gun into his backpack, Tyray hurried towards home, his heart pounding wildly.

  When Tyray got home, he tried to behave normally so his parents would not be suspicious. His mother’s smile told him that she had not checked her room or noticed the missing money. Not yet.

  After dinner, Tyray went to his room and locked the door behind him. He pulled the gun from his backpack and stared at it in the dim light of his bedroom, its dull metal the color of a school blackboard.

  The gun was short and stubby, no bigger than Tyray’s open hand. It almost seemed like a toy, except it was much heavier than any toy gun Tyray had played with as a child. It felt as if it was made of lead. Tyray raised the gun and pointed it. Seeing his shadow stretched out against his bedroom wall gave him a strange chill, and he turned away quickly.

  The gun was the answer, Tyray insisted to himself.


  He lifted the mattress of his bed and hid the gun underneath it. His mother never came into his room, and if she did, she would never look there. He lay back on the bed thinking about the gun hidden just below him.

  It was time to start setting everything right.

  On Saturday, Tyray hid the gun in his jacket and went to the apartment complex where Rodney Banks lived. Up until Darrell had his moment in the cafeteria, Tyray and Rodney hung out together on Saturday afternoons. Soon everything would go back the way it was. Very soon.

  Tyray spotted Rodney shooting baskets with a younger boy. Quickly he approached them.

  “Banks, we gotta talk,” he shouted.

  Rodney was preparing to make a long jump shot when he heard Tyray’s voice. Hesitating for a second, he shot the ball, missing the basket completely.

  “Air ball,” the other boy joked, getting the rebound.

  Rodney scowled at the boy and then slowly walked over to Tyray.

  “What’s up?” Rodney asked.

  “You turned on me, Banks. The minute the cash stopped rolling in, you were history,” Tyray said bitterly. Rodney looked at Tyray, watching him carefully but saying nothing.

  “I’ve got me a gun, Banks,” Tyray continued, opening his coat so Rodney could see the weapon.

  “Say what?” Rodney gasped, looking into his pocket. “Boy, are you crazy?”

  “Shut up, Banks,” Tyray said sharply. “You were one of the ones who turned on me, and you know it, so don’t start givin’ me static. Now listen up. I’m settlin’ a lot of scores, and if you don’t wanna be one of them, you’re gonna do me a favor. You tell everyone that the time for dissin’ Tyray Hobbs is over. You put the fear into them, Banks. I want things back like old times.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Rodney asked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  Looking at the fear in Rodney’s face, Tyray felt powerful. It was as if he had grown taller since he had gotten the gun. “Don’t you worry about it, Banks. You just do what I say, and you and me won’t have no problems.”