Always by Timmothy B. Mccann

figured I was making good time. Two or three football players tried to stop me; one tried to tell me something about his decision to go to UCLA. It didn’t matter, because I now had only three minutes to see Cheryl, kiss her, and get to class. As I ran down the hallway, my best friend on the team, David, yelled at me, “Hey, Stang! Wait a minute!” Most of the fellows in school called me Stang, which was short for Mustang.
    â€œCan’t, man. I’m in a rush. I’ll getcha’ on the comeback.”
    He ran up behind me, and said, “Listen man, I need to tell you something.”
    I looked at my watch and slowed down. “What, Slick, I’m in a rush.”
    â€œI know, I know, but dig on this, blood.” And then he looked the other way as he got closer. “It’s your honey.”
    â€œWhat about Cheryl?”
    â€œMan.” And then he looked down.
    â€œDavid. What’s up, man? Something happened to Cheryl?”
    â€œListen, jack. You know you my ace boone coon’. But you don’t need to go round that corner.”
    I just looked at him, because I now knew why she was crying. As I tightened my jaw and my fist, I just had to see who he was. I walked toward the corner with the other students coming toward me like salmon swimming upstream, and David hollered, “Stang! Don’t start anything. It might mess up your ride, man. You got a full ride, man. Don’t blow it.”
    The scholarship offers were the least of my concern as Iturned the corner. I remember how hot it was. At least ninety-five degrees under a tree. I was full of sweat from the run and now my heart was beating like a snare drum.
    There she was, standing next to him. Darius Kingsley. Darius was a wide receiver on our team and dumb as wet clay. In fact, this was the first year he was out of special ed, and he and Cheryl were in first-period cooking class together. They were not holding hands, smiling, or anything. They were just standing closer than acquaintances stand. And then she looked up at me.
    â€œHenry? What are you doing here?” The look in her eyes confirmed everything I needed to know.
    â€œWhat do you mean, what am I doing here?”
    â€œAren’t you supposed to be in AVC? You gonna be late.”
    â€œWhat’s going on, Cheryl?”
    David stood behind me, and said, “Man, cool down. It ain’t worth it, blood. Not for some chick.”
    â€œIt’s not what it looks like, Stang,” Darius said.
    â€œWhat does it look like, Cheryl? Since when is this dumb”—I paused for the right word and it just sorta rolled out—“ dumb motherfucker walking you to algebra?” Neither Cheryl nor David had ever heard me curse before, but no other word seemed to fit.
    â€œWho, who, who you calling dumb!” Darius stuttered with this sinister smile on his face as his eyebrows arrowed downward and he took a couple of steps in my direction.
    â€œHe called your punk, short-bus-riding ass a dumb motherfucker!” David said. “You ain’t got no business even talking to the chick!”
    â€œYou, you, you ain’t in this shit!” Darius replied. “So you might wanna find you some business to get into and stay out mine.”
    â€œListen, Stang, let’s go, man,” David said, tugging on my jersey. “We ain’t losing our ride fighting over no damn broad, man!”
    Darius dropped his books, spread both arms crucifixlike, bugged his eyes, and sneered, “Yo, David, you really want sum a dis? I been wanting to peel off in yo ass anyway.You know I ain’t scared of your backwoods, musky, sced-of-deodorant country ass!”
    As David and Darius traded insults, Cheryl and I spoke with our eyes. It’s funny. I guess because we were together so much, our communication went beyond the physical. For only the second time in my life, I saw her tears fall. Those hazel eyes, her full brown lips, and her