Team Seven by Marcus Burke

in. Claude took out another Backwood and started rolling another. The music pulsed through my whole body as I sat, feeling like I’d been inside a steam room too long. The air was foggy and thick, and my head felt loopy and light. I looked around at all the guys, they were laughing and smoking, but I didn’t know what they were laughing at. I saw their smiling faces and felt like maybe they were laughing at me and I started feeling awkward. I couldn’t really hear their voices, all I could hear were my thoughts and the idea of Ma smelling weed on me made me feel sick to my stomach. I looked over at the cable box and it was four thirty.Ma got off work at five thirty, so I jumped to my feet and said, “Thanks, y’all, but I gotta go,” and headed for the door.
    Reggie looked me in the face as I made my way across the basement. Then he grabbed my shoulder and laughed. “Aww, this lil’ nigga got his first lil’ contact high. Shake it off, nigga, you good, son.”
    “Yeah, I’m good,” I said as I rustled away.
    “Well, come back tomorrow if you wanna put some money in your pocket, ya hear?”
    I said okay and he gave me a strong dap, and as I started heading for the door he yelled, “And don’t go telling your mama what you seen down here neither, she just starting to come around.”
    I said, “Okay,” and let myself out.
    From that day forward, once school let out at three, I power walked home, dropped off my stuff, hit the side alley, and grabbed the order and the cash. I got back from the munchies run around three fifteen and as long as I kept my mouth shut and stayed out of the way they’d let me hang out for a little bit. If the air wasn’t too strong, I could cut out no later than four thirty, giving me a good hour for the contact to go away. When I got home I’d put my hoodie and coat on the back porch to air out from the smell in Reggie’s basement. By the time it started getting warm out I almost felt like an honorary member of the crew, but they were all older than me and they spoke in a code they made up all on their own and I couldn’t crack it. I laughed when they laughed but half the time I didn’t know what they were talking about.
    Even though I’m cool with them, they’re just friendly to me.My real homeboys are Chucky Taft and Beezy, and our moms are all friends.
    Chucky’s mother, Mrs. Vernice Taft, is like the mayor of Lothrop Ave. Her and Chucky were the first people who rang our doorbell to introduce themselves when we moved to Milton. As Ma tells it, the doorbell rang and when she answered the door there was a jug of sweet tea sitting beside the doormat and in our walkway was this white lady Mrs. Vernice picking up a plastic-wrapped foil tray of fried chicken and waffles with Chucky slung around her hip. Ma said they sat at our kitchen table and ate, while me and Chucky played with pots and pans on the floor.
    Ma was convinced from day one that there wasn’t any racism in Mrs. Vernice Taft, not to say she didn’t see it in some of the other white people that lived on our block. The Tafts live five houses down from us, just before the hill starts to rise. Beezy lives on the tip-top of the hill, we used to only really see him in the summertime because he went to private school, but this year he transferred to Tucker Elementary and he wound up in Mrs. Power’s class with me and Chucky.
    Spring always used to be the loneliest season. Chucky’s never around, he plays for the all-star travel baseball team. After school he’s either doing homework or off doing baseball stuff with his father. With the warm weather, them Squad Six boys are outside, and I know better than to linger on the corner too long and risk being spotted by Vernice Taft, who’d tell Ma. But with Beezy around things were all good. Finally I had a homie my age to chill with. I started taking him with me on the store runs, but the way them Squad Six boys would come at Beezy snapping jokes was off the hook. I mean,