understand, but if you can just get away from work for half an hour … . Yes, William is in trouble again. Yes, it is very serious … . Noon? Fine.”
The woman looked up at me and hung up the phone.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Kwan,” I said.
“About … ?”
“Adele Tree, or she might be using her father’s name, Handford.”
“You are …?”
“A friend of Adele’s mother,” I said, looking over my glasses.
“Well …”
The phone rang. She reached for it and pointed to the lineup of plastic and aluminum chairs. I sat next to a kid in overalls who had slouched so far down that he seemed to be in serious danger of slipping onto the floor and into oblivion. The boy was young, black and bored.
“What’re you in for?” I asked.
He looked up at me.
“Who’re you?”
“I’m nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody too?”
“What ya talking about?”
“Just talking,” I said, looking down the line at three other waiting students in the seats next to us. Two girls were whispering. The third kid was big. He was white. He had short hair. A tattoo showed dark through his white T-shirt. He seemed to be sleeping.
“You know a girl named Adele Tree or Handford?”
“Maybe. You a cop? You don’t look like a cop.”
“No, a friend of her mother. What do you know about Adele?”
“Nothin’.”
He looked at the busy secretary.
“Nothing? What would five bucks do for your memory?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t know what I don’t know. But I’ll tell ya somethin’. I only know one Adele. She’s not as dumb as she makes out. She plays dumb to get close to the football players, basketball players, like that.”
“Adele?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“How do you know she’s not dumb?” I asked.
He looked over at the woman behind the desk, who was still on the phone. She had a pencil and was taking notes as she nodded. She pointed the pencil at the kid I was talking to and made a motion with it. He sat up. Pencils seemed to be the weapon of choice in this office.
“She was in my math class,” the kid said, still looking at the woman behind the desk. “In there only maybe, let’s see, a week, two weeks. This is advanced math, man. Honors. I don’t know how she got in, but she tested in or some such and she was hard to figure. Too much makeup. You know, like a whore, but she was smart. Nothing Mr. W. could throw at her she couldn’t
come back with. I mean just like that. Same in English.”
“You said ‘was,’ not ‘is.’”
“Haven’t seen her for three or four weeks.”
“You’re an honor student?”
“Yeah, surprised?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“‘Cause of …”
“What are you in trouble for?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My mother wanted to talk to me,” he said, nodding at the black woman behind the desk. “She’s workin’ on a scholarship for me to Howard.”
“Howard?”
“Damn straight. I wanna be a city planner. I wanna come back here with one of those real sharp suits in six, seven years and tell them to rip this whole fuckin’ city down, startin’ with Newtown, and start a new one.”
The door to Kwan’s office opened and the fat boy slouched out, a yellow card in his hand. Maybe Kwan had given him a penalty for kicking someone in the face in a soccer game.
Kwan looked at the woman behind the desk, who was still on the phone. She pointed her pencil at the two girls and the big sleeping kid and then at me. Kwan nodded and moved in front of me.
“Good morning, Ty,” he said to the kid waiting to change the world.
“Morning,” answered Ty.
“You are?”
“Lewis Fonesca. Friend of Adele Handford’s mother, Beryl, family friend.”
“Come on,” said Kwan, heading for his office and looking at his watch.
We went in the office. He closed the door and looked
through the window into the bustling morning staff and waiting students.
“Not much privacy,” I said.
“Not supposed to be,”
The woman looked up at me and hung up the phone.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Kwan,” I said.
“About … ?”
“Adele Tree, or she might be using her father’s name, Handford.”
“You are …?”
“A friend of Adele’s mother,” I said, looking over my glasses.
“Well …”
The phone rang. She reached for it and pointed to the lineup of plastic and aluminum chairs. I sat next to a kid in overalls who had slouched so far down that he seemed to be in serious danger of slipping onto the floor and into oblivion. The boy was young, black and bored.
“What’re you in for?” I asked.
He looked up at me.
“Who’re you?”
“I’m nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody too?”
“What ya talking about?”
“Just talking,” I said, looking down the line at three other waiting students in the seats next to us. Two girls were whispering. The third kid was big. He was white. He had short hair. A tattoo showed dark through his white T-shirt. He seemed to be sleeping.
“You know a girl named Adele Tree or Handford?”
“Maybe. You a cop? You don’t look like a cop.”
“No, a friend of her mother. What do you know about Adele?”
“Nothin’.”
He looked at the busy secretary.
“Nothing? What would five bucks do for your memory?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t know what I don’t know. But I’ll tell ya somethin’. I only know one Adele. She’s not as dumb as she makes out. She plays dumb to get close to the football players, basketball players, like that.”
“Adele?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“How do you know she’s not dumb?” I asked.
He looked over at the woman behind the desk, who was still on the phone. She had a pencil and was taking notes as she nodded. She pointed the pencil at the kid I was talking to and made a motion with it. He sat up. Pencils seemed to be the weapon of choice in this office.
“She was in my math class,” the kid said, still looking at the woman behind the desk. “In there only maybe, let’s see, a week, two weeks. This is advanced math, man. Honors. I don’t know how she got in, but she tested in or some such and she was hard to figure. Too much makeup. You know, like a whore, but she was smart. Nothing Mr. W. could throw at her she couldn’t
come back with. I mean just like that. Same in English.”
“You said ‘was,’ not ‘is.’”
“Haven’t seen her for three or four weeks.”
“You’re an honor student?”
“Yeah, surprised?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“‘Cause of …”
“What are you in trouble for?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My mother wanted to talk to me,” he said, nodding at the black woman behind the desk. “She’s workin’ on a scholarship for me to Howard.”
“Howard?”
“Damn straight. I wanna be a city planner. I wanna come back here with one of those real sharp suits in six, seven years and tell them to rip this whole fuckin’ city down, startin’ with Newtown, and start a new one.”
The door to Kwan’s office opened and the fat boy slouched out, a yellow card in his hand. Maybe Kwan had given him a penalty for kicking someone in the face in a soccer game.
Kwan looked at the woman behind the desk, who was still on the phone. She pointed her pencil at the two girls and the big sleeping kid and then at me. Kwan nodded and moved in front of me.
“Good morning, Ty,” he said to the kid waiting to change the world.
“Morning,” answered Ty.
“You are?”
“Lewis Fonesca. Friend of Adele Handford’s mother, Beryl, family friend.”
“Come on,” said Kwan, heading for his office and looking at his watch.
We went in the office. He closed the door and looked
through the window into the bustling morning staff and waiting students.
“Not much privacy,” I said.
“Not supposed to be,”
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