Chameleon by Charles R. Smith Jr

Author:Charles R. Smith Jr. [Smith, Charles R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7636-5248-7
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2008-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

Who said that? My ears heard the words before my eyes were open to see the face. Slap!

“Hey!”

“I was just trying to get you up, young blood.”

Who’s slapping me in the face? I tried to blink my eyes open, but only my left eye moved. I tried to sit up, but my stomach was in a world of pain and held me down.

“Do I know you?”

All I could make out was a big shadow hovering over me with a hand reaching for my right eye.

“Wooo! That’s a real shiner you got there!” the voice said. “You don’t know me, but I see you boys playing ball around here all the time.”

I coughed as I rose, then reached to touch my eye. The hand stopped me.

“Don’t touch it. It ain’t pretty, but you’ll be fine. Just your standard-issue black eye, young blood,” the voice said.

Young blood? I’ve heard that before. My memory kicked into gear and flicked back to Trent: butterfly kick . . . young blood . . . Black Bruce!

“Black Bruce?” snuck out of my lips.

“Is that what y’all call me?” He laughed.

I was embarrassed to say that to his face.

“Hey . . . I can dig it. Y’all must like Bruce Lee. I get it. Name’s Herbert — you can call me Herb. One of your boys was watching me practice earlier. I came back to get in a little more work before the sun went down and saw all you young bloods just lying on the court.” He pointed around the court. “What happened?”

“Crips . . . Pirus . . .” tumbled out.

“Say no more.”

He helped me to my feet. Pockets of pain filled my stomach. I stumbled as I tried to focus out of one eye. I was the last one up. The sounds of pain hovered over us as I saw everyone clutching at different body parts. Dayshaun sat on the grass nearby, cradling his wrist like an infant, his black leather belt balled up and clenched between his teeth to fend off the pain. His eyes had that look like Master’s right before he went on his revenge-filled rampage.

Lorenzo stood, hunched over and holding his stomach. His breathing could be heard a mile away. Trent lay silent on his back on the grass, staring at the sky. Andre sat inches away, carefully wiggling his jaw back and forth with his hand. The four Crips sat silent on the court. Two of them covered their noses with bandannas and held them high to keep more blood from spilling onto the court. The other two dabbed at different spots on their faces, cursing each time the bandanna touched a wound.

“Man, what them ’rus run up on us fo’ like that?” one of the Crips said, jamming his bandanna into his back pocket as he stood.

“I ’on’t know, but somebody gone catch one for this. Oh, yeah! Payback is a bitch!” another Crip said, lowering his head to spit clots of blood.

I felt my way to the grass with Black Bruce — I mean Herb — following close behind.

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