For Angelo

His mom’s voice beckoned him through the walls, an unintelligible jumble of hushed, anxious sounds that demanded investigating. Troy imagined himself a spy, no, a ninja as he navigated the obstacle course of creaky floorboards in the hallway. He pressed himself against the wall outside his mom’s room and listened, glad that the warped wood of her door left it permanently ajar.

“Monette, I don’t know what to do, Troy is smart, he’s got a real shot, but you know how it is girl, these people, they create a money barrier to keep people like us out.” The tinny exclamations of Aunty’s response were barely audible. “Of course I can ask the church, but every time I hold my hand out, I feel like a failure. When I first held Troy in my arms, I made him a promise that life would be different for him. That he wouldn’t have to struggle for everything he has like we did. With that brain of his… I just feel like it’s me holding him back.”

Troy retreated to his bedroom; he was old enough to understand pride, and the shame of being poor. His teacher Mrs Ward had told him that he was a maths prodigy, but even he couldn’t balance the equation of one minimum wage income to support two people. Still, his floor was littered with stacks of battered books his mom had found on Craigslist or was gifted by friends. His desk was piled with past papers and worksheets that Grams and Mrs Ward printed for him. They made things work as best as they could, but these hushed, anxious phone calls were occurring more and more frequently.

He picked up his whiteboard marker and frowned at the problem he had written on the cracked whiteboard. His mom was too proud to talk about it, and he was too young to get a job. All Troy could do was study hard enough to seize opportunity if it flitted by. He uncapped the marker and immersed himself in the comforting logic of math.

***

Troy squared his shoulders, bracing against the thoughts that pinballed through his mind. He was a few blocks from home, but the landscape of overcrowded apartment buildings and run-down houses was the same. His brain screamed that this was a bad idea, but his feet carried him on.

He thought of his mom, whose bowl was often empty at breakfast to allocate extra money to his math studies. Grams, the local librarian who had a computer reserved for two hours every afternoon so he could study and his mom could work a longer shift. Mrs Ward, who tutored him during math class using a university textbook she had bought with her own money. Their kindness, meant to keep him from the conveyor belt of black teens shooting each other, would be wasted if he could not prove his talent. Opportunity was costly; it was his turn to sacrifice at its altar.

He saw them, hanging, bikes and backpacks strewn across the pavement. His brain rallied for one last plea, and his feet halted. The acrid smell of weed hung lethargically in the air, dulling the sounds of their laughter and rap music. Troy recognised a boy from his class examining an assault rifle.

“Hey, Noah!” Troy called out to him. His feet propelled him forward, and he stood, sweaty-palmed and alien among them

“Yo, glad you could make it, T.” Noah offered his cigarette, but Troy shook his head. “Aiiiight,” Noah shrugged and took another puff. “This is ma man D’Andre; he run this crew.” The tall, gangly teen Noah pointed out gave Troy an appraising look.

“Noah said you finna join us,” he adjusted the handgun that glared threateningly from the waistband of his pants. Troy calculated the angle between the spokes on the bike in front of him. What was it his mom always said about confidence?

“Yeah, I need to make some money and thought I could help you out. I’m quite good at math, and ummm, well, I can help.”

“You is good at math, is you?” D’Andre’s staccato chuckle chorused around the slouch of teenagers. “It ain’t like we need an accountant for running drugs and guns, Math Club.”

“Right, of course.” Troy cursed himself internally.

“Yo, why you talk so white, dawg? You finna be one of them pets for white folk’s diversity?”

“My mom says that labelling ways of talking and behaving as white plays into the oppression of our people. That some of us need to become the “acceptable” kind of black so we can change things from the inside.”

“Oh yo mamma say that, do she?” D’Andre scoffed and looked Troy up and down. “You ain’t gonna be changing no white folks minds here!”

“No, but I need money to go to Mathletes, and, well, I can’t exactly get a job.”

“Aiiight, we’ll take your application under advisement Math Club, get gone and we be in touch.” D’Andre took the cigarette Noah offered and turned his back on Troy.

***

“What are you doing here?” Troy looked up from his cracked whiteboard at the tone of his mom’s voice. He capped his whiteboard marker and hovered by his bedroom door. His mom was talking in hushed yet sharp tones. A man’s voice was replying. Troy opened his door and walked down the hallway, trying to hear what was going on. “Fine, come in. But I’m gonna be watching you! Troy, get your be-hind in here!” Troy jumped at his name. His mom glared at his sudden appearance, and Troy rearranged his features into a guilty expression.

“Hi,” Troy turned his attention to the tatted-up twenty-something standing in the doorway. The man smiled at Troy, and the light glinted off his gold grill. Troy looked at his mom, who was this guy?!

“Well, sit, say your piece or whatever.” His mom jabbed at the sofa and crossed her arms.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the man cowered under her expression. “In fact, I came ta talk ta you, Troy, word is you finna join my crew.” Troy froze and looked at the floor. He could feel his mom’s eyeballs burning into his skull. A lazy chuckle bubbled up from Jayontay’s chest, he gestured for Troy to sit. “I’m Jayontay and I tol’ the crew that you ain’t got no business runnin’ wit us, ya feel me?”

“Okay,” Troy watched Jayontay settle down in the sofa, spreading his legs as wide as his sagging pants would allow.

“You hearda my brotha Angelo?” Troy shook his head, and Jayontay kissed his teeth. “Well he was like you, ya feel me? He had brains and coulda got out.”

“What happened?” Troy’s voice cracked, and he hurriedly cleared it with a cough.

“Looks like you already guessed dawg,” Jayontay smirked, but his eyes remained steely. “He fell in with a crew who treated him reeeeal nice. See we ain’t had much of a fam, our Dad beat our asses and Ma was always working. So these guys looked afta him, you feel me? They chased off our Dad, got him some real nice kicks and just like that, he had a family. Angelo was stashing cash to get us outta here one day, and all the time he kept on drawin’ and dreamin’. One day one of our crew disrespected the sister of a rival, and they came ta one of our trap houses and shot the place up. Angelo ate 5 bullets, died right there.”

“I’m sorry,” Troy offered. Troy examined the floor while Jayontay cleared his throat and blinked furiously.

“Nah dawg, it was a while ago,” Jayontay sank further back into the sofa. “But the point is he woulda got out, but instead he ran with a crew, ya feel me?”

“So you’re here to warn me not to join any gangs?” Troy wasn’t sure where to look. He heard the shriek of a zipper and looked up to see Jayontay pull a black notebook from his backpack.

“Naw dawg, I’m telling ya that brothers out here dyin’ insteada going out havin’ families and living that life.”Jayontay punctuated his points with the notebook. “Mosta us ain’t even finished school and why would we? School is the place you run drugs or get jumped. Ain’t nobody learn nothin’ there, they don’t even ha’ books enough for errrbody. We needa see people who made it out; we need brothers like you, dawg.”

“Like me?” Troy’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to be a role model; he just wanted to go to university. To get a good job and look after his mom.

“Yerrr, you gonna go ta college, be all famous and prove to errybody that there a life out there.” Jayontay passed him the black notebook and motioned for him to open it. Troy flipped through pages of detailed diagrams and equations.

“He was into engineering,” Troy observed. He paused and examined a diagram. “He was very intelligent, these are amazing.”

“He used ta fix up what broke and build toys for me ta play wit.” Jayontay nodded. “He was a real stand up dawg, and he ain’t deserve how he died. You don’t deserve that neither.”

“Damn right you don’t!” His mom glared from the doorway.

“And this is for you,” Jayontay dumped his backpack into Troy’s lap and motioned for him to open it. Troy gave him a look and opened the zipper. It was filled with stacks of cash. Troy’s eyes widened, he had never seen more than ten dollars in his life. “Twenny G, dawg, think of it like one a those scholarships.”

“We don’t want your money or the strings it comes with!” Troy’s mom stomped over and tore the backpack out of his hands.

“Chill Ma, there ain’t no strings. Just when you make it outta here, you try and help another brother, ya feel me?” Jayontay tapped his brother’s notebook. “Angelo didn’t have no way out, but you got a chance dawg, you keep that notebook to remind you erryday.”

“Thank you,” Troy stared at him as Jayontay wiped away a rogue tear. “I’ll do it for Angelo.” His mom’s hands were shaking as she pulled Jayontay off the couch. Their new benefactor looked worried.

“Thank you, thank you,” she pulled him into a teary embrace, and Jayontay patted her on the back, glancing down at Troy for help. Troy was just staring at the bag of money, absolutely speechless.

“It’s aiiiight, just keep the little man on the straight and narrow, ya feel me? Just coz we ain’t getting out, don’t mean you can’t.” Jayontay gave his pants a half-hearted tug and sauntered out their door. Troy gaped at his mom, who was bent double over the bag of money, her tears splattering the bills inside.

“Lord,” Troy was crushed against his mom, her sobs stabbing at his ears. “My prayers have been answered. This is enough to get you to Mathletes and pay for a tutor and give you a real future.”

“For Angelo,” Troy clutched the notebook as his mom made plans for the money.