Chapter 9
Jamal King
We’re volunteering as a team at The Q Solutions, an agency that focuses on helping queer youth. They also have an outreach program for unhoused people. I enjoy being here, and the kids are great, meaning they’re lil chaos demons, but once you get past their outer layer, they’re cool.
My family stresses the importance of giving back.
They make sure I’m humble and that I help others as I rise.
I’ve been offered brand deals, but I’d rather bring attention to Black businesses and causes for free.
Q Solutions is an incredible organization.
It’s how I give back and make my parents proud.
I’m in the kitchen with Benz and his boyfriend, Leo.
Leo isn’t really volunteering, more like stealing kisses every time Benz walks by.
Benz needs to leave his station for the silliest things.
Twice he’s come over and asked me how the chopping is going.
I might not be a gourmet chef, but I can chop veggies without his help, and he could ask me from where he’s layering the lasagna.
This is O’Keefe, Brant, and Mav’s first time here, so the director, Joanne, is giving them a tour.
Benz scoots by Leo with another kiss, then rolls up to me. “What time is the next shift coming in for dinner service?”
“We’re not going to have any dinner if you don’t stop mauling your boyfriend.
” I swat him away. “Go back to work, and you’ll be able to hear me from there.
” I wait for him to spread sauce on a layer before I say, “Dinner shift will be here in forty-five minutes. Get busy. Those need to bake for an hour.”
“Shit,” Benz panics, and Leo steps closer to help.
“Oh, my.” Joanne enters with the new guys on our team. “We are behind on the lasagnas. Can you guys pitch in?”
Brant stands next to Leo. “Put me in, Coach.”
“I’m in charge,” Benz says, and gives everyone a job. They form an assembly line, and the first pans go into the oven within minutes.
“This place is sick.” Mav’s head is on a swivel, taking in the industrial kitchen and huge supplies.
“It’s awesome,” Benz agrees. “It helps so many kids, doesn’t it, King?”
Benz hasn’t gotten over his unintentional racist remarks.
He’s either trying to smother me with kindness or reassure himself that I’m not mad.
I’m not angry… I’m disappointed he said it and that I stayed silent.
It’s exhausting being the spokesperson for Black people or acting nonchalant when they inadvertently say something that offends me.
The microaggressions from people on other teams are bad enough.
“It does.” I scrape the cut carrots into the ginormous salad bowl.
O’Keefe hasn’t said a word, but I feel his eyes on me. His heart was in the right place when he thought I was being disrespected, but it seems awkward to say thank you at this point.
With the extra help, we finish dinner prep in record time. Joanne takes Brant, Mav, and O’Keefe to meet the after-school program kids in the gym.
O’Keefe occupies too many of my thoughts, and I should be embarrassed, but instead I’m following them at a distance. I’m curious to see how O’Keefe acts with kids—as if he’s better than them or compassionate, like he is with his girlfriend.
I circle around the gym to stand in the back hallway so I can hear them, but they can’t see me.
“And who are you?” I cringe at hearing Bex’s haughty voice. She’s a tough one and pretends she doesn’t know who Gray is every time he comes in, which is once a month.
“I own the place,” O’Keefe responds, and my feet move on autopilot to the doorway.
Bex gives him the once-over and glares at him. “No, you don’t.”
“I’ve come to check on my investment.” O’Keefe looks down his nose at her like the snob he is. He’s the worst.
“You’re here with a bunch of dumb hockey players. Did you hit your head and forget who you are?” she says sweetly.
“I’m unforgettable,” O’Keefe says, and his smile is so charming that my hand flies to my mouth.
“Fine.” Bex flicks her wrist at him. “I’ll allow you to volunteer here.”
“Your approval means everything,” O’Keefe says in a sugary-sweet voice.
“I know,” Bex calls over her shoulder and sashays out of the gym.
O’Keefe won over Bex in less than a minute. This has to be an alternate universe because Bex hates everyone. I wander back to the dining hall and help set up the buffet line.
Since I did the prep work, I can technically leave, but I like to hang out with the kids.
They’re a reminder of who I would be without hockey.
Getting scholarships for both high school and college changed my life.
My parents would’ve tried to pay, but college is stupid expensive, and I would’ve never let them go into debt for me.
Without hockey, I’d no doubt be working full time and still trying to get a four-year degree. I’ve resented O’Keefe for all the things he was given, but it could’ve been so much worse for me, and I’m grateful for all that I have.
I’m sitting with a group of high schoolers arguing over the superiority of Marvel to DC. It’s entertaining to listen to them speak as if personal taste can be proven objectively.
There’s a stir near the door, and a hush spreads like poisonous gas through the room. Juan David and his best friend strut in. There are rumors he joined a gang, and the staff is worried about him.
He flicks Bex’s hair. “Let’s go.”
“I’m eatin’.” She gives him her back, and his face turns purple.
I rise halfway in my seat to defuse the situation. Juan David won’t tolerate what he perceives as disrespect.
To my shock, O’Keefe takes long strides over to them. “You her man?” he asks Juan David as he gestures to Bex.
Juan David puffs out his chest, and this is why Q Solutions has a no-weapons rule. “I am. Who are you?” he snarls.
Theo’s charming smile breaks free, and I’m frozen, still halfway out of my seat, watching this train wreck.
“Bex has been talking about you nonstop. She told me you’d be here to have some sort of date night.
” He makes a gagging sound. “I told her she’s living in a fantasy world.
Ain’t no way that’s happening.” He’s grinning like this kid won’t jump him in an alley.
“Oh, how rude. Sorry. I’m O’Keefe, the owner of the joint, and Bex has given me her permission to volunteer here. ”
Juan David’s mouth is hanging open, and I don’t blame him. O’Keefe is unhinged.
But his little speech puts Juan David in an awkward situation. He has to choose between making Bex leave, which, with all of us here, this is not the night. Or prove O’Keefe wrong and sit his ass down and act right toward Bex.
I rise slowly so I don’t upset the balance of tension. They’re staring at each other with a silent challenge. Both O’Keefe and Juan David hate to be challenged and disrespected.
In hockey, O’Keefe takes constructive criticism as an attack. I’ve never said anything, and it’s not my place. In this situation, a bully knows how to stand up to other bullies.
“Sit or go?” his best friend mutters, disguising his words around a cough.
Juan David’s eyes break from O’Keefe’s, and he takes in the rest of the room in a split second. There are ten big hockey players and the staff. He can challenge O’Keefe to a fight, but then he’ll get himself banned from the center. And he’ll probably lose Bex.
He squints at O’Keefe but says to Bex, “I’ll get a plate, you sit over there.” Juan David points to the end of a half-empty table.
“You got me, Bex. You know your man.” O’Keefe’s laugh is joyless and loud.
He doesn’t take his eyes off Juan David and his friend as they approach the buffet.
But I can’t stop staring at Theo as he rounds the other side of the room, putting him closer to me and where the boys will exit the food line.
Words my mom said ring in my ears about hurt people hurting other people and how a difficult reputation can follow you.
Theo’s behavior makes sense if you look at it from the perspective of a person who has been neglected or hurt.
It’s easier to be the first one to leave than to get left behind.
He lashes out at the tiniest slights, muttering under his breath, and instead of taking responsibility for a mistake, he’ll tell you all the good things he’s done.
For all I know, no one ever told him he did a good job.
I’m so focused on O’Keefe that a slap on the back makes me jump. “Hey, King, right?” Juan David’s BFF says. I can’t remember his name, but he doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I heard a rumor that our roots started in the same place.”
I smack his upheld palm. “MS 74?”
“Awww, you went to Hawthorne? Dayyyummm, I went to MS 158.” His smile tells me he has a million questions.
“What was that, your boarding school?” Theo jabs.
“Where did you find this guy? He be trippin’.” He turns to O’Keefe. “If you were from New York, you’d know those schools are in the projects. Boarding school.” He shakes his head as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“That’s not true,” O’Keefe barks.
My brain is still stuck on the fact that Theo won over Bex and averted a crisis situation with Juan David within an hour of each other. I can’t process what he’s objecting to or his anger.
My mom tries to see the best in everyone, and I would do well to follow her example.
Bex tugs his sleeve to slide by him on her way to Juan David. Another day we’ll need to talk about having self-respect and boys treating her right.
“Don’t think we let people make fools of us, Mr. Owner Man. If someone claims to be from the projects, we do our research. You’re looking at Nathaniel Hawthorne Middle School’s greatest success story.” She slow claps. “Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
“I wanna hear your stories,” the kid says to me, and finds a seat.
O’Keefe’s stare burns the back of my neck, and a shiver races up my spine. I have no idea if he’s angry at me or angry in general.
All these kids deserve a second chance if they need it. Maybe this is Theo’s second chance. Mom always says, “Just because people have money, don’t mean they don’t have problems.”
Theo tells Benz, “He’s not really from the projects. That’s bullshit.”
I don’t hear Benz’s response because my anxiety has spiked, and my heart beats way too fast, so I slip out the side door. I’m not sure what my team knows about my past. The guys have heard me talk to kids at The Q Solutions and know I went to public schools but not the specifics.
I’m not ashamed, but middle school doesn’t come up in conversation.
Ever.
Could be Theo has trauma in his past.
I can’t judge on what I think I know. It’s the second time he’s brought up boarding school. It’s absurd, but he believes it.
I text my dad for advice, but it takes forever to figure out what to say.
Me: How could I go about befriending someone who hates me?
Dad: Friendship is based on trust. Do something that requires trust on your part. Can I ask who this is about?
Me: No
Dad: *laughing face emoji*
He knows. He always knows. It’s like he has a sixth sense about me even though he’s not my blood father. I really wish he was.