Chapter 4 #2
Mr. Kirby sat at a cramped desk, from which he pulled a notepad and pen. “Everything before it lasted two or three months. And now, we on month twelve. Fighting allegations we’ll run out of steam just like all the others. What skills do you have that would make you a good fit here?”
“I worked for a shoe-shiner,” I answered, as I took a chair across from him. “He taught me a lot. And my father taught me
to cook. And I can clean too!”
Mr. Kirby paused for a second, then looked up at me and burst out laughing. He found that so funny, for some reason. And it
made me start laughing too.
“And that’s all it is, ain’t it?” Mr. Kirby said, still laughing.
There was a connection between us suddenly. I could sense the weight of Mr. Kirby’s wisdom without even having to know anything
about it, because it shined through his humor.
Once he finally stopped laughing, he wiped a tear from the corner of one eye and said, “Oh, I needed that. I can give you
the opening for the night shift, son, if you want it. You’ll learn on the job.”
“I’ll take it!”
Night shift. Saturday and Sunday, two p.m. to ten p.m. The other cook, Leanna, had been carrying this place on her back and
approached the work with the steel-hearted resolve of a Viking. She taught me to blanch potatoes and get the temperature in
their world-famous fried chicken just right.
Mr. Kirby was from Louisiana, started his business in a truck and had just moved up to a real space recently, so I couldn’t
mess this up. My eyeballs might fall out from how focused I was on learning the ropes.
And every night I returned from my night shift, I continued to check the mail until I came across a letter from West Egg Academy.
I took a deep breath and opened the envelope. At the bottom was a signature from the founder, Jay Gatsby Sr., himself.
Dear Mr. Carrington,
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that after careful consideration of your personal character and potential for
growth, you have been selected as a recipient of the West Egg Academy Tuition Scholarship for the upcoming academic year.
This scholarship, awarded to a select few, will cover the full cost of your tuition fees should you choose to study with us.
At West Egg, we pride ourselves on preparing young men to excel in their studies and their contributions to society. We are
confident that you will uphold the values of discipline, respect, and integration that form the foundation of this institution.
We ask that you confirm your acceptance of this scholarship within two weeks of receiving this letter to allow us to finalize
arrangements for your arrival in the fall. Once again, congratulations, Mr. Carrington. We look forward to welcoming you to
West Egg Academy.
Yours Sincerely,
Jay Gatsby, Founder
West Egg Academy for Boys
The door to the house flew open with a force that scared me, even though I was the one who’d opened it!
I burst down the hallway, screaming, “I got in!” I held the letter up in the air like a beacon of hope, joy rattling through
my body. “Auntie! Uncle! Daisy!”
Auntie came out from her room and found me first, her smile even wider than mine. “They accepted you?” she asked, and then
hugged me and screamed, “Nick, this is wonderful! I knew you’d get it!”
Uncle Beet came casually to the kitchen next and patted me on the back, laughing with pride and joy. “Way to go, young man.
You got more than enough to keep you busy now, that’s for sure.”
Daisy flew down the stairs screaming with joy, already knowing what the energy was about. “AHHHHHHH! NICK, YES!” Her joy matched
my energy and caused Uncle Beet to plug his ears and wince. “Cake!” Daisy screamed, running to snatch up the phone. “We’ll
need to order a cake!”
So commenced a celebration in the kitchen for me. Everyone was happy that I’d finally got up and was going to do something.
The walls of my new home felt like a refuge, full of care and support. My family took me in when my world shattered, and now
they surrounded me, making sure my future would not fall through the cracks!
Thank you, Mr. Wallace, for pointing me here! Thank you!
After the party, I stayed up in my room, rereading my acceptance letter. I wanted to fully feel my joy, but some part of my brain turned toward the dark side of things. Like, the fact I’d never get to tell Pa about this positive turn in my life.
These thoughts kept me up well into the night. And when it was so late that the house had gone silent, I heard someone sneak
past my room and quietly leave the house. I looked out through the crack in my door to find Daisy’s silhouette slipping out
of the front door and closing it gently behind her.
I rushed to my window facing the front of the house and peeked through the blinds. Daisy carried a bag down the stairs out
front—a bag nearly as big as she was. She tossed it into the trunk of a car—not a cab—that was waiting for her to get inside.
What was Daisy up to? I had to know.
I opened the window as the car pulled off and crunched my body to step out onto the sill. Precariously perched on the little
bricks between the pane and empty air, I swung my leg over the ledge and closed the window, leaving it cracked enough so I
could push it open later.
Uncle Beet’s bicycle sat by the side of the garage collecting dust. I mounted it and pedaled into the streets, just in time
to see the car turning up ahead. I’d be hidden from its rearview as long as I kept my distance, but I’d have to move fast
to catch up.
I raced under telephone cables and over sewer tunnels, fear cinching my breath. I watched the ground carefully as I traveled
to be sure I didn’t hurt myself. What untold horrors might this city carry at night? I kept hearing my pa’s voice, telling
me to stay in after dark. Harlem’s tiny mazes were a great place to fall down a grate or get kidnapped, and how would I come
back from that?
Finally, the car took Daisy through an alleyway. There were two dumpsters and two doors into seedy businesses. The alley opened to a freight yard, bordered by a calm river. I hid behind a wall, crouching beside a lost fruit vendor’s wagon to watch Daisy load duffel bags into a separate car.
This was a business deal that could only be done at night—that much had become clear. There were big freight cars here, so
it had to be a trade hub. But those cars were also great cover for criminals to do shady deals.
“Excuse me,” said a voice. “Are you working the show?”
I spun around and found standing behind me a boy whose picture I had just seen weeks ago in the West Egg pamphlet—Jay Gatsby
Jr.
I was starstruck and embarrassed by the current of nerves running through my chest. I hadn’t heard of him until recently and
yet I felt I was meeting a celebrity.
What reason did he have to be here at this hour of night?
Jay’s question had gone unanswered long enough for him to turn and point to an electric sign on the alleyway wall that read
The Green Light. The establishment was right next to where I was standing, and I’d only just noticed the muffled jazz coming from behind
the door.
“Oh, I don’t work here,” I said. “I was just spying on my cousin.”
“What?”
I wanted to shove the words back into my mouth because only after seeing his twisted expression did I realize how odd they were. “I mean, she’s been going somewhere late at night, and I wanted to know where. I shouldn’t be sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong though.”
“Interesting.” Jay looked at me sideways.
I couldn’t look away from his bold eyebrows, which framed a pair of soulful brown eyes. His strong nose gave him an air of
confidence, while his hair—curling in velvety waves—caught the light like polished walnut. His lips were full and plum-colored.
He held an allure that photographs of him could not capture.
A car door slammed behind me, reminding me of my original purpose. I turned back to see Daisy getting in the car, and then
it spun around to come back toward the alleyway—Daisy and her driver were moments away from catching me if I lingered.
“Excuse me!” I slipped around Jay and banged on the establishment door, hoping with everything that someone would let me in,
lest I be caught spying.
“You can just open it,” Jay said, twisting the knob and pushing it ajar.
The moment it opened, I sighed with relief and slipped inside, drenching myself in the cool atmosphere of the joint, where
music and distant voices vibrated from deeper inside.
The wheels of the car whooshed by outside. A chill crept into my bones as I wondered where my cousin might be going next,
if it would get her into trouble.
Jay was standing across from me in the narrow entrance, his mindset somewhere else entirely. “You’re breathing rather heavily,”
he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, just fine,” I replied.
He closed the door behind us and tilted his head for me to follow him inside, down the brick entryway. “Any interest?” he said.
“I should probably—”
“Get home?” he said, cutting me off. “Why? What’s there?”
Good question. Safety was my first thought for an answer. But Jay’s curious and adventurous gaze made me forget about that for a moment. I’d also
lost Daisy’s trail already; there was nothing to be done but wait for her to return home.
And then, there was something about Jay’s presence that relieved my fear of doing something unexpected. It magically convinced
me to allow the night to take on a character of its own. Together, we slunk down the hallway, which was bathed in a green
light, until we reached the lounge area—a big room where lamplight kissed the leather of booths, like moonlight on the river
at night. The clientele was mixed between Colored and white, mostly keeping to themselves, but also mingling, in friendly,
distant ways.
Jay walked me to a counter where waiters were serving patrons and waved down a man pouring beverages. “The usual!” he called.
“Two?”