One Blood

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Two

Ten years earlier

1992

Lake City, LA

Brandon opened his eyes. Shorty was staring at him. “Hey ya, Brandon. ‘Bout time you woke up.” 

Brandon sat up on his floor mat and looked around the gym. Most of the other kids were asleep. Mr. Diaz was standing near the gym doors speaking in heated whispers with Miss Beatrice, the after-school program supervisor. He looked in their direction and Brandon quickly ducked back into a sleeping position.

Why the hell were they having nap time anyhow? Hadn’t they stopped that last year? Usually at this time, he and the other kids were outside playing dodge ball, baseball, or basketball. But when the bus dropped them off in front of the park today, Miss Beatrice was there waiting for them. She quickly ushered the children into the gym, as she did on days when it looked like rain. But there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

How long have I been asleep? Lincoln was supposed to pick him up early for tee ball practice.

“Brandon…Bran?” Shorty tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, Shorty?”

“I’m tired of layin’ here. Let’s go outside and play.” 

Brandon should have seen this coming. His friend was incapable of obeying the rules. “We’ll catch a whuppin’ for sure if we do that.”

“Not if everybody goes.”

“How?”

“Through the back,” Shorty answered, gesturing toward the double doors in the back of the gym.

“What about the alarm?”

“Broken,” Shorty replied. He snaked over to the back wall and pushed one door open. Brandon held his breath waiting for the alarms to shriek, but they didn’t. Still, something was telling him not to go outside. He attempted one last excuse. “Miss Beatrice is makin’ cookies.”

“Don’t nobody want them hard-ass cookies.”

“Okay,” Brandon replied, giving in. He looked around one last time for Mr. Diaz, but he was no longer in the gym. After giving Shorty the all clear, they crept from mat to mat waking up all of the kids, pressing their index fingers to their lips so everyone would keep quiet.

Once everyone was awake, Brandon took over the operation. He bubbled with the excitement of doing something wrong and possibly getting away with it. Lincoln, Mr. Diaz, and even Miss Beatrice, were the furthest things from his mind.

He got all the kids lined up and told them to wait for the signal. Then he and Shorty led everyone outside as quietly as they could. Brandon made it to the jungle gym in record time. A second later, Shorty tapped him on the shoulder.

Shorty pointed at the basketball court. Mr. Diaz was talking to an older boy Brandon had seen somewhere before.

“That’s Murda,” Shorty whispered in admiration.

Brandon knew Murda was the leader of the Dirty Skulls, which meant the other boys with him must’ve been the rest of the gang—except for Lincoln. Lincoln never spoke of his gang days, but Shorty had told him all he needed to know. Brandon recognized Shorty’s older brother, Stacie, standing next to Murda. The wind carried faint snatches from the conversation, but not enough to piece together what was being said.

“Ole Pooh Butt looks nervous,” Shorty whispered in Brandon’s ear.

Normally, Shorty’s nickname for Mr. Diaz would crack Brandon up, but not today. Something just didn’t seem right.

Mr. Diaz abruptly turned his back and walked away from Murda and the gang, with Murda yelling at him. The other Dirty Skulls were laughing. Then someone called out to Murda from the fence.

It was a white kid. Kris something. Brandon knew him better as number forty from Lincoln’s basketball team. What was he doing here?

“Oh shit, they got guns!” Shorty shouted.

The Skulls pulled out weapons from the front of their pants as the white boy approached. A lump of fear grew in Brandon’s throat. Something very bad was about to happen.

His friend Jennifer gripped his hand and pulled him away from the crowd of eager kids, back toward the gymnasium. When the shooting started, it came as suddenly as a summer rainstorm.