The ringing of the bell was a sound of relief to Nicole. Standing and talking tired her, plus she had no free period today. Mr. Frederic, who taught Arts in the next class, was passing by when he saw her relaxing. He came in with a smile. 

Nicole smiled along. “What?” She asked.

“The way you are sitting,” Frederic said. “You must miss the holidays.”

Nicole sighed. “You have no idea.” She didn’t say that part of her tiredness was caused by Tim. Her marriage. The stress. She’d confide in him, Frederic, but now she thought better of it. She wouldn’t trust him to be the only one listening. Last time she told him something she ended up hearing about it from other teachers in the staffroom. Gossiping about her. They had known about her infertility without her telling them. She never confronted Fredric, never thought of him as a gossipmonger. It’s not what he’d do. If she’d confide to him she’d have to do it somewhere else. 

“It’s always like this when we open. You’ll get better as the day goes.” He sat with her and they talked. She asked him why he’d been absent yesterday. 

“I had to finalize Dolly’s accommodation. She’s so picky,” he explained. Dolly was her daughter, who had just moved out of home.

“It’s not like you’ve missed anything anyways,” Nicole said. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing to show that it was the first school day of the year. Just Foley checking out my ‘provocative attire.’”

He laughed at that. “And Mrs. Sloane gossiping as usual.”

“You know!” She laughed too. “Isn’t she retiring?” 

“She is. I’m sure by the end of the second term she’ll be gone.”

“I pray they replace her with someone better.”

“They will,” he said. “They have to.”

She asked him how’s his first day back with the learners. He told her not a week has passed since they’ve opened yet he’s already expelled one of them. 

Nicole looked at him with an awed face. Fredric laughed again. “This boy from Rensing Boys High. They transferred him here. He swore at me. Had to send him off to Foley.”

“These kids are something else, hey!”

“They are the worst,” he agreed. He’d been employed by the school the same day as Nicole. That commonality, and the fact that their classrooms were next to each other, prompted their closeness. It grew into a friendship. Unlike her he had been teaching at another school, All Lights Secondary, before it closed down. Before he came here. He had some experience. So sometimes he’d show her the ropes, since she was a first time teacher.

He received a phone call. A few seconds later of listening he scowled. “I’m on my way,” he said, then hung up. “Sorry, there’s been an emergency.” He left before she could ask what’s the emergency. She hoped it wasn’t something drastic. His footsteps outside quickened: he was running. 

After signing off at the main offices Nicole went out to where she’d parked the car. She struggled holding the books and files, like she did this morning when she arrived. Where was that boy who helped her? She would leave the books and files in her class, lock them in the cabinet. But, like most of the learners, she had her homework to do. A syllabus to study. 

The school had a few learners remaining. Help with the baggage came from the corner near the teacher’s rest rooms. Not that boy. Another one, whom she knew and taught. “Brandon,” she said

“Ma’am?” He turned. He was on his way out. A smile took over his face once he saw her. He crossed to where she stood, with her hands full. 

Nicole dumped the books on his open arms, leaving herself with a few. “Thank you,” she said. 

“What’s with all the many books?” He asked. The pile looked easy to carry for him. 

“This is all my work,” she said. 

A few cars remained at the parking space. Frederic’s black Golf was gone. It made her wonder about the call he received, the emergency. Brandon asked her the direction to her home. At first the question dumbfounded her. 

He asked her if she passes a certain store on her way home. A big red store located at the corner near a taxi rank. “Gem Food Wholesalers.”

“Yes, I do pass that way,” she said. “Why?”

“I was hoping you won’t mind to give me a lift,” he said. 

She was about to ask him how does he usually return home. Brandon quickly answered before the question came. “I take a taxi, but I’d like to save that money. For today at least.” He added a smile to make light of his request. 

Nicole heard herself agreeing. It wouldn’t be the first time she lifted a learner. Besides, he’d helped carry the heavy books, so the favor seemed fair. She opened the driver’s door, unlocked the boot and told him to put the books in there. Afterwards she told him to get in. He clicked his seatbelt on as she woke up the engine and drove out. 

***

“Where were you schooling, Brandon? Last year,” she asked. 

This whole time he’d been staring at the road and the learners she drove past. Now he turned to her. She looked at him too. 

Brandon knew then that he wanted his English teacher. The feeling boded impulse actions. It’s where the heart took the lead role and the mind followed. He managed to get a hold of himself. “You asked me something.”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “What was your last school?”

“Herpville High, Ma’am.”

A phone somewhere rang. She dug it out of her handbag and answered it. “Timothy?”

He noticed that her face had gotten serious, with some lines on it. She listened on the phone, driving with one hand. He tried to imagine what was the husband saying. It obviously wasn’t anything good. 

“Do what you feel like doing. I don’t care anymore,” she said. More seconds of listening. There was a small argument.

Brandon could hear the voice from the phone. The husband talked fast, but Brandon couldn’t hear anything that’s being said. 

“Yeah…okay.” She hung up. The way she did it it’s like Tim wasn’t done speaking. From then on the drive became silent. He felt bad for her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry for that.”

“You don’t know what’s going on,” she said. 

He was quiet for a minute, then said: “Yes, I don’t know. But…it didn’t sound okay.”

“It wasn’t. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” 

He wanted to tell her he cares. He cared about her. But he didn’t trust the words. He didn’t trust himself to say them right. So he let it go and returned to his silence. Mr. and Mrs. Gardner were in a rocky situation. He felt bad for her. What were they arguing about? In their online photos they looked well together. The perfect embodiment of a happy marriage. Will the argument continue when she gets home? 

He looked at her again. He almost told her he’s sorry, until he remembered that’s what he already said. She dropped him off near the corner store, just as he’d requested. 

“Don’t forget to do your homework,” she told him, and he, smiling, promised he won’t. He also promised to get the highest mark in the class. 

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” she said. “Bye, Brandon.”

“Bye.” She drove away into the crowded street, speeding past a slow taxi. 

He did the homework once he got home. Some easy questions. When he finished he ate four slices of peanut butter sandwich and washed it down with apricot juice.

Skitzo called. “Come meet us.” He told him the location then he hung up. 

He found Skitzo at an abandoned house. It was full of rubble, the air carried mild dust. Skitzo hid with three of his gang members. They nodded once at him, their way of greeting. They were smoking weed. One of them, the darker one with no hair, held a gun. A Glock 22. They kept looking around, checking the near spaces outside these walls, checking who’s passing on the streets. 

“What’s up?” Brandon said. 

He again asked what’s up. Skitzo took his time responding, enjoying his blunt. His eyes were already red, windows of blood. He blew smoke and said. “Did anyone follow you?”

“Why would…no. No one followed me.” Brandon looked back. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“We have a problem.” 

“A problem?” Brandon said. 

Brandon coughed at all the smoke. Who had lived here? 

Skitzo gave him the gun.

“What’s all this?”

“You don’t know a gun, motherfucker?” Skitzo snapped. “Take it.” Brandon thought he’ll shoot him then, so he took the gun. The steel cold and heavy. It’s his first time holding it. His fingerprints on this thing, he almost dropped it. 

“What the fuck is going on?” He looked at their faces, one by one. 

“You ever heard of the Remy Boyz?” Skitzo asked. He stubbed his blunt and crushed it under his dirty sneaker. 

“Who hasn’t heard of them?” Brandon said. “Most of them were in my previous school. Herpville High.”

“They were your classmates?”

“Some of them, yes.”

“You know them?”

“Yeah.”

Skitzo looked at his gang. “Interesting.”

“Why am I given a gun?”

“To protect yourself,” said one of the three, the lightest one of them all. “The Remy Boyz are coming for our turf.”

“You mean here?” 

Skitzo nodded. “Fools must be planning a takeover. We’ve already lost some guys, this past hour.”

“There was a shootout,” said the darkest one. “Bodies drop when bullets fly. We lost three men.”

“It’s five,” Skitzo said. 

“Five?”

“Yes. Sparks and Mandla. They are dead.”

“They were there?” 

“You didn’t see them?” Skitzo said. “They heard the guns. They came and joined us, saved my life. They didn’t make it, though. Mandla blocked me. I would’ve been hit. Sparks tried to fend off the shooters but they got him, right in the head. That bought me enough time to run, or else I would’ve been next.”

“Shit.”

Brandon imagined the bullet shells on the street, next to the running blood. Sparks’ blood. Brandon knew him. He met him a couple of times. A nice boy. Of all these people he was the one Brandon thought didn’t need to be in a gang. He was just too good, always smiling, hardly smoked. To think he sacrificed his life saving someone like Skitzo. Brandon wasn’t sure he himself would do such a thing, even if he and Skitzo were tight friends. 

Now Brandon understood why they carried guns, why they kept looking outside the walls. 

“Razor assigned each one of us weapons. In case the Remy Boyz, or anyone, attacks us. Since you don’t have one, we thought we should call you here and tip you.”

Brandon couldn’t quite imagine himself shooting someone, let alone carry a gun with him. “You do realize that my involvement in this is only temporary?” he said. “Once I’m done with my stock, I’m out. It’s over.”

“You think the Remy assholes will care about that shit when they find you?” Skitzo asked. “Even if you aren’t in any gang they’ll still wipe your ass off these streets.”

“Not when I don’t have anything more to sell. I’ll just be a regular dude by then. I pose no threat.”

Skitzo and his three men laughed. “But as long as you still have the dope, you need us. You need the gun. We might protect you. Have you ever wondered that this shit might stick with you and it’ll smell wherever you go?”

“What are you saying?” Brandon frowned. 

“If the Remy Boyz see you with us, or the Triads or whichever gang out there. If they see you with us then you’ll be noted as a target. An enemy. Them motherfuckers don’t care if you selling for a specific amount. Or for a specific time. Even if that shit is overdue, you’ll still be an enemy. Whenever they see you there’ll be gun smoke. Pow pow!” Skitzo mimicked a gun with his hand. His boys laugh again.

“It’s in your best interest to complete selling your share before they see you. Because if they do then it won’t matter anymore.”

Brandon has never agreed with Skitzo on anything else besides this. He couldn’t have said it better.