Five Uneasy Pieces

She shook her head.

“Go to church?”

Negative.

“Your mom go to church?”

“Naw. She work Sundays.”

I was fishing for the kind of “give-her-a break-your-Honor-she’s-a-good-kid-with-a-bright-future” stuff that defense attorneys routinely trot out, in the hope their clients will get off with lighter sentences. Unfortunately, this approach tended to work better for middle-class kids, who had been fast-tracked for success as early as nursery school. By high school, they were already padding their future resumes with internships and other extracurricular activities that would set them apart from—or, at least, keep them abreast of—their career-driven peers. Unfortunately, the neighborhoods that fed Silver Hill Middle School were far from middle-class, and many of the students were busier building rap sheets than resumes. So the “bright, shiny future” stuff seemed less workable than the “let’s-not-make-things-any-worse-than-they-have-to-be” approach.

With that in mind, I asked, “Have you ever been suspended?”

“Nuh-uh. I done some detentions.”

“What for?”

“Bein’ late, talking in class.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Once for getting in a fight, but the other girl started it.”

I looked at her. She stared back, daring me to say otherwise. “How’d it start?”

“I was eating lunch in the caf with my friends. This heifer named Lakeesha, she step up, start dissin’ my friend, Rochelle. She always raggin’ on her. She jus’ jealous, is all. Anyway, she start in on Rochelle again. Rochelle say, ‘Girl, you got a mouth on you. You want to back your noise with some action?’”

Tina snickered. “That heifer was frontin’, big time. She back down. I kep’ a eye on her, anyway.

“Then, when we was getting up to leave, Lakeesha get up, too. I saw her come up behind Rochelle wit’ a razor in her hand. So I shoved Lakeesha and knocked her ass down. Then Rochelle and this other girl start wailin’ on the bitch for sneakin’ up on her like that. I started kickin’ her, too.”

“So you were the one who knocked her down?” Just like the old woman with the purse. “Why were you kicking her, if she was already down?” And would you have beaten up the old lady if the cops hadn’t been there?

“Lakeesha the one wit’ the razor,” she said, in a soft voice. “I couldn’t just let her try to cut Rochelle up and get away with it.”

Sounded reasonable, assuming it was the truth, and you could never be sure about that. But if Tina were going to lie to me, why mention the fight at all? I’d represented a handful of violent juveniles—all boys. They’d had more attitude than brains. Tina didn’t seem to fit that profile, even if she did talk tough. Or maybe I was letting her gender, baby face and slightly nerdy overbite fool me.

“Have you been in fights before?” I asked.

“No. But I ain’t scared to fight or nothin’.” Her voice took on a petulant, defensive tone.

“Well, no one said you were, but I’d avoid it, if I were you.” What was with the attitude? Maybe someone accused her of being chicken. Maybe she’d gone after the old woman on a dare. “You can be suspended for fighting at school, you know. Or even expelled. I guess they cut you a break because you were defending your friend.”

“That an’, like I say, I ain’t never been in no fight before. Mr. Powell, he put in a good word for me, too.”

“Who’s Mr. Powell?”

“Guidance counselor.”

I finished up our interview with some routine questions, a brief description of juvenile court and the probable outcome in her case. I suspected that, as a first-time offender, the court would go easy on Tina, but I qualified every possible result with “maybe,” because you never know for sure.

When we’d finished the formalities, I said, “I loved to read when I was your age. Seems like I hardly have the time now. What else have you read?”

“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”

“Maya Angelou. I read that, too.” In high school. She wasn’t lacking in intellect.

Tina’s face remained impassive, but her eyes warmed to the subject of books. “I also read Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah.” She gave me a speculative look. “Whatchoo read when you was a kid?”

“Lots of books.” I tried to think back. Seemed like a century ago, though it was closer to a quarter of that. “Catcher in the Rye. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.”

“I think we s’posed to read that Catcher book in high school. Don’t know the other one.”