No good choices

Six days

The stairs led down to the parking lot. It was dark, almost one in the morning. I wasn't going anywhere. I just needed air. Needed to think.

I sat on the bottom step and looked out at the empty lot. A few cars. Security light buzzing overhead. Everything quiet except for that buzz and the distant sound of traffic on Western.

I pulled out my phone. No messages. I scrolled through nothing, just looking at the screen because I needed something to do with my hands.

Marcus had texted earlier asking if I wanted to play 2K tomorrow. I hadn't answered. What was I supposed to say? Yeah come over and sit on my couch that's hiding evidence? Bring Darnell and Keyshawn too?

I couldn't have people over. Not for a week. Maybe longer.

I was thinking about texting Marcus back, making up some excuse, when headlights swept across the parking lot. A car pulled in. Black Dodge Charger, windows tinted. It stopped near the entrance, engine running.

I watched it. Nobody got out.

After maybe thirty seconds the passenger window rolled down. I couldn't see inside but I felt like someone was looking at me. My stomach tightened.

Then the window rolled back up and the car backed out, drove away.

Could've been nothing. Could've been someone looking for an address. Could've been a lot of things.

But I didn't think it was nothing.

I went back upstairs, locked the door, checked the couch. The bag was still there. I put the cushion back and sat somewhere else. The floor. My back against the wall.

I stayed there until the sky started getting light.

Tuesday I went to school running on no sleep. First period was English. Ms. Rodriguez was talking about some book we were supposed to have read. I hadn't read it. I'd barely been to class the past two weeks.

"Jamal," she said. "You with us?"

Everyone looked at me.

"Yeah, sorry."

"Can you tell me what you think about the passage we just discussed?"

I didn't know what passage. I didn't know what book. "I don't know."

She looked at me like she was disappointed but not surprised. "See me after class."

Great.

When everyone left I walked up to her desk. She was organizing papers, didn't look up right away.

"You alright?" she finally asked.

"Yeah."

"You don't seem alright. Your grades are slipping. You're not participating. You seem distracted."

I didn't say anything.

"Look, Jamal. You're a smart kid. I know you've got a lot going on, but you're so close to graduating. Don't throw it away now."

"I'm not throwing anything away."

"Then what's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

She studied my face. "Is everything okay at home?"

"Everything's fine."

She didn't believe me but she couldn't make me talk. "If you need help with anything, you can come to me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"I mean it."

"I know."

I left before she could say anything else.

The rest of the day dragged. I couldn't focus. Couldn't think about anything except the bag. About how many days were left. About what would happen when DeShawn came back for it.

After school I saw Marcus by the gym. He was with Keyshawn, both of them heading to the court.

"Yo, Jamal!" Marcus called out. "You coming to shoot around?"

I used to go all the time. Just mess around, talk s**t, nothing serious. But I couldn't today.

"Nah, I gotta get home."

"You always gotta get home lately. What's up with that?"

"Nothing, just got stuff to do."

Marcus looked at me funny. "You sure you good?"

"Yeah man, I'm good. I'll catch you later."

I walked away before he could ask more questions. I felt him watching me but I didn't look back.

At home I checked the bag again. Still there. Still hidden. I tried to do homework but couldn't concentrate. Tried to play games but couldn't focus. Just sat there watching the clock.

Mom came home around nine. She looked even more tired than yesterday.

"Long day?" I asked.

"Long week," she said, dropping onto the couch. Right on top of it again. "But we need the hours. Bills don't pay themselves."

I felt sick. She was killing herself working and I was sitting here with a bag full of who knows what under her couch.

"You need anything?" I asked.

"Nah baby, I'm alright. You eat?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them she looked at me. "You seem stressed. School okay?"

"School's fine."

"You graduate in a few months. You excited?"

"Yeah."

"You thought any more about what you want to do after?"

I hadn't. I couldn't think past the next six days.

"Not really."

"Well, you should start thinking about it. Maybe community college. Maybe trade school. Something."

"Yeah, maybe."

She reached over and squeezed my hand. "I'm proud of you, you know that? You stayed out of trouble, kept your grades up. Not every kid around here does that."

I wanted to tell her the truth. Wanted to tell her I wasn't out of trouble, that I was in deeper than I'd ever been. But I couldn't. It would break her.

"Thanks Mom."

"I love you baby."

"Love you too."

She went to bed early. I stayed up.

Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

Three days passed the same way. School. Home. Checking the bag. Lying to Mom. Avoiding my friends. Waiting.

Marcus stopped asking if I wanted to hang out. I could tell he was pissed. Darnell asked if we were fighting. I said no, I was just busy. He didn't believe me.

Keyshawn didn't say anything but he looked at me different in the halls. Like he was trying to figure something out.

Friday night I was sitting on the floor again, back against the wall, when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

"Don't answer unknown numbers" was a rule I'd had since I was twelve. But I knew who this was.

I answered.

"Yo." DeShawn's voice.

"What's up."

"Everything good? You keeping it safe?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Good. Listen, I need you to hold it a little longer. Maybe another week."

My stomach dropped. "You said a week."

"I know what I said. Plans changed. You got a problem with that?"

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say I was done, come get your s**t. But I couldn't.

"Nah, no problem."

"That's what I thought. You're solid, Jamal. I knew I could count on you."

He hung up.

I sat there staring at my phone. Another week. Maybe more. Maybe it would keep being more. Maybe this was it now, my life. Holding bags for DeShawn. Being useful to the wrong person.

I thought about the ocean. About that trip to San Diego when I was nine. How the water was cold and the sun was bright and for four hours everything felt different. Felt possible.

I thought about being fourteen, watching that guy get shot, running with Marcus. How scared I was then. How I thought that was the worst thing that could happen.

This was worse.

Being the one who didn't get shot but helped the people who did the shooting. Being part of it without being in it. Being trapped without bars.

I checked the time. Almost midnight. Friday turning into Saturday.

Six more days. At least.

I could do six more days.

I had to.

But I was starting to wonder what happened after six days. And what happened after that. And when it would ever actually end.

The bag was still under the couch. Mom was asleep in her room. The apartment was quiet.

Everything looked normal.

But nothing was.