Black Boy White School by Brian F. Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

hack?”
    â€œNaw, man, some other time. I gotta go make a phone call.”
    â€œYeah, man ,” said a big kid with a ponytail. “We’ll catch you some other time.”
    Back in his room, Anthony grabbed the roll of quarters that was meant for his laundry and went to the pay phone down the hall. There was one on every floor of every dormitory because it was hard to get cell phone reception in that mountainous part of Maine.
    Darnell answered on the first ring, sounding tired and energized at the same time. All of the excitement left him, though, when he heard Anthony’s voice. “I thought you was somebody else,” he said sleepily. “W’sup, man? How all them white people treating you?”
    â€œI hate this place,” Anthony blurted. “Don’t even get me started.”
    Darnell laughed. “I tried to tell you, little nigga, but you ain’t wanna listen.”
    â€œI listened. I just didn’t believe it would be this bad.” Anthony told his brother about all the rules in the dorms and how everyone assumed he was from New York. When he shared what had happened with Mr. Kraft and Coach Rockwell, Darnell laughed until he wheezed.
    Anthony waited for the fit to die down and then said, “I’m serious, man. Put Momma on the phone. I ain’t got no friends up here.”
    Just then, Nate walked by and slapped Anthony on the back. “Hi, Mom!” he shouted. “Send cookies!”
    Darnell laughed again. “I though you ain’t have no friends?”
    â€œI don’t. That dude is just crazy, he don’t count. Serious, man, lemme talk to Momma.”
    â€œShe ain’t here,” Darnell said. “To tell the truth, since you left, she ain’t really been home at all.”
    That night Brody tossed and turned in his bed, blew his nose like a trumpet, and dropped the used tissues on the floor. Anthony was already awake and on edge. He wanted to jump down and punch his roommate for being so disgusting. Rich white kids should know better than to throw snotty rags all over the floor. Then again, maybe there was someone at home that Brody paid to pick his boogers. For time and a half, maybe they even wiped his ass, too.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Brody asked from his bunk. Until then, Anthony hadn’t realized he’d been laughing.
    â€œYou,” Anthony snapped. “You have to be the one of the nastiest people in the world. Seriously, man. How hard would it be to throw those things in the garbage?”
    Brody turned on a light and saw his mess. “Sorry, dude,” he said, and then started cleaning up. When he was done, he reached for his guitar case.
    â€œI know you ain’t about to smoke in here,” Anthony warned. “Take that shit to the bathroom or something.”
    Brody laughed and opened the case anyway. Instead of his pipe and weed, he produced the guitar instead. He strummed a few notes, and the sound was good. It was also way past midnight, though, and they were supposed to be asleep.
    â€œPut that junk down, man,” Anthony said. “You gon’ mess around and get me in trouble.”
    â€œThey can’t hear us, dude,” Brody said. Then he strummed the guitar again, but more softly than before. “They can’t hear us . . . but they fear us . . . put your trust in old Gus . . . and don’t be so ser-i-ous . . .” He ended the short song with a flourish and a triumphant “Dude!” Brody grinned and jerked his head aside to get the hair from his eyes. “Just made that up,” he said. “What do you think?”
    Unsure of what to say, Anthony didn’t say anything. He kind of liked the acoustic ditty, but he also wanted to throw the guitar out the window. It was almost like Brody was trying to be annoying. “You must wanna get your ass kicked,” Anthony said finally.
    â€œWhat?” Brody