Black Boy White School Read Online Free PDF Page A

your school clothes,” he said. “And she gon’ beat it again for losing your key.”
    â€œMookie got shot.” Anthony said plainly. “He dead.” He pushed past his gawking brother and stopped, could hear Darnell and other people upstairs, could smell the weed smoke and wine. He wanted to go and yell in their faces, he wanted respect for the dead. But Anthony was tired and his feet wouldn’t move, so he stabbed the button on the remote and let Letterman into the living room.
    â€œYou for real?”
    â€œWish I wasn’t.” His eyes were locked on the screen. They burned, but he didn’t blink.
    Andre nudged him. “What happened?”
    Anthony stoically recounted the story. When he finished, his brother left the room and came back with a bottle, “Sorry, man,” Andre said. “That’s some messed-up shit for a little kid to be dealing with.”
    Anthony shrugged and twisted the beer cap. “I ain’t no little kid,” he said, and took a long drink. Then he thought about Maine and endless winter. White world or not, it had to be better than East Cleveland. It had to be better than what happened to Mookie. “I ain’t no little kid,” Anthony repeated, more for himself than his brother. “And I ain’t staying here no more.”

CHAPTER THREE
    That summer, Anthony still hung out with his friends, but almost never at night. They talked about Mookie but less and less, until his name hardly came up at all. They still got quiet when they passed his house, or when they saw any of his family on the street. It wasn’t that they had forgotten about their friend. It just hurt too much to talk about him.
    Floyd was busy anyway, selling weed for Shane. And Anthony got an unofficial job in Shaker Heights, sweeping hair at a barbershop. He rode his bike up the hill every day, past the wide lawns and white people. All his life they had been foreign to him, living close by but in a different world. That would change, though, once he got to Maine. More than likely, his roommate would be some billionaire from Beverly Hills.
    He was excited but scared, too. And on the morning that he was supposed to leave, Anthony lay awake in the predawn darkness, fighting panic. What if his first plane ride turned out to be his last? There were terrorists and sometimes the engines fell off. What if he got to school and couldn’t handle the work? Would they put him in special ed or just send him back home? Maybe he should have listened to Floyd and refused to go.
    He looked at his sleeping brothers and felt jealous. They pretty much knew what their day would bring. But for Anthony, it would be a plane ride to Boston and then another to Portland, Maine. After that, Belton Academy and the unknown.
    An hour later, at a rare breakfast together, Anthony joked with his brothers and mother about Maine. Andre made a crack about igloos and Eskimos, but Darnell corrected his geography. Their mother seemed happy and, simultaneously, sad. She laughed out loud sometimes but never for very long.
    â€œI want you to be good when you go up there,” she said. “Ain’t nobody in this family never had a chance like this. Maybe you can even go to a four-year university.” She beamed at the thought of it, and Anthony cringed. Not a single male branch of their family tree had even applied to college.
    â€œI’ll be good,” he said while his big brothers grinned. “Just hope I can make some friends.”
    â€œDon’t even worry about that,” Darnell added confidently. “Do like I told you and everything gon’ be straight.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œAnd don’t go up there and get none of them white girls pregnant, neither.”
    â€œAndre!”
    â€œYou don’t have to worry about that, Ma,” Anthony said. “I’m gon’ go up there and keep to myself. Make no trouble, make no waves.” He looked at