okay.” I put my shades on my head, watching him round his desk and take a seat to narrow his brown eyes on me. “You summoned. I came. Whatcha need, Mr. Garrett?”
“For starters, I’ll take that switchblade you brought with you onto my campus.” He tapped his desk with his large black hand. “Now, Mr. Jinkins. I really don’t think you want to violate the terms of your parole. Or do you?”
After a short stare-down while I wondered how he knew, I shook my head.
“The weapon, if you please.” He tapped his desk again.
I leaned back in my chair, shoved my hand into the front pocket of my jeans, and withdrew the switchblade. When I placed it on his desk, the metal glinted, reflecting the overhead light.
“Oh, Warren.” Mr. Garrett shook his head, looking resigned. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Dunno.” I tensed, my gut tightening, though I actually liked him. He didn’t just let me do what I wanted like Mr. Yurelli. Mr. Garrett seemed to really give a shit about me.
“Not going to turn you in, though I should,” he said, and I exhaled a sigh of relief. Too fast, apparently, because he put on his dead-serious face. “But if you ever bring a weapon into my school again, I’ll send you back to juvenile detention so fast, your head will spin.”
“Noted,” I said grimly.
“Good. Glad to hear that. You don’t seem to note much of anything I’ve said to you over the years.”
He leaned forward, picked up the switchblade, and moved it beside a thick manila folder with my name scribbled on it. Opening it, he skimmed a page, flipped it over, then skimmed another and yet another.
As I waited, I squirmed in my seat. But I stilled when he lifted his gaze.
“Been doing this a long time, Warren.” He no longer looked resigned, only sad. “I know a lost cause when I see one.”
My gut churned. I’d been a lost cause my entire life. Rejected by my old lady from the day she popped me out, and my old man too. He’d been married to someone else when he fucked around with my mother.
I’d only recently discovered his identity, but I shouldn’t have bothered. He refused to acknowledge me when I tracked him down and confronted him, but he did say a few words to the judge on my behalf before my sentencing. Otherwise, I never would have gotten off as lightly as I did for Bryan stealing and wrecking his precious car. The asshole cared more about his Beemer than he did about me, his own son.
“You aren’t a lost cause, Warren,” Mr. Garrett said, and that surprised me so much, I almost fell out of my chair. “Not yet, anyway.”
Shocked, I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him.
He pointed to a page in my file. “Says here you have an interest in music.”
“Fucking social worker.” They’d forced me to talk to a counselor after the last fight I got into. I sat back in my chair and shrugged.
“Hmm.” Mr. Garrett tilted his head and studied me. “Tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?” I narrowed my eyes.
“I won’t tell anyone about the weapons violation if you meet with Mrs. Floyd twice a week after school.”
“The choir teacher?” I asked.
“Yeah. Isn’t singing an ambition of yours?”
“Maybe. But I ain’t interested in that sunshiny shit she teaches.”
“It’s up to her what she wants to do with you. Where she wants to start. What songs she wants you to practice. But it’s up to you what you do with what she teaches. Are you hearing me?”
“I got any say in this?” I glanced at the blade, then up at him.
“Actually, you do. You have all the say, really. Sure, life dealt you a shitty hand, but that’s the same story for nearly every single one of my students.”
Mr. Garrett sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m giving you a new card, Warren. You can take it and use it to improve your odds, or you can toss it aside and continue playing the shit hand you have. The choice is up to you.”
Lace
Bryan Jackson is here. At Southside High.
I was so surprised by the information that I didn’t even recall Sabrina leaving, nor did I care. At least, not as much as I usually did as I stepped inside the classroom and everyone stared at me.