Dope

CHAPTER 4

Monday morning, one week after the funeral, I finally decided to show up in school. I’d missed a whole week of school but I couldn’t afford to miss more. The principal gave me a pass ‘cause I was in mourning. She told me to see the school’s counselor. To hell with that. I wasn’t gonna sit in front of someone and tell them how I felt or what was going on in my head. That was for me to keep to myself.

            In the hallway, I could everyone’s eyes on me. They were all feeling sorry for me. Some stopped and offered their condolences while others just stared and passed. I got to class and Mr. Green handed in the results of the math test. 55%. A C+. Not bad.

            My biggest challenge of the day was economics class. Mr. Miller always brought math and stats into it. And he didn’t put many notes on the board to study from, so I had to try to summarize everything. When we all complained, he said he was doing us a favor by preparing us for college.

            It didn’t help that Miller had hair sprouting from weird places, like the back of his neck and the top of his nose. It distracted me from what he was saying. Somebody oughta slip him a hair trimmer.

            Today’s lesson was: How can I be a savvy investor? Maybe it would be less boring than usual, because this was info I could actually use. One day I planned to have lots of money—legit money.

            “Picture you have one hundred thousand dollars,” Miller said. “Can you do that?”
            We all nodded, and a few people went, “Yeaaah.”
            “Now, how are you going to invest it? Any ideas?”
            “I’d put it all into a restaurant,” Stacy said.
            “That’s a thought,” Miller said. “You used the word, ‘all.’ Do you intend to put all your money in the same place?”
            She thought about it. “I’d put all of it into restaurants, but maybe in different cities.”
            “Why?”

            Her reply was quick. “Because if one restaurant goes bankrupt, I’d only lose what I’d invested in that restaurant.”
            “What if the whole sector plummets? Then you’ve lost everything,” Miller pointed out.
            Someone at the back of the class said, “What goes up must come down.”
            I thought about Bone. What goes up must come down. Made sense to me.
            “So the key is to di-ver-si-fy,” Miller said slowly, and actually wrote it on the board. “Put your money in different areas of the economy. Let’s say you’ve put your money in five different sectors and all your stocks are doing well. What next?”
            “Sell your stocks before the market goes down,” Malik answered from the third row. “I wouldn’t wait for things to go wrong.”
            “No way, I’d let them ride,” Ronda said from the seat behind him.

            “Well, that is the question, isn’t it? That’s the thing about investing, my friends. Studies show that those wanting a quick buck don’t do as well as long-term investors. However, if your goal is to buy and hold, it takes nerves of steel. Your hundred thousand could be worth a quarter of a million or more—but only if you sell. And likely you won’t want to sell if your stocks are doing well. So what do you do?”

            “I’d watch the market and when something starts to go wrong, I’d cash out right away,” Kelvin said.
            “That’s what most people would do,” Miller said. “The moment something scary happens—a popular stock dips, for example—people pull out. Of course, when everyone does that, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
            “So what are you saying we should do?” Stacy frowned. “Leave the money in or take it out?”
            Man, Stacy was cute even when she was confused. I could tell she was taking the discussion seriously. I bet she planned to have a lot of money one day. That was another thing we had in common.
            “When to sell is the biggest question of all,” Miller said. “There is no right answer. If there were, no one would lose any money in the stock market.”
            No right answer. I rolled my eyes. What kind of mark would I get on a test if I wrote that?
            He put up his index finger. “There is something to consider, however. It’s called a stop-loss policy. You make a deal with yourself that once a stock has gone down a certain amount, say ten percent, you’ll sell.”
            “But stocks drop all the time, then go back up,” Ronda said. “Why sell if you think it might go back up?”
            Miller spread his hands. “It’s all about risk. When a stock starts going down, the only way to guarantee you won’t lose more money is to sell.”
“I wouldn’t sell my stock—I’d probably buy more,” Malik said. “Aren’t you supposed to buy low?”
            “Yes. You are.”
            I made some more notes. This stuff was going to show up on a test, I could smell it.
            “Prince, could you summarize the discussion for us?” Miller asked, making me raise my head from the paper.
            “Um . . .”
            “Tell us what you’ve written. You’ve been making notes, right?”
All heads turned my way. Miller obviously thought I was doing something else, like writing rap lyrics for Lil Ray, which he’d caught me doing a few times before. I glanced down at my notes and cleared my throat. No way I was going to look stupid in front of Stacy. “Investing rules. One—don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Two—don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched. And three—know when to cut and run.”
            To my surprise, Miller smiled. “Excellent summary, Prince. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
            In the cafeteria, I stood on the line waiting to get served. I was lost in thought and didn’t realize the person in front of me had moved up and it was my turn. 
            “Yo, hurry up the line, nigga?” someone said behind me, bringing me outta my thoughts. I turned and saw a Gutta Boy named Fish, one of Bone’s goons. Fish looked like a walking mailbox with a nappy afro and a lazy eye. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but deadly in combat. “Did you hear what I just said? I’m talking to you nig…”
            I didn’t let him finish, I shoved the tray of food I was holding into his face. I hit him under the jaw and he stepped back and swung at me with a blade. I wondered how he had gotten past the metal detectors with it. I shrugged my shoulder and took the cut on it. When I saw the blood, I got madder. I hit Fish four times; three lefts and a right upper cut in the face. He stumbled back, blood rushing from his nose. That’s when I realized a mass fight had broken out in the cafeteria. Disciples were fighting Gutta Boyz. The place was rowdy. Malik, Cash and Lil Ray were in the mix, kicking and throwing punches left and right.
            Before I could continue my fight with Fish, I felt strong hands restraining me. It was one of the security guards who had stepped in to stop the fight.
            About half an hour later, I sat outside the principal’s office with stitches in my shoulder waiting to be called in. Ma had been called and she’d be arriving anytime soon. When she came, we were invited into the principal’s office.
            The principal’s office was a large space with about a dozen blue plastic chairs and several connecting rooms. The walls were lined with framed pictures and there was a wooden shelf stocked with trophies in the corner. The principal sat behind a rosewood desk and was focused on some paperwork.
            “Mrs. Fort thanks for coming,” the principal began. “You’ve been called in because your son started a fight in the cafeteria. We’ve a no-tolerance policy at this school to violence so I’m sorry your son would be expelled ‘cause this is his third strike.”
            The news hit me like a brick. I was in senior year studying to graduate and get a basketball scholarship to college so I could live my dream of playing in the NBA and here I was hearing that my actions got me expelled.
            “What!” Ma exclaimed. “Isn’t there something that can be done. He just lost his dad. I’m sure you must understand that.”
            “I’m sorry for your loss but your son cannot be exempted from the rules under any circumstance. There is a possibility of transferring him to another school. It’s a school we are in contact with and the only that will accept him since the school year has already begun.”
            “Then let’s do that. When can he be transferred?”
            “Well, there’s the problem of tuition. It’s a private school and it’s quite expensive.”
            “How much we talking about?”
            “Fifteen thousand.”
            Ma bent her head. That was a lot of money. We didn’t have that kinda money.
            “A’ight. Make it happen,” Ma said and I looked at her like she lost her damn mind. I made it a point to ask her how she’ll come up with the money.
            “Which school is it?” I asked.
            “Trinity High School. It’s a catholic school.”
            Trinity were the guys we beat on opening day. I’d heard it was a pretty good school and I guessed going there increased my chances of getting a scholarship.            “I’ll get the paperwork ready. You can start there next week.”
            Ma and I returned home and she didn’t say a word to me about the fight I started. She understood I was acting out ‘cause of Dad’s murder.
            “Ma, how you gonna get your hands on fifteen G’s?”
            “I’ll sell the store. A guy came up and offered to buy the store anyway. It’s way behind on taxes so it’s a dumb. I’ll rather sell it than have Bone continue to bleed us dry.”
            “Thanks, Ma. And I’m really sorry.”
            That night, and like all the other nights since Dad died, I couldn’t sleep much. It was a problem I’ll have to deal with sooner rather than later or else I’ll begin to have hallucinations. I didn’t want that. I looked forward to going to Trinity and meeting the pretty girl I’d seen in the stands on opening day. The girl of my dreams.