BLACKBiiRDS

1 | J E T T

M A R C H  1 2 , 2 0 1 3 | T U E S D A Y

Rocked. A term used in the urban community to describe the deep, unconscious state in which a person is induced by way of intoxication, or a violent force injury—in most hood cases—to the head; i.e., "John Doe threatened Sam Smith at the party and got his a** rocked."

Jett Jaletta, right now, was rocked. But in her case, she hadn't been drinking, she wasn't high, nor had she been laid out due to someone's fist. No, nothing that drastic. The poor thing was just asleep.

The bell buzzed nearly ten minutes ago signaling the end of fourth period, but for Jett, the end of her cram-last-minute-homework period. Despite the rowdiness of these Overbrook High School hallways, the library was kept strictly silent throughout the day. Compliments of Mrs. Tate, the seventy-something-year-old librarian who took such pride in her sanctuary.

For the past three weeks, Jett had been ditching her lunch hour to seclude herself at the same exact table in the farthest, most secluded corner of Mrs. Tate's sanctuary. Today, like most days, her hiding spot was discreet behind stacks of random library books. But instead of finishing the first draft of her three-day-late AP English essay, she was slumped over her binder, lips parted, pen still limply clutched in her left hand.

Fortunately, Jett's twin brother, Taj, entered the room with a basketball tucked under his arm and a pair of Nike Hyperdunks in hand. He made a beeline for his sister's hiding spot, already irritated with her because he was minutes from being late for practice.

He shook his head at his twin's disguise: face hidden under her hood, spirals of black curls splayed across her books. Pressed for time and low on patience, he set his stuff on the table, reached for her bright orange JanSport, and gathered her binders and A.P Literature textbook to pack them away.

"Jett! Wake up!" He whisper-screamed close to her ear. When she didn't stir, he kicked the leg of the wooden chair she was sitting in, jerking her awake.

"Huh? What?" she blurted, incoherently.

"Get up, J! Fifth period started like ten minutes ago! Coach is gonna air me out, you know I hate being late for practice."

"Whuu—oh! Oh no! No!" She hissed some obscenities while snatching off her hood and jumping from the seat. "I didn't realize I fell asleep! I'm late for English again!"

"No, I'm the one that's late," he grumbled, halfway through packing up his twin's stuff. Her pen and purple highlighter rolled onto the floor as they scrambled around, she bent to get them while Taj scolded on. "Fuck, man, you were in here rocked. They called your name over the loud-speaker and everything."

"Seriously? It's only been ten minutes, why the hell would they broadcast my name to the whole school?"

"Davis is waiting for you," he whispered. "I've been looking all over for you, I texted and called you."

"Davis? Davis who?"

"Miss Davis. The counselor. What are you even doing here? I thought you finished your homework last night?"

Jett grounded her teeth, recalling her exhaustive night. After her work shift, she hadn't gotten home until after midnight. But Taj didn't press for an answer, so Jett didn't speak on it. He rushed his sister along, held the book bag up for her to thread her arm through, and grabbed his belongings.

"C'mon, hurry up. I should've been at practice," he said.

"What does Ms. Davis want with me?" Jett questioned as they marched out of the library and down the empty, flyer littered hallway.