The Family Hustle (Drugs,Love&Money Book 4)

Chapter Twenty-Three: Junior (Sixteen Years Later)

"What do you have to say for yourself young man?"

I looked up at the principal of my high school and let of a long breath in annoyance. This the third time I've been in here this week and it's a waste of my time. All she's going to do is call my mom and suggest I go to counseling. They say it isn't healthy for me to be so off to myself and that I should be more social. Man, I don't give a fuck about these kids in this school. All they care about is my last name and expect me to be some type of thug. My mother never told me the stories and my sister, Jade, never said a word either. I've heard all my life that my father was some type of drug lord. From kids at school, to their parents, even the people on the blocks I pass by walking home from school. It's always the same story. He followed in his father footsteps and I should do the same. Selling drugs isn't my thing. I've seen the affect it has on people and I would never do that to somebody. However, I do want to have money. Like, lots of money to the point I don't even know what to do with it. I been trying to figure out a plan of how I'm going to reach that goal, cause this school shit isn't for me. Give a teacher a couple smart ass answers and all of a sudden, you're a bad student. I know the material, I just don't do the work. Why? Because this school shit doesn't get you nowhere out the real world. Hell, now not even a college degree can get you a job. It's all about what you know, who you know, and what background you come from. I already know corporate America gonna be looking at me like a typical black male from the slums with a family history of illegal activities and toss me back into the pile of nobodies.

"Excuse me! I am talking to you!"

I looked at up the lady to give her my attention. I couldn't give two fucks what she had to say anymore. I couldn't give two fucks about what nobody had to say anymore, honestly. This shit is trash and I'm beyond it completely.

"I'm giving you ten days in detention, where you will be writing me a six-page essay on what it is you think is the cause of you're wrong doing."

I sucked my teeth. "I ain't doing that shit."

"What did you just say?"

"I said, I'm not doing that shit. Fuck you and this school."

"You are expelled young man! I will be calling your mother!"

"Call her. Better hope she picks up this time."

I got up from the chair, and ignoring her protests, walked right out of her office. Only reason I even come to this mother fucker is to please my mother but she's been out of it lately and I honestly stopped caring. My father made a disappearing act and no one has been able to find him. Ever since then she hasn't been herself. My sister acts as if this isn't anything new. Like they've all been through this before. I wish they would tell me about our family history. Half the time I feel like I'm missing out on some big secret that no one seems pressed to share with me. Well I'm sick of being in the dark. If they want to keep shit from me like I'm some type of outsider then maybe I don't need to be part of this family. I'll be good out on my own regardless.

I went to my locker and grabbed my backpack. I had enough money saved up from mowing lawns during the summer to get me a one-way ticket to wherever the fuck I want to go. I heard the principal talking loudly with some other teachers and it sounded as if they were coming my way. I hurried and slammed the locker closed and dashed out the side door of the school. I have to get the fuck out of here.

A part of me wants to call my sister and let her know how I'm feeling and my next move for my life. She was always one to understand me and what I had going on. Sometimes I felt like it was shit she wanted to tell me but out of respect for my mother, decided against it. That's cool and all, but she could've told me something. Now that I think about it, she won't do anything but try and stop me from leaving and be in my way. They're gonna miss me when I'm gone and they should.