“So then, what you do it for?” Ty pressed as he stopped in the hall.

  Tank saw that he was serious and stopped, looking his boy in the eye.

  “Your moms was speaking some real shit,” he admitted. “You ’bout to be up out of here soon. If you woulda got a charge, it would’ve cost you your scholarship. And your mama look like the type to call the cops her damn self.”

  “Yeah. That’s true,” Ty agreed. “She always talking about how she wants me to do good and stuff. I feel you.”

  Tank nodded and started walking again.

  “Well, you know I appreciate you, bruh. Real shit.”

  “I got you, my nigga.” Tank dapped him up.

  He wanted his friend to succeed, even if it meant not being able to kick it with him like he wanted. He would still be able to see him at school, though.

  “Bruh, the bad part is, now moms got me volunteering at the soup kitchen on the weekends with Mz. Ave,” Ty complained.

  “Who dat?” Tank asked.

  “Somebody that go to our church. She run this soup kitchen, and my moms talking about I got to go work there to stay out of trouble,” Ty spilled. “She wanna make sure that I don’t get in trouble.”

  “Damn. Yo’ mama on it,” Tank teased. “She gon’ make sure your ass stay far away from my Tank ass.”

  They laughed and went to class, planning to get up later, but, of course, Ty couldn’t hang out. His foster mother made sure of that.

  That weekend, Tank was bored in the house. Remembering that Ty was on lockdown and doing assigned community service, he decided to go see Ty at the soup kitchen. There was nothing to do at the transition house. Most of the kids had jobs or some type of activity, so Tank was bored.

  Taking care of his hygiene, Tank put on some new clothes he bought with some of his money. He didn’t like spending money, but it was hot out. He had planned on hitting the streets later and checking on his boys. He knew his name was in the streets, and niggas gave him his respect. He figured he could switch up his dress style a little. He was now six foot two and had some weight on him. If he wasn’t on the block, he was working out and had gotten some muscle on him too. He was used to jeans and sweatshirts, but it was time for a change. He was a boss and wanted to show it.

  Deciding on some white shorts, a matching beater, and Jay Ts, he headed over to see Ty. When he got there and saw his friend, he busted out laughing.

  “Yo, look at you looking like a goddamn cafeteria worker,” he pointed.

  “Man, whatever. What are you doing up here?” Ty asked.

  “Ain’t shit. About to hit the block,” Tank said. “Figured I’d roll through real quick.”

  “Ty, you know you supposed to be working, not over here running your mouth,” a woman said, coming from another room.

  Ty frowned and nodded his head.

  “Don’t worry, Mz. Ave. I’m working,” he told her.

  “Well, it looks like you just talking,” she fussed. “Now, your mama told me that you needed to volunteer, and that’s exactly what you gonna do.”

  Ty started straightening up around him as he explained. “I was just talking to a friend of mine from school,” he told her.

  “Now, is this the same friend your mama was telling me about that got you in trouble in the first place?” she said, looking at Tank.

  Tank was close to cussing her out. He didn’t know her, so for her to be talking about him like he wasn’t even standing there had him irked.

  “Look, bruh, I’m ’bout to be out. I got business to handle,” Tank told his friend, ready to get the hell out of there.

  The woman, Mz. Ave, turned to look at him with a disapproving look. “What’s your name, young man?” she asked.

  “Why?” he replied, looking her.

  She was an older woman who looked like the honey version of Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed in a red pants suit and flats, and Tank could tell she was bossy.

  Ty looked in shock and tried to intervene. “Umm . . . Mz. Ave, this is my friend—”

  “I know who he is,” she said, cutting him off. “Young man, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But up in here, I’m boss. I don’t allow no young boys to disrespect me, you understand? So if you wanna be here, you’re either helping out, or you’re eating. But you’re not just standing around.”

  “Cool. Ty, I’ll holla at you later,” Tank said, looking at his friend.

  He walked off toward the door as Mz. Ave stood watching. He was agitated the rest of the day. When he went to check on his boys, he was snapping over small shit. He spent a few hours on the block but said, “Fuck it,” and decided to go crash.

  When he got back to the transition house, he saw his bags at the front door.

  “Ay, why my stuff over here?” he asked the director.

  “Mr. Young, I told you when you got here that there were certain things that you were required to do to stay here,” the director said. “I don’t care what you do when you’re out there. And before you say you ain’t doing nothing, I know what you’ve been up to. I’m not blind or stupid. It’s kids that are trying to get their lives together that are here for that reason, and they do what’s asked.”

  “Man, I been going to school,” Tank stressed.

  “One or two days a week ain’t cutting it, Martaveous,” the director corrected him.

  “So what? You gon’ turn me in?” Tank questioned.

  “No,” the director sighed. “I have a feeling you’ll be back in jail soon enough if you keep doing what you doing. I’ve given you too many chances, and you keep blowing them. So, you gotta go.”

  “A’ight, then,” Tank nodded.

  There wasn’t nothing else he needed to hear. He had stacked up some money. He was a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday. So, he would just find a place to crash.

  Grabbing his stuff, he left and hopped on the bus to find a spot. He didn’t need anything fancy. He’d worry about that when he got something more permanent. But for now, he just needed somewhere to lay his head.

  He tried to get a room at the Red Roof Inn, but suddenly, the manager was giving him trouble, not wanting to give him a room. It seemed as if the odds were against him. The only other option he had was to wait until it was late and try to sneak into Ty’s, but he knew his foster mother would have a fit.

  Defeated and tired, he knew he had to find someplace to stay. He couldn’t get caught walking around at night in Miami. Cops would lock up his ass, and this time, it would be jail since he was almost 18. He sat down on the bus stop bench, trying to think of somewhere he could go. He didn’t even realize that he was back near the soup kitchen until he heard a voice.

  “What are you doing out here this late at night?”

  “Minding my own business,” he said.

  He looked up and saw the woman from the soup kitchen in the driver’s seat of a Nissan Altima at the curb across the street and groaned. He didn’t want to be bothered, least of all by her.

  “You know, this little macho thing that you got going on may work for everybody else, but you ain’t fooling me,” she told him. “Obviously, you out here with no place to go. I can take you someplace if you’re nice.”

  “Nah. I ain’t tryin’a go to no shelter or no mess like that,” he told her. “All they gonna try to do is get me locked up. And I ain’t tryin’a go to no church where I gotta listen to some sermon either.”

  “Did you hear me say anything about church or a shelter?” she asked.

  He looked at her confused, and she smiled. “I said I could take you someplace. You can stay at my house until you figure out what you wanna do,” she advised. “But I don’t tolerate no disrespect. So, if you wanna sit out here with an attitude all night and risk going to jail, fine. Or, you can act like you got some sense, get in the car, and have a home cooked meal and a place to sleep. Your choice.”

  He looked at her and frowned. He really didn’t have much of a choice. He had worked too hard to get locked back up again.

  “A’ight,” he mumbled.

  “That’s more like it,” she nodded. He walked over to the car, getting into the passenger seat, and she turned to him and smiled. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Elizabeth Jackson, but everybody around here calls me Mama or Mz. Ave. And you are?”

  “Tank,” he answered.

  She gave him a stern look, and he sighed.

  “Martaveous,” he said.

  “Martaveous what?”

  “Martaveous Young,” he told her.

  She nodded and put her car in gear, pulling off.

  “Well, now that we’ve been formally introduced, why don’t we go ahead and go home?” she suggested. “I don’t know about you, but I have had a long day, and I could use some hot food. So I’ll fix us up something to eat, and you can tell me all about yourself. How does that sound?”

  He nodded at the overly kind woman. It sounded wonderful to him. Little did he know that this woman would change his life.

  Chapter Fourteen

  2000

  “Y’all stop all that running in this house. DZia, you supposed to be doing your homework. And, Stanley, you supposed to be in the kitchen washing those dishes.”

  “I did wash the dishes,” the young boy argued.

  “Child, rinsing them off and then putting them in the dish rack is not washing them. Now, get in there, put some soap and water in that sink, and wash those dishes, please,” Mz. Ave ordered. “And, DZia, quit acting like you’re doing your homework and actually do it. Look now, y’all not about to worry me to death.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the two children answered reluctantly.

  Mz. Ave had been fussing at two of her foster kids that she had taken in. They had been running around the house despite numerous warnings. Martaveous was sitting on the couch looking at the TV with her. They were watching The Price Is Right. That was their thing. They would watch the show together every day. She didn’t crowd him or force him to do anything that he didn’t want to do. He had been there for a few months, and he had to admit, being there, he was happy. He still planned to leave when he turned 18, but he liked staying with Mz. Ave. She treated him with respect.

  “You gonna come help me at the kitchen later?” she asked him.

  “Yeah,” he told her, still staring at the TV. “I gotta go take my test, and then I should be able to go there.”

  “I really wish that you would just go ahead and finish school, Martaveous,” she complained. “You don’t have but a semester left. You can’t tough it out that long?”

  “I just want to get my GED and be done,” he rebutted.

  He was tired of school. Every day that he went in there, he was bored. He knew the material. He just didn’t want to be there physically. His boy, Ty, was preparing for college, and he was about to be by himself again. Granted, he had Mz. Ave, but it was different when it was his best friend.

  “Well, I just think you should stay,” she fussed. “I wanna come to the graduation and watch you walk across that stage. I wanna be able to scream and say, ‘That’s my baby,’” she smiled.

  He laughed, and they went back to watching the show. A few seconds later, a younger teenager walked down the stairs into the living room.

  “Well, look who’s finally awake,” Mz. Ave observed. “Are you hungry?”

  The boy mumbled something that neither she nor Martaveous could make out as he walked into the kitchen.

  “What is with that boy?” Martaveous said.

  “Well, you know he’s been moved around a lot. His father was killed. And he just found out that his mother signed over her parental rights. He’s a little depressed right now,” Mz. Ave told him. “He was sleeping behind the soup kitchen when I found him. He just need some time. He’ll come around . . . like you did,” she said, reaching over and touching his hand.

  She was right about that. Martaveous didn’t know what it was about Mz. Ave, but she had a way of getting to everybody. She was so sweet and patient. She always had kids in and out of the house. He was the one that had stayed the longest. Since he had been there, she had about four or five kids that had rotated in and out of there.

  “Stop!” they suddenly both heard. “That’s mine. Give it back.”

  She shook her head and got up slowly. “Lord, why are these kids fighting in my house all the time?” she huffed as she walked into the kitchen. “Oh my Lord. David, get off of her. Martaveous, come help me.”

  Martaveous, hearing Mz. Ave scream, jumped up and ran into the kitchen to see her trying to grab the older boy. She was holding his face, which sent him into a rage.

  I know this nigga dumb ass didn’t hit her.

  Martaveous was a lot stronger than her, so he could grab David and punch him before he knew what was happening.

  “Get the fuck up off of her,” he growled, snatching him back.

  This was the first time he saw Mz. Ave completely shocked and nervous.

  “What happened?” she asked, trying to get herself together.

  “I told her not to mess with my stuff,” David yelled.

  “I didn’t mess with his stuff. It was on the table,” DZia whimpered.

  “Okay, now, hush up all the crying. It’s okay,” she soothed. “David, you can’t be putting your hands on this baby. She’s half your size. What is wrong with you?”

  “Man, get up off me,” David snapped, snatching himself out of Martaveous’s grasp.

  Martaveous was ready to knock him on his ass if he tried anything.

  “DZia, did you take his stuff?” Mz. Ave asked.

  “I didn’t know it was his, Mama,” the girl said. “I was just playing. It was just a notebook.”

  “That’s the notebook my mama left,” David growled.

  Mz. Ave now understood why he was so upset.

  “Sweetie, you can’t play like that with somebody else’s stuff,” she told DZia. “They may not want you to mess with it. I think this was a lesson to let you know that you must ask before you mess with somebody’s property. Now, come on in the bathroom so I can look at your face.”

  The little girl got up and walked off, and Mz. Ave cleared her throat. DZia stuck her tongue out at David before she walked off.

  “Now, as for you,” she said, looking at him. “I better not ever catch you putting your hands on anybody again in this house.”

  “She messed with my stuff,” he snapped.

  “Okay. She messed with your notebook. But she didn’t know, David,” she pointed out. “There are better ways to handle things. I know you hurting, and I’m sorry for what happened, but it don’t give you no reason to put your hands on a little girl. If you do it again, you up out of here. You understand?”

  “I ain’t ask to be here,” he barked.

  Martaveous stepped in between him and Mz. Ave, seeing that he was a little too aggressive.

  “Oh, you right, you didn’t,” she said, challenging him right back. “You can leave at any time. But we both know that you ain’t got nowhere to go. And what I’m asking ain’t much. Martaveous, you better talk to this boy because I will not be disrespected in my own house where I pay the bills.”

  “I don’t need nobody talking to me,” David said, glaring at Martaveous, daring him to say something.

  “Well, you better listen to somebody because otherwise, you gon’ end up out there on them streets, and then your butt gonna end up back in jail,” she warned.

  She walked back into the living room, and Martaveous just stared.

  “What are you looking at?” David snapped.

  “Nothing,” he smirked. “Look, my nigga, I don’t care what you do. Just don’t come at Mz. Ave. She the first person that actually gave a fuck about anybody. And if she got a problem with you, then I got a problem with you.”

  “Man, fuck you, nigga. You don’t know me,” he growled.

  “Bruh, you better watch your tone.”

  “Or what?” David challenged, walking up on him.

  “Trust me, my nigga, you don’t want it,” Martaveous warned.

  “Oh, I want it,” David said, now close to Martaveous.

  Martaveous wanted to lay David’s ass out, but he was trying to be respectful because he was in Mz. Ave’s house.

  “Bruh, I ain’t about to fight you up in here,” Martaveous said, stepping back.

  David sneered, thinking that he got the best of him. “I thought so, li’l bitch,” he smirked as he grabbed his notebook and walked past Martaveous, bumping him.

  Martaveous’s fists balled up quickly, but he refused to disrespect Mz. Ave’s house. He was going to get him eventually. He waited for David to go back upstairs before he left the kitchen.

  “I gotta run out real quick,” he told Mz. Ave, walking toward the door.

  “You okay, baby?” she asked, noticing his mood.

  “I’m straight,” he said. He didn’t want her to worry, but he needed to get out of the house at that moment. Otherwise, he might do something that he would regret and that she would be disappointed about.

  “Okay. Well, try to get back by five because I’m going to go over to the soup kitchen for a little bit,” she informed him. “I’m going to take the little ones with me so they don’t be in David’s way.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  He left and headed out to find Ty. He needed to hang out with his boy for a little bit. He was getting soft being around Mz. Ave because the normal Martaveous would’ve just knocked David on his ass.

  Walking to Ty’s house, he was calming down. Off in the distance, he saw a bunch of guys that look like they were jumping somebody. The closer he got, though, he recognized one of the niggas. It wasn’t until he heard Ty’s voice screaming in pain that he realized what was happening. Bolting toward the fight, he pulled out his piece. He knew Mz. Ave would probably have a cow and two chickens if she found out that he had a gun, but it was for shit like this.

  He ran up and started knocking niggas in the head, pulling them off his boy. When he hit the main nigga, he didn’t fall like the rest.

  “What the fuck?” the boy snapped.

  He turned around to take a swing, and Martaveous met him with his nine.