CHAPTER 7
Saturday morning comes too quickly. By the time I wake up, Janelle has already left for work. I wash up as fast as I can, not wanting to be late for my meeting with Ms. Levine at her apartment. I take the Six Train Uptown to Eighty-Sixth Street and walk out of the station, immediately coming face to face with Ms. Levine’s tall glass building—a gorgeous brand-new condominium called the Lucinda.
I have a definite bounce in my step today. I’m not sure I’ll ever see Vincent again, but just the potential is enough to lift up my spirits. I can barely believe a man like him exists in this world. I also can’t believe all of the incredible things he made me feel. He’s here in this city, my heart whispers. Maybe my luck is finally changing? I feel the hope move around in my chest.I stop at the desk in Ms. Levine’s fancy lobby, letting the concierge know who I’m here to see. I turn my head to the front door as a bellboy pushes a large cart filled with suitcases. “The car should be out front,” the woman tells him with a stony face.
Ms. Levine used to make some serious bank as a high-powered attorney in the city but left her white-glove life to help the city’s neediest kids change their lives. Unfortunately for her, aid is almost impossible to give in a school system that’s utterly broken and with kids who refuse to change. But I guess, there’s me. And there’s no denying the fact that she’s changing the hell out of my life.
I remember when she walked into my ninth-grade English class. We all knew she was a brand-new teacher, and most of the students were ready to give her their version of a warm welcome. She walked into the classroom in a designer-looking suit and high heels that screamed, “I’m ready to take on the world!” Before she could put her briefcase on the chair by her desk, someone launched a calculator at her head. Laughter ensued, but it was just the beginning.
By her fourth day, kids were throwing textbooks from the fifth-story classroom window. It’s safe to say her idealism took a hit pretty early on in her teaching career.
Even though the classroom drama persisted, she still assigned The Great Gatsby as the first required reading, followed by an essay on the book’s portrayal of the upper versus lower classes of society. Because I happen to love that book and read it with my old friend Javi in eighth grade, I wrote the paper. I handed it to her quietly after class, writing: PLEASE DON’T TELL ANYONE I WROTE THIS at the top. The last thing I needed was to draw negative attention to myself.
Javi Dante was a friend of mine. He was smart. We’d pass books between ourselves—hiding the books as if we had cash inside our backpacks—reading for pleasure and for the possibility of a better life one day. Our hunger to get the hell out of the Blue Houses was insatiable. We would stick Post-Its inside the pages of borrowed classics, scribbling notes to each other. We read everything we could get our hands on. Malcolm X. Paulo Coehelo. Zora Neal Hurston.
The morning of his death, I passed him The Invisible Man—a book that shook me to the core but was ultimately left undiscussed. The cops found the book in his bag, wondering who wrote on all the green Post-Its. No one ever found out it was me. Janelle knew everything, though. She told me to shut up and stay low for a while. People can smell the stench of potential, and somehow, it never ended well for most of them.
The community went crazy for a few weeks, wondering who killed this innocent boy.
“Another youth wasted!”
“He had the highest grades for math. He could have been a doctor!”
“His mom applied him to one of the best prep schools in the country; they already accepted him for high school!”
“He could have been something. Done something for this comm-u-nity!”
“We need better schools. Someone, tell the mayor!”
It all fell on deaf ears. Debts are owed, and sometimes lives are used as payment. Here, our bodies are nothing but currency. I later found out his brother cheated the Snakes out of some drug money. To show their power, his brother had to pay in blood. Javi was the blood.
A few days after I handed in the paper, Ms. Levine pulled me aside and insisted my intelligence was being neglected; she wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. According to her, I was never able to translate my intellect into academic potential. She intended on being the one to change that.
Since then, Ms. Levine has been on a mission to get me out of the ghetto and into an Ivy League college—insisting with her help, I could change the path of my life.
In the past three years, our relationship has grown from teacher and student to mentor and mentee. She’s had my sister Janelle and me over to her beautiful apartment for countless dinners and gives us all sorts of advice, which goes way beyond the academic. When Janelle had a pregnancy scare last year, Ms. Levine’s apartment was where she took her First Response test, which was thankfully negative. And when my mom came home on a drug-induced rampage and cut up all of my clothes with meat scissors, Ms. Levine is the one who brought me to Target on 117th street and replaced all of my old thrift-shop clothes.
Finally, the concierge nods at me, letting me know without a word that I can head up. Stepping into the wood-paneled elevator, it brings me directly to the fifteenth floor.
I walk down the carpeted hallway when her door swings open. “Hi, Eve! Application time!” she says in a sing-song voice. She hugs me tightly, genuinely happy to have me here. Ms. Levine is tall and thin with long caramel-colored hair. Normally, she wears it in a tight bun; right now, it’s down around her face, making her look much younger.
“Eve, I already printed out ten copies of your transcript. I made copies of your best essay to attach to each application as a writing sample, and I wrote you a recommendation letter, which I really think is going to be the kicker!” Her voice rings with excitement as she brings me over to her dining table, grabbing stacks of papers off the console.
The apartment is modern and sleek with floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the entire west side. I look out at the city streets, wondering for the millionth time what it would be like to have an apartment this perfect and safe. One day, maybe.
I turn around, walking toward the wall where a large rectangular Peter Lik photograph hangs: a huge tree stands tall, the sun shining like a star through lustrous orange and red leaves. Living in a concrete jungle, I love seeing nature, even if it’s only in a photograph. I’m shaken out of my fog when she hands me a plate of hot eggs, bacon, and toast.
“Take this and eat, you’ll need your energy up for us to work.” She stares at me expectantly with a huge smile on her face, but I’m confused by her demeanor. She’s always kind, yet all of this feels a bit contrived. I take a seat at the dining table while she sits across from me. She’s staring straight at me, seemingly waiting for something. The moment I see the pity and sadness pass through her eyes, I realize she knows about what happened with Carlos. I try to find the words to ask her about her day. I want to change the subject, but tears run without my consent down my face. She moves to the chair next to me as I crumble into her arms, looking for solace. She hugs me close to her, supporting me.
“Janelle explained everything already; she called me last week. Just…calm down, we’re going to get you out of this.”
I look up, worry sinking into my gut. “Are you going to tell someone about what happened to me? If you do, there’s no way I’ll live to see the day…” My breaths become shallow as my panic rises.
She drops a warm hand on my shoulder. “Eve, please calm down. I won’t tell, okay? I know how things work here. I could get into serious trouble for not telling the authorities, but I’ll take that risk for you.”
My crying intensifies as relief sets into my chest. “This is the plan,” she starts. “We’re going to get you into college and out of here. A summer program, first. We’re applying to these ten schools.” She gestures to the paperwork already organized and laid out in the center of the table. “I’m using school funds for your application fees, so we can apply anywhere you want. And I’ve already cleared it with the principal; so don’t worry about the money. You’ve got to hang on for six more months, and then you’re free.” I nod my head, swallowing. “You think you can lay low and out of harm’s way until we get you out?”
My mind starts to race. “But what if I don’t get the scholarship and grant money? I can’t have Janelle support me anymore—”
“You took your SATs, and you did unbelievably well. I know you’ll qualify for a full scholarship. And we both know it’s highly likely Columbia will accept you. You know I’ve got pull at that school. There are so many grants and scholarships available you qualify for. I mean, if not for you, who the heck would that money be for?”
I chuckle, shrugging my shoulders. She has a point. “The thing is, I can’t just keep letting Janelle handle paying for me. I’m letting you know now if I can’t find a school that’ll hook me up financially, I’m not going.”
She puts her hands on mine. “You’ll get it, Eve. You’ll get it and you’ll get the hell out of here.” She takes a deep breath. “Have you spoken to your mom about college?” I raise my eyebrows at her in surprise and annoyance.
“Okay.” She lifts her hand up as if to say she won’t harp on the subject. “Let’s just forget your mom for now. You know what? Forget everything. Let’s just start by applying. When you get in, we’ll figure out how to make it happen. You’re a brilliant girl, and it’s time to put that brain of yours in a place that’s right for you.”
I look down at my feet; my boots are Janelle’s hand-me-downs. They’ve got a few holes in the heel, but since I lost my sneakers, I’ve had to make do. I know Janelle would easily give me the cash to buy a new pair, but the guilt I feel from taking money from her at this point is enormous. My job at Angelo’s is okay, but two days a week isn’t enough to give me much spending cash. I need to get those grants and the full scholarship. And maybe Ms. Levine is right; if not for me, who would it be for?
We spend the rest of the afternoon filling out applications, making sure to include everything the schools requested. Grant applications take even more time, as do the applications for scholarships. Ms. Levine wasn’t kidding; there are so many places willing to give money to a kid like me. I just need to stay organized. Ms. Levine has a large spreadsheet detailing what we need and what we’ve taken care of, so we don’t lose track. Without her, I’d be completely lost.
“Ms. Levine, do you think I’ll fit into these places? I mean, no one I know has ever gone to college, and…” I feel insecurity pounding in my chest. “I mean, I know I’m different from the people I grew up around. But, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna fit in with people like them,” I say, pointing to the picture on the brochure folder for Columbia University. College kids in Polo shirts are throwing Frisbees to one another on a beautiful green campus lawn. “I’ve never touched a Frisbee in my life…. And like, what about Janelle? I’m nervous to leave her—”
She cuts me off. “Listen, Eve. Don’t feel guilty about leaving. Imagine the life you will bring to yourself and Janelle once you graduate college. Doors will open. Law school, like you’ve always dreamed! I’ve lived that life, and I know you can make it there. And, Janelle wants this so badly for you…”
I take a breath and gather my thoughts. Images of my mom barge into my head, unwelcome. “You know my mom would go insane if she thought I was continuing my education. If she had her way, I would have dropped out of high school at sixteen and gotten a full-time job already.” I bite my lower lip.
Ms. Levine clicks her tongue, and I look back at her. “Look, Eve. I want to speak to your mom. Maybe I can get through to her? Your mom has issues; we both know that. I really believe she only acts this way to you because she can’t understand your potential. She’s just trying to teach you how to survive. In your mom’s opinion…now, this is just a guess, but I think in your mom’s opinion, the books you read don’t prepare you for actual life. But if she understood how much more is possible for you…”
I stare at Ms. Levine with hope, wanting so badly to believe her. Even though nothing in my entire life has ever pointed to the fact that my mom would support me, she’s still my mother. Unfortunately, there’s a part of me that wishes for her approval.
Instead of replying, I pick my pen back up. When we’re finally done filling out the paperwork, she makes us some hot cappuccinos from her fancy Nespresso coffeemaker. “One day, I need to buy myself one of these,” I tell her as I lift the mug up to my lips.
“Ready to write your last personal essay?” She turns her laptop around to face me. “You have to write about your biggest character flaw.”
“Well, with so many to choose from…” We both chuckle.
“I’m going to run out and take care of some errands. Get comfortable. Write the essay. I’ll review it when I get back in a few hours.” She grabs her purse, letting herself out.
I go through a few drafts, feeling relief to get lost in the writing. I’m so involved in the work that somehow, hours pass without me getting up or needing to use the bathroom. By early evening when she returns, I have cramps in my legs, but also something I’m pleased with. She reads what I wrote and tears well in her eyes. “This is superb, Eve. Best one yet!”
Before the sun sets, I tell her goodbye and get on the downtown Six Train. This time though, Janelle is waiting at the stop when I get off. We walk together to the Blue Houses and I fill her in on the details of my day. She jumps up and down, thrilled about the possibility of my going to Columbia. “This way, you won’t be far!”