Free Darnell Rock Reporting by Walter Dean Myers Page A

Darnell said. “He was there the last time.”
    “How come Benny and everybody is going to coach Angie's brother in track?” Tamika asked.
    “So he can beat you,” Darnell said, grabbing his pad and pen off the counter. “I'm going.”
    “Wait up!” Larry called.
    Darnell hit the street and felt the cool wind in hisface. He had heard earlier that it might rain, and he looked up at the late morning sky. There were clouds in the distance, but they were light, almost fluffy against the graying sky. On the apartment building across from where he lived, a flock of pigeons was being rousted from their coop by a thin man wearing dark shorts and a brown T-shirt.
    “That's Benny's father/' Larry said.
    “What do you think I should ask him?” Darnell walked near the edge of the sidewalk.
    “Ask him why he keeps so many pigeons on the roof,” Larry said.
    “Not him!” Darnell shot a glance at Larry, saw that he still had a smidgen of the milk mustache, and smiled. “I mean Sweeby.”
    “You better say something nice,” Larry said. “My mom said you better not mess with homeless people because they ain't got nothing to lose.”
    Darnell was quiet the rest of the way over to Jackson Avenue. He kept going over questions in his mind, but none of them sounded right.
    There were usually a few people, mostly women, on Fairview Street where Darnell lived. But as he walked toward Jackson Avenue, there were more and more people on the street. Darnell knew that there would be even more people on Jackson Avenue.
    “You know whose idea it was to coach Johnny Cruz?” Larry asked.
    “Whose?” Darnell buttoned his jacket.
    “Sonia's,” Larry said. “She saw some guys fromthe eighth grade cracking on him and she caught an attitude.”
    “ She's always got an attitude,” Darnell said. “But usually she's right. Anyway, I'd like to see if we can get him to run fast.”
    “We ought to get Tamika to coach him,” Larry said. “She can aggravate you so much you'll want to run fast just to shut her mouth.”
    “You going to marry Tamika,” Darnell said. “You always talking about her.”
    “Hey, look.” Larry nodded with his head. “I bet you that's not a real store.”
    They had turned onto Jackson Avenue from Ege Street. Darnell saw bags of onions piled on a wooden box in front of the window. The sign on the window that read MACK'S GROCERYS barely covered the old sign that read LA CARNICERÍA FAMOSA .
    “Let's get on down the street,” Darnell said.
    “You scared to look in there?” Larry asked. “I'll go on in.”
    Darnell stopped and leaned against a utility pole. “Go on in, man,” he said. “I'll wait for you.”
    Larry smiled and kept walking. Darnell caught up with him and punched him on the arm.
    Sweeby was standing in front of Ace's Barbershop. Darnell and Larry reached him just as a light rain began to fall.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Sweeby.” Darnell waved his hand in greeting. “I'd like to have another chance to interview you.”
    “Read about your little narrow butt in the paper,” Sweeby said. “Think you a big deal, huh?”
    “No,” Darnell said with a shrug.
    “What you want to ask me?” Sweeby said. “And how much you going to pay me for an interview?”
    “Pay you?” Darnell looked over at Larry and saw that Larry was looking at Sweeby. “I ain't got no money/ ‘
    “You ain't giving out no free cans of beans?”
    “Naw.”
    “Okay,” Sweeby said. He turned and looked in the barbershop. “Come on in here.”
    Ace's Barbershop was one of the best places to go on a Saturday morning. That was when the men who were waiting to get their hair cut sat inside and talked man talk with Ace and Preacher, the two barbers. Preacher was bald but wore a big, curly wig. Ace was big with a rough, gravelly voice. What they talked about was just about anything. Sometimes they talked about how the city was being run, and sometimes they talked about what the Arabs or the French people were doing. A lot of