Free Street Pharm by Allison van Diepen Page A

horrible, skull-splitting headaches. She gave me a prescription for codeine and a note excusing my school absences. I wondered if I should fill the prescription and make a few bucks.
    By ten o’clock I was going through the school metal detectors.
    Rosie the security guard asked me, “Where you been?”
    “Sick.” I waved my doctor’s note.
    “Sick. Mmm-hmm. Get your scrawny ass to class.”
    “You say ‘scrawny,’ Rosie? Then you ain’t seen this ass.”
    “And I don’t want to.” She waved me on.
    I knew she wanted me.
    After giving the doctor’s note to the main office, I went to Math class, paid attention for three minutes, and then zoned out with my eyes half open.
    The bell rang, jolting me awake.
    I was hungry, for food and Alyse. I found her in the lunchroom lineup, asking the cafeteria lady to drain the oil off her spinach. When I came up beside her and whispered, “Hey, sugar,” she jumped, almost dropping her tray.
    “Ty! How are you feeling?”
    “Good. I missed you, shorty.”
    I didn’t realize it until now, but it was true. It had to be, because seeing her again felt damn good.
    “Is your headache gone?”
    “Yeah, but it’ll come back if I don’t get some eats. What’ve we got today?”
    She made a face. “Hockey puck hamburgers, cardboard buns, cough-syrup grape drink.”
    “Oily spinach?”
    “That too.”
    I snagged an orange tray, saying to the homies behind us, “It’s okay, right?” They were smart enough not to say nothing, so I got in line behind her.
    We paid with our lunch vouchers and sat down. Alyse took a few bites, then said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. My aunt used to get terrible headaches too. She’d shut herself up in her room and put the blinds down, sometimes for days at a time. Was yours like that?”
    “Maybe not that bad. I just stayed in bed or on the couch, listened to some music, and relaxed.”
    “You can listen to music when you have a headache? What do you listen to?”
    “A lot of different shit. K-Ron, Kanye West, Rick Ross. Some old ’Pac. It don’t bother my head if it ain’t too loud.”
    “Have you heard that new K-Ron track, ‘Livin’ Large’? It’s awesome. But most of his stuff’s just disgusting. Like the name of his album.”
    “Which one?”
    “You know.”
    “Oh, you mean Eatin’ Out ?”
    She nodded, too embarrassed to look at me.
    “Tell me what you think of K-Ron,” I said. “You think he’s good-looking?”
    “Yeah, he’s cute. Do you think he’s cute?”
    “Me? I don’t think any guy’s cute. But that nigga’s short, that’s for sure. Five five if he’s lucky. They make him look mad tall on TV.”
    “C’mon, he can’t be that short.”
    “Five six, tops. I’m way taller than him.”
    “Have you seen him in person?”
    “Seen him? He my homeboy.”
    “Yeah, right!”
    “It’s true.”
    She smacked my arm. “You’re dreaming!”
    “Think, Alyse. He’s from Flatbush, don’t you know? We been tight for years. Whenever he’s in town, he calls me and we go out.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “I usually meet him and his crew at a club.”
    “Like what club?”
    “These days, that new one, the Wall.”
    “So you got fake I.D.?”
    “Yeah. But I don’t need it.”
    “Sure. What happens at the club? He got girls falling all over him?”
    “Hell, yeah. But he stays in the VIP section most of the time, so the honeys in his entourage are the only ones who can get close to him.”
    “I read in the Post that he’s boozing and doing drugs every night. That true?”
    “Uh-huh.” Man, did I know it.
    “I read he went to rehab last year.”
    “Stayed a week. Got bored.”
    “You tell a good story, Ty Johnson.”
    “I got the pictures to prove it. You’ll see.”
    *  *  *
    Being back at school wasn’t so wack after all. Sitting in class, chilling with homies, playing some ball in the gym—it was all a break from the drama of the last couple of days.
    After school, me and Alyse took the