Free On a Clear Day by Walter Dean Myers

doorman, a big, beefy
     dude, looked on. The van was pulling away, and we all seemed tired as we went into the
     lobby.
    “It’s a promising start,” Michael said.
    “Promising?” Drego. “If you believe that shit,
     you’re dumber than you look!”
    We froze at the sudden tension of the out-of-the-blue put-down. I glanced
     over at Drego and saw his neck was puffed as if he was ready to leap at somebody. Behind
     him, just peering around his shoulder, was Mei-Mei, staring at Michael.
    “Well, I think it was promising,” Michael said softly.
    Drego snorted and turned away. Mei-Mei didn’t move; she just kept
     staring at Michael.
    Drego got to the tiny elevators first and walked in. Mei-Mei
backed
in, still working that stare. The elevator held only four or five
     people, and Michael stepped in. He was face-to-face with Drego. I got in behind him,
     wonderingwhat the hell was going on. Drego and Mei-Mei got off on
     the fourth floor, and when the door opened on the fifth, I asked Michael if he was
     okay.
    “Yeah, I’m all good,” he said. “I’ve
     been here before.”
    Where? I wondered.
    Back in my room I fell across my bed, exhausted to the bone. There were
     parts of me completely wasted and aching and stiff that I wished I could just discard.
     Get a new body. Put the lights out. Pull the covers up. Fart in the darkness.
    Me in the talk show of my mind:
    “Drego thinks we should start making alliances,” Mei-Mei
     was saying
.
    “Fuck Drego,” I answered
.
    “If it comes to a showdown, we have to know who’s got
     our backs,” Mei-Mei said. “Who we can rely on.”
    “Apparently we can’t rely on Drego,” I said. I
     wanted to add “or you,” but I didn’t
.
    “I think Drego’s right.” Mei-Mei’s voice
     in the darkness sounded ominous
.
    I fell asleep.

S unday. Did we still have Sundays? Was somebody, somewhere, still washing themselves and getting ready to go to Mass? Were there mothers still twisting hair around curlers or ironing dresses so God wouldn’t be embarrassed when we showed up late?
    Anja called. Michael and Drego were shouting at each other on the fifth floor. She thought we should be there.
    I looked in the mirror and saw a complete mess. There was some dried saliva on my cheek, and I grabbed a towel and wiped at it. I got my jeans on and padded, barefoot, out to the staircase. I could hear Drego shouting at Michael the moment I opened the fire door. Something about “manning up.” They were in front of Michael’s room.
    Drego was standing, feet apart, in the middle of the hallway. Three tourists, perhaps a man and wife and their child, stood back and watched, wondering what the hell was going on, or if they should try to pass this black man, veins prominent in his neck as he vented in the narrow corridor.
    “If you’re going to be effective, you have to be ready for anything!” Drego looked fierce. Mei-Mei was a few steps behind him, flat against the wall. “You can walk into this with your eyes closed if you want, man, but anybody who can see knows you’re scared to make a move! You just don’t want to face the reality that’s staring you in the damned face!”
    “I’m going my way, Drego,” Michael said calmly. “If you want to go a different way, then go. I certainly won’t try to stop you.”
    “We’re either together or we’re not.” Mei-Mei’s voice sounded hoarse. “You said the biggest danger was self-destruction, that we would turn against each other. Now you’re telling Drego he can go his own way. To me, Drego is the only one with balls in this crew.”
    “It doesn’t take balls to scream in a hallway,” Michael said.
    “Bullshit!” This from Drego. “We could be dead by this time next year!”
    “Or this time next week,” Michael said. “If your life is that important to you, then run with it.”
    Drego put his shoulder against the wall and shook his head slowly. I looked at Mei-Mei, and she looked absolutelyscary. The wide