Rikers High (15 page)

Then Ms. Jackson made a speech.

“You're all getting report cards today,” she said. “There's going to be a party instead of school because the
teachers
thought you deserved one and
I
approved it. So enjoy.”

The sight of all that food had kids biting back calling her Ms. Jerk-off.

“It's all too good for you baby thugs,” said Officer Carter.

Mrs. Daniels shot him a harsh look. Then she told us about the different things to do. There were classrooms set up for movies, games, letter writing, reading, and computers.

Most dudes made tracks for the movie room without even knowing what the teachers were going to show. But I waited to see where Demarco was headed and followed him into our classroom where all the games were laid out.

Kids had already pushed seats together and were shuffling dominoes. The COs won't let you play dominoes in the house. Dudes slam them down on the table when they have a good hand, making all kinds of noise. They bet on the games, and somebody's always pissed off at getting stiffed.

Demarco sat behind a chessboard.

“I'll wait for somebody who can play or wants to learn,” he said.

I was good at checkers, but I didn't know anything about chess.

“What are the rules?” I asked him.

Demarco was showing me how all the different pieces moved when Sanchez started picking up the black ones and laying them out on the board.

Then the two of them started to play.

I was happy to just watch and try to figure it out.

Shaky was in the room playing Monopoly with another kid. They were flashing the fake money around and acting like they were on the street, making a big drug buy.

“My name's Tony Mon-tan-a,” said Shaky, hitting each syllable hard. “I need two keys. Here's my cash you fuck-ing nobody.”

Demarco said those two must really like living on Rikers Island and want to come back real soon.

“You need to put more thought into who your heroes are,” he scolded them.

They both got quiet for a while. Then they set up the houses and hotels on the properties, calling them their “crack parlors.”

Demarco just shook his head.

There were more white pieces off the chessboard than black ones, and Sanchez had Demarco's king on the run. They would both check out the board for a long time before they did anything. Then Demarco made one quick move and Sanchez dropped his face into his hands as the white horse snatched the black queen up.

“Chess is just like jail,” Demarco said, winking at me. “You've got to look out for the traps and holes.”

It felt good that he remembered what Pops had said.

After that move, Sanchez didn't have any heart left and just stopped trying.

Jersey came in from the movie room and said they were showing
Cool Hand Luke
.

“You gotta check it out,” said Jersey. “It's a movie about white guys in jail. Ritz is sitting in the front row and dudes are ranking on him, saying, ‘How you like seein'
your
people locked up for a change?'”

Shaky found the “Get Out of Jail Free” card from the Monopoly game and started bouncing around the room with it like he'd just won the lottery.

“I'm free! I'm free!” he shouted. “Everybody, I'm going home!”

Dudes winked at each other and looked at the card like it was for real. They told Shaky to bring it to Captain Montenez and he'd probably walk him out to the front gate.

“I'm not that stupid,” he said.

But Shaky went out in the hallway and showed it to the COs.

Carter kicked him straight in the ass and everybody just rolled.

“That's contraband,” Carter said. “Consider it confiscated.”

Dawson and Arrigo said they would give the card to some kid they liked better, and Shaky got all upset. He bitched about losing the card all day and said he should have sold it to some herb instead.

When we got back from the mess hall, the teachers were in their homerooms. Demarco was holding a stack of legitimate New York City report cards. Dudes were all wound up just to see them in his hand and started to rush Demarco at the desk. He had to scream at kids for real to sit back down.

One dude saw Jersey's card at the top and started calling off his grades. “You got a 90 from Archer and Daniels, 85 from Demarco, and 70 from Rowe,” the dude said.

Jersey put his hand out and said, “My props, please.”

Demarco quit on getting us to relax and began distributing the cards.

Even kids who never did anything in school and said it was all just total bullshit were grabbing for their report cards. And every time Demarco gave one out, some dude was either bragging about his grades or bitching about how the teachers screwed him.

Sanchez got all 90s, except for Rowe's class.

“Take some college classes after you get settled upstate,” Demarco told him.

“I think I've learned enough on Rikers Island,” said Sanchez. “Maybe I don't need to know any more.”

“These are still just jail report cards, right?” asked Ritz. “They don't even have the name of a real school on them. They just say, ‘New York City Department of Education.' ”

Demarco stopped handing out the cards and made everybody sit down. When kids saw how serious he was everybody got quiet and waited for him to talk.

“Let me explain something,” he said. “These grades are probably the most important ones you'll ever receive. They prove that no matter how tough things get in your life you can still concentrate on school and move ahead. You should really be proud of these report cards. I want you to know that I'm proud to hand them out.”

Dudes couldn't help but feel better about themselves after a speech like that.

Me and Ritz were the only ones who didn't get one. We were in class for just six days, and that wasn't enough time to get any real credits. But Demarco had a surprise for us. He'd printed up his own report cards on his computer at home and had the other teachers fill in grades.

“It's just a progress report,” he said. “But you can see how you're doing in the classes and send it home to your family.”

I got a 90 from Demarco, 85s from Miss Archer and Mrs. Daniels, and a 70 from Mr. Rowe. Soon, kids started to realize that everybody got a 70 from Mr. Rowe.

“That stooge Rowe gave us all the same grade,” a kid complained.

That was probably because Rowe didn't know a single student's name. But at least everybody passed, so it wasn't that big a deal.

Only Murray's section was blank. It was the same with all the report cards. No one in the house got a grade for Murray's history class.

Most dudes were boiling mad because of all the shit he'd put them through. Demarco said that he'd even called Murray at his house and asked him for the grades.

“He's so spiteful he won't do a thing till the investigation gets settled,” said Demarco. “I spoke to the principal about it this morning, but she couldn't do anything yet. She says she'll look into it.”

Then Demarco crossed his fingers with his eyes up to heaven.

That skinny dude Jessup was really pissed off. He was a senior at Roosevelt High School when he got locked up and only needed a history class to graduate. He'd pulled on Murray's dick like a good little boy for months and wanted to get hit off with his credit.

“So when I get out of here, I'll have to go to night school because of that asshole prick,” Jessup fumed.

Ms. Jackson was walking through the trailer and Demarco called her inside. Jessup explained his problem to her as respectful as he could. She kept a hand glued to her chin the whole time he was talking, like it was important to think on it.

Then other dudes piped in. They wanted grades for Murray's class, too, and she started to get all fussy.

“There are lots of problems at the end of a semester,” she said, moving backward. “And I only have so much time to fix them, but—”

“All we've got around here is time,” a dude said.

After that, it was on. Somebody called her “Ms. Jerk-off,” and kids started stamping their feet and singing out loud.

Demarco never tried to shush them, and stood there next to her like he was bulletproof.

Ms. Jackson stormed out of the room.

“What is this, music class now, Mr. Costa?” asked Arrigo, as he got to the door.

When he found out what happened, Arrigo made Jessup knock on the principal's door with his toothpick arms and warned him to be nice.

“Please, Ms. Jackson. I need this credit to graduate,” said Jessup.

But she was writing away and wouldn't get out of her chair.

Then Dawson knocked and asked her to come outside.

“When you ask these kids to buy into your program and not act like junior thugs, you've got to give them what you promised,” Dawson said to her in the hall, with plenty of us listening in. “Now, can you help this young man?”

“I'm not about to work with inmates who are threatening and abusive to me,” she answered.

“I didn't say anything disrespectful to you,” Jessup said. “That was the rest of them, not me!”

“You were the leader,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

He took a fast step forward and screeched, “The leader?”

Arrigo got in front of Jessup, pushing him back.

“And I'm going to write it up that way, too,” Ms. Jackson warned.

That's when Jessup snapped, “Who are you going to write up? Me?”

Now Arrigo was holding him back with one hand, and he gave Jessup a good shove back inside a classroom. But Jessup stopped short and balled up his fist.

Arrigo's eyes lit up.

He punched Jessup in the face like he was fighting Mike Tyson.

Jessup's head hit the side of a door before he bounced to the floor. That's how fast things can change on Rikers.

Arrigo was standing over him, screaming, “Don't you ever make a fist to me again! I could have fuckin' killed you, kid!”

“I'm not going to stand for this anymore!” yelled Mrs. Daniels, charging through the hall.

She passed everyone and headed straight for the trailer door. Maybe she was going home, or to the Department of Education, or to the newspapers. Nobody really knew for sure. But she was out of there. And she looked like somebody who wanted to settle a score.

“How about just saying, ‘Thank you for protecting me all this time!'” Arrigo called after her.

Carter pulled Jessup off the floor and threw him on the wall. Jessup's eye was already swollen shut and the side of his face was cut from where he'd hit the door.

“Look at you, asshole. Now we've got to send you to the clinic and write this shit up,” blasted Arrigo.

“Never mind him, look at you,” said Dawson.

“I know, too clean. It's gotta be my fault then,” Arrigo said.

Then Arrigo disappeared around the corner for a minute and came back with a shiner of his own. I couldn't believe it. That sick bastard punched himself in the eye. He pounded on his own face until his eye swelled up good. Now it would look like he had a good reason for pounding that toothpick of a kid.

“Well, how does it look?” he asked.

“It'll do. But we'll need witness statements,” Dawson answered.

“Look what you did to my partner, kid,” said Carter, like he almost believed it. “That's an attack on staff.”

Only Jessup was too beat down to even answer.

Dawson and Arrigo came into our room looking for witnesses to write up what happened. Arrigo pointed to five dudes, including Jersey, and told them to come out to the officers' desk.

“This is the GED class. The five of you should be able to write a statement in perfect English,” said Arrigo, before he walked back out with his partner.

Everyone in the house knew what the COs wanted. Those dudes were supposed to write how Jessup picked up his hands to Arrigo. That Arrigo popped him in self-defense. And if they really wanted to score points with the COs, they'd put in the made-up part about Jessup catching Arrigo in the eye.

Four of those dudes jumped up and were happy to write. Demarco stared every one of them down, without saying a word as they walked to the door.

But Jersey still had his ass in a chair.

“I don't work for po-lice,” Jersey said. “No way. No how.”

“You're all rats,” somebody called to those dudes on their way out.

“And we're gonna get our cheese right now,” one of them answered.

Most dudes would have been down with Five-O, too.

Jessup was fucked anyway you looked at it. The COs would write it up the way they wanted, and that's all that really mattered.

Dudes were just buying the COs' insurance and trying to get something extra for themselves. Maybe it would be phone time or seconds on food at the mess hall. But a taste for little things like that keeps inmates from standing together, and lets the COs get away with a lot of shit.

Dawson came back to the door and barked, “Jersey, are you writing or not?”

Jersey just shook his head and Dawson went on to the next room.

That was the biggest thing I'd seen Jersey do. I was proud of him for not digging Jessup a deeper hole.

Demarco even shook Jersey's hand in front of the class and told him, “I respect that!”

Dawson walked back with Brick stuck to his heels.

“Sanchez,” barked Brick, moving his finger like a pencil. “Come outside and help me write a statement.”