Black Boy Joy Read online

  “Yeah, let’s get this over with. We both know I’m winning that key.”

  Dre and I follow the key droid across the great room, shooting each other angry looks the whole way. We end up in a bright hallway, tall glass display cases lining the walls. Inside, great hunks of stone, some smooth, others jagged like cave walls, are covered in ancient-looking drawings of brown-skinned men and women floating in the sky and the heavens above.

  See, Big Mac had this theory that there are these really cool caretakers that look out for all life in the universe. Humanity was born in Africa, and Grandad said those caretakers stopped by early on to teach us stuff like math and science. Basically how to survive and thrive. Said they even took some of us up on their ships to see the galaxy. It always sounded like a science fiction book to me, but looking at these drawings…I don’t know what to think anymore.

  The hallway ends at another locked door. The key droid unlocks it and we step into a vast library, great columns of shelved books reaching up to the second-story ceiling. I have to tilt my head back to see that high.

  “OVER HERE,” calls the key droid. It points to two glass helmets and two shiny metal backpacks hanging on the wall just beside the door.

  “What do we do with these?”

  The key droid throws up its hands. “CLEARLY THE HELMETS GO OVER YOUR HEAD, AND THE BACKPACKS GO ON YOUR BACK.”

  “Oh, um, yeah, that makes sense.” I scratch my chin. “But why—”

  “JUST PUT THEM ON, WILL YOU?”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t have to be rude.” I slip the helmet over my head and strap on the backpack. They’re much lighter than they look.

  “NOW, IF YOU’LL BOTH LISTEN VERY CLOSELY, THE RULES ARE SIMPLE. SEE THAT KEY UP THERE?” The key droid points its stubby little arm toward a glinting piece of metal high up on one of the columns. “THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE AFTER.”

  “How are we supposed to reach that?” asks Dre. “I might be able to dunk, but I can’t jump that high.”

  A cackle escapes the key droid. “THEN WHY DON’T I ADJUST THE GRAVITY?” It reaches back to turn a dial on the wall and my whole body feels instantly lighter. Dre takes a step backward and ends up gliding like ten feet.

  “ACT FAST! YOU ONLY HAVE TWO MINUTES!” With that, the key droid turns the dial as far as it will go, and I feel my feet leave the ground completely as I float up toward the ceiling. I wave my arms to steady myself, but that just makes it worse. And there’s nothing close enough to hold on to up here.

  That’s when I see Dre speed past me, a stream of smoke pouring out of his backpack.

  Wait, this backpack is actually a jet pack? I pat it down, looking for a power button, and manage to locate a tiny on switch. Here goes nothing…

  I flip it and zip forward, becoming lost in the cloud of books that have all floated up from the shelves. It takes me a moment to get the hang of this thing, but then it clicks that I have to lean my head and shoulders in the direction I want to go. It’s a lot like swimming in midair.

  I guide myself over to where we saw the key, only it’s not there. For a second, I think I’ve already lost, that Dre must’ve gotten to it before I could. But then I catch sight of him flying in a wide arcing circle below me, hands empty, his head whipping back and forth in search of the key.

  The key must’ve floated away from its shelf too. And now it’s lost somewhere in all these books. I glance around frantically, heart pounding as I feel the two-minute time limit slipping away.

  And then I see the key. Bouncing along the ceiling.

  I angle myself so that the jet pack lifts me higher, book after book clanging against my glass helmet. I can’t help but grin as the key finally comes into reach, and I extend an arm to grab it. It’s so close now, I can reach out and touch—

  Something slams into me and I go tumbling backward, head over heels. So fast, I don’t know what’s up and what’s down. I’m totally out of control!

  “TIME’S UP!”

  The jet pack jolts me to a sudden stop. The library spins before my eyes. I blink the dizziness away until Dre’s smirking face comes into focus. At least he doesn’t have the key.

  “Too slow, cuz!” He laughs.

  “That key was mine!” As the jet pack lowers me gently to the floor, I’m so mad I could shout. “You cheated!”

  Dre just shrugs. “Nobody said we couldn’t play rough. Get your weight up.”

  The key droid waddles between us. “IT APPEARS NEITHER OF YOU OBTAINED THE KEY.”

  “You happy now?” I ask Dre. “We lost our only chance at the key.”

  “As long as you didn’t get it,” he says sourly.

  “WELL, THERE IS ONE MORE KEY. A SECOND CHANCE, AS THEY SAY. BUT I WARN YOU IT’S NOT WITHOUT RISK. FAR MORE DANGEROUS THAN A FEW FLOATING BOOKS.”

  “Dangerous?” Dre suddenly looks sick. “How dangerous?”

  “GIANT BREATHWORM DANGEROUS.”

  “The heck is a breathworm?” asks Dre.

  I grin and cross my arms. “Nah, Dre, you don’t care about space stuff anymore, remember?” That’s what he said when I got back from space camp and he decided to stop hanging out with me. And Grandad, too. All of a sudden his life was all about basketball—he was too cool for us.

  He and I have spoken more today than we have in the past year.

  “What does space got to do with a breathworm?”

  “That’s where they live,” I say. “Big Mac told me about them last summer.”

  Dre’s fear melts away and he starts laughing. “Oh, so it’s just one of Grandad’s space monsters from those silly stories? Man, let’s do this.”

  The key droid takes us back out into the great room to a metal door set off by itself. A bright red sign hangs on the door:

  GARBAGE DISPOSAL AREA

  Danger! Beware of Beast!

  “THIS WILL BE AS FAR AS I GO,” says the key droid. “I’M QUITE PARTIAL TO NOT GETTING EATEN, YOU SEE….LAST CHANCE TO TURN BACK. NO ONE WILL THINK ANY LESS OF YOU.”

  Getting eaten? Man, that droid is really committed to this whole breathworm story.

  Dre crosses his arms. “Is there a third test if we skip this one?”

  The key droid shakes his head. “AS YOUR GRANDFATHER ALWAYS SAID, ‘IT’S HARD ENOUGH CONVINCING PEOPLE TO GIVE YOU A SECOND CHANCE TO EVER COUNT ON A THIRD.’ ”

  Me and Dre say it too. We’ve heard that line a million times. We both smile for a second before we catch ourselves.

  Dre says, “Just tell us the rules.”

  “IT’S SIMPLE. MAKE IT BACK WITH THE KEY IN ONE PIECE. NO TIME LIMIT.”

  “Easy.” Dre yanks open the door and starts down the stairs. “Be back in no time.”

  I get to the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Dre disappear into a tunnel. The place is nothing but tunnels that branch off in every direction. Since Dre went right, I decide to go left, quickly moving from tunnel to tunnel. The smell down here gets worse with every turn.

  GRRRR…A growl rumbles through the tunnels, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Man, that was way too realistic…

  GRRRRRRRRR…This time the sound is even louder, and, fake or not, I go from a fast walk to a sprint. I round corner after corner, certain I’m going in circles. The light is so dim down here and the smell so rank, it’s hard to concentrate.

  I’m just about to give up when I trip over something hard and metal. I crouch for a better look and sure enough it’s the key. I grab it, the biggest grin on my face, and dash back down the tunnel. No way am I giving Dre a chance to take it from me.

  But then I trip over something else. There can’t be two keys, can there?

  Slowly, I look down at my feet.

  This one’s not a key. It’s a giant bone. A very real bone. And it’s got teeth marks on it.

  T
hat breathworm is definitely not just one of Grandad’s made-up stories. And Dre has no idea.

  I run as fast as I can down the tunnel, this time toward the rumbling echoes.

  “Help!” I hear Dre shout as I round the corner to a sight that sends my heart barreling down into my stomach. Dre has been backed into a corner, a hairy green blob slithering toward him. If Big Mac’s stories are true, and it sure looks like they are, then that thing could blow its acid breath on Dre at any moment and he’s done for.

  I think back to how Grandad defeated it in the story. Two things you gotta remember if you ever get mixed up with a breathworm. First, music soothes the savage beast—that’s true on any planet, ya hear? And second, ain’t no music more soothing than some classic Motown—also true on any planet…

  I clear my throat. I can’t believe I’m about to try this.

  “I guess…you’d say…what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl…”

  The breathworm whips its massive head toward me and then goes completely still. I can’t believe singing the Temptations actually worked! But then the moment passes, and both me and the breathworm realize, at the very same time, I’m no longer singing. It lets out another booming growl and charges in my direction.

  “Run, Dre!” I take off, tucking the large key beneath my armpit, the beast right on my heels. I dart through tunnel after tunnel and manage to put some distance between us before I find the staircase and dash up to the door. I give it a hard knock and the key droid pulls it open for me.

  But Dre isn’t behind me.

  Panicked, I dash back down the stairs just in time to hear Dre yell, “Stop!”

  And I fear the worst.

  “…in the name of love…before you break my heart…” Dre holds the last note as he inches around the calmed breathworm to the staircase and we both sprint upstairs.

  The second we stumble through the door, the key droid slams it shut and locks it tight.

  Out of breath, I slump down next to Dre. The two of us lock eyes, and then burst out laughing. Did that really just happen?

  “Can’t believe you came to help me,” says Dre.

  “Me either,” I say. “I don’t know what was worse, that thing’s acid breath or your singing.”

  That has us laughing again.

  “Seriously, though,” he adds. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, we’re family. I always got your back when it counts.”

  Dre just nods.

  Then he adds in a rush, “I didn’t stop caring about space stuff.” He hangs his head. “I took the test for space camp too, but I failed. I failed bad, man. Realized you have to be book smart to be able to go to space, and that’s just not me. I was kind of ashamed to tell anyone. Especially you and Grandad. So I decided to give in to my pops and do what I’m good at. Hooping.”

  “Come on, you used to be even more into space than me,” I say. “Should’ve seen how you were cheesing at that model solar system in the main hall. You can’t give up on it. Not ever, man.”

  He lifts his head and grins. “You mean that?”

  “Definitely.” Now I’m grinning. “But now I gotta claim my inheritance…” That’s when I realize the key I thought I had all this time isn’t there.

  “Looking for this?” Dre pulls the long key from up his sleeve. “Must’ve dropped it on the staircase. Here, man, you deserve it.”

  I take it, unable to keep the smile from my face. “C’mon, Dre!”

  “WAIT FOR ME!” shouts the key droid, waddling after us.

  I take a deep breath when I arrive at the golden door. This might be the last thing we ever get from Big Mac. I push the key into the door…

  And it doesn’t work. The key won’t twist.

  I turn to the key droid, and the thing just shrugs.

  “I NEVER SAID THAT EITHER OF THE HIDDEN KEYS WOULD WORK ON THIS DOOR. THEY ACTUALLY OPEN THE POOL ROOM.”

  “Big Mac pranked us, didn’t he?” asks Dre. “Old dude really used his funeral to prank us.”

  I shake my head. That can’t be true. There’s got to be something we missed.

  Then I think back to that letter, and the answer strikes me like lightning. I’m putting the key to all my secrets in y’all’s hands.

  “Our hands—our hands are the keys.” I turn to the key droid. “That’s why you offered to bring us straight to this door when we first got here. We didn’t need to compete. We’ve had the keys to this door all along.”

  The key droid does a little dance.

  I reach my arm into the lock, feeling around until I find two handles. I grab one and say, “Dre, reach in and grab the other handle.”

  Dre raises an eyebrow but reaches into the lock with me. We turn the handles in unison and a loud click echoes through the great room.

  Grandad’s staticky voice sounds through a speaker. “Knew you two’d figure it out. Reckon I really just wanted to say that I love you both, and that spending the summers with you was something I looked forward to every year. Kept this old man young. As long as you two stick together, my memory will live on through you and I’ll never be truly gone. Now then, hurry up and decide which one of you is going to inherit the house…”

  The golden doors swing open.

  “ ’Cause the other gets my spaceship!”

  THE LEGENDARY LAWRENCE COBBLER

  BY JULIAN WINTERS

  “Now add just a pinch of chili powder,” says Connie, blue eyes sparkling, smiling like she’s won the lottery. “Not too much. We don’t want it too spicy.” She giggles at the camera.

  I roll my eyes at my iPad, where my favorite YouTube baker is making a batch of her world-famous cookies.

  Chef Connie is always afraid of a little spice. Or too much sugar. Her recipes are really cool starting points, but she’s never met a Lawrence before.

  We love spice and sugar.

  I pause the video, writing in the black-and-white journal Mom bought me to keep all my recipe ideas in. I scribble messily, tongue between my teeth, trying not to let sweat rain down on the paper. It’s the beginning of May in Atlanta, which means it’s eighty degrees outside and one hundred degrees in the kitchen.

  It’s too early for AC, Dad always says. Wait till summer.

  I reread my notes.

  HOT HONEY PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

  ¾ cup chunky smooth peanut butter

  1 cup honey

  1 tsp. tbs. chili powder

  I eye the chili powder container on the counter, nodding. “Dad will love this,” I say before pressing play on the iPad. Connie goes through more steps for her cookies. She always has this perfect smile and the corniest jokes, but she’s super popular.

  One day, you’re gonna be bigger than Chef Connie, Dad tells me every time we bake together. A successful, young Black baker with a gazillion followers. Chef Jevon Lawrence!

  I can’t help beaming every time he says that. It’s one of the reasons I’m learning this new recipe—Dad and I are obsessed with peanut butter cookies. This is gonna be our reward once I win the Turner Middle School Baking Competition.

  “If,” I remind myself quietly.

  Lately, I’ve been less and less confident that I can win. But that’s just the fear talking.

  Dad always says, Fear is nothing but Forgetting Everything’s All Right.

  I mean, I’ve gotten this far. The competition started a month ago with sixteen of us, a big mash-up of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. Each week, the “judges”—it’s just Coach Sanders, a gym teacher, Mrs. Higgins, the school secretary, and Carla Wright, a local TV weatherperson—eliminated four bakers.

  And now I’m in the Final Four!

  So why am I so nervous?

  Honestly, winning feels like the only way to make things go back to normal with Dad, the way t
hey were before I dropped my big secret two months ago. If I win, he’ll see me as Jevon, future TV star baker again—not Jevon, his son who said, “I think I like boys” while we made red velvet brownies one Saturday.

  I’ll never forget Dad’s face. He got real quiet. Like, is-he-still-breathing? quiet. He blinked a lot too. Then he whispered, “Oh.” And he didn’t say anything else as we finished.

  He didn’t touch any of the brownies that night.

  But he helps me practice every week for the competition. He makes suggestions and, sometimes, he smiles so big when I nail a recipe. He’s not mad or sad around me—just weird. But weird doesn’t feel good.

  “Do you smell that?” Connie cheers. “Smells like a winner!”

  I nod, shaking those spiderwebby feelings from my head. She’s right. Today’s going to be perfect. G’Ma is coming over to teach Dad and me how to make the Lawrence family peach cobbler. It’s my secret weapon to win the competition.

  And then Noah’s coming by later. We’re going to taste-test each other’s final desserts.

  I bite my lip. My stomach turns over and over like a washing machine.

  Noah Nguyen is a seventh grader, like me. He’s my biggest competition too. The guy has his own Instagram for his baking—@sweetnoahbakes—with a thousand followers!

  I’d have a big head about that, but Noah’s the nicest kid in the entire school. He has this sweet smile that makes the back of my neck warm like laundry fresh out of the dryer. And in the second week of competition, when I forgot to add the brown sugar to my s’mores cookie batter, he reminded me before I put them in the oven.

  Who does that?

  Last week, as the judges announced the Final Four, we all clasped hands, holding our breath. Noah switched places with Lucy to stand next to me. He grinned, then grabbed my shaking hand. He didn’t even roast me for having sweaty palms!

  After our names were called, he didn’t let go. His cheeks were this bright red and he said, “I’m glad we’re in this together.”

  That’s when the swishy stomach thing started.