The Hustlers

Lengthy Disclaimer: All of the language, slang, and terminology used in this story - while at first look crude and potentially offensive - was all based on my experience in proximity to the actual city of Chicago, Illinois (United States), and thus is reproduced to keep the story as authentic and honest as possible. Just saying: I'm writing this to tell a story representative of experiences I've seen happening to others - not to sound racist/offensive/stereotypical, etc. If it does appear that way, kindly contact me somehow and if the reason's logical, I'll certainly delete this story.

Some international readers may be less familiar with the culture of an "inner city, ghetto-ized, American" school - if you're feeling confused: ask Google, contact me (I'm woefully unqualified however) or someone far better at explaining, or just research any interesting things you'd like to read upon.

Final Note: All fictitious resemblances - either as an institution (school, restaurant, etc.) or a person (characters in the story) - are purely coincidental. No part or whole of this story will yield me any profit.

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The | First | Day

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"I'm the realest," he announced, watching his disheveled, dark-haired reflection dance with both arms up, hand casually wading through his mouth with a toothbrush. "Fuck 'em, I'm a bad boy killa..."

"CONNOR! ARE YOU RAPPING AGAIN?"

He was so surprised that his hand accidentally switched off the light switch to the cold bathroom, forcing him to fumble around in the darkness - until thankfully, his thumb managed to catch the end of the switch once more, restoring the dim illumination.

"No!" Connor yelled again, trying to force the toothbrush to the right side of his mouth so his tongue could be used. "What time is it?"

"IT'S FIVE MINUTES TO EIGHT!"

"Chill!" he shouted back, annoyed at how aware she was of his activities. "We'll get there in time!"

"NO THE FUCK WE WON'T IF YOU KEEP SINGIN' LIKE A MORON!"

He thought about cursing back, but was cut off as the source of the shouting burst in through the door - her slightly taller frame positively livid, lengthy dreadlocks of hair swishing back and forth with barely contained frustration.

"We got five minutes," she addressed, punching Connor hard in the stomach. "And you still got yo' pajamas on and shit."

Connor looked at his leggings, disappointed to see long cloth dotted with purple dots - very comfortable to sleep in, but not quite appropriate for school.

"I got my shirt on though," Connor pointed out, underlining his neat collar with a finger. "Can you let me finish brushing now?"

She sighed, temple throbbing with that distinctive vein that Connor always associated with a point in time when his sister was becoming desperate.

"I'm leaving in five minutes," she remarked, waving with an air of finality. "If you ain't in the car by then, then you ain't coming with me."

Connor nodded, understand how tense she was - he watched her walk out of the bathroom, angry steps receding behind her before he heard the click of the main door that lead out of the house - shutting firmly with a pull.

"Thanks Jada!" he called out, hoping she wouldn't hear him.

"STOP TALKIN' AND FINISH BRUSHING!" came the prompt response.

He smiled, quickly polishing off the edges of his front incisors and molars before putting the brush back into its secure place - right next to her's on the sink. He didn't even need much more time for brushing - but he could never pass up the chance to see her get so exasperated.

Connor shoved into the narrow hallway, ignoring the reformation of mold at the cracked ceilings - then spotted his bedroom door a few paces further. He pushed against it, quickly diving into the completely unorganized room - littered with a variety of posters, half-eaten pizza, and random bowls - then quickly slung on his purple backpack, replacing his pajamas with a pair of jeans lying on his bed. He ran his fingers across the sides of the jeans, making sure a key was there.

He immediately left the room, slamming the door shut behind him - then made a beeline for the main door. It wasn't that he was suspicious of what Jada would do - but he was, admittedly - a bit guarded. She didn't mind messiness either, but still it felt oddly uncomfortable for Connor to return from school and see her sprawled across his bed - eating or reading something that was rightfully his.

He turned the knob, pushing the main door hard enough to remove its usual, rusted resistance against him - then stepped into glorious sunlight and dust.

Connor smiled, seeing the vast array of homes just like his stand out to either side - with a small road consisting of several parked cars. That was the one thing he appreciated the most about Chicago - everyone felt equal across all boundaries - income, family, beliefs, race...

Well, maybe not the last one.

"STOP DAYDREAMING AND LOCK THE DOOR BOY!"

He sighed, almost wanting to tell her that he didn't actually need this reminder every time they both went out of the house. Connor hastily dug out the key from his jeans, placing it into the old knob - turning once to lock, and tried opening the door afterwards to ensure it was secure.

"GET IN HERE!"

"Stop with the shouting!" Connor yelled, feeling irony hit his mind. "I'm going, I'm going!"

He swung open the door of a decrepit Ford, hopping into the passenger seat and fixed his seat belt to its lock, shutting the door as Jada shook her head beside him.

"No jacket?" she questioned.

"Nah," Connor refused. "It's hot now."

"It'll be cold later on, especially at night," Jada noted. "You absolutely sure?"

"Oh my God, yes... can we leave now?"

Jada frowned.

She started the car in a hurry, pushing on the gas pedal to make the vehicle zoom off into the main road - and this was Connor's least favorite part, sitting in the car for whatever amount of minutes while Jada would chew him out and drive, with only the blurring buildings sitting outside the car window to help ease his mind.

"You know, I actually was kinda excited when I woke up today," Jada interrupted, breaking Connor out of his usual trance. "Excited for you, actually."

Connor scoffed, leaning his head against the window. "What? Why? It's your third year at Sherwood and Williams - aren't you used to the school by now?"

"Yeah, that's why I said excited for you, dumbass," Jada corrected. "And I told you already - stop calling it Sherwood and Williams - everyone 'round here just calls it Willie's."

Connor nodded. "Wait - why are you excited for me?"

Jada's anger dissipated, replaced with a broad grin that she flashed to him occasionally before focusing back on the road.

"It's your first year!" she exclaimed gleefully, bringing a free hand to shake his already disheveled hair, letting her other one stabilize the steering wheel. "My baby brother's off to high school..."

"Damn, just let it go already," Connor sighed, furrowing his brows. "I'm not even as excited as you are..."

"But you should!" Jada declared enthusiastically, ignoring Connor's protesting hands as she continued ruffling through his hair. "Don't worry about fitting in though - you got the realest OG right next to you."

Connor coughed sarcastically. "What - you? Nah - I'm not telling anybody that I know you."

Jada smirked. "You don't like it, but people actually do fuck wit' me. I got voted Homecoming Queen last year, remember that?"

"Nah - I didn't go."

"Well - you should've. But why don't you want people to know we're related?"

Connor sighed, and for the thousandth time in his life - was made painfully aware on how her hair was long and curly, while his was short and straight.

"Maybe 'cuz they'd never believe it," he let out, looking away from her.

He knew an awkward silence would follow, but he hadn't expected her to prolong it for as long as she did. For about fifteen seconds, they both sat in the moving car - Connor with his head against the window, and Jada obviously staring daggers at him while he avoided making eye contact. He wondered about simply refusing to break the silence even when they reached their destination - but was disappointed to see the road give way to a nearly full parking lot, and a bright orange building with a large, concrete sign above materialize.

Sherwood and Williams High School.

Connor was even more disappointed to see the car pull into an open space, and hear the click of the car doors as they locked themselves.

He turned to Jada, who had removed her seat belt and was looking at him with a morose expression. And in the cramped, warm atmosphere inside the car - Connor almost felt like running out.

"No one knows you're adopted," Jada lightly suggested, laying a hand over Connor's own.

"They'll figure it out as soon as they see me," Connor pointed out. "Everyone will be like - damn is that Jada? Who's that skinny white - oh damn that's her brother!"

Jada laughed at this, but only because Connor had done a fairly good "hoodlum" impersonation. "You not skinny, and no one at the school got problems with white kids - well, most of 'em don't."

Connor laughed, unknowingly keeping a smile as she gently squeezed at his hand.

"And if anyone tries to fuck witchu," Jada emphasized, leaning closer to Connor. "Just holla' at me and I'll beat they asses."

Connor let out a chuckle, smiling stupidly again - and before he could prevent it from happening, Jada had leaned over enough to plant a small, fleeting kiss against his cheekbone, cupping his face afterwards just to see him inevitably blush over it.

"Stop that shit..." Connor protested weakly, feeling his cheeks redden while Jada smirked at him. "... OG's don't get no kisses."

"You not an OG yet."

"I'm only three years younger than you..."

"Too bad. Cutoff for OG's starts at 17."

"Okay I'm leaving - "

Connor tried to say it with all the conviction in his heart, but wasn't able to complete it as Jada swiftly placed her lips again onto his cheeks.

"I can pick you up 'round six," Jada informed him, sighing as she saw his face sink in disappointment. "Sorry Connor - dumbass boss has me working extra time or else I lose the job..."

"You already have two jobs," Connor protested. "Quit working at this Pizza Monster shit."

"Hey!" Jada denounced, abruptly becoming disapproving. "No cussing!"

"You cuss!"

"And I got three years on you."

"So?"

"So? You can't be doing the same shit I do - look where that got me!"

Connor raised an eyebrow in sarcasm, prompting Jada to respond.

"I mean - you can't be doing the same things I do," Jada corrected. "But that's not why I'm still working the second job - it's just that I gotta do my part, right? Rent isn't that easy to do here..."

Connor suddenly became interested. "Wait - you're covering rent now? What did Dad say before he left this morning?"

"The factory fired him," Jada noted morosely, rubbing at her brows. "Thank the Lord you were asleep and he didn't have any vodka when he came back last night..."

"So what?" Connor retaliated, ignoring his father's predicament. "He can't just wake up and say, Oh damn I guess you gotta start paying rent now..."

"He promised to cover electricity and water," Jada corrected quietly. "Listen, it ain't like we got anyone else to help out - it's just me, Dad, you, and - "

She stopped herself, realizing what she was doing. Connor smirked.

"Let's just not talk about him," he subtly pushed.

"Yeah," Jada concurred. "But - I mean you understand Dad's thing right?"

"Yeah - he's an asshole."

"Hey! He's our dad..."

"Your dad - he isn't mine."

Jada punched him once again. "Don't do that."

"What?"

Another punch, leading to Connor actually wincing now.

"That," Jada forced. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Then let me get a job then!" Connor immediately rang. "I'm sure the salon nearby - "

"Hell naw," Jada refused, immediately waving his complaints away. "You just stay in school - and off the streets - that's good enough."

"But - "

"No. If you try to apply for something, I'ma tell 'em that you're fresh outta jail or some shit."

Connor groaned, holding a hand to his forehead. "When does your first period start?"

Jada smiled. "11:00."

His eyes went wide. "Then why were you rushing me to go at eight o' clock?"

"Because that's when your first class starts."

Connor gasped, throwing the car door - mercifully unlocked - open, before sprinting to the orange building.

"RUN FASTER BOY!"

. . .

He didn't think much of it.

Sherwood and Williams was by many counts - a completely ordinary high school. Most of the rumors that Jada had fed him over several nights of trespassing in his room - were completely false. The hallways were standard and unmarked - not filled with graffiti. The personnel greeting him were rude but efficient - not friendly but under confident. Finally, the schedule that she had printed out to his leisure was also an elaborate joke - the room was right, but the class was not.

"Mr. Johnson?"

Connor shook his head in exasperation, raising his hand from a seated position at the back of the class.

"Here!"

Several chuckles and snickers from the students in front of him - but Connor remembered Jada's words, excusing the giggling.

Even if they were all black. And he was white.

And it was inner-city Chicago.

And any idiot could connect the dots about what they were laughing about.

Connor sighed, letting his head droop down and touch the brim of his desk.

"My name is Mr. Jackson," an aged black man spoke in gentle tones. "I understand that most of you are freshmen..."

More chuckling.

"...some of you older, for - quite sad reasons, really..." Mr. Jackson mentioned, continuing: "...but by large, the majority of you have no introduction to Biology before, am I right?"

"Yeah, I got an introduction to it."

Connor swiveled his head, trying to see the source of the noise - and spotted a teen that seemed vastly older than the rest of the students - sporting a goatee and hoodie covering his head.

"Really Mr. Bennet?" Mr. Jackson questioned, addressing him with slight annoyance. "And what might that be?"

The student stood up, folding his arms. "So - my side girl was giving me the pussy right..."

Cheering. Uproarious laughter - Mr. Jackson tried his best to calm everyone down, but wasn't quite capable of competing with the hooded student - who went at length to tell more of his home life.

Connor was smiling too.

. . .

By the time Mr. Jackson had managed to wrestle back control of the class, he had barely said a couple of sentences before the bell rang, signaling a fierce rush of students as they poured out of the congested room. Connor noted with interest that a few of the students, largely nervous-looking and of differing ethnicities - remained behind to speak with the senior teacher.

Connor stood up from his desk, seeing the nearly empty room before glancing at the clock above the whiteboard.

10:15.

"Fuckin' block schedule," he cursed under his breath.

Already more than two hours of his day was gone - but thankfully, everyone had a fifteen minute break. Now Connor had a choice: either puff up his chest and try talking to students outside the safety of a classroom, or stay inside and try talking to the only non-black students perhaps in the entire freshmen batch.

He groaned, slipping on his hideous bag before walking up to the five students around with Mr. Jackson with a defeated expression.

"So I never got to go over it in class - Peter..." Mr. Jackson continued, addressing a heavy Asian boy at the front. "But the syllabus for this year is a little off - tests are worth 40 percent, not 30 percent..."

"Oh," the Asian boy called Peter agreed, looking through his equally bizarre backpack to pull out and examine a sheet of paper. "That makes more sense. Thanks!"

With a wave he stepped off to the side, heading for the exit before whipping around. To his anger, Connor was smiling at him unintentionally, provoking the boy to stomp straight to him and flare his nostrils.

"Surprised my name is Peter?" Peter addressed in an enraged tone, being slightly shorter than Connor. "Think that shit's funny?"

Connor felt incredibly confused. "Yo - I was just smiling because of some other stuff - has nothing to do with you."

"Yeah," Peter pretended to agree sarcastically. "My last name is Jiang - does that make more sense now, you racist fuck!?"

Peter's voice was loud enough to bother Connor, but quiet enough to avoid detection by Mr. Jackson - who promptly waved away more questions as he strolled casually out of the room.

"All right man, I'm just gonna leave, okay?" Connor tried, avoiding a direct stare at Peter's menacing eyes. "No hard feelin - "

"You a bitchass," came another voice, from a tall black student who had spoken to Mr. Jackson. "This fatass muthafucka just backed you down - "

"Who you callin' a fatass?!" Peter roared, forcing himself against the black student. "You with that giraffe-ass neck, pencil-looking boy..."

Connor sighed, deciding to move out into the hallway after all.

He pushed past the door, stepping into the crowded space - first seeing rows of lockers neatly arranged on either side of the hallway, with students rushing through the space in anxiety. Connor followed the surge of people, weaving below football players' extended arms and carefully avoiding any individuals with sagging jeans and hoodies on - in eighty degree weather. He didn't bother stopping to see much of the hallway, quickly making his way to the end of the path where two double doors stood wide open.

He walked through, immediately moving to lean himself against a pole supporting the rooftop of the outdoors cafeteria - watching passerby's and sitting students joke and dance sarcastically in randomly segregated groups, trying to avoid the blistering heat of summer.

Connor snorted. There was one segregation that was obvious - a sea of black faces all around, vastly outnumbering mostly dejected, isolated groups of multi-colored faces - which never seemed to interact with other groups.

He dug into his backpack, fishing around for a small sandwich before bringing it up, unwrapping the thin foil around it.

Nutella? Damn... he mused. Where'd she get the money for it?

Connor bit into the bread, relishing the taste before unintentionally shutting his eyes - this was the first good sandwich Jada had packed in a long time.

"Oh wassup?"

Connor startled immediately, seeing a group of black faces approach him. His first instinct - primitive and reactionary - made him feel excited.

"Nothing," Connor responded, voice higher pitched than normal in excitement. "Just - uh, eating."

"Is that Nutella?" a student asked, stepping forward to grab the sandwich out of Connor's hands. "Shit - where'd you get it?"

Connor felt an angry response rise, but suppressed as he realized it was three on one. "I - I don't know. My sister packed it."

"Oh I gotchu," the student affirmed, handing the sandwich back to Connor. "You sure it ain't made from donkey or some shit?"

Laughter - not really cruel enough to be get Connor offended - but enough to arouse suspicion.

"Nah," Connor protested, voice soft once more. "It's Nutella."

"It ain't yo sister's cum or something?"

More laughter.

"Nah man - just the Nutella."

Anger. The first student shoved Connor against the pole while the other two looked on - and he pushed the sandwich back into Connor's hands.

"Don't be callin' me man again," the student emphasized, hood literally thrown off by the force of the shove. "You don't know me. Can you believe this muthafucka? Skin lookin' like the face of the moon..."

More laughter - identifiable as cruel this time. Connor readied himself, clenching his fist up in anger.

"Ey yo, I'm just playing man," the student recognized, chuckling before losing his grip on Connor, forcefully slapping him on the back. "You got some lotion?"
Connor shook his head, making the other three laugh once more before walking away from him - trying to enter the hall Connor just exited.

"His white ass obviously don't got lotion, damn..."

For a second, Connor wondered whether to start reflecting and analyzing what had happened - but chose against this, slumping down to the cold ground to resume eating his sandwich. There wasn't any point in feeling any emotion about it, because truthfully...

This day was going exactly as he had expected it to.

. . .

Connor couldn't recall most of the events since the incident at the pole - but found himself standing in the parking lot,

The classes were standard - the same thing he was used to in middle school except here - the teachers seemed to be even less intimidating, as a good percentage of students were sufficiently physically large enough to lack fear of any specific teacher. And just like in Mr. Jackson's dismal beginning, barely any teachers were able to control the class long enough to get a few phrases out - quickly culminating with the bell ringing and the usual splurge of students zipping through the door.

The more interesting thing was the constant mention of students often times being interested in joining "a family". Connor couldn't comprehend the context every time he had heard it - often in lunch among isolated groups of kids, then among some of the older students - but mostly, the matter was kept hush-hush and the teachers seemed to have a persistent awareness of some of the students who spoke about such issues. Connor knew better than to delve into what "a family" was - he had a rough idea of it, perhaps informed by years of watching classic gangster movies and Italian mob dramas - but knew out of self-preservation to avoid interacting with such individuals - besides, Jada would kill him for it.

He was drawn to it however - because of the students' seeming love and admiration for it. Joining "a family" sounded very much (from what Connor had picked up over the course of the day) like instantly gaining a large group of friends, bonded by vandalism and robbery -

But he was being wistful once more.

Connor pulled his phone out, glancing at the screen.

5:53 P.M

He sighed.

A small part of him - mostly the immature and annoying part - felt anger towards Jada, despite the latter having promised that she could not arrive until six. It was quickly becoming cold, and he had forgotten to pack a jacket - again, face-palming as he remembered Jada talking to him in the car.

"Ey yo!"

He shivered, turning around to see the same three black students from before, approach him again.

"Yo I remember dis clown," the same student spoke, moving closer to Connor. "Wassup brotha - you ain't got a ride home?"

The other two students looked at Connor carelessly, and he wasn't sure how serious they were about the offer.

"Not really?" he spoke slowly, bracing himself instinctually. "Why?"

"Well I'm on the way to my family's house," the same student spoke again. "Meet my Moms' and Pops'. Shit - you wanna come?"

Connor felt nervous responding to this.

The student removed his hood, walking closer to wrap an arm around Connor's shoulder. "Ey man relax - we don't do none of that black and white shit - we was just fuckin' witchu earlier."

Connor narrowed his eyes. "Yeah of course! I mean - yeah."

This sounded so stupid he almost wished he could take it back.

The student shook his head. "Come on - I'll show you 'round the place."

Connor obeyed his pull, a bit satisfied to see the other two kids follow close behind them both.

"I'm Malik."

"Connor."

"Shit - you got a bomb-ass name too. Like John Connor - from Terminator."

"Thanks."

A ringing noise - coming from his pocket. Connor hastily shut off the phone without looking, not wanting to lose the few friends he might have been making.
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A/N

First story on this site!

I hope the last line proved that I'm not trying to make this a "white = good and innocent and black = judgmental", quasi-racist story - I'm just trying to tell a realistic experience of growing up in a specific environment as an outsider. It's an extremely slow-build story with very little actual plot/details told so far, and I know there might be a lot of questions at the end - I'm still trying to decide where this is all going.

Support this story (review, award, message) only if you felt it's worth your valuable time. But regardless, I thank you for reading.

~TW (TaciturnWatcher)