LITMIR.BIZ

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her straight brown hair, I glanced past her and noticed a guy sprawled out on her twin bed, fastening his pants.

      “What do you want?” my sister asked anxiously.

      “Crystal, what do you think you’re doing? And who is that man lying on your bed?”

      “That man you’re referring to is my boyfriend. What’s it to you?” She was standing with her arms folded across her chest, a look on her face I couldn’t name.

      When I remained slightly shocked, she slammed the door in my face. I couldn’t believe this. Once again, I beat my fists on her bedroom door.

      “Crystal, you open up this door right now!” And she did.

      “I’m busy, Chris!” Crystal said.

      I grabbed her arm and pulled her forcefully out of her bedroom. I was about to let her have it.

      “Crystal, you better act like you know better! How dare you skip school! You’re supposed to be doing your school-work, but instead, you’re here in the house, laid up with some guy—who, by the way, looks too old for you! Didn’t we teach you better? How old is that guy, anyway?”

      “Man, none of your—”

      “Crystal!”

      “He’s only twenty. So what? He loves me. And I love him, too. He treats me good. He gives me presents, he takes me out. I’m tired of guys my age. So immature, so broke, so not worth my time. They’re nothing like Stone. Just look at him.”

      Stone was a straight thug. The muscles busting out of his shirt led me to believe that he’d spent time in jail. This brother was built. A black doo-rag concealed his long, black cornrows and a chain with a huge snake charm fell limply around his neck. His lips were black, as if he’d been smoking, and it seemed like his eyes were permanently half-closed. He was obviously high. Stone wore a white tee, Gibrauds, and Air Force Ones.

      I did not want my sister dating this boy—no, wait—this man! And from the way he was looking at Crystal, I could tell his intentions weren’t pure. It looked as if Stone wanted a lot more than a kiss, and from the sound of things I hope they hadn’t done more than that. I had to help her understand that this was not the kind of guy she wanted.

      “Crystal, listen up. First, you’re gonna take off that miniskirt and put on some jeans. Secondly, you’re gonna get this thug out of Mom’s house. Next, you will get your books and I’ll drive you to school. It’s not even noon. You can make your afternoon classes.”

      He walked past us without saying excuse me and headed into the bathroom. She just stared at him and licked her lips. I wanted to bop her upside her head.

      “No, you listen up! This is how it’s really gonna happen: I’m taking my purse and my man, and I’m getting out of here! And there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

      Before I could stop her, Crystal had done exactly what she said she’d do: grabbed her purse, grabbed her “man” when he exited the bathroom, and headed out of the door.

      “Crystal, wait!” I yelled after the black low rider.

      After Crystal and Stone sped off, I stood in the doorway and remembered many days when I was Crystal’s age that I watched my mom drive off with man after man the same way. I was heartbroken then, wanting more for her, and I was heartbroken now, wanting more for my sister. Us Ware ladies seemed to have a pattern of chasing after the wrong men.

      A few hours later, my mother’s Honda pulled into the driveway, and I went to her car door. I was relieved to see her; it had been three long weeks.

      “Mom!”

      “Hey, baby,” she said, giving me a hug.

      “I’ve missed you,” I said.

      “I’ve missed you, too. How was the wedding?”

      “Good—Eden’s a wife now, but Mom, we need to talk about Crystal being out of order.”

      “What?” she asked as we went inside.

      “Crystal has a twenty-year-old boyfriend.”

      Sitting on her couch, she said, “Oh, Stone, baby? He’s so sweet. He even bought a big-screen TV for us just last week.”

      “A big-screen television?” I exclaimed, sitting beside her, frustrated that she seemed okay with it. “Mom, what are you thinking? That’s not acceptable. How can he afford a big-screen TV?”

      My fifty-one-year-old mom, who looked almost sixty from her rough life, naively said, “I don’t know where he got it, baby, but it plays so well.”

      “Mom, do you really think he can afford to buy you a big-screen TV? Look, I’m just worried about Crystal. She’s dating a guy that’s five years older than her. I caught them in her room today while she was supposed to be at school. I just don’t want my little sister to become a teen mom or have to deal with an icky STD for the rest of her life.”

      “I know, I know. I don’t know why that girl’s been actin’ out so much lately. Seems like I only make it worse by punishing her.”

      “So what should we do about Crystal? I tried to talk some sense into her, but she left with Stone.”

      “She’ll come back eventually. She always does this,” she said.

      “You have to look out for her. I’m not going to be here to interrupt their little private sessions.”

      “Where you going, baby?” she asked, as if she hadn’t approved of me going off anywhere.

      “I’m moving to Atlanta. I took a job with the Secret Service. I’m going to be protecting a candidate for president.”

      “Awww no, baby!” She shook her head as she crunched her face. “I was so happy you were tied down to a desk. Now you’re going to be a bodyguard. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

      I grabbed her hand and stroked it. “Mom, I’ve already committed to it. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Like you taught me in life, things may be tough, but I can make it uphill.”

      Chapter 4

      Journey

      Five days later I was in south Georgia with about fifty agents I’d never met. We were all at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center, better known as FLETC and pronounced Flut Z. It serves as an interagency law-enforcement training organization for more than eighty federal agencies.

      We were all from different agencies. There were U.S. Customs Agents, IRS Agents, and agents from ATF. Me and five other FBI agents were the only ones from the Department of Justice.

      As soon as we arrived on site, we were escorted to an auditorium. No time for small talk or making friends.

      A man who appeared to be in his fifties or sixties spoke into the mic. “Agent Jess Phillips, folks, and my job is to take you through two weeks of intense training. I plan to find the agents capable of helping us with this crucial assignment.”

      The black guy standing next to me joked, “Like life will end if we don’t make it.”

      Everyone else was facing forward as if they were in grade school. I’m not saying they shouldn’t be, but I did sign up for this because I wanted a breath of fresh air in my life, not a pillow-over-my-face experience. Thankful someone else here had some personality, I chuckled.

      He looked over at me and stuck out his hand. “I’m Agent Frankie Johnson from the IRS.”

      “Hey, I’m Agent Christian Ware, FBI, and I paid my taxes.” I continued the laugh.

      “I see you got jokes. You think we’re gonna like this?” he asked in a hushed voice.

      “Hope so,” I said as we listened on.

      Agent Phillips held up some clothes. “Your personal appearance

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