Once I was outside, I broke out in a full-on run. I mean, I straight-up jetted, and because I was so scared of getting caught, I couldn’t even feel the pain in my legs anymore. Adrenaline overload. I ran and ran, until I was far enough away from the school to not get caught. I turned down a busy street with a whole bunch of stores on it, just because it seemed like the easiest place to blend in. I almost went into a wig shop, just because I figured I might be able to grab a disguise. I mean, a wig would definitely do it. But . . . nah. Then there was the fish market. I looked in the window. Three short guys took huge fish—big like they were baby sharks or something—and hacked the heads off with giant knives. WHAM! That was wild, but somehow I could relate to the fish. Actually, I could kinda relate to the men chopping the heads off the fish, too. Then I came to a sporting goods store. That’s when the best idea ever popped into my head.
“Welcome to Everything Sports,” a lady greeted me at the door. Her name tag said TIA. She was wearing sweatpants and a basketball jersey with the store’s name on the front. She didn’t really look like she played sports, though. Patty looked like an athlete, but this girl . . . not so much. I mean, she had on makeup and had her hair all done. “Let me know if you need some help finding anything,” she said.
“Um,” I hummed awkwardly. I tried not to look her directly in the face, just because I didn’t want her to say nothing about me not being in school. Plus I felt weird about being the only person in the store. “Y’all got track stuff?” I asked. Then, trying to be more clear, I added, “Like, shoes?”
“Yep. Right over here,” the girl, Tia, said, leading the way.
The track shoes at Everything Sports were amazing. Neon green and gold, shiny black and electric blue. They looked like they were full of power and speed, like just wearing them could get me closer to Usain Bolt’s world record. They were just like Lu’s.
I picked up one of the shoes, a silver one. Flipped it over to see the price. Then put it right back down. Yikes! Then I looked at a mean bright orange one, looked at the bottom.
“Want to try any of them?” Tia asked. She had been standing behind me the whole time.
I put the orange shoe back—they were even more!—and turned to face her. “Um . . . the silver ones, I guess.”
“Size?” she asked.
“I don’t really know, I think an eight? Maybe eight and a half.” The truth is, I had no idea what size I wore. I couldn’t remember. When me and Ma went to get my last pair, the ones I was wearing, the ones that now had their heads chopped off, the reason we went in the first place was because the sneakers I had were too small. I think I was a seven then, and we had to bump up to an eight. But I just couldn’t remember. Tia eyeballed my feet, and even though I knew she was trying to guess my shoe size, I couldn’t help but think she was looking at my chewed-up dogs like, What the?
I was hearing Shamika’s booming laugh ringing in my ears again when Tia finally chirped, “I’ll bring a nine, too.”
I took a seat on one of the benches and looked around at the boxing gloves and soccer balls and every other kind of sports equipment. There was a man working in the store too. He was standing next to a rack of jump ropes, tossing a basketball back and forth from hand to hand, and occasionally spinning it on one finger, but only for like half a second. He probably wasn’t no athlete either.
A few moments later Tia came back out with two boxes. “Okay,” she said, setting the boxes down on the floor in front of me. “I got an eight and a nine, but no eight and a half.” She popped the top of the first box. “Let’s start with the nine.”
She pulled the silver shoes from the box and set them down in front of me. I untied my frayed shoestrings—I had to cut them, too—and slipped my sneakers off, tucking them under the bench. Two more people walked into the store. Tia and the other guy greeted them; then Tia encouraged me to put the shoes on. “Walk around, jump up and down or whatever. Take your time and get a feel for them.”
I put the shoes on. The nines fit perfectly. After I laced them tight, I stood up and bounced up and down a few times like Tia suggested. They felt amazing, almost like I didn’t have any shoes on at all. I stepped in front of the mirror to check myself out. Man. It looked like I was wearing spaceships on my feet. Or silver bullets! “How are they?” Tia came back over to check on me.
“They’re good,” I said, still staring at my feet in the mirror. I felt like they had some kind of power in them, and that power was pumping into me. The kind of power that shut down all laughter. I repeated, now looking at her, “They’re good.”
“Perfect.” Tia nodded and went to talk to one of the other customers. And that’s when I made my move.
At first I wasn’t going to do it. I mean, when I went into the store, it was a thought, but only a thought. Not even like a real, real thought either, because I knew that I could just ask my mother to get them for me, and she would because she felt like this track thing was gonna keep me out of trouble. But when I saw how much they cost . . . I just couldn’t ask her for them. I just couldn’t. But these were “shut-up shoes.” Nobody would have nothing to say about me with these on my feet. And that’s when the thought became real.
I took the shoes off, and when Tia moved to the other side of the store to show the baseball gloves to one of the people who had come in, and the other guy who worked there had run in the back to grab something for the other customer, I slipped the silver bullets in my backpack. I put the top back on the box and put the empty shoe box under the other one—the eights. Then I put my sneakers back on as fast as I could. I slung my bag on my shoulder and headed for the door. Then, as I got there, Tia called out, “No good?”
I was stunned but shook it off and played it cool. “Um . . . they’re amazing. I—I love them,” I said, trying not to look her in the face. “Maybe I’ll come back for them later.” I pushed the door open. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I took off.
I pounded down the street, waiting to hear someone yell, Hey kid! or Thief! Somebody stop that kid! Like they do on TV. But no one did. At least, I didn’t hear none of that. The streets can be noisy with cars, and people bumbling around, not to mention when you’re running scared, like I was, the only sound you really hear is the sound of your own heart banging like a scary soundtrack to the chase.