There she go, there she go, the skinny little boy-girl… Get her down…

The senior next to her at the washbasins turned back to the mirror. She was pretty and broad, her sexy bra straps and thong line evident, hair in a long straightened sweep, her smooth cheeks faintly maroon. Her shoes were red as candy apples. She was everything that Geneva Settle was not.

It was then that the door swung open and Geneva ’s heart froze.

In walked Jonette Monroe, another senior. Not much taller than Geneva, though broader, bustier, with solid shoulders and cut muscles. Tats on both arms. A long, mocha-shaded face. And eyes that were ice cold – they now squinted in recognition at Geneva, who looked away immediately.

Jonette was trouble. A gangsta girl. Rumors were she was dealing – could get you anything you wanted, meth, crack, smack. And if you didn’t come up with the benjamins, she’d whale on you herself – or on your best friend or even your moms – till you stood up to the debt. Twice already this year, she’d been dragged off by the cops, even kicked one in the balls.

Geneva now kept her eyes down, thinking: Detective Bell’d have no way of knowing how dangerous Jonette was when he let her inside. Her hands and face still wet, Geneva started for the door.

“Yo, yo, girl,” Jonette said to her, looking her up and down with a cold glance. “Yeah, you, Martha Stewart. Don’ you be goin’ nowhere.”

“I – ”

“Shutup.” She glanced at the other girl, the one with the purple cheeks. “An’ you, get the fuck out.”

The senior had fifty pounds and three inches of height on Jonette but the girl stopped preening and slowly gathered up her makeup. She tried to save a bit of dignity, saying, “Don’t go layin’ no attitude on me, girl.”

Jonette didn’t say a word. She took one step forward; the girl snatched up her purse and fled through the doorway. A lip liner fell to the floor. Jonette picked it up and slipped the tube into her pocket. Geneva started to leave again but Jonette held her hand up and motioned her to the back of the restroom. When Geneva stood, frozen, Jonette grabbed her by the arm and shoved open the doors of the stalls to make sure they were alone.

“Whatta you want?” Geneva whispered, both defiant and terrified.

Jonette snapped, “Shut yo’ mouth.”

Shit, she thought, furious. Mr. Rhyme was right! That terrible man from the library was still after her. He’d somehow found out her school and hired Jonette to finish the job. Why the hell had she come to school today? Scream, Geneva told herself.

And she did.

Or started to.

Jonette could see it coming and in a flash was behind her, clamping her hand over Geneva ’s mouth, stifling the sound. “Quiet!” Her other hand gripped the girl around the waist and pulled her into the far corner of the room. Geneva grabbed her hand and arm and tugged, but she was no match for Jonette. She stared at the girl’s bleeding-cross tat on her forearm and whimpered, “Please…”

Jonette rummaged for something in her purse or pocket. What? Geneva wondered in a panic. There was a flash of metal. A knife or gun? What’d they have metal detectors for if it was so goddamn easy to get a weapon into the school?

Geneva squealed, twisting violently.

Then the gang girl’s hand swung forward.

No, no…

And Geneva found herself looking at a silver police department badge.

“You gonna be quiet, girl?” Jonette asked, exasperated.

“I -”

“Quiet?”

A nod.

Jonette said, “I don’t want anybody outside to hear anything… Now, you down?”

Geneva nodded again and Jonette released her.

“You’re -”

“A cop, yeah.”

Geneva scrabbled away and pressed against the wall, breathing deeply, as Jonette walked to the door, opened it a crack. She whispered something and Detective Bell stepped inside and locked the door.

“So, you two met,” he said.

“Sort of,” Geneva said. “She really is a cop?”

The detective explained, “All the schools have undercover officers. They’re usually women, pretending to be juniors or seniors. Or, what’d you say? ‘Fronting.’”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Geneva snapped.

Jonette glanced at the stalls. “I didn’t know we were alone. Sorry to be wack. But I couldn’t say anything that’d blow my cover.” The policewoman looked Geneva over, shook her head. “Shame this had to happen to you. You’re one of the good ones. I never spent any worry on you.”

“A cop,” Geneva whispered in disbelief.

Jonette laughed in a high, girlish voice. “I’m the man, yep.”

“You’re so down,” Geneva said. “I never guessed.”

Mr. Bell said, “You remember when they busted those seniors who smuggled some guns into the school a few weeks ago?”

Geneva nodded. “A pipe bomb too, or something.”

“It was going to be another Columbine, right here,” the man said in his lazy drawl. “Jonette’s the one heard about it and stopped the whole thing.”

“Had to keep my cover so I couldn’t take ’em down myself,” she said as if she regretted not being able to bust up the kids personally. “Now, as long as you’re going to be in school, which I think is pretty wack, but that’s a different story, long as you’re here, I’ll keep an eye on you. You see anything makes you uneasy, give me a sign.”

“Gang sign?”

Jonette laughed. “You’d be a claimer in any gang, Gen, nothing personal. You go throwing me a flag, I think everybody’d know something was up. Better you just scratch your ear. How’s that?”

“Sure.”

“Then I’ll come over and mess you up some. Give you some shit. Get you out of wherever you are. You cool with that? I won’t hurt you. Maybe just push you round a little.”

“Sure, good…Listen, thanks for doing this. And I won’t say anything about you.”

“I knew that ’fore I told you,” Jonette said. Then she looked at the officer. “You wanta do it now?”

“You bet.”

Then the pleasant, soft-spoken policeman got a dark look on his face and shouted, “What the hell’re you doing in here?”

Screeching: “Get yo’ motherfuckin’ hands off me, asshole!” Jonette had slipped into character again.

The detective took her by the arm and shoved her out the door. She stumbled into the wall.

“Fuck you, I’ma sue yo’ fucking ass for abuse or some shit.” The girl rubbed her arm. “You can’t touch me. That a crime, motherfucker! “She stormed off down the hall. After a pause Detective Bell and Geneva stepped into the cafeteria proper.

“Good actress,” Geneva whispered.

“One of the best,” the policeman said.

“She kind of blew your cover.”

He handed her back the social studies book, grinned. “Wasn’t exactly working.”

Geneva sat down at a table in the corner and pulled a language arts book out of her knapsack.

Detective Bell asked, “Aren’t you eating?”

“No.”

“Did your uncle give you your lunch money?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Forgot, didn’t he? All respect, he’s not a man who’s ever been a father. I can tell. I’ll rustle you up something.”

“No, really -”

“Truth is, I’m hungrier than a farmer at sundown. And I haven’t had any high school turkey tetrazzini in years. Gonna get me some of that. No trouble to get a second plate. You like milk?”

She debated. “Sure. I’ll pay you back.”

“We’ll put it on the city.”

He stepped into the line. Geneva had just turned back to her textbook when she saw a boy look her way and wave. She glanced behind her to see whom he was gesturing at. There was no one else. She gave a faint gasp, realizing that he was indicating her.

Kevin Cheaney was pushing away from the table where he and his homies sat and started loping toward her. Oh, my God! Was he really coming this way?…Kevin, a Will Smith look-alike. Perfect lips, perfecter body. The boy who could make a basketball defy gravity, could move like he was a break-dancer competing in a B-Boy Summit show. Kevin was a coal institution at all the jams.