The Twelfth Card

recognize the enemy.” She turned and continued out the door.
    The attorney clearly had no idea what she meant.
    Which, Rhyme supposed, more or less proved her point.

Chapter Forty-Four
    Early Wednesday, the autumn air cold and clear as fresh ice.
    Geneva had just visited her father at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital and was on her way to Langston Hughes High. She’d finished the paper on Home to Harlem. It turned out not to be such a bad book (though she’d still rather have written about Octavia Butler; damn, that woman could write!) and she was pretty pleased with her report.
    What was especially phat, though, was that Geneva’d written it on a word processor, one of the Toshibas in Mr. Rhyme’s lab, which Thom had showed her how to use. At school the few computers that worked were so overbooked that you couldn’t get more than fifteen minutes of time on one, let alone use it to write a whole paper. And to find facts or research all she had to do was “minimize” WordPerfect and call up the Internet. A miracle. What would’ve otherwise taken her two days to write, she finished in mere hours.
    Crossing the street, she aimed for the shortcut through the school yard of PS 288 elementary school, which took a few minutes off the trip from the Eighth Avenue train station to Langston Hughes. The chain-link fence around the school yard cast a gridded shadow on the bleached-gray asphalt. The slim girl slipped easily through the gap in the gate, which had long ago been wedged open wide enough for a teenage boy and a basketball topass through. The hour was early, the yard deserted.
    She was ten feet across the grounds when she heard a voice calling from the other side of the fence.
    “Girlfriend, yo!”
    She stopped.
    Lakeesha stood on the sidewalk, decked out in tight green stretch pants, a long orange blouse, taut over her boobs, book bag dangling, bling and braids glistening in the sun. Her face had the same somber expression as when Geneva’d seen her last week when that wack bitch Frazier tried to kill her and her father. “Hey, girl, where’ve you been?”
    Keesh looked doubtfully at the gap in the chain link; she’d never fit. “C’mon here.”
    “Meet me at school.”
    “Naw. Wanna talk just us.”
    Geneva debated. Her friend’s face told her this was important. She slipped out through the gate and walked up to the big girl. They fell into a slow walk, side by side.
    “Where’ve you been, Keesh?” Geneva frowned. “You cut class?”
    “Ain’t feelin’ good.”
    “Monthlies?”
    “Naw, not that. My moms sent a note.” Lakeesha looked around. “Who that old dude you with th’other day?”
    She opened her mouth to lie and instead said, “My father.”
    “No!”
    “Word,” Geneva said.
    “He be livin’ in Chicago, or somethin’, you tellin’ me.”
    “My moms lied. He was in the system. He got released a couple months ago, came to find me.”
    “Where he at now?”
    “In the hospital. He got hurt.”
    “He down?”
    “Yeah. He’ll be okay.”
    “And him and you? You phat?”
    “Maybe. Hardly know him.”
    “Damn, him showin’ up—musta been freaky.”
    “You got that right, girl.”
    Finally the big girl slowed. Then stopped. Geneva looked at her friend’s evasive eyes and watched her hand disappearing into her purse, gripping something inside.
    A hesitation.
    “What?” Geneva asked.
    “Here,” the girl whispered fast, lifting her hand and thrusting it forward. In her fingers, which ended in black-and-white-checkered acrylic nails, was a silver necklace, a heart on the end of a chain.
    “That’s—” Geneva began
    “What you give me last month, fo’ my birthday.”
    “You’re giving it back?”
    “I can’t keep it, Gen. You be needin’ benjamins anyway. You can hock it.”
    “Don’t be wack, girl. Not like it came from Tiffany’s.”
    Tears were welling in the big girl’s eyes, the prettiest part of her face. Her hand lowered. “I be movin’ next week.”
    “Moving? Where?”
    “BK.”
    “Brooklyn? Your whole family? The twins?”
    “They ain’ goin’. None of the family be goin’.” The girl’s eyes swept the sidewalk.
    “What’s this all about, Keesh?”
    “I’ma tell you somethin’ that happen.”
    “I’m not in the mood for drama, girl,” Geneva snapped. “What’re you talking about?”
    “Kevin,” Lakeesha continued in a soft voice.
    “Kevin Cheaney?”
    Keesh nodded. “I’m sorry, girl. Me and him, we in love. He got