Francisco Ortiz, a handsome straight-A student and gifted basketball player from the barrio, wins a full scholarship to an elite boarding school. His future seems promising. But soon after Francisco moves into the dorm, his new classmates assume the worst of him: they pepper him with questions about drugs and gangs. It's all so confusing, made even more complicated when Francisco realizes that back home in the hood, he no longer fits in, though his friends still rely on him to solve their problems. In a desperate attempt to help one of his homies, Francisco makes a terrible decision and becomes everything he fought so hard to rise against.
In When We Wuz Famous, Greg Takoudes has written a riveting novel about breaking down stereotypes, crossing boundaries, and clinging to where you come from.
Francisco Ortiz, a handsome straight-A student and gifted basketball player from the barrio, wins a full scholarship to an elite boarding school. His future seems promising. But soon after Francisco moves into the dorm, his new classmates assume the worst of him: they pepper him with questions about drugs and gangs. It's all so confusing, made even more complicated when Francisco realizes that back home in the hood, he no longer fits in, though his friends still rely on him to solve their problems. In a desperate attempt to help one of his homies, Francisco makes a terrible decision and becomes everything he fought so hard to rise against.
In When We Wuz Famous, Greg Takoudes has written a riveting novel about breaking down stereotypes, crossing boundaries, and clinging to where you come from.
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Overview
Francisco Ortiz, a handsome straight-A student and gifted basketball player from the barrio, wins a full scholarship to an elite boarding school. His future seems promising. But soon after Francisco moves into the dorm, his new classmates assume the worst of him: they pepper him with questions about drugs and gangs. It's all so confusing, made even more complicated when Francisco realizes that back home in the hood, he no longer fits in, though his friends still rely on him to solve their problems. In a desperate attempt to help one of his homies, Francisco makes a terrible decision and becomes everything he fought so hard to rise against.
In When We Wuz Famous, Greg Takoudes has written a riveting novel about breaking down stereotypes, crossing boundaries, and clinging to where you come from.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780805098419 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Henry Holt and Co. (BYR) |
| Publication date: | 03/05/2013 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| Lexile: | HL650L (what's this?) |
| File size: | 856 KB |
| Age Range: | 14 - 17 Years |
About the Author
Greg Takoudes is an author and filmmaker whose feature film, Up with Me—which inspired his first novel, When We Wuz Famous—won several awards, including the Special Jury Award at South by Southwest, and was distributed by IFC Films. Prior to moving to New York, he worked for Ron Howard and Brian Grazer as a member of the creative team at Imagine Entertainment in Los Angeles. Greg lives in Brooklyn with his wife and two children.
Greg Takoudes is an author and filmmaker whose feature film, Up with Me—which inspired his first novel, When We Wuz Famous—won several awards, including the Special Jury Award at South by Southwest, and was distributed by IFC Films. Prior to moving to New York, he worked for Ron Howard and Brian Grazer as a member of the creative team at Imagine Entertainment in Los Angeles. Greg lives in Brooklyn with his wife and two children.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Are you ready to hear it?
Let's begin by saying what this story is not. For starters, it's not crap. That's not to say this story is necessarily any good — it's just not packed with lies. It's not about a bunch of perfect-looking teenagers who dance around in designer outfits, stage pillow fights, and deliver the perfect, rip-roaring comeback to every insult. Nope. This is a story about real kids. Actual kids. Kids you like, kids you love, kids you hate — the types of kids you know.
Now, technically, you would have to call this a love story, as much as it might make your skin crawl. But it's not the kind of love story you're thinking of. No one buys chocolate valentines for anyone in this story. So if you're looking for that heartwarming (and stomach-curdling) scene where the varsity boy surprises his blond girlfriend with a bouquet of flowers and balloons on her birthday after she'd positively feared that he'd forgotten, then it's time to put this book down and start reading another one.
That scene is not in this book.
In fact, this is the kind of story where the boy actually does forget it's his girl's birthday, because he's an idiot, and she really needs to dump his ass, and all her friends tell her so. But she won't. Because she's being an idiot too. Because that's what happens in real life. The subtitle of this book should be The Stupid Stuff That People Do, and Why They Keep Doing It.
Another thing: Don't expect the characters you're about to meet to do things like learn important lessons in life. This isn't some CW television show where the characters get to learn about themselves just in the nick of time before the show has to cut to a commercial that's selling you fabric softener.
No, this book is about real love. And the thing about real love is that it hurts. You don't get real love without going through real problems first. Infatuation ain't love. Great sex ain't love. Flowers on your birthday ain't love. Those things are nice, but they aren't true love. The thing about true love is that you have to get through a lot of junk — lies, pain, dishonesty — and then you have to somehow survive it all before you can get to the good part: the love that lasts.
So are you ready to hear it?
Oh, and one more thing. This book is a bit strange, too, because for a love story, it starts in the least romantic place in the world: a police station. And for a love story, it starts with the least romantic topic of conversation you can imagine: murder.
CHAPTER 2
June 28
Whether you want to admit it or not, it's a well-known fact that girls are smarter than boys. Girls are probably more interesting, too. So if this is gonna be a halfway good story, then it has to start with a girl. If we started with a boy, then nothing would happen. The book would begin and end with some kid sitting on his couch playing Xbox. Sometimes boys need a kick in the butt to get off the couch and get anything done. Boys need girls like the space shuttle needs a booster engine, and for a story that's this crazy, we need an engine as fast and cool as a girl named Reignbow Rivera.
Now, Reignbow runs with a crew called the Kaos Krew. The Krew's made up of six friends, three boys and three girls. We'll get a chance to meet all of them and hear everything that happened in one roller-coaster year of their lives. It was a year that changed all of them. Some for the better, some for the worse. And some for the much worse. We'll sort it all out in the end.
Anyway, let's begin with what we have so far: Reignbow, a police station, and a murder. It's June. Reignbow sits in a gray concrete interrogation room in the Ninety-second Police Precinct of Spanish Harlem. Take a close look at her face while she listens to some female cop droning on. Reign's tired eyes fight to stay awake, her locked jaw bites her tongue to keep from lashing out, and her pinched eyebrows resent having to be here. But unlike most girls who have to dredge themselves in makeup like chickens through batter in order to get a second look, Reignbow's natural beauty never leaves her. She is voluptuous at her hips and chest, with big brown eyes and a knowing smile. The longer you look at her, the prettier she gets. She's the kind of girl whose beauty sneaks up on you, a girl who gets noticed eventually ... who gets asked out by the right guy, eventually ... because she knows, eventually, that good things come to those who wait.
And so she waits.
In a gray concrete interrogation room.
How does a girl like this wind up in a police station? Even Reignbow isn't sure. She doesn't know how long the police will keep her here or how much trouble she's actually in or, really, anything about what happened in the park tonight — that dark, forested park where only drug dealers and prostitutes ever go at night — that led to the killing of a boy she's known her whole life, and led to her sitting in this room.
Sitting across the table from Reignbow is the cop. A tough, female NYPD cop, Caucasian, freckled complexion, and strawberry hair pulled back into a tight bun. The cop's expression is icy; her demeanor is severe. This cop clearly doesn't want people to see that she's mildly pretty. All she wants people to see is her badge. Number 3286. Keating, Molly. Detective rank.
CHAPTER 3
Detective Keating pours a cup of water and slides it across the aluminum table. Reignbow doesn't move.
"Not thirsty?"
Reignbow eyes the water suspiciously. "No."
"You can go look at the vending machine if you're hungry —"
"I can get my own food at home, thank you very much. I don't want your cop water. Probably poisoned."
Detective Keating tilts her head. "Why in the world would we poison your water?"
"I don't know. I don't even know why you dragged me in here."
"It's because we want some answers."
"So I'm in trouble?"
"Not exactly."
"Then I can leave?"
"You're free to go whenever you want. Go home and eat your own unpoisoned food from your own kitchen."
"For real?"
"For real. But I recommend that you don't leave, Ms. Rivera. I think you should stay."
"Why?"
"Because a friend of yours was killed tonight, and now you have two choices. You can stay and help us find the killers, or you can leave and help the killers get away. Do you see what I mean?"
"I guess ..." Her words trail off into the air. She rubs her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Two or two thirty in the morning."
"This is crazy."
"I know. But you have to understand," says the detective, "we can't just run out and catch the bad guys. We're going to need help. Your help. It's the right thing to do."
It may be the right thing, and even the good thing, but there's one thing that a smart girl like Reignbow knows, and it's that old saying about how no good deed goes unpunished.
"Listen, I don't really know anything," says Reignbow. "I only heard about the shooting from what everyone else was saying. It's not like I was even there."
"I understand that. But you did know the principals involved, correct?"
"Principals?"
"The victims. And the assailants. Am I correct that you knew the people on both sides?"
"What? No. Why would I know the killers?"
Detective Keating opens a file and looks through some notes. "It's here in your file —"
"It's in the file or it's in your head?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know how you cops think. You look at someone like me and you assume: Young plus Hispanic equals troublemakers, right?"
"Did I say any of that?" says Detective Keating, looking offended.
"You might as well have. What do you think, I hang out with criminals? I don't know any criminals!"
"Ms. Rivera."
"What?" Reignbow barks.
"I think we're getting off on the wrong foot. I know you're upset —"
"You don't know shit."
Silence engulfs the room. For the first time, Reignbow hears voices from the next room. The voices are faint, but she can hear a man yelling and a woman crying. The woman sounds like she's pleading. Reignbow gets a shiver down her spine.
The detective clears her throat. "Let's begin this way: Tell me about your relationship with Vincent."
Reignbow shrugs. "Vincent? Me and him never got along. What do you want to know?"
"Well, why didn't you get along?"
"'Cause he's the craziest boy you ever met. Anyone would say that."
"So you didn't like him because he was crazy?"
"Of course not. All my friends are crazy. But with Vincent, it's different. There's crazy fun, and then there's crazy crazy. You know what I mean?"
"I do."
"Vincent and I fought like dogs, and usually the fights were about Francisco. Vincent is Francisco's oldest friend, but I'm Francisco's girlfriend. So, you know, it was like a stupid jealousy thing. F acted bad whenever he was around Vincent. You ever see those pictures of a guy with a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other?"
"Sure."
"Well, Vincent was the devil. And I was the angel. Or I tried to be."
Detective Keating opens another file. "Vincent's got quite a lengthy record. Nothing big, but it's consistent." She picks out the top page. "Last time we saw him was seven months ago, for breaking into a car." She puts the page down. "Francisco's record is clean. Why would he be best friends with such a bad egg?"
"'Cause it's more complicated than you think. Vincent's and Francisco's moms are second cousins, or some kinda relation. Vincent's mom was seriously messed up." Reignbow touches her head. "Mental." Then she touches the inside of her elbow, along the veins. "Too much of this, you know what I mean? One second, she'd be like this perfect loving mom to Vincent, and the next second, she's high and kicking him outta the house. Her mind was all warped and stupid from those drugs. Vincent was just a little kid, but his mom didn't care; she used to boot his ass out to the streets. He was maybe seven, or six. Or even younger. Folks in the neighborhood used to spot Vincent walkin' around at all hours and call Francisco's mom, and she would come pick him up. She'd bring that little boy back to her apartment and give him a meal, a bath. You can't help but feel sorry for Vincent just thinkin' about it." Reignbow pauses. "I mean, no one's got the right to treat other people like shit, but if anyone's got half an excuse for doing it, it's Vincent."
Detective Keating makes a quick note in the file. "Okay, so Vincent, troubled childhood. Got it."
Reignbow looks up, surprised. "What?"
"Let's move on."
"Did you say you got it?"
"Yes."
"I don't think you do. I'm telling you about a little kid who's homeless in the streets, and all you can say is, I got it?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"What's it say on your copmobiles parked outside? C-P-R. Courtesy. Professionalism. Respect. Right? You ever read that? Where's the respect?"
"Ms. Rivera, this isn't exactly the first time I've heard a story like this. What should I do, break down and cry over your friend? I couldn't be a detective if I did."
"The fact is, you just don't care at all," Reignbow nearly yells. "That's the whole problem with you cops. You open up shop in our neighborhood and walk around like you own it. Meanwhile the whole neighborhood's falling apart, but you cops do nothing to stop it!"
"Ms. Rivera —"
"Did you know there's a stoplight on my block that's been broke for a year now? There's no red light, no green light. Cars just go through the intersection whenever they want, and a few months ago, a girl who lives in my building got hit. But where were you cops then? Where was your help when that little girl was hit?"
Detective Keating doesn't answer; she doesn't even blink. She stares at Reignbow with a cold, long stare that eventually pushes Reignbow back into her seat. Shame fills Reign's cheeks until she's full-on blushing. She's not much of a yeller, and her mom would kill her for yelling at a cop. It just isn't her.
"Are you finished?" says the detective.
Reignbow nods and looks at her hands. She folds them into her pockets and wishes the rest of her could disappear, too.
"Good," says the detective. "Because my time is very limited. So we're going to switch topics ... without you yelling. All right?"
Reignbow nods again.
"Now, tell me about Francisco."
Reignbow's voice is nearly a whisper. "What do you want to know?"
"When's the last time you saw him?"
Reignbow shrugs. "Seven months ago?"
"That's a long time to go without seeing your boyfriend."
"So?"
"Did you have a fight? Does it have anything to do with the shooting tonight?"
"A fight? You could say that." Reignbow tries to remember, but it hurts too much. It hurts because she's spent the last six months trying to forget it all.
"I dunno. Hard to say exactly. It's complicated...."
"I'm sure it is. But it sounds like it's related."
"Maybe."
"So tell me."
Reignbow swallows hard, like swallowing a jawbreaker. "The thing about Francisco ... and the murder tonight. See, it might all be my fault."
"Your fault?"
"It's a long story."
Detective Keating gives Reignbow a level gaze. "Ms. Rivera, it's very important that you tell me everything. It's crucial to the case. And it's crucial to catching the killers."
"Okay, I'll tell you. But what happens if you determine that it really was all my fault?"
"I can't say right now. I don't know the answer until you tell me. I'm going to have to hear all of it to understand — everything, from the beginning."
CHAPTER 4
Nine months earlier: September 3
Francisco pressed his face against the window of his bedroom, peering eighteen stories down to a trash-strewn alleyway with overflowing Dumpsters. Past the edge of his building, he could see the Harlem River, and beyond it, the parks on Randall's Island. When you grow up in the inner city there aren't many scenic views, but Francisco had one. Or at least a sliver of a view, down to that river and those parks. The water sparkled brilliantly in the setting sun.
He imagined a real estate brochure advertising his family's apartment: Only blocks away from dealers peddling your drug of choice! Enjoy the views of the river without being close enough to smell the garbage floating on it!
Francisco turned away from the window, a smile on his lips. Part of him was very happy to be leaving New York.
He picked up a basketball trophy. It was one of those hulking, impressive ones that you can hold above your head and pump up and down to cheering crowds. Francisco won the trophy just a few months ago, when he led his basketball squad to the regional championships. Francisco was named the MVP of the season. It was the first time in eight years that a junior had won MVP. He could still hear the cheering in his ears, standing there alone in his room. He put down the trophy and picked up a framed certificate from the wall. Francisco Ortiz — High Honor Roll — Luis W. Alvarez High School. He won that last year, too.
It was the best year of his life.
His successes earned him the attention of the school principal, Dr. Tyson, who called Francisco into his office one day and asked him if he'd ever thought about his future. A future beyond the streets of Spanish Harlem.
"Have you ever imagined yourself," said Dr. Tyson, an educated black man with a deep voice and huge hands that seemed to be grasping at wondrous ideas floating through the air, "finishing your high school career at one of the best schools in the country?" Dr. Tyson paused dramatically.
"You mean Urban Academy in Washington Heights?"
"No, no, no," said Dr. Tyson. He pushed a glossy brochure in front of Francisco, and opened each fold like it was the Ark of the Covenant. Francisco looked at the pictures of long grassy lawns, ivy-covered buildings, and students dressed in coats and ties. Across the top of the brochure was written "Seton Grove Academy — ad astra per aspera."
"Is that French?" asked Francisco, thinking French was always used for fancy stuff and this school looked pretty fancy.
"Latin. It means 'to the stars through difficulty.' And I think, Francisco, that you're on your way up."
That meeting didn't seem so long ago. And now Francisco was pulling his one nice blazer and tie out of the closet, rolling them up, and slipping them into his oversized duffel bag. He was ready to join those kids from the brochure. To walk those lawns. To live in those ivy-covered dormitories.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "When We Wuz Famous"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Greg Takoudes.
Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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