Holla' If You Hear Me

HOLLA’ IF YOU HEAR ME!

by

Joe D. Hudson, Jr.

Smashwords Edition

On the surface, William Buchanan Matthias (Will), the grandson of a former governor, and Dontrayvius Deangelo Dawkins (D), a basketball wizard from the infamous Belfour Homes housing projects, had absolutely nothing in common until they both ended up in the sixth grade class of Mr. Douglass. They not only met, but became best friends. Along with their lab partners, Aquilla and Tanisha, this group of four would do magical things.

When the Gang of Four inadvertently stumbles across a terrorist plot to kill the President of the United States and blow Charlotte off the map, they jump into action. The bonds of their friendship only grow stronger as they learn that they could only trust each other. But how could four sixth graders stop a terrorist plot? They would look for help in the strangest places.

This story combines classroom drama, heart-pounding action on the football field and the basketball court, top secret military weapons, and the angst that comes along with being in middle school. If you’ve ever had doubts about where you fit in: Are you cool? Do you wear the right clothes? Are you smart? Do other people like you? Then strap on your seat belt and take a ride with Will and D and "Holla’ If You Hear Me!"

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Published by:

Hdawg Publishing on Smashwords

Holla’ If You Hear Me!

Copyright © 2010 by Joe D. Hudson, Jr.

ISBN 978-0-578-06372-0

First edition August 2010

First printing August 2010

Cover design and art by Tim Lee, STP Ventures

To purchase your own copy of this book, visit

willanddnovels.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters and any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. I have also taken artistic license with my description of Charlotte and the surrounding area. Any resemblance to current places for the most part exists only in the bizarre mind of the author.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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President Houston, fresh from the dedication of a new park in Charlotte, N.C., sat comfortably in the back of The Beast, the armored Presidential limousine, as they waited for traffic over the I-77 Bridge. He was quite relieved; the FBI and Homeland Security had indeed foiled the terrorist’s threat aimed at him during his visit. As he stretched out and yawned, the phone rang and was answered by his security expert, Dex Marsh.

"Dex! screamed Police Chief Tom Templeton, The terrorists are coming. Get the President out of the car!!!! Run as fast as you can! Go, Dex, save the President!!!

And then, in a blinding flash of light, the whole world went white.

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Praise for Holla’ If You Hear Me!

"Holla’ If You Hear Me!" is one of the best books that I’ve ever read. The way the author Joe Hudson puts all the events into play is amazing and will make you want to read more and more every second. What I liked most about the book is how four teenagers with different backgrounds become friends and try to save the day together. It was an honor to be the first to read such a great book by such a great author. —ABro2

What makes any fiction writer truly great is the ability to draw the reader into the story, and make him/her honestly care about the characters. Joe Hudson accomplishes this very feat in his book, "Holla if You Hear Me!" —LCat

"Holla’ If you Hear Me!" is a riveting tale of a group of middle school students from very different backgrounds, coming together to try to save a city and the President. The author, Joe Hudson, puts you there with his descriptive imagery and a plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Each chapter leaves the reader wanting more. I couldn’t put it down until I was finished. —LiLink

The best book I've read in twenty years. The feel good story of the year. The rich, colorful descriptions and the personalities of the characters allowed me to feel the emotions of the four as the story progressed. "Holla’ If you Hear Me!" shows that children of different backgrounds all have something to contribute and something to learn from each other. Every child should read this book. —ShirH

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This book is dedicated to my high school English and journalism teacher, Dodie White, who taught me with her constructive criticism that mediocrity in the written word is unacceptable, but taught me with her praise that perfection in the written word is divine. Your influence lives on.

It is also dedicated to the memory of those who didn’t live to see the final product.

In memory of James Porky Boykin, who taught me to have fun in everything I do, no matter how old I may be. I’m having a blast, my friend.

And to the angels who sit on my shoulder every day, Maudie Craver and Bob Catherwood. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. Rest In Peace.

Last, but not least, I dedicate this book to all of my former students at James Martin Middle School in Charlotte and Harris Road Middle School in Concord. I carry a piece of every one of you with me. I hope you find a part of yourself on these pages. And to the phenomenal staff of dedicated professionals I currently work with at Harris Road, thank you for your unfailing support of this endeavor. I am deeply grateful to you all.

Peace.

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To Kelly

Without you, Holla’! would not exist and neither would I. Thanks for my wonderful life and all those memorable days on the beaches.

And to Lauren, Mom, Kool, Lisa, Chris L., Scott, Lynda, Chris C., Laura, and my reading guinea pigs, Kelsey, Avery, and Maggie. Thanks for everything! I love you all more than I can say.

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PROLOGUE

They could not have been more different if they had been born in different countries or in different centuries. Cats and dogs had more in common than these two young human beings. The snake and the mongoose from the old Kipling story had a better chance of becoming friends. The Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote at least knew a little about the world in which the other existed. This was not the case for these two young people. They were completely and blissfully ignorant of the conditions that each other lived in everyday.

The odds that these two should ever have met were astronomical. Exponentially astronomical. Incalculably astronomical. The chances were much better that either of them would have been struck by lightning. Twice. A meteor would have had a better chance of striking the Earth than these two had of becoming mere acquaintances. And yet, as if preordained by God, or the Gods, or some divine all- powerful, all- knowing deity, they had met. Against all odds, they had become acquaintances. Against all odds, they truly got to know each other. Against the greatest odds, they had become friends. And, as unlikely as it may have ever seemed to any mathematician who ever crunched a number, they would become brothers in every sense of the word except for DNA. As true as any siblings ever born and as close as two humans could ever hope to get.

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1

January 25, 2010.

The two dark- skinned men sat in their 24- foot Ryder cargo truck in silence, heater running full bore in order to stave off the invading cold. The temperature wasn’t so bad, only 30 degrees, but the arctic winds that had done nothing but pick up velocity on its migration towards the Carolinas severely chilled the air. Forty plus mile an hour winds had pushed the wind chill into negative territory. The world around them was coated in a layer of frost which broke the bright yellow of the Golden Arches into a billion kaleidoscopic fragments. The landscape took on an otherworldly glow. This day would be an otherworldly day and they were two of only a handful of people on this planet who knew what was going to take place. Finally, the driver broke the silence.

Are you scared? asked the older man. His name was Hassan Al-Meidi. He was of Pakistani descent, but had lived most of his life in the states. His father was from a long line of wool merchants and he had followed his ancestors into the business. He had opened a U.S. office for his business, so the family had lived in both places for many years. Hassan held dual citizenship in Pakistan and the U.S. and was quite Americanized. A chance meeting with some people near the Afghan border nearly four years ago was the reason he was sitting in this seat.

Yes, I am scared. But I know Allah will guide me through my mission. God is good. Allah Akbar! Those were the words of Achmed Pervez, also a Pakistani who had illegally entered the U.S. by way of the Mexican border. He was twenty- seven years old and a Muslim fanatic. He truly believed that you should be Muslim or die. Now.

We have much to do in preparation and we must meet someone at 10:00. By 4:00 today, my dear Achmed, we shall be in heaven and we shall take many infidels off the Earth. We are great soldiers, my friend, and our greatest battle is only a few hours away. Today, we shall kill thousands, but our target is one person. On that account, we must not fail. The clock starts ticking now, my friend. The fate of the world is about to change forever and you and I shall be martyrs and share the glory. Let us go now, Achmed. Our destiny awaits us.

Allah Akbar. replied Achmed as he put the gearshift into DRIVE and stepped on the gas.

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2

August 2009

Get up, D. You ain’t gonna miss yo’ bus on the first day. Leah Simmons was running around trying to get D up and ready for school. She knew D would be a problem. He had always hated school. Now at 13, with 14 not that far off, he was starting sixth grade. He failed, then repeated fifth grade, and Leah had battled constantly to get him to go to that elementary school again. He didn’t do any better the second time around in fifth grade, but the social promotion policy allowed him to move along. Leah had done all she could to motivate him, but the environment around Belfour made it impossible. His goals, and not necessarily in this order, were: not to go to school, hang at the park like older kids do, and get a girl. School ain’t about none of dat. was his favorite saying.

D got up and grabbed a pair of Enyce shorts that were so baggy he could have carried a loaf of bread and a two-liter drink in each leg. He grabbed a clean wife- beater and threw on his Michael Jordan high school replica jersey. One of his uncles had given it to him before he went to prison. He was finally big enough to wear it.

D was out the door with a handful of Doritos and an orange soda. He reached the bus stop and met all his boyz along with the older kids. D was popular among the older kids because he was born with more God–given basketball talent than Lebron James. He regularly joined in at the park when the older kids were playing. At thirteen, he was a magician. Not only could he play with the bigger kids, he sometimes left them in awe of some move or pass that had not been planned or practiced. It just happened.

‘S up, D? asked D’s best friend, an eighth grader named Ben, AKA Phat Benny and the newest member of the BF-8’s, the local housing project street gang. Phat Benny had robbed a white man at gunpoint near the Convention Center to earn his Lakers cap. Benny passed his initiation with flying colors when he discovered that the man he had robbed had over $2,000 in his wallet. He became a hero at his initiation ceremony when he sliced an 8 into the back of his hand and then handed the gang’s founder, Charles Black Deac Deacon, the money from the stick up. Ben had been bestowed his new gang name Phat Benny because of that phat stack of hundred dollar bills.

Ain’t nothin’ Phatty. grumbled D. I ain’t got no damn desire to go to no new school. I don’t wanna listen to no white ass cracker woman tell me what I gotta do, man. I don’t wanna sit in no damn desk and listen to a bunch of bullsh…..

Chill out my brother. It ain’t dat bad. If you real lucky, you get Mr. Douglass. He a funny ass old white dude. Da man can break off a little Snoop, some Dre, and even some Tupac. Dances like a white boy would in 1970’s Soul Train. He’s funny, bro. I hope you get him. said Benny.

The bright orange school bus pulls to a stop and 22 middle school students jump on. Benny heads to the back of the bus to sit with the other two BF-8’s (that’s the code of the colors, always sit together). Both of them are repeat eighth graders and all three of the BF-8’s are sporting their Lakers apparel with the number 8 on it. BRYANT across the shoulders in the back. Lakers cap. No one on that bus would sit near them except for D. No, he wasn’t a banger yet, but he was next on the BF-8 recruit list. Even Black Deac had the greatest respect for his mad, sick natural skills on the hardwood. He would wait to go after D. He would see if the kid would give himself a chance to get out of the ‘hood. School was now just a bus ride away.

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3

Dontrayvius Deangelo Dawkins was born in Charlotte, N.C. and, let’s be honest here, was only one of about seven children born to teen mothers during that month in the infamous Belfour Gardens community. His birth was only noticed by his immediate family and the neighbors that lived in their rapidly deteriorating building. His mother, Leah Simmons, was fifteen, never married, and was giving birth to her first child. His father, Leon, was living somewhere in Chicago well before his son had entered this world. He had gone to live with one cousin or another in hopes of finding work.

Leon was very happy to hear that little D was healthy and that Mom was well, but he really did not want the responsibility of raising a child. After all, he was only 21 and had yet to find out what he wanted to do with his life. Besides, if she didn’t want to get pregnant, she should have done something about it, right? Of course, he would do the right thing. He would send money as soon as he could, but he didn’t think he would be back around Charlotte for quite some time. He sure would like to have a picture of his son because unlike most of his friends at 21, D was his first-born.

Leah Simmons was the fourth of six children in her family; however she was the only female. She lived in the apartment she was born in and the one she would bring little D home to. She still lived with her mother who had worked two jobs to support her children after her husband had died suddenly of a heart attack at only 32 years of age. Don Simmons had kissed his kids and wife Artel goodbye, walked out the door to go to work, and died before the day was over.

Although the tragedy rocked the family and changed the course of all their lives forever, Artel Simmons was a strong black woman and would not let the devastation of the loss of her loving husband, and the kid’s heroic father, tear the family apart. Unfortunately, she could not control the malevolent forces that began to influence her children. She had to take a second job. Kids were expensive and now she was the sole provider for her family. The added time that she spent working turned into unsupervised time for her children and soon there had been trouble. Belfour Gardens wasn’t the sort of place where your kids could hang around without getting in trouble. Drugs, gangs, assaults, extortion, and sexual abuse were very real threats that faced the Simmons children and all the kids in the housing project every day.

Soon, two of Leah’s older brothers were arrested for selling rock to two undercover officers of the Government Housing Enforcement Unit. There was no money for attorney’s fees and the public defender only half-heartedly tried to help them get sentence reductions. After all, they were guilty. Two more brothers selling crack on videotape. He probably thought he was defending the public by letting two black drug dealers go to prison.

Leah tried to rise above her brothers and all the bad breaks she had been dealt in her first fourteen years. She had lost her father, whom she adored and revered, and in essence, had lost her mother because Artel was either at work or trying to get some rest so she could go back to work. Leah dutifully assumed the household chores and became the surrogate mother for all of her brothers, both younger and older. None of her brothers ever helped her because they were taking care of important business like shooting hoops, chillin’ down at the park, or playing Texas Hold’em in the back room of Rocket’s Refreshment Store down on the corner.

In addition to all of these duties, she was a very smart ninth grader at Arrowood High School who loved learning. She somehow found time to study and do homework, clean the house, feed her brothers, and ease the massive burden that her mother carried around. Most nights she would fall asleep with a book under one arm and one of her little brothers under the other. She missed her father terribly and in many ways, missed her mother even more. Even though she spent every minute at home with several brothers in the house with her, she was lonely. And that is where it all started to unravel for Leah.

Although Leah was only fourteen, she could have easily passed for eighteen. She was tall and thin with lustrous milk chocolate skin. She was far more developed than most of her classmates and was the object of many a libidinous stare from the guys at school and around Belfour. Leah liked the attention that she was suddenly drawing from all of the upperclassmen at Arrowood High School. She hadn’t had anyone pay so much attention to her since her father had died. It felt good to be noticed by the older guys and she was the envy of all the other freshmen girls. She began dating a senior and three months later, she was pregnant.

By the time Baby D came into the world, Leah had fallen into the same cycle of poverty that strikes many families who grow up generation to generation feeding from the trough of government assistance. She spent lots of time at work and Baby D was cared for by aunts, neighbors, or by government subsidized daycare. Despite her yeoman-like work ethic and her God-given intelligence, Leah could not get ahead. Jobs were not easy to come by and, when she did find employment, her supervisors were rarely sympathetic to another young black woman who had to stay home because she had a sick child. For that reason, it was nearly impossible for her to stay gainfully employed. She promised herself that somehow, someway, her child would not grow up this way. No matter what sacrifices had to be made, Dontrayvius would make it out of the projects.

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4

August 2009

Will is awakened by his CD player /clock radio to the sound of Everclear’s Santa Monica. It is 7:00 am on his first day of middle school. His feet hit the floor running.

We can live beside the ocean... He is in the shower singing and thinking about what public school is going to be like. Leave the fire behind…..

He knew not one soul that went to this school. Would he fit in?

Swim out past the breakers…..

Would he make new friends? Would his teachers be nice? Would there be fights and drugs and gangs?

Watch the world die.

Will was clean scrubbed and out before Everclear started AM Radio. He squirted a little gel in to his hand and liberally applied it to his short brown hair. Spiky. he said to himself. He grabbed his Ralph Lauren khaki shorts, which one of the maids had ironed for him yesterday, and his favorite green polo shirt that had Blackbeard’s Blues Shack, Anegada, BVI, embroidered on the left breast above a nasty–looking pirate face. He slipped his feet into his Sperry Topsiders and went downstairs.

Who’s ready for his first day of middle school, first day of public school, and first day of real football practice? asked his mother in a cheery voice that suggested she had been awake for several hours.

I am, Mother. Ready, start to finish in 18 minutes. I packed my backpack and football stuff last night, so I am ready to roll. said Will. Will sat down to breakfast which consisted of two scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, and fresh buttermilk biscuits. Although Bitsy made sure her family ate a healthy diet, breakfast could not be compromised. Will’s Dad, Billy, had always eaten a big breakfast from his earliest memories. He never grumbled about eating his fruit and vegetables later in the day, but Billy Matthias had to have his breakfast. Will had grown up just as his father had and his stomach also demanded the Southern Man’s Breakfast of Superstars. Although it was permissible to substitute bacon, ham, or livermush for the sausage, this was a landmark day. Will was starting out with his favorite meal.

Billy Matthias eased down the stairs, video camera in hand, and skulked around the door frame into the dining room.

Ah jeez, Dad, not again. said Will. Do we really have to do this every year? Will wasn’t really aggravated; he was just giving his Dad a hard time.

Damn straight we do, son. You’ll thank me one day, I promise. That’s the only reason I keep this old camera with the old VHS tape in it. Billy had allotted nine minutes for each first day of school. He had been taping Will since the first day of kindergarten and would continue until his senior year. He planned on giving a copy to Will on the occasion of his graduation.

The same script of questions that Billy asked every year magically appeared in Billy’s hand and the interview began:

Billy: How old are you?

Will: Twelve.

Billy: What school are you going to today and what grade will you be in?

Will: John Martain Middle. A public school for the first time. Sixth grade.

Billy: Who are your best friends?

Will: Seth Kardasien, Caleb Clyde Barrow, Aaron Brownie Brown, and Jenna Cooper. They are all going to Mother Mary Catholic Middle. I’ve been in school with all of them for six years. Today’s my first day without them. I hope they have a great first day, too.

Bitsy and Billy passed a wistful look between them. Even though the three of them had come to this decision together, Mom and Dad knew that this was not going to be an easy transition. As in most cases, these parents did not give their child the credit he deserved. Will was only a little nervous, but mostly he was excited. He was ready for the challenge. Bitsy and Billy were nervous wrecks. The interview continued.

Billy: Is there anything you wanna say before we leave for school?

Will: Dad, I know I’m only twelve, but I really want to learn a lot this year. I want to make some good friends like Clyde and Seth and Aaron and Jenna. I hope I don’t get nervous when I start kicking extra points and field goals when I’m on the field. Most of all, I just want to fit in."

Billy: Well done, Will. Let me put this camera back in its place and we’ll hit the road. Billy headed for his media room.

Which car? cried Will.

Escalade. said Billy over his shoulder.

Cool. said Will, to no one but himself. Bitsy brought Will his lunch, kissed him on the cheek and wished him good luck. Have a wonderful first day, Will. I’m so proud of you. I’ll pick you up after football. Goodbye, dear. which sounded like deeya in that sweet southern drawl.

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5

William Buchanan Matthias III was born in 1997 in Charlotte, NC, to great fanfare and acclaim. His mother was Barbara Bitsy Buchanan Matthias, youngest daughter of the former governor of North Carolina and yes, the former governor and first lady were in attendance when Will entered this world. She was not the typical Southern Belle that one might have expected from a girl with her background and breeding. Of course she was cultured, well–mannered, sophisticated, and spoke in that slow southern drawl that sounded as if it had been bred and cultured over hundreds of years of antebellum history. She was a member of the board of directors of four charitable organizations. She had that Southern Belle sense of responsibility that led her to all sorts of social functions, fundraisers, and dinner parties befitting of someone of her social standing. She was even a member of the Debutante Class of 1979 and had her picture plastered all over the state because she was the governor’s daughter. But, that’s where the Southern Belle similarities ended.

Bitsy Bakerson Matthias was just a regular person, like a lady you might meet in the grocery store or the clerk in a department store. Although money had never been a problem for her, she never forgot how regular people lived. Her best friend as a child, and still to this day, was someone whom she had known since she was six. Someone whose parents had worked on the governor’s farm. Bitsy Bakerson Matthias, despite her wealth, social status, and genealogy, was truly just a regular southern gal.

Will’s Dad, Billy Matthias II, was also bred in the rich southern tradition of the old textile barons. Billy’s grandfather, Charles had founded Southern Textiles and built the company into a world leader in the production of towels and bed linens. The business flourished under the leadership of Billy’s granddad and profited greatly from government contracts after the war ended in the late 40’s. Billy’s father took over as a young man in the late 50’s after Charles Matthias began to experience health problems and decided on early retirement. The huge manufacturing conglomerate continued to grow and pile up huge profits as the world population began to rapidly expand and U.S. demand for quality products was nearly ravenous.

Billy himself had inherited the company after Will Sr. decided that he had had enough. Will, Sr. now had homes on Cape Cod for the summer, a Charlotte home on Lake Norman for his visits back to town, and a winter residence on Norman Island, one of the sixty or so volcanic extrusions that rise above the Caribbean Sea in the British Virgin Islands. Billy, who graduated from N.C. State in textile engineering, had taken the company to an entirely different level. Billy was the first of the Matthias men to totally overhaul the manufacturing process. In the early 90’s, Billy got rid of all of the old original equipment and brought in new computerized machinery. Production soared, sales went through the roof. When the mid-90’s rolled around, the Matthias family had a net worth of over 2 billion dollars.

Most companies lay off hundreds of workers when technology allows machines to replace humans. Southern Textiles was not one of those companies. Charles had taught his son and grandson the one lesson that he credited with the success of his company. It had nothing to do with fiscal management or even quality control of the product. Charles Matthias was a firm believer that the people who worked on the production lines, sold and delivered the products, managers, superintendents, secretaries, and even the custodians, were the backbone of his company and the key to its long term success. He, along with his son and later his