In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Sixty-One: But Some Weren't Expecting it to Come From a Wasp's Nest

"Okay," she excitedly smiles as I sit her in my lap. "Because I want you to braid my hair."

"Is that what you want for Christmas?" I ask her, the other six starting to migrate over to us. She nods as I observe her afro. "I can do that for you."

"Coco!" Akwokwo bends over to hugs me next before I'm swarmed by children from all sides. Many of them haven't seen me in a while. I should come home more.

Adonebi shakes his head vigorously. "Ah, yes," he's jokingly offended. "Yes, forget about Bebu. Sina, ni sawa."

"You're silly, Bebu," Attakullakulla giggles. He's a Native American teenager who moved here not too long ago. His parents are in the military, so he won't be here long. He's fourteen or so if I can recall. We haven't given him a nickname yet. "I remember you."

Adonebi hugs him. "Thank you, Attakullakulla, you're the only one I can ever count on."

I don't know the three other boys, but Adonebi knows them. Ishaq, Jamal, and Devonte, triplets that are nineteen. I glance over and see that the other group stopped playing and are watching us like hawks. We make eye contact again, and I notice that a few of them were still playing despite having arm braces and one walking around with a limp.

"Just don't pay attention to them, Coco," Devonte sighs, crossing his arms and glaring at them. "They're always looking for a fight." I have Kenyangi get off of my lap, and I set my purse aside. "Coco?"

I get up and walk over to them. They're all taller than me, but they don't scare me. The one who was making comments against me has a broken finger. I stop just short of him. "I need to ask you something."

They give glances to each other as if to discuss it. "What?"

"You're going to hate me asking."

He taps the metal casing on his finger. "No." It probably hasn't happened to them, maybe they just ran into a group who knows how to fight back like what happened with me. It's still worth asking.

"Do you know Mr. Porter?" I blurt, my voice echoing off the high ceiling.

"Who doesn't?" A young man on the heavier side speaks. "He coaches the basketball team, we're practicing because we're on the A-team."

"He drive you guys here?" I get a 'you saw us in a car, you dumb bitch' look, and I add onto it. "Some of you. Does he drive you here sometimes if your buddies can't pick you up?"

"I don't know what you're getting at, but, uh, you should probably go," the one who was driving demands. He's the one with a limp.

"He tells you you're special, doesn't he?" I start. "Since you're A-team, he tells you you're the best of the best, right?"

"Go the fuck away."

"How about this," I jut in. I have to know. I have to know how far this goes. I thought it was just the four of us, but if there's more... "If I can make a shot from half-court, you talk to me."

"I guess she really is into you, Carter," another one snickers. "Fuckin' Uppities, man." I see the microphone patch on the arm of his jacket that looks like the Administrator's. We're on the same side, this is pointless. "How old are you even, lady? Messing around with a bunch of kids."

"Thirty-one, but the fact that you're allowed to wear your class patches tells me you're not a kid. Let me guess-" I point to the larger one. "You're the heavy. You, you're-" I squint at one of them who has burn marks on his hands. "You're either a demoman or a pyro, one of the two. Am I on the mark?"