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he didn’t want nobody thinking he was soft, he still wanted to make sure he didn’t just get any yarn, but the best yarn for his brother. And I could get with that. That’s how I am with Jazz. She drives me nuts sometimes, but she’s still my sister.
    I watched as Noodles sized up the yarns to see which black was the best black for Needles. I saw him getting ready to make his move, so I stepped over to another part of the store, just in case hippie girl was watching.
    Toward the back of the store there was a bunch of ladies gathered around a table. They were all knitting and talking and snacking on popcorn. Popcorn is my favorite. There was a piece of paper folded in half, the short way. It was propped up like a tent in the middle of the table. On it said THE CIRCLE . I didn’t know there was such a thing. A knitting circle. I wondered if they were just a group of random women or if theywere some sort of crew, like a sorority or something. Anyway, whatever they were, I figured they were just a bunch of ladies talking about lady stuff and knitting. But when I got closer, I overheard them talking about how someone named Susan got wasted the night before and that’s why she wasn’t there. I noticed an empty chair. Susan’s. They laughed and went on about her and who she got with, and how much she drank, but they were talking about it like . . . us. Like dudes. It was cool.
    â€œExcuse me, young man,” a deep voice said from behind me.
    I stepped out of the way of one of the biggest men I’ve ever seen. He sat down in Susan’s spot. He had a beard and didn’t look like no punk. Just a regular guy. He set his bag on the table. All the ladies were so happy to see him, laughing and blowing him kisses across the table. This guy clearly was the man.
    I wanted to stick around to see if he was going to do what I thought he was going to do: pull out some yarn and start knitting like a girl, in which case I would’ve thought he had killer game, and gets all kinds of women because he can knit. Girls like stuff like that. At least I guess they do. But I never got to see what the big guy was going to do, because as soon as he started digging in his bag, I felt a tug on my shoulder.
    â€œYo, man, let’s skate. I got it,” Noodles said. He wasn’t doing a great job at not being suspicious. He didn’t even whisper. He pointed down. I looked, but I wish I hadn’t. He had the ball of yarn stuffed in his pants. Not cool. Then, all nervous, he headed toward the door. He was walking so fast,he almost tripped over the cat. As soon as he pushed the door open, hippie girl caught on to what was going on.
    â€œExcuse me,” she said, and started coming from behind the counter. “Excuse me, young man?”
    Noodles broke for it. I mean, he really took off. He couldn’t run full speed because he had to hold his crotch to make sure the yarn didn’t fall out. She went after him, but there was no way she was going to catch him. Not with them Jesus sandals on. I took my time and watched it all go down. Then I took five bucks out my pocket, laid it on the counter, and walked out.

3
    You know how I knew Noodles wasn’t really no tough dude? Two things. One, he was a comic book geek, and even though nobody else knew that, I did, and real bad dudes don’t read comics, or draw them. And two, he ran his mouth too much. I don’t mean just talking smack to people, even though he did do a lot of that, too. But what I’m talking about is, every time he did something bad, he would come back to the hood and tell the little kids about it, bragging like he accomplished something major. It’s like he felt tougher whenever he started blabbing about it, gassing his own head up, turning the story into a much bigger deal than it really was. Bad dudes don’t do that. They do dirt and keep quiet.
    The worst part about Noodles always bumping his gums is