《The Hate U Give》
: Part 1 – Chapter 1
Part 1 ¨C When It Happens
I shouldn¡¯t havee to this party.
I¡¯m not even sure Ibelongat this party. That¡¯s not on some bougie shit, either. There are just some ces where it¡¯s not enough to be me. Either version of me. Big D¡¯s spring break party is one of those ces.
I squeeze through sweaty bodies and follow Kenya, her curls bouncing past her shoulders. A haze lingers over the room, smelling like weed, and music rattles the floor. Some rapper calls out for everybody to Nae-Nae, followed by a bunch of ¡°Heys¡± as peopleunch into their own versions. Kenya holds up her cup and dances her way through the crowd. Between the headache from the loud-ass music and the nausea from the weed odor, I¡¯ll be amazed if I cross the room without spilling my drink.
We break out the crowd. Big D¡¯s house is packed wall-to-wall. I¡¯ve always heard that everybody and their mommaes to his spring break parties¡ªwell, everybody except me¡ªbut damn, I didn¡¯t know it would be this many people. Girls wear their hair colored, curled,id, and yed. Got me feeling basic as hell with my ponytail. Guys in their freshest kicks and sagging pants grind so close to girls they just about need condoms. My nana likes to say that spring brings love. Spring in Garden Heights doesn¡¯t always bring love, but it promises babies in the winter. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if a lot of them are conceived the night of Big D¡¯s party. He always has it on the Friday of spring break because you need Saturday to recover and Sunday to repent.
¡°Stop following me and go dance, Starr,¡± Kenya says. ¡°People already say you think you all that.¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t know so many mind readers lived in Garden Heights.¡± Or that people know me as anything other than ¡°Big Mav¡¯s daughter who works in the store.¡± I sip my drink and spit it back out. I knew there would be more than Hawaiian Punch in it, but this is way stronger than I¡¯m used to. They shouldn¡¯t even call it punch. Just straight-up liquor. I put it on the coffee table and say, ¡°Folks kill me, thinking they know what I think.¡±
¡°Hey, I¡¯m just saying. You act like you don¡¯t know nobody ¡¯cause you go to that school.¡±
I¡¯ve been hearing that for six years, ever since my parents put me in Williamson Prep. ¡°Whatever,¡± I mumble.
¡°And it wouldn¡¯t kill you to not dress like ...¡± She turns up her nose as she looks from my sneakers to my oversized hoodie. ¡°That. Ain¡¯t that my brother¡¯s hoodie?¡±
Ourbrother¡¯s hoodie. Kenya and I share an older brother, Seven. But she and I aren¡¯t rted. Her momma is Seven¡¯s momma, and my dad is Seven¡¯s dad. Crazy, I know. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s his.¡±
¡°Figures. You know what else people saying too. Got folks thinking you¡¯re my girlfriend.¡±
¡°Do I look like I care what people think?¡±
¡°No! And that¡¯s the problem!¡±
¡°Whatever.¡± If I¡¯d known following her to this party meant she¡¯d be on someExtreme Makeover: Starr Editionmess, I would¡¯ve stayed home and watchedFresh Princereruns. My Jordans arefortable, and damn, they¡¯re new. That¡¯s more than some people can say. The hoodie¡¯s way too big, but I like it that way. Plus, if I pull it over my nose, I can¡¯t smell the weed.
¡°Well, I ain¡¯t babysitting you all night, so you better do something,¡± Kenya says, and scopes the room. Kenya could be a model, if I¡¯mpletely honest. She¡¯s got wless dark-brown skin¡ªI don¡¯t think she ever gets a pimple¡ªnted brown eyes, and long eyshes that aren¡¯t store-bought. She¡¯s the perfect height for modeling too, but a little thicker than those toothpicks on the runway. She never wears the same outfit twice. Her daddy, King, makes sure of that.
Kenya is about the only person I hang out with in GardenHeights¡ªit¡¯s hard to make friends when you go to a school that¡¯s forty-five minutes away and you¡¯re atchkey kid who¡¯s only seen at her family¡¯s store. It¡¯s easy to hang out with Kenya because of our connection to Seven. She¡¯s messy as hell sometimes, though. Always fighting somebody and quick to say her daddy will whoop somebody¡¯s ass. Yeah, it¡¯s true, but I wish she¡¯d stop picking fights so she can use her trump card. Hell, I could use mine too. Everybody knows you don¡¯t mess with my dad, Big Mav, and you definitely don¡¯t mess with his kids. Still, you don¡¯t see me going around starting shit.
Like at Big D¡¯s party, Kenya is giving Denasia Allen some serious stank-eye. I don¡¯t remember much about Denasia, but I remember that she and Kenya haven¡¯t liked each other since fourth grade. Tonight, Denasia¡¯s dancing with some guy halfway across the room and paying no attention to Kenya. But no matter where we move, Kenya spots Denasia and res at her. And the thing about the stank-eye is at some point you feel it on you, inviting you to kick some ass or have your ass kicked.
¡°Ooh! I can¡¯t stand her,¡± Kenya seethes. ¡°The other day, we were in line in the cafeteria, right? And she behind me, talking out the side of her neck. She didn¡¯t use my name, but I know she was talking ¡¯bout me, saying I tried to get with DeVante.¡±
¡°For real?¡± I say what I¡¯m supposed to.
¡°Uh-huh. I don¡¯t want him.¡±
¡°I know.¡± Honestly? I don¡¯t know who DeVante is. ¡°So what did you do?¡±
¡°What you think I did? I turned around and asked if she had a problem with me. Ol¡¯ trick, gon¡¯ say, ¡®I wasn¡¯t even talking about you,¡¯ knowing she was! You¡¯re so lucky you go to that white-people school and don¡¯t have to deal with hoes like that.¡±
Ain¡¯t this some shit? Not even five minutes ago, I was stuck-up because I go to Williamson. Now I¡¯m lucky? ¡°Trust me, my school has hoes too. Hoedom is universal.¡±
¡°Watch, we gon¡¯ handle her tonight.¡± Kenya¡¯s stank-eye reaches its highest level of stank. Denasia feels its sting and looks right at Kenya. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Kenya confirms, like Denasia hears her. ¡°Watch.¡±
¡°Hold up.We?That¡¯s why you begged me toe to this party? So you can have a tag team partner?¡±
She has the nerve to look offended. ¡°It ain¡¯t like you had nothing else to do! Or anybody else to hang out with. I¡¯m doing your ass a favor.¡±
¡°Really, Kenya? You do know I have friends, right?¡±
She rolls her eyes. Hard. Only the whites are visible for a few seconds. ¡°Them li¡¯l bougie girls from your school don¡¯t count.¡±
¡°They¡¯re not bougie, and they do count.¡± I think. Maya and I are cool. Not sure what¡¯s up with me and Haileytely. ¡°And honestly? If pulling me into a fight is your way of helping my social life, I¡¯m good. Goddamn, it¡¯s always some drama with you.¡±
¡°Please, Starr?¡± She stretches thepleaseextra long. Too long. ¡°This what I¡¯m thinking. We wait until she get away from DeVante, right? And then we ...¡±
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I nce at the screen. Since I¡¯ve ignored his calls, Chris texts me instead.
Can we talk?
I didn¡¯t mean for it to go like that.
Of course he didn¡¯t. He meant for it to go a whole different way yesterday, which is the problem. I slip the phone in my pocket. I¡¯m not sure what I wanna say, but I¡¯d rather deal with himter.
¡°Kenya!¡± somebody shouts.
This big, light-skinned girl with bone-straight hair moves through the crowd toward us. A tall boy with a ck-and-blond Fro-hawk follows her. They both give Kenya hugs and talk about how cute she looks. I¡¯m not even here.
¡°Why you ain¡¯t tell me you wasing?¡± the girl says, and sticks her thumb in her mouth. She¡¯s got an overbite from doing that too. ¡°You could¡¯ve rode with us.¡±
¡°Nah, girl. I had to go get Starr,¡± Kenya says. ¡°We walked here together.¡±
That¡¯s when they notice me, standing not even half a foot from Kenya.
The guy squints as he gives me a quick once-over. He frowns for a hot second, but I notice it. ¡°Ain¡¯t you Big Mav¡¯s daughter who work in the store?¡±
See? People act like that¡¯s the name on my birth certificate. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s me.¡±
¡°Ohhh!¡± the girl says. ¡°I knew you looked familiar. We were in third grade together. Ms. Bridges¡¯s ss. I sat behind you.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± I know this is the moment I¡¯m supposed to remember her, but I don¡¯t. I guess Kenya was right¡ªI really don¡¯t know anybody. Their faces are familiar, but you don¡¯t get names and life stories when you¡¯re bagging folks¡¯ groceries.
I can lie though. ¡°Yeah, I remember you.¡±
¡°Girl, quit lying,¡± the guy says. ¡°You know you don¡¯t know her ass.¡±
¡°¡®Why you always lying?¡¯¡± Kenya and the girl sing together. The guy joins in, and they all bust outughing.
¡°Bianca and Chance, be nice,¡± Kenya says. ¡°This Starr¡¯s first party. Her folks don¡¯t let her go nowhere.¡±
I cut her a side-eye. ¡°I go to parties, Kenya.¡±
¡°Have y¡¯all seen her at any parties ¡¯round here?¡± Kenya asks them.
¡°Nope!¡±
¡°Point made. And before you say it, li¡¯lme white-kid suburb parties don¡¯t count.¡±
Chance and Bianca snicker. Damn, I wish this hoodie could swallow me up somehow.
¡°I bet they be doing Molly and shit, don¡¯t they?¡± Chance asks me. ¡°White kids love popping pills.¡±
¡°And listening to Taylor Swift,¡± Bianca adds, talking around her thumb.
Okay, that¡¯s somewhat true, but I¡¯m not telling them that. ¡°Nah, actually their parties are pretty dope,¡± I say. ¡°One time, this boy had J. Cole perform at his birthday party.¡±
¡°Damn. For real?¡± Chance asks. ¡°Shiiit. Bitch, next time invite me. I¡¯ll party with them white kids.¡±
¡°Anyway,¡± Kenya says loudly. ¡°We were talking ¡¯bout running up on Denasia. Bitch over there dancing with DeVante.¡±
¡°Ol¡¯ trick,¡± Bianca says. ¡°You know she been running her mouth ¡¯bout you, right? I was in Mr. Donald¡¯s ssst week when Aaliyah told me¡ª¡±
Chance rolls his eyes. ¡°Ugh! Mr. Donald.¡±
¡°You just mad he threw you out,¡± Kenya says.
¡°Hell yes!¡±
¡°Anyway, Aaliyah told me¡ª¡± Bianca begins.
I get lost again as ssmates and teachers that I don¡¯t know are discussed. I can¡¯t say anything. Doesn¡¯t matter though. I¡¯m invisible.
I feel like that a lot around here.
In the middle of themining about Denasia and their teachers, Kenya says something about getting another drink, and the three of them walk off without me.
Suddenly I¡¯m Eve in the Garden after she ate the fruit¡ªit¡¯s like I realize I¡¯m naked. I¡¯m by myself at a party I¡¯m not even supposed to be at, where I barely know anybody. And theperson I do know just left me hanging.
Kenya begged me toe to this party for weeks. I knew I¡¯d be ufortable as hell, but every time I told Kenya no she said I act like I¡¯m ¡°too good for a Garden party.¡± I got tired of hearing that shit and decided to prove her wrong. Problem is it would¡¯ve taken ck Jesus to convince my parents to let mee. Now ck Jesus will have to save me if they find out I¡¯m here.
People nce over at me with that ¡°who is this chick, standing against the wall by herself like an idiot?¡± look. I slip my hands into my pockets. As long as I y it cool and keep to myself, I should be fine. The ironic thing is though, at Williamson I don¡¯t have to ¡°y it cool¡±¡ªI¡¯m cool by default because I¡¯m one of the only ck kids there. I have to earn coolness in Garden Heights, and that¡¯s more difficult than buying retro Jordans on release day.
Funny how it works with white kids though. It¡¯s dope to be ck until it¡¯s hard to be ck.
¡°Starr!¡± a familiar voice says.
The sea of people parts for him like he¡¯s a brown-skinned Moses. Guys give him daps, and girls crane their necks to look at him. He smiles at me, and his dimples ruin any G persona he has.
Khalil is fine, no other way of putting it. And I used to take baths with him. Not likethat,but way back in the day when we would giggle because he had a wee-wee and I had what hisgrandma called a wee-ha. I swear it wasn¡¯t perverted though.
He hugs me, smelling like soap and baby powder. ¡°What¡¯s up, girl? Ain¡¯t seen you in a minute.¡± He lets me go. ¡°You don¡¯t text nobody, nothing. Where you been?¡±
¡°School and the basketball team keep me busy,¡± I say. ¡°But I¡¯m always at the store. You¡¯re the one nobody sees anymore.¡±
His dimples disappear. He wipes his nose like he always does before a lie. ¡°I been busy.¡±
Obviously. The brand-new Jordans, the crisp white tee, the diamonds in his ears. When you grow up in Garden Heights, you know what ¡°busy¡± really means.
Fuck. I wishhewasn¡¯t that kinda busy though. I don¡¯t know if I wanna tear up or smack him.
But the way Khalil looks at me with those hazel eyes makes it hard to be upset. I feel like I¡¯m ten again, standing in the basement of Christ Temple Church, having my first kiss with him at Vacation Bible School. Suddenly I remember I¡¯m in a hoodie, looking a straight-up mess ... and that I actuallyhavea boyfriend. I might not be answering Chris¡¯s calls or texts right now, but he¡¯s still mine and I wanna keep it that way.
¡°How¡¯s your grandma?¡± I ask. ¡°And Cameron?¡±
¡°They a¡¯ight. Grandma¡¯s sick though.¡± Khalil sips from his cup. ¡°Doctors say she got cancer or whatever.¡±
¡°Damn. Sorry, K.¡±
¡°Yeah, she taking chemo. She only worried ¡¯bout getting a wig though.¡± He gives a weakugh that doesn¡¯t show hisdimples. ¡°She¡¯ll be a¡¯ight.¡±
It¡¯s a prayer more than a prophecy. ¡°Is your momma helping with Cameron?¡±
¡°Good ol¡¯ Starr. Always looking for the best in people. You know she ain¡¯t helping.¡±
¡°Hey, it was just a question. She came in the store the other day. She looks better.¡±
¡°For now,¡± says Khalil. ¡°She im she trying to get clean, but it¡¯s the usual. She¡¯ll go clean a few weeks, decide she wants one more hit, then be back at it. But like I said, I¡¯m good, Cameron¡¯s good, Grandma¡¯s good.¡± He shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s all that matters.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I say, but I remember the nights I spent with Khalil on his porch, waiting for his momma toe home. Whether he likes it or not, she matters to him too.
The music changes, and Drake raps from the speakers. I nod to the beat and rap along under my breath. Everybody on the dance floor yells out the ¡°started from the bottom, now we¡¯re here¡± part. Some days, weareat the bottom in Garden Heights, but we still share the feeling that damn, it could be worse.
Khalil is watching me. A smile tries to form on his lips, but he shakes his head. ¡°Can¡¯t believe you still love whiny-ass Drake.¡±
I gape at him. ¡°Leave my husband alone!¡±
¡°Yourcornyhusband. ¡®Baby, you my everything, you all I ever wanted,¡¯¡± Khalil sings in a whiny voice. I push him withmy shoulder, and heughs, his drink sshing over the sides of the cup. ¡°You know that¡¯s what he sounds like!¡±
I flip him off. He puckers his lips and makes a kissing sound. All these months apart, and we¡¯ve fallen back into normal like it¡¯s nothing.
Khalil grabs a napkin from the coffee table and wipes drink off his Jordans¡ªthe Three Retros. They came out a few years ago, but I swear those things are so fresh. They cost about three hundred dors, and that¡¯s if you find somebody on eBay who goes easy. Chris did. I got mine for a steal at one-fifty, but I wear kid sizes. Thanks to my small feet, Chris and I can match our sneakers. Yes, we¡¯rethatcouple. Shit, we¡¯re fly though. If he can stop doing stupid stuff, we¡¯ll really be good.
¡°I like the kicks,¡± I tell Khalil.
¡°Thanks.¡± He scrubs the shoes with his napkin. I cringe. With each hard rub, the shoes cry for my help. No lie, every time a sneaker is cleaned improperly, a kitten dies.
¡°Khalil,¡± I say, one second away from snatching that napkin. ¡°Either wipe gently back and forth or dab. Don¡¯t scrub. For real.¡±
He looks up at me, smirking. ¡°Okay, Ms. Sneakerhead.¡± And thank ck Jesus, he dabs. ¡°Since you made me spill my drink on them, I oughta make you clean them.¡±
¡°It¡¯ll cost you sixty dors.¡±
¡°Sixty?¡± he shouts, straightening up.
¡°Hell, yeah. And it would be eighty if they had icy soles.¡±Clear bottoms are a bitch to clean. ¡°Cleaning kits aren¡¯t cheap. Besides, you¡¯re obviously making big money if you can buy those.¡±
Khalil sips his drink like I didn¡¯t say anything, mutters, ¡°Damn, this shit strong,¡± and sets the cup on the coffee table. ¡°Ay, tell your pops I need to ho at him soon. Some stuff going down that I need to talk to him ¡¯bout.¡±
¡°What kinda stuff?¡±
¡°Grown folks business.¡±
¡°Yeah, ¡¯cause you¡¯re so grown.¡±
¡°Five months, two weeks, and three days older than you.¡± He winks. ¡°I ain¡¯t forgot.¡±
Amotion stirs in the middle of the dance floor. Voices argue louder than the music. Cuss words fly left and right.
My first thought? Kenya walked up on Denasia like she promised. But the voices are deeper than theirs.
Pop!A shot rings out. I duck.
Pop!A second shot. The crowd stampedes toward the door, which leads to more cussing and fighting since it¡¯s impossible for everybody to get out at once.
Khalil grabs my hand. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±
There are way too many people and way too much curly hair for me to catch a glimpse of Kenya. ¡°But Kenya¡ª¡±
¡°Forget her, let¡¯s go!¡±
He pulls me through the crowd, shoving people out our way and stepping on shoes. That alone could get us some bullets.I look for Kenya among the panicked faces, but still no sign of her. I don¡¯t try to see who got shot or who did it. You can¡¯t snitch if you don¡¯t know anything.
Cars speed away outside, and people run into the night in any direction where shots aren¡¯t firing off. Khalil leads me to a Chevy Imp parked under a dim streetlight. He pushes me in through the driver¡¯s side, and I climb into the passenger seat. We screech off, leaving chaos in the rearview mirror.
¡°Always some shit,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Can¡¯t have a party without somebody getting shot.¡±
He sounds like my parents. That¡¯s exactly why they don¡¯t let me ¡°go nowhere,¡± as Kenya puts it. At least not around Garden Heights.
I send Kenya a text, hoping she¡¯s all right. Doubt those bullets were meant for her, but bullets go where they wanna go.
Kenya texts back kinda quick.
I¡¯m fine.
I see that bitch tho. Bout to handle her ass.
Where u at?
Is this chick for real? We just ran for our lives, and she¡¯s ready to fight? I don¡¯t even answer that dumb shit.
Khalil¡¯s Imp is nice. Not all shy like some guys¡¯ cars. I didn¡¯t see any rims before I got in, and the front seat has cracks in the leather. But the interior is a tacky lime green, so it¡¯s been customized at some point.
I pick at a crack in the seat. ¡°Who you think got shot?¡±
Khalil gets his hairbrush out thepartment on the door.¡°Probably a King Lord,¡± he says, brushing the sides of his fade. ¡°Some Garden Disciples came in when I got there. Something was bound to pop off.¡±
I nod. Garden Heights has been a battlefield for the past two months over some stupid territory wars. I was born a ¡°queen¡± ¡¯cause Daddy used to be a King Lord. But when he left the game, my street royalty status ended. But even if I¡¯d grown up in it, I wouldn¡¯t understand fighting over streets nobody owns.
Khalil drops the brush in the door and cranks up his stereo, sting an old rap song Daddy has yed a million times. I frown. ¡°Why you always listening to that old stuff?¡±
¡°Man, get outta here! Tupac was the truth.¡±
¡°Yeah, twenty years ago.¡±
¡°Nah, even now. Like, check this.¡± He points at me, which means he¡¯s about to go into one of his Khalil philosophical moments. ¡°¡¯Pac said Thug Life stood for ¡®The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.¡¯¡±
I raise my eyebrows. ¡°What?¡±
¡°Listen! The Hate U¡ªthe letter U¡ªGive Little Infants Fucks Everybody. T-H-U-G L-I-F-E. Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out. Get it?¡±
¡°Damn. Yeah.¡±
¡°See? Told you he was relevant.¡± He nods to the beat and raps along. But now I¡¯m wondering what he¡¯s doing to ¡°fuck everybody.¡± As much as I think I know, I hope I¡¯m wrong. I need to hear it from him.
¡°So why have you really been busy?¡± I ask. ¡°A few months ago Daddy said you quit the store. I haven¡¯t seen you since.¡±
He scoots closer to the steering wheel. ¡°Where you want me to take you, your house or the store?¡±
¡°Khalil¡ª¡±
¡°Your house or the store?¡±
¡°If you¡¯re selling that stuff¡ª¡±
¡°Mind your business, Starr! Don¡¯t worry ¡¯bout me. I¡¯m doing what I gotta do.¡±
¡°Bullshit. You know my dad would help you out.¡±
He wipes his nose before his lie. ¡°I don¡¯t need help from nobody, okay? And that li¡¯l minimum-wage job your pops gave me didn¡¯t make nothing happen. I got tired of choosing between lights and food.¡±
¡°I thought your grandma was working.¡±
¡°She was. When she got sick, them clowns at the hospital imed they¡¯d work with her. Two monthster, she wasn¡¯t pulling her load on the job, ¡¯cause when you¡¯re going through chemo, you can¡¯t pull big-ass garbage bins around. They fired her.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Funny, huh? Thehospitalfired her ¡¯cause she was sick.¡±
It¡¯s silent in the Imp except for Tupac askingwho do you believe in?I don¡¯t know.
My phone vibrates again, probably either Chris asking for forgiveness or Kenya asking for backup against Denasia. Instead, my big brother¡¯s all-caps texts appear on the screen. I don¡¯t know why he does that. He probably thinks it intimidatesme. Really, it annoys the hell out of me.
WHERE R U?
U AND KENYA BETTER NOT BE @ THAT PARTY.
I HEARD SOMEBODY GOT SHOT.
The only thing worse than protective parents is protective older brothers. Even ck Jesus can¡¯t save me from Seven.
Khalil nces over at me. ¡°Seven, huh?¡±
¡°How¡¯d you know?¡±
¡°¡¯Cause you always look like you wanna punch something when he talks to you. Remember that time at your birthday party when he kept telling you what to wish for?¡±
¡°And I popped him in his mouth.¡±
¡°Then Natasha got mad at you for telling her ¡®boyfriend¡¯ to shut up,¡± Khalil says,ughing.
I roll my eyes. ¡°She got on my nerves with her crush on Seven. Half the time, I thought she came over just to see him.¡±
¡°Nah, it was because you had the Harry Potter movies. What we used to call ourselves? The Hood Trio. Tighter than¡ª¡±
¡°The inside of Voldemort¡¯s nose. We were so silly for that.¡±This content is ? N?velDrama.Org.
¡°I know, right?¡± he says.
Weugh, but something¡¯s missing from it.Someone¡¯smissing from it. Natasha.
Khalil looks at the road. ¡°Crazy it¡¯s been six years, you know?¡±
Awhoop-whoopsound startles us, and blue lights sh in the rearview mirror.
: Part 1 – Chapter 2
When I was twelve, my parents had two talks with me.
One was the usual birds and bees. Well, I didn¡¯t really get the usual version. My mom, Lisa, is a registered nurse, and she told me what went where, and what didn¡¯t need to go here, there, or any damn where till I¡¯m grown. Back then, I doubted anything was going anywhere anyway. While all the other girls sprouted breasts between sixth and seventh grade, my chest was as t as my back.
The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me.
Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn¡¯t too young to get arrested or shot.
¡°Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do,¡± he said. ¡°Keep your hands visible. Don¡¯t make any sudden moves. Only speak when they speak to you.¡±
I knew it must¡¯ve been serious. Daddy has the biggest mouth of anybody I know, and if he said to be quiet, I needed to be quiet.
I hope somebody had the talk with Khalil.
He cusses under his breath, turns Tupac down, and maneuvers the Imp to the side of the street. We¡¯re on Carnation where most of the houses are abandoned and half the streetlights are busted. Nobody around but us and the cop.
Khalil turns the ignition off. ¡°Wonder what this fool wants.¡±
The officer parks and puts his brights on. I blink to keep from being blinded.
I remember something else Daddy said.If you¡¯re with somebody, you better hope they don¡¯t have nothing on them, or both of y¡¯all going down.
¡°K, you don¡¯t have anything in the car, do you?¡± I ask.
He watches the cop in his side mirror. ¡°Nah.¡±
The officer approaches the driver¡¯s door and taps the window. Khalil cranks the handle to roll it down. As if we aren¡¯t blinded enough, the officer beams his shlight in our faces.
¡°License, registration, and proof of insurance.¡±
Khalil breaks a rule¡ªhe doesn¡¯t do what the cop wants. ¡°What you pull us over for?¡±
¡°License, registration, and proof of insurance.¡±
¡°I said what you pull us over for?¡±
¡°Khalil,¡± I plead. ¡°Do what he said.¡±
Khalil groans and takes his wallet out. The officer follows his movements with the shlight.
My heart pounds loudly, but Daddy¡¯s instructions echo in my head:Get a good look at the cop¡¯s face. If you can remember his badge number, that¡¯s even better.
With the shlight following Khalil¡¯s hands, I make out the numbers on the badge¡ªone-fifteen. He¡¯s white, midthirties to early forties, has a brown buzz cut and a thin scar over his top lip.
Khalil hands the officer his papers and license.
One-Fifteen looks over them. ¡°Where are you twoing from tonight?¡±
¡°Nunya,¡± Khalil says, meaning none of your business. ¡°What you pull me over for?¡±
¡°Your taillight¡¯s broken.¡±
¡°So are you gon¡¯ give me a ticket or what?¡± Khalil asks.
¡°You know what? Get out the car, smart guy.¡±
¡°Man, just give me my ticket¡ª¡±
¡°Get out the car! Hands up, where I can see them.¡±
Khalil gets out with his hands up. One-Fifteen yanks him by his arm and pins him against the back door.
I fight to find my voice. ¡°He didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±
¡°Hands on the dashboard!¡± the officer barks at me. ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡±
I do what he tells me, but my hands are shaking too much to be still.This content is ? N?velDrama.Org.
He pats Khalil down. ¡°Okay, smart mouth, let¡¯s see what we find on you today.¡±
¡°You ain¡¯t gon¡¯ find nothing,¡± Khalil says.
One-Fifteen pats him down two more times. He turns up empty.
¡°Stay here,¡± he tells Khalil. ¡°And you.¡± He looks in the window at me. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡±
I can¡¯t even nod.
The officer walks back to his patrol car.
My parents haven¡¯t raised me to fear the police, just to be smart around them. They told me it¡¯s not smart to move while a cop has his back to you.
Khalil does. Hees to his door.
It¡¯s not smart to make a sudden move.
Khalil does. He opens the driver¡¯s door.
¡°You okay, Starr¡ª¡±
Pow!
One. Khalil¡¯s body jerks. Blood stters from his back. He holds on to the door to keep himself upright.
Pow!
Two. Khalil gasps.
Pow!
Three. Khalil looks at me, stunned.
He falls to the ground.
I¡¯m ten again, watching Natasha drop.
An earsplitting scream emerges from my gut, explodes inmy throat, and uses every inch of me to be heard.
Instinct says don¡¯t move, but everything else says check on Khalil. I jump out the Imp and rush around to the other side. Khalil stares at the sky as if he hopes to see God. His mouth is open like he wants to scream. I scream loud enough for the both of us.
¡°No, no, no,¡± is all I can say, like I¡¯m a year old and it¡¯s the only word I know. I¡¯m not sure how I end up on the ground next to him. My mom once said that if someone gets shot, try to stop the bleeding, but there¡¯s so much blood. Too much blood.
¡°No, no, no.¡±
Khalil doesn¡¯t move. He doesn¡¯t utter a word. He doesn¡¯t even look at me. His body stiffens, and he¡¯s gone. I hope he sees God.
Someone else screams.
I blink through my tears. Officer One-Fifteen yells at me, pointing the same gun he killed my friend with.
I put my hands up.
: Part 1 – Chapter 3
They leave Khalil¡¯s body in the street like it¡¯s an exhibit. Police cars and ambnces sh all along Carnation Street. People stand off to the side, trying to see what happened.
¡°Damn, bruh,¡± some guy says. ¡°They killed him!¡±
The police tell the crowd to leave. Nobody listens.
The paramedics can¡¯t do shit for Khalil, so they put me in the back of an ambnce like I need help. The bright lights spotlight me, and people crane their necks to get a peek.
I don¡¯t feel special. I feel sick.
The cops rummage through Khalil¡¯s car. I try to tell them to stop.Please, cover his body. Please, close his eyes. Please, close his mouth. Get away from his car. Don¡¯t pick up his hairbrush.But the words nevere out.
One-Fifteen sits on the sidewalk with his face buried in his hands. Other officers pat his shoulder and tell him it¡¯ll be okay.
They finally put a sheet over Khalil. He can¡¯t breathe under it. I can¡¯t breathe.
I can¡¯t.
Breathe.
I gasp.
And gasp.
And gasp.
¡°Starr?¡±
Brown eyes with long eyshes appear in front of me. They¡¯re like mine.
I couldn¡¯t say much to the cops, but I did manage to give them my parents¡¯ names and phone numbers.
¡°Hey,¡± Daddy says. ¡°C¡¯mon, let¡¯s go.¡±
I open my mouth to respond. A sobes out.
Daddy is moved aside, and Momma wraps her arms around me. She rubs my back and speaks in hushed tones that tell lies. ¡°It¡¯s all right, baby. It¡¯s all right.¡±
We stay this way for a long time. Eventually, Daddy helps us out the ambnce. He wraps his arm around me like a shield against curious eyes and guides me to his Tahoe down the street.
He drives. A streetlight shes across his face, revealing how tight his jaw is set. His veins bulge along his bald head.
Momma¡¯s wearing her scrubs, the ones with the rubberducks on them. She did an extra shift at the emergency room tonight. She wipes her eyes a few times, probably thinking about Khalil or how that could¡¯ve been me lying in the street.
My stomach twists. All of that blood, and it came out of him. Some of it is on my hands, on Seven¡¯s hoodie, on my sneakers. An hour ago we wereughing and catching up. Now his blood ...
Hot spit pools in my mouth. My stomach twists tighter. I gag.
Momma nces at me in the rearview mirror. ¡°Maverick, pull over!¡±
I throw myself across the backseat and push the door open before the truckes to aplete stop. It feels like everything in me ising out, and all I can do is let it.
Momma hops out and runs around to me. She holds my hair out the way and rubs my back.
¡°I¡¯m so sorry, baby,¡± she says.
When we get home, she helps me undress. Seven¡¯s hoodie and my Jordans disappear into a ck trash bag, and I never see them again.
I sit in a tub of steaming water and scrub my hands raw to get Khalil¡¯s blood off. Daddy carries me to bed, and Momma brushes her fingers through my hair until I fall asleep.
Nightmares wake me over and over again. Momma reminds me to breathe, the same way she did before I outgrew asthma. Ithink she stays in my room the whole night, ¡¯cause every time I wake up, she¡¯s sitting on my bed.
But this time, she¡¯s gone. My eyes strain against the brightness of my neon-blue walls. The clock says it¡¯s five in the morning. My body¡¯s so used to waking up at five, it doesn¡¯t care if it¡¯s Saturday morning or not.
I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, trying to recap the night before. The party shes in my mind, the fight, One-Fifteen pulling me and Khalil over. The first shot rings in my ears. The second. The third.
I¡¯m lying in bed. Khalil is lying in the county morgue.
That¡¯s where Natasha ended up too. It happened six years ago, but I still remember everything from that day. I was sweeping floors at our grocery store, saving up for my first pair of J¡¯s, when Natasha ran in. She was chunky (her momma told her it was baby fat), dark-skinned, and wore her hair in braids that always looked freshly done. I wanted braids like hers so bad.
¡°Starr, the hydrant on Elm Street busted!¡± she said.
That was like saying we had a free water park. I remember looking at Daddy and pleading silently. He said I could go, as long as I promised to be back in an hour.
I don¡¯t think I ever saw the water shoot as high as it did that day. Almost everybody in the neighborhood was there too. Just having fun. I was the only one who noticed the car at first.
A tattooed arm stretched out the back window, holding a Glock. People ran. Not me though. My feet became part of thesidewalk. Natasha was sshing in the water, all happy and stuff. Then¡ª
Pow! Pow! Pow!
I dove into a rosebush. By the time I got up, somebody was yelling, ¡°Call nine-one-one!¡± At first I thought it was me, ¡¯cause I had blood on my shirt. The thorns on the rosebush got me, that¡¯s all. It was Natasha though. Her blood mixed in with the water, and all you could see was a red river flowing down the street.
She looked scared. We were ten, we didn¡¯t know what happened after you died. Hell, I still don¡¯t know, and she was forced to find out, even if she didn¡¯t wanna find out.
I know she didn¡¯t. Just like Khalil didn¡¯t.
My door creaks open, and Momma peeks in. She tries to smile. ¡°Look who¡¯s up.¡±
She sinks onto her spot on the bed and touches my forehead, even though I don¡¯t have a fever. She takes care of sick kids so much that it¡¯s her first instinct. ¡°How you feeling, Munch?¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org.
That nickname. My parents im I was always munching on something from the moment I got off the bottle. I¡¯ve lost my big appetite, but I can¡¯t lose that nickname. ¡°Tired,¡± I say. My voice has extra bass in it. ¡°I wanna stay in bed.¡±
¡°I know, baby, but I don¡¯t want you here by yourself.¡±
That¡¯s all I wanna be, by myself. She stares at me, but it feels like she¡¯s looking at who I used to be, her little girl with ponytails and a snaggletooth who swore she was a Powerpuff Girl.It¡¯s weird but also kinda like a nket I wanna get wrapped up in.
¡°I love you,¡± she says.
¡°I love you too.¡±
She stands and holds her hand out. ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s get you something to eat.¡±
We walk slowly to the kitchen. ck Jesus hangs from the cross in a painting on the hallway wall, and Malcolm X holds a shotgun in a photograph next to him. Nana stillins about those pictures hanging next to each other.
We live in her old house. She gave it to my parents after my uncle, Carlos, moved her into his humongous house in the suburbs. Uncle Carlos was always uneasy about Nana living by herself in Garden Heights, especially since break-ins and robberies seem to happen more to older folks than anybody. Nana doesn¡¯t think she¡¯s old though. She refused to leave, talking about how it was her home and no thugs were gonna run her out, not even when somebody broke in and stole her television. About a month after that, Uncle Carlos imed that he and Aunt Pam needed her help with their kids. Since, ording to Nana, Aunt Pam ¡°can¡¯t cook worth a damn for those poor babies¡± she finally agreed to move. Our house hasn¡¯t lost its Nana-ness though, with its permanent odor of potpourri, flowered wallpaper, and hints of pink in almost every room.
Daddy and Seven are talking before we get to the kitchen. They go silent as soon as we walk in.
¡°Morning, baby girl.¡± Daddy gets up from the table and kisses my forehead. ¡°You sleep okay?¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I lie as he guides me to a seat. Seven just stares.
Momma opens the fridge, the door crowded with takeout menus and fruit-shaped mas. ¡°All right, Munch,¡± she says, ¡°you want turkey bacon or regr?¡±
¡°Regr.¡± I¡¯m surprised I have an option. We never have pork. We aren¡¯t Muslims. More like ¡°Christlims.¡± Momma became a member of Christ Temple Church when she was in Nana¡¯s belly. Daddy believes in ck Jesus but follows the ck Panthers¡¯ Ten-Point Program more than the Ten Commandments. He agrees with the Nation of Im on some stuff, but he can¡¯t get over the fact that they may have killed Malcolm X.
¡°Pig in my house,¡± Daddy grumbles and sits next to me. Seven smirks across from him. Seven and Daddy look like one of those age-progression pictures they show when somebody¡¯s been missing a long time. Throw my little brother, Sekani, in there and you have the same person at eight, seventeen, and thirty-six. They¡¯re dark brown, slender, and have thick eyebrows and long eyshes that almost look feminine. Seven¡¯s dreads are long enough to give both bald-headed Daddy and short-haired Sekani each a head full of hair.
As for me, it¡¯s as if God mixed my parents¡¯ skin tones in a paint bucket to get my medium-brownplexion. I did inherit Daddy¡¯s eyshes¡ªand I¡¯m cursed with his eyebrowstoo. Otherwise I¡¯m mostly my mom, with big brown eyes and a little too much forehead.
Momma passes behind Seven with the bacon and squeezes his shoulder. ¡°Thank you for staying with your brotherst night so we could¡ª¡± Her voice catches, but the reminder of what happened hangs in the air. She clears her throat. ¡°We appreciate it.¡±
¡°No problem. I needed to get out the house.¡±
¡°King spent the night?¡± Daddy asks.
¡°More like moved in. Iesha talking about they can be a family¡ª¡±
¡°Ay,¡± Daddy says. ¡°That¡¯s your momma, boy. Don¡¯t be calling her by her name like you grown.¡±
¡°Somebody in that house needs to be grown,¡± Momma says. She takes a skillet out and hollers toward the hall, ¡°Sekani, I¡¯m not telling you again. If you wanna go to Carlos¡¯s for the weekend, you better get up! You¡¯re not gonna have mete for work.¡± I guess she¡¯s gotta work a day shift to make up forst night.
¡°Pops, you know what¡¯s gonna happen,¡± Seven says. ¡°He¡¯ll beat her, she¡¯ll put him out. Then he¡¯lle back, saying he changed. Only difference is this time, I¡¯m not letting him put his hands on me.¡±
¡°You can always move in with us,¡± says Daddy.
¡°I know, but I can¡¯t leave Kenya and Lyric. That fool¡¯s crazy enough to hit them too. He don¡¯t care that they¡¯re his daughters.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Don¡¯t say anything to him. If he puts his hands on you, let me handle that.¡±
Seven nods then looks at me. He opens his mouth and keeps it open a while before saying, ¡°I¡¯m sorry aboutst night, Starr.¡±
Somebody finally acknowledges the cloud hanging over the kitchen, which for some reason is like acknowledging me.
¡°Thanks,¡± I say, even though it¡¯s weird saying that. I don¡¯t deserve the sympathy. Khalil¡¯s family does.
There¡¯s just the sound of bacon crackling and popping in the skillet. It¡¯s like a ¡°Fragile¡± sticker¡¯s on my forehead, and instead of taking a chance and saying something that might break me, they¡¯d rather say nothing at all.
But the silence is the worst.
¡°I borrowed your hoodie, Seven,¡± I mumble. It¡¯s random, but it¡¯s better than nothing. ¡°The blue one. Momma had to throw it away. Khalil¡¯s blood ...¡± I swallow. ¡°His blood got on it.¡±
¡°Oh ...¡±
That¡¯s all anybody says for a minute.
Momma turns around to the skillet. ¡°Don¡¯t make any sense. That baby¡ª¡± she says thickly. ¡°He was just a baby.¡±
Daddy shakes his head. ¡°That boy never hurt anybody. He didn¡¯t deserve that shit.¡±
¡°Why did they shoot him?¡± Seven asks. ¡°Was he a threat or something?¡±
¡°No,¡± I say quietly.
I stare at the table. I can feel all of them watching me again.
¡°He didn¡¯t do anything,¡± I say. ¡°Wedidn¡¯t do anything. Khalil didn¡¯t even have a gun.¡±
Daddy releases a slow breath. ¡°Folks around here gon¡¯ lose their minds when they find that out.¡±
¡°People from the neighborhood are already talking about it on Twitter,¡± Seven says. ¡°I saw itst night.¡±
¡°Did they mention your sister?¡± Momma asks.
¡°No. Just RIP Khalil messages, fuck the police, stuff like that. I don¡¯t think they know details.¡±
¡°What¡¯s gonna happen to me when the details doe out?¡± I ask.
¡°What do you mean, baby?¡± my mom asks.
¡°Besides the cop, I¡¯m the only person who was there. And you¡¯ve seen stuff like this. It ends up on national news. People get death threats, cops target them, all kinds of stuff.¡±
¡°I won¡¯t let anything happen to you,¡± Daddy says. ¡°None of us will.¡± He looks at Momma and Seven. ¡°We¡¯re not telling anybody that Starr was there.¡±
¡°Should Sekani know?¡± Seven asks.
¡°No,¡± Momma says. ¡°It¡¯s best if he didn¡¯t. We¡¯re just gonna be quiet for now.¡±
I¡¯ve seen it happen over and over again: a ck person gets killed just for being ck, and all hell breaks loose. I¡¯ve tweeted RIP hashtags, reblogged pictures on Tumblr, and signed every petition out there. I always said that if I saw ithappen to somebody, I would have the loudest voice, making sure the world knew what went down.
Now I am that person, and I¡¯m too afraid to speak.
I wanna stay home and watchTheFresh Prince of Bel-Air, my favorite show ever, hands down. I think I know every episode word for word. Yeah it¡¯s hrious, but it¡¯s also like seeing parts of my life on screen. I even rte to the theme song. A couple of gang members who were up to no good made trouble in my neighborhood and killed Natasha. My parents got scared, and although they didn¡¯t send me to my aunt and uncle in a rich neighborhood, they sent me to a bougie private school.
I just wish I could be myself at Williamson like Will was himself in Bel-Air.
I kinda wanna stay home so I can return Chris¡¯s calls too. Afterst night, it feels stupid to be mad at him. Or I could call Hailey and Maya, those girls Kenya ims don¡¯t count as my friends. I guess I can see why she says that. I never invite them over. Why would I? They live in mini-mansions. My house is just mini.
I made the mistake of inviting them to a sleepover in seventh grade. Momma was gonna let us do our nails, stay up all night, and eat as much pizza as we wanted. It was gonna be as awesome as those weekends we had at Hailey¡¯s. The ones we still have sometimes. I invited Kenya too, so I could finally hang out with all three of them at once.
Hailey didn¡¯te. Her dad didn¡¯t want her spending the night in ¡°the ghetto.¡± I overheard my parents say that. Maya came but ended up asking her parents toe get her that night. There was a drive-by around the corner, and the gunshots scared her.
That¡¯s when I realized Williamson is one world and Garden Heights is another, and I have to keep them separate.
It doesn¡¯t matter what I¡¯m thinking about doing today though¡ªmy parents have their own ns for me. Momma tells me I¡¯m going to the store with Daddy. Before Seven leaves for work, hees to my room in his Best Buy polo and khakis and hugs me.
¡°Love you,¡± he says.
See, that¡¯s why I hate it when somebody dies. People do stuff they wouldn¡¯t usually do. Even Momma hugs me longer and tighter with more sympathy than ¡°just because¡± in it. Sekani, on the other hand, steals bacon off my te, looks at my phone, and purposely steps on my foot on his way out. I love him for it.
I bring a bowl of dog food and leftover bacon outside to our pit bull, Brickz. Daddy gave him his name ¡¯cause he¡¯s always been as heavy as some bricks. Soon as he sees me, he jumps and fights to break free from his chain. And when I get close enough, his hyper butt jumps up my legs, nearly taking me down.
¡°Get!¡± I say. He crouches onto the grass and stares up at me, whimpering with wide puppy-dog eyes. The Brickz version of an apology.
I know pit bulls can be aggressive, but Brickz is a baby most of the time. Abigbaby. Now, if somebody tries to break in our house or something, they won¡¯t meet the baby Brickz.
While I feed Brickz and refill his water bowl, Daddy picks bunches of cord greens from his garden. He cuts roses that have blooms as big as my palms. Daddy spends hours out here every night, nting, tilling, and talking. He ims a good garden needs good conversation.
About thirty minutester, we¡¯re riding in his truck with the windows down. On the radio, Marvin Gaye asks what¡¯s going on. It¡¯s still dark out, though the sun peeks through the clouds, and hardly anybody is outside. This early in the morning it¡¯s easy to hear the rumbling of eighteen-wheelers on the freeway.
Daddy hums to Marvin, but he couldn¡¯t carry a tune if it came in a box. He¡¯s wearing a Lakers jersey and no shirt underneath, revealing tattoos all over his arms. One of my baby photos smiles back at me, permanently etched on his arm withSomething to live for, something to die forwritten beneath it. Seven and Sekani are on his other arm with the same words beneath them. Love letters in the simplest form.
¡°You wanna talk ¡¯boutst night some more?¡± he asks.
¡°Nah.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight. Whenever you wanna.¡±
Another love letter in the simplest form.
We turn onto Marigold Avenue, where Garden Heights is waking up. Somedies wearing floral headscarvese outthe Laundromat, carrying big baskets of clothes. Mr. Reuben unlocks the chains on his restaurant. His nephew Tim, the cook, leans against the wall and wipes sleep from his eyes. Ms. Yvette yawns as she goes in her beauty shop. The lights are on at Top Shelf Spirits and Wine, but they¡¯re always on.
Daddy parks in front of Carter¡¯s Grocery, our family¡¯s store. Daddy bought it when I was nine after the former owner, Mr. Wyatt, left Garden Heights to go sit on the beach all day, watching pretty women. (Mr. Wyatt¡¯s words, not mine.) Mr. Wyatt was the only person who would hire Daddy when he got out of prison, and heter said Daddy was the only person he trusted to run the store.
Compared to the Walmart on the east side of Garden Heights, our grocery is tiny. White-painted metal bars protect the windows and door. They make the store resemble a jail.
Mr. Lewis from the barbershop next door stands out front, his arms folded over his big belly. He sets his narrowed eyes on Daddy.
Daddy sighs. ¡°Here we go.¡±
We hop out. Mr. Lewis gives some of the best haircuts in Garden Heights¡ªSekani¡¯s high-top fade proves it¡ªbut Mr. Lewis himself wears an untidy Afro. His stomach blocks his view of his feet, and since his wife passed nobody tells him that his pants are too short and his socks don¡¯t always match. Today one is striped and the other is argyle.
¡°The store used to open at five fifty-five on the dot,¡± he says. ¡°Five fifty-five!¡±
It¡¯s 6:05.
Daddy unlocks the front door. ¡°I know, Mr. Lewis, but I told you, I¡¯m not running the store the same way Wyatt did.¡±
¡°It sho¡¯ is obvious. First you take down his pictures¡ªwho the hell reces a picture of Dr. King with some nobody¡ª¡±
¡°Huey Newton ain¡¯t a nobody.¡±
¡°He ain¡¯t Dr. King! Then you hire thugs to work up in here. I heard that Khalil boy got himself killedst night. He was probably selling that stuff.¡± Mr. Lewis looks from Daddy¡¯s basketball jersey to his tattoos. ¡°Wonder where he getthatidea from.¡±
Daddy¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°Starr, turn the coffeepot on for Mr. Lewis.¡±
So he can get the hell outta here, I say to myself, finishing Daddy¡¯s sentence for him.
I flick the switch on the coffeepot at the self-serve table, which Huey Newton watches over from a photograph, his fist raised for ck power.
I¡¯m supposed to rece the filter and put new coffee and water in, but for talking about Khalil Mr. Lewis gets coffee made from day-old grounds.
He limps through the aisles and gets a honey bun, an apple, and a pack of hog head cheese. He gives me the honey bun. ¡°Heat it up, girl. And you bet¡¯ not overcook it.¡±
I leave it in the microwave until the stic wrapper swells and pops open. Mr. Lewis eats it soon as I take it out.
¡°That thang hot!¡± He chews and blows at the same time.¡°You heated it too long, girl. ¡¯Bout to burn my mouth!¡±
When Mr. Lewis leaves, Daddy winks at me.
The usual customerse in, like Mrs. Jackson, who insists on buying her greens from Daddy and nobody else. Four red-eyed guys in sagging pants buy almost every bag of chips we have. Daddy tells them it¡¯s too early to be that zed, and theyugh way too hard. One of them licks his next blunt as they leave. Around eleven, Mrs. Rooks buys some roses and snacks for her bridge club meeting. She has droopy eyes and gold ting on her front teeth. Her wig is gold-colored too.
¡°Y¡¯all need to get some Lotto tickets up in here, baby,¡± she says as Daddy rings her up and I bag her stuff. ¡°Tonight it¡¯s at three hundred million!¡±
Daddy smiles. ¡°For real? What would you do with all that money, Mrs. Rooks?¡±
¡°Shiiit. Baby, the question is what Iwouldn¡¯tdo with all that money. Lord knows, I¡¯d get on the first ne outta here.¡±
Daddyughs. ¡°Is that right? Then who gon¡¯ make red velvet cakes for us?¡±
¡°Somebody else, ¡¯cause I¡¯d be gone.¡± She points to the disy of cigarettes behind us. ¡°Baby, hand me a pack of them Newports.¡±
Those are Nana¡¯s favorites too. They used to be Daddy¡¯s favorites before I begged him to quit. I grab a pack and pass it to Mrs. Rooks.
She¡¯s staring at me moments after, patting the pack againsther palm, and I wait forit. The sympathy. ¡°Baby, I heard what happened to Rosalie¡¯s grandboy,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. Y¡¯all used to be friends, didn¡¯t you?¡±
The ¡°used to¡± stings, but I just say to Mrs. Rooks, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°Hmm!¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Lord, have mercy. My heart ¡¯bout broke when I heard. I tried to go over there and see Rosaliest night, but so many people were already at the house. Poor Rosalie. All she going through and now this. Barbara said Rosalie not sure how she gon¡¯ pay to bury him. We talking ¡¯bout raising some money. Think you can help us out, Maverick?¡±
¡°Oh, yeah. Let me know what y¡¯all need, and it¡¯s done.¡±
She shes those gold teeth in a smile. ¡°Boy, it¡¯s good to see where the Lord done brought you. Your momma would be proud.¡±
Daddy nods heavily. Grandma¡¯s been gone ten years¡ªlong enough that Daddy doesn¡¯t cry every day, but such a short while ago that if someone brings her up, it brings him down.
¡°And look at this girl,¡± Mrs. Rooks says, eyeing me. ¡°Every bit of Lisa. Maverick, you better watch out. These li¡¯l boys around here gon¡¯ be trying it.¡±
¡°Nah, they better watch out. You know I ain¡¯t having that. She can¡¯t date till she forty.¡±
My hand drifts to my pocket, thinking of Chris and his texts. Shit, I left my phone at home. Needless to say, Daddy doesn¡¯t know a thing about Chris. We¡¯ve been together over ayear now. Seven knows, because he met Chris at school, and Momma figured it out when Chris would always visit me at Uncle Carlos¡¯s house, iming he was my friend. One day she and Uncle Carlos walked in on us kissing and they pointed out that friends don¡¯t kiss each other like that. I¡¯ve never seen Chris get so red in my life.
She and Seven are okay with me dating Chris, although if it was up to Seven I¡¯d be a nun, but whatever. I can¡¯t get the guts to tell Daddy though. And it¡¯s not just because he doesn¡¯t want me dating yet. The bigger issue is that Chris is white.
At first I thought my mom might say something about it, but she was like, ¡°He could be polka dot, as long as he¡¯s not a criminal and he¡¯s treating you right.¡± Daddy, on the other hand, rants about how Halle Berry ¡°act like she can¡¯t get with brothers anymore¡± and how messed up that is. I mean, anytime he finds out a ck person is with a white person, suddenly something¡¯s wrong with them. I don¡¯t want him looking at me like that.
Luckily, Momma hasn¡¯t told him. She refuses to get in the middle of that fight. My boyfriend, my responsibility to tell Daddy.
Mrs. Rooks leaves. Secondster, the bell ngs. Kenya struts into the store. Her kicks are cute¡ªBazooka Joe Nike Dunks that I haven¡¯t added to my collection. Kenya always wears fly sneakers.
She goes to get her usual from the aisles. ¡°Hey, Starr. Hey, Uncle Maverick.¡±
¡°Hey, Kenya,¡± Daddy answers, even though he¡¯s not her uncle, but her brother¡¯s dad. ¡°You good?¡±
Shees back with a jumbo bag of Hot Cheetos and a Sprite. ¡°Yeah. My momma wanna know if my brother spent the night with y¡¯all.¡±
There she goes calling Seven ¡°my brother¡± like she¡¯s the only one who can im him. It¡¯s annoying as hell.
¡°Tell your momma I¡¯ll call herter,¡± Daddy says.
¡°Okay.¡± Kenya pays for her stuff and makes eye contact with me. She jerks her head a little to the side.
¡°I¡¯m gonna sweep the aisles,¡± I tell Daddy.
Kenya follows me. I grab the broom and go to the produce aisle on the other side of the store. Some grapes have spilled out from those red-eyed guys sampling before buying. I barely start sweeping before Kenya starts talking.
¡°I heard about Khalil,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Starr. You okay?¡±
I make myself nod. ¡°I ... just can¡¯t believe it, you know? It had been a while since I saw him, but ...¡±
¡°It hurts.¡± Kenya says what I can¡¯t.
¡°Yeah.¡±
Fuck, I feel the tearsing. I¡¯m not gonna cry, I¡¯m not gonna cry, I¡¯m not gonna cry... .
¡°I kinda hoped he¡¯d be in here when I walked in,¡± she says softly. ¡°Like he used to be. Bagging groceries in that ugly apron.¡±
¡°The green one,¡± I mutter.
¡°Yeah. Talking about how women love a man in uniform.¡±
I stare at the floor. If I cry now, I may never stop.
Kenya pops her Hot Cheetos open and holds the bag toward me. Comfort food.
I reach in and get a couple. ¡°Thanks.¡±
¡°No problem.¡±
We munch on Cheetos. Khalil¡¯s supposed to be here with us.
¡°So, um,¡± I say, and my voice is all rough. ¡°You and Denasia got into itst night?¡±
¡°Girl.¡± She sounds like she¡¯s been waiting to drop this story for hours. ¡°DeVante came over to me, right before it got crazy. He asked for my number.¡±
¡°I thought he was Denasia¡¯s boyfriend?¡±
¡°DeVante not the type to be tied down. Anyway, Denasia walked over to start something, but the shots went off. We ended up running down the same street, and I clocked her ass. It was so funny! You should¡¯ve seen it!¡±
I would¡¯ve rather seen that instead of Officer One-Fifteen. Or Khalil staring at the sky. Or all that blood. My stomach twists again.
Kenya waves her hand in front of me. ¡°Hey. You okay?¡±
I blink Khalil and that cop away. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m good.¡±
¡°You sure? You real quiet.¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
She lets it drop, and I let her tell me about the second round she has nned for Denasia.
Daddy calls me up front. When I get there, he hands me a twenty. ¡°Get me some beef ribs from Reuben¡¯s. And I want¡ª¡±
¡°Potato sd and fried okra,¡± I say. That¡¯s what he always has on Saturdays.
He kisses my cheek. ¡°You know your daddy. Get whatever you want, baby.¡±
Kenya follows me out the store. We wait for a car to pass, the music sting and the driver reclined so far back that only the tip of his nose seems to nod to the song. We cross the street to Reuben¡¯s.
The smoky aroma hits us on the sidewalk, and a blues song pours outside. Inside, the walls are covered with photographs of civil rights leaders, politicians, and celebrities who have eaten here, like James Brown and pre-heart-bypass Bill Clinton. There¡¯s a picture of Dr. King and a much younger Mr. Reuben.
A bulletproof partition separates the customers from the cashier. I fan myself after a few minutes in line. The air conditioner in the window stopped working months ago, and the smoker heats up the whole building.
When we get to the front of the line, Mr. Reuben greets us with a gap-toothed smile from behind the partition. ¡°Hey, Starr and Kenya. How y¡¯all doing?¡±
Mr. Reuben is one of the only people around here who actually calls me by my name. He remembers everybody¡¯s names somehow. ¡°Hey, Mr. Reuben,¡± I say. ¡°My daddy wants his usual.¡±
He writes it on a pad. ¡°All right. Beefs, tater sd, okra. Y¡¯all want fried BBQ wings and fries? And extra sauce for you, Starr baby?¡±
He remembers everybody¡¯s usual orders too somehow. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± we say.
¡°All right. Y¡¯all been staying out of trouble?¡±
¡°Yes, sir,¡± Kenya lies with ease.
¡°How ¡¯bout some pound cake on the house then? Reward for good behavior.¡±
We say yeah and thank him. But see, Mr. Reuben could know about Kenya¡¯s fight and would offer her pound cake regardless. He¡¯s nice like that. He gives kids free meals if they bring in their report cards. If it¡¯s a good one, he¡¯ll make a copy and put it on the ¡°All-Star Wall.¡± If it¡¯s bad, as long as they own up to it and promise to do better, he¡¯ll still give them a meal.
¡°It¡¯s gon¡¯ take ¡¯bout fifteen minutes,¡± he says.
That means sit and wait till your number is called. We find a table next to some white guys. You rarely see white people in Garden Heights, but when you do they¡¯re usually at Reuben¡¯s. The men watch the news on the box TV in a corner of the ceiling.
I munch on some of Kenya¡¯s Hot Cheetos. They would taste much better with cheese sauce on them. ¡°Has there been anything on the news about Khalil?¡±
She pays more attention to her phone. ¡°Yeah, like I watch the news. I think I saw something on Twitter, though.¡±
I wait. Between a story about a bad car ident on the freeway and a garbage bag of live puppies that was found in a park, there¡¯s a short story about an officer-involved shooting that is being investigated. They don¡¯t even say Khalil¡¯s name. Some bullshit.
We get our food and head back to the store. Right as we cross the street, a gray BMW pulls up beside us, bass thumping inside like the car has a heartbeat. The driver¡¯s side window rolls down, smoke drifts out, and the male, three-hundred-pound version of Kenya smiles at us. ¡°What up, queens?¡±
Kenya leans in through the window and kisses his cheek. ¡°Hey, Daddy.¡±
¡°Hey, Starr-Starr,¡± he says. ¡°Not gon¡¯ say hey to your uncle?¡±
You ain¡¯t my uncle, I wanna say. You ain¡¯t shit to me. And if you touch my brother again, I¡¯ll¡ª ¡°Hey, King,¡± I finally mumble.
His smile fades like he hears my thoughts. He puffs on a cigar and blows smoke from the corner of his mouth. Two tears are tattooed under his left eye. Two lives he¡¯s taken. At least.
¡°I see y¡¯all been to Reuben¡¯s. Here.¡± He holds out two fat rolls of money. ¡°Make up for whatever y¡¯all spent.¡±
Kenya takes one easily, but I¡¯m not touching that dirty money. ¡°No thanks.¡±
¡°Go on, queen.¡± King winks. ¡°Take some money from your godfather.¡±
¡°Nah, she good,¡± Daddy says.
He walks toward us. Daddy leans against the car window so he¡¯s eye level with King and gives him one of those guy handshakes with so many movements you wonder how they remember it.
¡°Big Mav,¡± Kenya¡¯s dad says with a grin. ¡°What up, king?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t call me that shit.¡± Daddy doesn¡¯t say it loudly or angrily, but in the same way I would tell somebody not to put onions or mayo on my burger. Daddy once told me that King¡¯s parents named him after the same gang heter joined, and that¡¯s why a name is important. It defines you. King became a King Lord when he took his first breath.
¡°I was just giving my goddaughter some pocket change,¡± King says. ¡°I heard what happened to her li¡¯l homie. That¡¯s fucked up.¡±
¡°Yeah. You know how it is,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Po-po shoot first, ask questionster.¡±
¡°No doubt. They worse than us sometimes.¡± King chuckles. ¡°But ay? On some business shit, I got a packageing, need somewhere to keep it. Got too many eyes on Iesha¡¯s house.¡±
¡°I already told you that shit ain¡¯t going down here.¡±
King rubs his beard. ¡°Oh, okay. So folks get out the game, forget where theye from, forget that if it wasn¡¯t for my money, they wouldn¡¯t have their li¡¯l store¡ª¡±
¡°And if it wasn¡¯t for me, you¡¯d be locked up. Three years, state pen, remember that shit? I don¡¯t owe you nothing.¡± Daddyleans onto the window and says, ¡°But if you touch Seven again, I¡¯ll owe you an ass whooping. Remember that, now that you done moved back in with his momma.¡±
King sucks his teeth. ¡°Kenya, get in the car.¡±
¡°But Daddy¡ª¡±
¡°I said get your ass in the car!¡±
Kenya mumbles ¡°bye¡± to me. She goes around to the passenger¡¯s side and hops in.
¡°A¡¯ight, Big Mav. So it¡¯s like that?¡± King says.
Daddy straightens up. ¡°It¡¯s exactly like that.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight then. You just make sure your ass don¡¯t get outta line. Ain¡¯t no telling what I¡¯ll do.¡±
The BMW peels out.
: Part 1 – Chapter 4
That night, Natasha tries to convince me to follow her to the fire hydrant, and Khalil begs me to go for a ride with him.
I force a smile, my lips trembling, and tell them I can¡¯t hang out. They keep asking, and I keep saying no.
Darkness crawls toward them. I try to warn them, but my voice doesn¡¯t work. The shadow swallows them up in an instant. Now it creeps toward me. I back away, only to find it behind me... .
I wake up. My clock glows with the numbers: 11:05.
I suck in deep breaths. Sweat glues my tank top and basketball shorts to my skin. Sirens scream nearby, and Brickz and other dogs bark in response.
Sitting on the side of my bed, I rub my face, as if that¡¯ll wipe the nightmare away. No way I can go back to sleep. Not if itmeans seeing them again.
My throat is lined with sandpaper and aches for water. When my feet touch the cold floor, goose bumps pop up all over me. Daddy always has the air conditioning on high in the spring and summer, turning the house into a meat locker. The rest of us shiver our butts off, but he enjoys it, saying, ¡°A li¡¯l cold never hurt nobody.¡± A lie.
I drag myself down the hall. Halfway to the kitchen I hear Momma say, ¡°Why can¡¯t they wait? She just saw one of her best friends die. She doesn¡¯t need to relive that right now.¡±
I stop. Light from the kitchen stretches into the hallway.
¡°We have to investigate, Lisa,¡± says a second voice. Uncle Carlos, Momma¡¯s older brother. ¡°We want the truth as much as anyone.¡±
¡°You mean y¡¯all wanna justify what that pig did,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Investigate my ass.¡±
¡°Maverick, don¡¯t make this something it¡¯s not,¡± Uncle Carlos says.
¡°A sixteen-year-old ck boy is dead because a white cop killed him. What else could it be?¡±
¡°Shhh!¡± Momma hisses. ¡°Keep it down. Starr had the hardest time falling asleep.¡±
Uncle Carlos says something, but it¡¯s too low for me to hear. I inch closer.
¡°This isn¡¯t about ck or white,¡± he says.
¡°Bullshit,¡± says Daddy. ¡°If this was out in Riverton Hillsand his name was Richie, we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡±
¡°I heard he was a drug dealer,¡± says Uncle Carlos.
¡°And that makes it okay?¡± Daddy asks.
¡°I didn¡¯t say it did, but it could exin Brian¡¯s decision if he felt threatened.¡±
A ¡°no¡± lodges in my throat, aching to be yelled out. Khalil wasn¡¯t a threat that night.
And what made the cop think he was a drug dealer?
Wait.Brian.That¡¯s One-Fifteen¡¯s name?
¡°Oh, so you know him,¡± Daddy mocks. ¡°I ain¡¯t surprised.¡±
¡°He¡¯s a colleague, yes and a good guy, believe it or not. I¡¯m sure this is hard on him. Who knows what he was thinking at the time?¡±
¡°You said it yourself, he thought Khalil was a drug dealer,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Athug. Why he assumed that though? What? By looking at Khalil? Exin that, Detective.¡±
Silence.
¡°Why was she even in the car with a drug dealer?¡± Uncle Carlos asks. ¡°Lisa, I keep telling you, you need to move her and Sekani out of this neighborhood. It¡¯s poisonous.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it.¡±
¡°And we¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± Daddy says.
¡°Maverick, she¡¯s seen two of her friends get killed,¡± Momma says. ¡°Two! And she¡¯s only sixteen.¡±
¡°And one was at the hands of a person who was supposedto protect her! What, you think if you live next door to them, they¡¯ll treat you different?¡±
¡°Why does it always have to be about race with you?¡± Uncle Carlos asks. ¡°Other races aren¡¯t killing us nearly as much as we¡¯re killing ourselves.¡±
¡°Ne-gro, please. If I kill Tyrone, I¡¯m going to prison. If a cop kills me, he¡¯s getting put on leave. Maybe.¡±
¡°You know what? There¡¯s no point having this conversation with you,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°Will you at least consider letting Starr speak to the detectives handling the case?¡±
¡°We should probably get her an attorney first, Carlos,¡± Momma says.
¡°That¡¯s not necessary right now,¡± he says.
¡°And it wasn¡¯t necessary for that cop to pull the trigger,¡± says Daddy. ¡°You really think we gon¡¯ let them talk to our daughter and twist her words around because she doesn¡¯t have awyer?¡±
¡°Nobody¡¯s going to twist her words around! I told you, we want the truth toe out too.¡±
¡°Oh, we know the truth, that¡¯s not what we want,¡± says Daddy. ¡°Wewant justice.¡±
Uncle Carlos sighs. ¡°Lisa, the sooner she talks to the detectives, the better. It will be a simple process. All she has to do is answer some questions. That¡¯s it. No need to spend money to get an attorney just yet.¡±
¡°Frankly, Carlos, we don¡¯t want anyone to know Starrwas there,¡± Momma says. ¡°She¡¯s scared. I am too. Who knows what¡¯s gonna happen?¡±
¡°I get that, but I assure you she¡¯ll be protected. If you don¡¯t trust the system, can you at least trust me?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± says Daddy. ¡°Can we?¡±
¡°You know what, Maverick? I¡¯ve just about had it with you¡ª¡±
¡°You can get out my house then.¡±
¡°It wouldn¡¯t even be your house if it wasn¡¯t for me and my mom!¡±
¡°Y¡¯all stop!¡± Momma says.
I shift my weight, and goddamn if the floor doesn¡¯t creak, which is like sounding an rm. Momma nces around the kitchen doorway and down the hall, straight at me. ¡°Starr baby, what you doing up?¡±
Now I have no choice but to go to the kitchen. The three of them are sitting around the table, my parents in their pajamas and Uncle Carlos in some sweats and a hoodie.
¡°Hey, baby girl,¡± he says. ¡°We didn¡¯t wake you up, did we?¡±
¡°No,¡± I say, sitting next to Momma. ¡°I was already awake. Nightmares.¡±
All of them look sympathetic even though I didn¡¯t say it for sympathy. I kinda hate sympathy.
¡°What are you doing here?¡± I ask Uncle Carlos.
¡°Sekani has a stomach bug and begged me to bring him home.¡±
¡°And your uncle was just getting ready to leave,¡± Daddy adds.
Uncle Carlos¡¯s jaw twitches. His face has gotten rounder since he made detective. He has Momma¡¯s ¡°high ye¡±plexion, as Nana calls it, and when he gets mad, his face turns deep red, like it is now.
¡°I¡¯m sorry about Khalil, baby girl,¡± he says. ¡°I was just telling your parents how the detectives would like for you toe in and answer a few questions.¡±
¡°But you don¡¯t have to do it if you don¡¯t wanna,¡± Daddy says.
¡°You know what¡ª¡± Uncle Carlos begins.
¡°Stop. Please?¡± says Momma. She looks at me. ¡°Munch, do you wanna talk to the cops?¡±
I swallow. I wish I could say yes, but I don¡¯t know. On one hand, it¡¯s the cops. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll be telling just anybody.
On the other hand,it¡¯s the cops. One of them killed Khalil.
But Uncle Carlos is a cop, and he wouldn¡¯t ask me to do something that would hurt me.
¡°Will it help Khalil get justice?¡± I ask.
Uncle Carlos nods. ¡°It will.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.
¡°Will One-Fifteen be there?¡±
¡°Who?¡±
¡°The officer, that¡¯s his badge number,¡± I say. ¡°I remember it.¡±
¡°Oh. No, he won¡¯t be there. I promise. It¡¯ll be okay.¡±
Uncle Carlos¡¯s promises are guarantees, sometimes even more than my parents¡¯. He never uses that word unless he absolutely means it.
¡°Okay,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±
¡°Thank you.¡± Uncle Carloses over and gives me two kisses to my forehead, the way he¡¯s done since he used to tuck me in. ¡°Lisa, just bring her after school on Monday. It shouldn¡¯t take too long.¡±
Momma gets up and hugs him. ¡°Thank you.¡± She walks him down the hall, toward the front door. ¡°Be safe, okay? And text me when you get home.¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Sounding like our momma,¡± he teases.
¡°Whatever. You just better text me¡ª¡±
¡°Okay, okay. Good night.¡±
Mommaes back to the kitchen, pulling her robe together. ¡°Munch, your father and I are visiting Ms. Rosalie in the morning instead of going to church. You¡¯re wee toe if you want.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Daddy says. ¡°And ain¡¯t no uncle pressuring you to go.¡±
Momma cuts him a quick re, then turns to me. ¡°So, you think you¡¯re up for it, Starr?¡±
Talking to Ms. Rosalie may be harder than talking to the cops, honestly. But I owe it to Khalil to pay his grandmother a visit. She may not even know I was a witness to the shooting. If she somehow does and wants to know what happened, morethan anybody she has the right to ask.
¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll go.¡±
¡°We better find her an attorney before she talks to the detectives,¡± Daddy says.
¡°Maverick.¡± Momma sighs. ¡°If Carlos doesn¡¯t think it¡¯s necessary just yet, I trust his judgment. Plus I¡¯ll be with her the entire time.¡±
¡°Good thing somebody trusts his judgment,¡± says Daddy. ¡°And you really been thinking again ¡¯bout moving? We discussed this already.¡±
¡°Maverick, I¡¯m not going there with you tonight.¡±
¡°How we gon¡¯ change anything around here if we¡ª¡±
¡°Mav-rick!¡± she says through gritted teeth. Whenever Momma breaks a name down like that, you better hope it¡¯s not yours. ¡°I said I¡¯m not going there tonight.¡± She side-eyes him, waiting for theeback. There isn¡¯t one. ¡°Try and get some sleep, baby,¡± she tells me, and kisses my cheek before going to their room.
Daddy goes to the refrigerator. ¡°You want some grapes?¡±
¡°Yeah. Howe you and Uncle Carlos always fighting?¡±
¡°¡¯Cause he a buster.¡± He joins me at the table with a bowl of white grapes. ¡°But for real, he ain¡¯t never liked me. Thought I was a bad influence on your momma. Lisa was wild when I met her though, like all them other Catholic school girls.¡±
¡°I bet he was more protective of Momma than Seven is with me, huh?¡±
¡°Oh, yeah,¡± he says. ¡°Carlos acted like he was Lisa¡¯s daddy. When I got locked up, he moved y¡¯all in with him and blocked my calls. Even took her to a divorce attorney.¡± He grins. ¡°Still couldn¡¯t get rid of me.¡±
I was three when Daddy went in prison, six when he got out. A lot of my memories include him, but a lot of my firsts don¡¯t. First day of school, the first time I lost a tooth, the first time I rode a bike without training wheels. In those memories, Uncle Carlos¡¯s face is where Daddy¡¯s should¡¯ve been. I think that¡¯s the real reason they¡¯re always fighting.
Daddy drums the mahogany surface of the dining table, making athump-thump-thumpbeat. ¡°The nightmares will go away after a while,¡± he says. ¡°They¡¯re always the worst right after.¡±
That¡¯s how it was with Natasha. ¡°How many people have you seen die?¡±
¡°Enough. Worst one was my cousin Andre.¡± His finger seems to instinctively trace the tattoo on his forearm¡ªanAwith a crown over it. ¡°A drug deal turned into a robbery, and he got shot in the head twice. Right in front of me. A few months before you were born, in fact. That¡¯s why I named you Starr.¡± He gives me a small smile. ¡°My light during all that darkness.¡±
Daddy chomps on some grapes. ¡°Don¡¯t be scared ¡¯bout Monday. Tell the cops the truth, and don¡¯t let them put words in your mouth. God gave you a brain. You don¡¯t need theirs. And remember that you didn¡¯t do nothing wrong¡ªthe cop did.Don¡¯t let them make you think otherwise.¡±
Something¡¯s bugging me. I wanted to ask Uncle Carlos, but I couldn¡¯t for some reason. Daddy¡¯s different though. While Uncle Carlos somehow keeps impossible promises, Daddy keeps it real with me. ¡°You think the cops want Khalil to have justice?¡± I ask.
Thump-thump-thump. Thump ... thump ... thump.The truth casts a shadow over the kitchen¡ªpeople like us in situations like this be hashtags, but they rarely get justice. I think we all wait for that one time though,that one timewhen it ends right.
Maybe this can be it.
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Daddy says. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out.¡±
Sunday morning, we pull up to a small yellow house. Bright flowers bloom below the front porch. I used to sit with Khalil on that porch.
My parents and I hop out the truck. Daddy carries a foil-covered pan ofsagna that Momma made. Sekani ims he¡¯s still not feeling good, so he stayed home. Seven¡¯s there with him. I don¡¯t buy this ¡°sick¡± act though¡ªSekani always gets some kinda bug right as spring break ends.
Going up Ms. Rosalie¡¯s walkway floods me with memories. I have scars tattooed on my arms and legs from falls on this concrete. One time I was on my scooter, and Khalil pushed me off ¡¯cause I hadn¡¯t given him a turn. When I got up, skin wasmissing from most of my knee. I never screamed so loud in my life.
We yed hopscotch and jumped rope on this walkway too. Khalil never wanted to y at first, talking about how those were girls¡¯ games. He always gave in when me and Natasha said the winner got a Freeze Cup¡ªfrozen Kool-Aid in a Styrofoam cup¡ªor a pack of ¡°Nileators,¡± a.k.a. Now and Laters. Ms. Rosalie was the neighborhood Candy Lady.
I was at her house almost as much as I was at my own. Momma and Ms. Rosalie¡¯s youngest daughter, Tammy, were best friends growing up. When Momma got pregnant with me, she was in her senior year of high school and Nana put her out the house. Ms. Rosalie took her in until my parents eventually got an apartment of their own. Momma says Ms. Rosalie was one of her biggest supporters and cried at her high school graduation like it was her own daughter walking across the stage.
Three yearster, Ms. Rosalie saw Momma and me at Wyatt¡¯s¡ªthis was way before it became our store. She asked my mom how college was going. Momma told her that with Daddy in prison, she couldn¡¯t afford daycare and that Nana wouldn¡¯t take care of me ¡¯cause I wasn¡¯t her baby and therefore I wasn¡¯t her problem. So Momma was thinking about dropping out. Ms. Rosalie told her to bring me to her house the next day and that she better not say a word about paying her. She babysat me andter Sekani the whole time Momma was in school.
Momma knocks on the door, rattling the screen. Ms.Tammy answers in a head wrap, T-shirt, and sweatpants. She unhooks the locks, hollering back, ¡°Maverick, Lisa, and Starr are here, Ma.¡±
The living room looks just like it did when Khalil and I yed hide-and-seek in it. There¡¯s still stic on the sofa and recliner. If you sit on them too long in the summer while wearing shorts, the stic nearly glues to your legs.
¡°Hey, Tammy girl,¡± Momma says, and they hug long and hard. ¡°How you doing?¡±
¡°I¡¯m hanging in there.¡± Ms. Tammy hugs Daddy, then me. ¡°Just hate that this is the reason I had toe home.¡±
It¡¯s so weird looking at Ms. Tammy. She looks the way Khalil¡¯s momma, Ms. Brenda, would look if Ms. Brenda wasn¡¯t on crack. A lot like Khalil. Same hazel eyes and dimples. One time Khalil said he wished Ms. Tammy was his momma instead so he could live in New York with her. I used to joke and tell him she didn¡¯t have time for him. I wish I never said that.
¡°Where you want me to put thissagna, Tam?¡± Daddy asks her.
¡°In the refrigerator, if you can find room,¡± she says, as he heads toward the kitchen. ¡°Momma said folks brought food all day yesterday. They were still bringing it when I got herest night. Seems like the whole neighborhood has stopped by.¡±
¡°That¡¯s the Garden for you,¡± Momma says. ¡°If folks can¡¯t do anything else, they¡¯ll cook.¡±
¡°You ain¡¯t ever lied.¡± Ms. Tammy motions to the sofa.¡°Y¡¯all, have a seat.¡±
Momma and I sit down, and Daddyes back and joins us. Ms. Tammy takes the recliner that Ms. Rosalie usually sits in. She gives me a sad smile. ¡°Starr, you know, you sure have grown since thest time I saw you. You and Khalil both grew up so¡ª¡±
Her voice cracks. Momma reaches over and pats her knee. Ms. Tammy a takes a deep breath and smiles at me again. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, baby.¡±
¡°We know Ms. Rosalie gon¡¯ tell us she fine, Tam,¡± Daddy says, ¡°but how she really doing?¡±
¡°We¡¯re taking one day at a time. The chemo¡¯s working, thankfully. I hope I can convince her to move in with me. That way I can make sure she¡¯s getting her prescriptions.¡± She sighs through her nose. ¡°I had no idea Momma was struggling like she was. I didn¡¯t even know she¡¯d lost her job. You know how she is. Never wanna ask for help.¡±
¡°What about Ms. Brenda?¡± I ask. I have to. Khalil would¡¯ve.
¡°I don¡¯t know, Starr. Bren ... that¡¯splicated. We haven¡¯t seen her since we got the news. Don¡¯t know where she is. If we do find her though ... I don¡¯t know what we¡¯ll do.¡±
¡°I can help you find a rehab facility near you,¡± Momma says. ¡°She¡¯s gotta wanna get clean though.¡±
Ms. Tammy nods. ¡°And that¡¯s the problem. But I think ... I think this will either push her to finally get help or push her over the edge. I hope it¡¯s the former.¡±
Cameron holds his grandma¡¯s hand as he leads her into the living room like she¡¯s the queen of the world in a housecoat. She looks thinner, but strong for somebody going through chemo and all of this. A scarf wrapped around her head adds to her majesty¡ªan African queen, and we¡¯re blessed to be in her presence.
The rest of us stand.
Momma hugs Cameron and kisses one of his chubby cheeks. Khalil called him Chipmunk because of them, but he¡¯d check anybody stupid enough to call his little brother fat.
Daddy gives Cameron a palm-p that ends in a hug. ¡°What¡¯s up, man? You okay?¡±
¡°Yes, sir.¡±
A big, wide smile spreads across Ms. Rosalie¡¯s face. She holds her arms out, and I walk into the most heartfelt hug I¡¯ve ever gotten from somebody who¡¯s not rted to me. There¡¯s not any sympathy in it either. Just love and strength. I guess she knows I need some of both.
¡°My baby,¡± she says. She pulls back and looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes. ¡°Went and grew up on me.¡±
She hugs my parents too. Ms. Tammy lets her have the recliner. Ms. Rosalie pats the end of the sofa closest to her, so I sit there. She holds my hand and rubs her thumb along the top of it.
¡°Mmm,¡± she says. ¡°Mmm!¡±
It¡¯s like my hand is telling her a story, and she¡¯s responding. She listens to it for a while, then says, ¡°I¡¯m so d you cameover. I¡¯ve been wanting to talk to you.¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± I say what I¡¯m supposed to.
¡°You were the very best friend that boy ever had.¡±
This time I can¡¯t say what I¡¯m supposed to. ¡°Ms. Rosalie, we weren¡¯t as close¡ª¡±
¡°I don¡¯t care, baby,¡± she says. ¡°Khalil never had another friend like you. I know that for a fact.¡±
I swallow. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°The police told me you were the one with him when it happened.¡±
So she knows. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
I¡¯m standing on a track, watching the train barrel toward me, and I tense up and wait for the impact, the moment she asks what happened.
But the train shifts to another track. ¡°Maverick, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted your help.¡±
Daddy straightens up. ¡°For real?¡±
¡°Uh-huh. He was selling that stuff.¡±
Something leaves me. I mean, I kinda figured it, but to know it¡¯s the truth ...
This hurts.
But I swear I wanna cuss Khalil out. How he could sell the very stuff that took his momma from him? Did he realize that he was taking somebody else¡¯s momma from them?
Did he realize that if he does be a hashtag, some people will only see him as a drug dealer?
He was so much more than that.
¡°But he wanted to stop,¡± Ms. Rosalie says. ¡°He told me, ¡®Grandma, I can¡¯t stay in this. Mr. Maverick said it only leads to two things, the grave or prison, and I ain¡¯t trying to see either.¡¯ He respected you, Maverick. A lot. You were the father he never had.¡±
I can¡¯t exin it, but something leaves Daddy too. His eyes dim, and he nods. Momma rubs his back.
¡°I tried to talk some sense into him,¡± Ms. Rosalie says, ¡°but this neighborhood makes young men deaf to their elders. The money part didn¡¯t help. He was going around here, paying bills, buying sneakers and mess. But I know he remembered the things you told him over the years, Maverick, and that gave me a lotta faith.
¡°I keep thinking if only he had another day or¡ª¡± Ms. Rosalie covers her trembling lips. Ms. Tammy starts for her, but she says, ¡°I¡¯m okay, Tam.¡± She looks at me. ¡°I¡¯m happy he wasn¡¯t alone, but I¡¯m even happier you were with him. That¡¯s all I need to know. Don¡¯t need details, nothing else. Knowing you were with him is good enough.¡±
Like Daddy, all I can do is nod.
But as I hold Khalil¡¯s grandma¡¯s hand, I see the anguish in her eyes. His little brother can¡¯t smile anymore. So what if people end up thinking he was a thug and never care? We care.
Khalil matters to us, not the stuff he did. Forget everybody else.
Momma leans across me and sets an envelope in Ms. Rosalie¡¯sp. ¡°We want you to have that.¡±
Ms. Rosalie opens it, and I catch a glimpse of a whole lot of money inside. ¡°What in the world? Y¡¯all know I can¡¯t take this.¡±
¡°Yes, you can,¡± Daddy says. ¡°We ain¡¯t forgot how you kept Starr and Sekani for us. We weren¡¯t ¡¯bout to let you be empty-handed.¡±
¡°And we know y¡¯all are trying to pay for the funeral,¡± Momma says. ¡°Hopefully that¡¯ll help. Plus, we¡¯re raising money around the neighborhood too. So don¡¯t you worry about a thing.¡±
Ms. Rosalie wipes a new set of tears from her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m gonna pay y¡¯all back every penny.¡±
¡°Did we say you had to pay us back?¡± Daddy asks. ¡°You focus on getting better, a¡¯ight? And if you give us any money, we giving it right back, God¡¯s my witness.¡±
There are a lot more tears and hugs. Ms. Rosalie gives me a Freeze Cup for the road, red syrup glistening on the top. She always makes them extra sweet.
As we leave, I remember how Khalil used to run up to the car when I was about to go, the sun shining on the grease lines that separated his cornrows. The glimmer in his eyes would be just as bright. He¡¯d knock on the window, I¡¯d let it down, and he¡¯d say with a snaggletooth grin, ¡°See youter, alligator.¡±
Back then I¡¯d giggle behind my own snaggleteeth. Now I tear up. Good-byes hurt the most when the other person¡¯s already gone. I imagine him standing at my window, and I smile for his sake. ¡°After a while, crocodile.¡±
: Part 1 – Chapter 5
On Monday, the day I¡¯m supposed to talk to the detectives, I¡¯m crying out of nowhere, hunched over my bed as the iron in my hand spits out steam. Momma takes it before I burn the Williamson crest on my polo.
She rubs my shoulder. ¡°Let it out, Munch.¡±
We have a quiet breakfast at the kitchen table without Seven. He spent the night at his momma¡¯s house. I pick at my waffles. Just thinking about going into that station with all those cops makes me wanna puke. Food would make it worse.
After breakfast, we join hands in the living room like we always do, under the framed poster of the Ten-Point Program, and Daddy leads us in prayer.
¡°ck Jesus, watch over my babies today,¡± he says. ¡°Keep them safe, steer them from wrong, and help them recognizesnakes from friends. Give them the wisdom they need to be their own people.
¡°Help Seven with this situation at his momma¡¯s house, and let him know he can alwayse home. Thank you for Sekani¡¯s miraculous, sudden healing that just so happened toe after he found out they¡¯re having pizza at school today.¡± I peek out at Sekani, whose eyes and mouth are open wide. I smirk and close my eyes. ¡°Be with Lisa at the clinic as she helps your people. Help my baby girl get through her situation, Lord. Give her peace of mind, and help her speak her truth this afternoon. Andstly, strengthen Ms. Rosalie, Cameron, Tammy, and Brenda as they go through this difficult time. In your precious name I pray, amen.¡±
¡°Amen,¡± the rest of us say.
¡°Daddy, why you put me on the spot like that with ck Jesus?¡± Sekaniins.
¡°He knows the truth,¡± Daddy says. He wipes crust from the corners of Sekani¡¯s eyes and straightens the cor of his polo. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you out. Get you some mercy or something, man.¡±
Daddy pulls me into a hug. ¡°You gon¡¯ be a¡¯ight?¡±
I nod into his chest. ¡°Yeah.¡±
I could stay like this all day¡ªit¡¯s one of the few ces where One-Fifteen doesn¡¯t exist and where I can forget about talking to detectives¡ªbut Momma says we need to leave before rush hour.
Now don¡¯t get it wrong, I can drive. I got my license a week after my sixteenth birthday. But I can¡¯t get a car unless I pay for it myself. I told my parents I don¡¯t have time for a job with school and basketball. They said I don¡¯t have time for a car then either. Messed up.
It takes forty-five minutes to get to school on a good day, and an hour on a slow one. Sekani doesn¡¯t have to wear his headphones ¡¯cause Momma doesn¡¯t cuss anybody out on the freeway. She hums with gospel songs on the radio and says, ¡°Give me strength, Lord. Give me strength.¡±
We get off the freeway into Riverton Hills and pass all these gated neighborhoods. Uncle Carlos lives in one of them. To me, it¡¯s so weird to have a gate around a neighborhood. Seriously, are they trying to keep people out or keep people in? If somebody puts a gate around Garden Heights, it¡¯ll be a little bit of both.
Our school is gated too, and the campus has new, modern buildings with lots of windows and marigolds blooming along the walkways.
Momma gets in the carpoolne for the lower school. ¡°Sekani, you remembered your iPad?¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°Lunch card?¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°Gym shorts? And you better have gotten the clean ones too.¡±
¡°Yes, Momma. I¡¯m almost nine. Can¡¯t you give me a little credit?¡±
She smiles. ¡°All right, big man. Think you can give me some sugar?¡±
Sekani leans over the front seat and kisses her cheek. ¡°Love you.¡±
¡°Love you too. And don¡¯t forget, Seven¡¯s bringing you home today.¡±
He runs over to some of his friends and blends in with all the other kids in khakis and polos. We get in the carpoolne for my school.
¡°All right, Munch,¡± Momma says. ¡°Seven¡¯s gonna bring you to the clinic after school, then you and I will go to the station. Are you absolutely sure you¡¯re up for it?¡±
No. But Uncle Carlos promised it¡¯ll be okay. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±
¡°Okay. Call me if you don¡¯t think you can make it the whole day at school.¡±
Hold up. I could¡¯ve stayed home? ¡°Why are you making mee in the first ce?¡±
¡°¡¯Cause you need to get out the house. Out that neighborhood. I want you to at least try, Starr. This will sound mean, but just because Khalil¡¯s not living doesn¡¯t mean you stop living. You understand, baby?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± I know she¡¯s right, but it feels wrong.
We get to the front of the carpool line. ¡°Now I don¡¯t have to ask if you brought some funky-ass gym shorts, do I?¡± she says.
Iugh. ¡°No. Bye, Momma.¡±
¡°Bye, baby.¡±
I get out the car. For at least seven hours I don¡¯t have to talk about One-Fifteen. I don¡¯t have to think about Khalil. I just have to be normal Starr at normal Williamson and have a normal day. That means flipping the switch in my brain so I¡¯m Williamson Starr. Williamson Starr doesn¡¯t use ng¡ªif a rapper would say it, she doesn¡¯t say it, even if her white friends do. ng makes them cool. ng makes her ¡°hood.¡± Williamson Starr holds her tongue when people piss her off so nobody will think she¡¯s the ¡°angry ck girl.¡± Williamson Starr is approachable. No stank-eyes, side-eyes, none of that. Williamson Starr is nonconfrontational. Basically, Williamson Starr doesn¡¯t give anyone a reason to call her ghetto.
I can¡¯t stand myself for doing it, but I do it anyway.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder. As usual it matches my J¡¯s, the blue-and-ck Elevens like Jordan wore inSpace Jam. I worked at the store a month to buy them. I hate dressing like everybody else, butThe Fresh Princetaught me something. See, Will always wore his school uniform jacket inside out so he could be different. I can¡¯t wear my uniform inside out, but I can make sure my sneakers are always dope and my backpack always matches them.
I go inside and scan the atrium for Maya, Hailey, or Chris. I don¡¯t see them, but I see that half the kids have tans from spring break. Luckily I was born with one. Someone covers my eyes.
¡°Maya, I know that¡¯s you.¡±
She snickers and moves her hands. I¡¯m not tall at all, but Maya has to stand on her tiptoes to cover my eyes. And the chick actually wants to y center on the varsity basketball team. She wears her hair in a high bun because she probably thinks it makes her look taller, but nope.
¡°What¡¯s up, Ms. I Can¡¯t Text Anyone Back?¡± she says, and we do our little handshake. It¡¯s notplicated like Daddy and King¡¯s, but it works for us. ¡°I was starting to wonder if you were abducted by aliens.¡±
¡°Huh?¡±
She holds up her phone. The screen has a brand-new crack stretching from corner to corner. Maya¡¯s always dropping it. ¡°You haven¡¯t texted me in two days, Starr,¡± she says. ¡°Not cool.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± I¡¯ve barely looked at my phone since Khalil got ... since the incident. ¡°Sorry. I was working at the store. You know how crazy that can get. How was your spring break?¡±
¡°Okay, I guess.¡± She munches on some Sour Patch Kids. ¡°We visited my great-grandparents in Taipei. I ended up taking a bunch of snapbacks and basketball shorts, so all week long I heard, ¡®Why do you dress like a boy?¡¯ ¡®Why do you y a boy sport?¡¯ h, h, h. And it was awful when they saw a picture of Ryan. They asked if he was a rapper!¡±
Iugh and steal some of her candy. Maya¡¯s boyfriend, Ryan, happens to be the only other ck kid in eleventh grade,and everybody expects us to be together. Because apparently when it¡¯s two of us, we have to be on some Noah¡¯s Ark type shit and pair up to preserve the ckness of our grade. Lately I¡¯m super aware of BS like that.
We head for the cafeteria. Our table near the vending machines is almost full. There¡¯s Hailey, sitting on top of it, having a heated discussion with curly-haired, dimpled Luke. I think that¡¯s forey for them. They¡¯ve liked each other since sixth grade, and if your feelings can survive the awkwardness of middle school you should stop ying around and go out.
Some of the other girls from the team are there too: Jess the co-captain and Britt the center who makes Maya look like an ant. It¡¯s kinda stereotypical that we all sit together, but it worked out that way. I mean, who else will listen to us bitch about swollen knees and understand inside jokes born on the bus after a game?
Chris¡¯s boys from the basketball team are at the table next to ours, egging Hailey and Luke on. Chris isn¡¯t there yet. Unfortunately and fortunately.
Luke sees me and Maya and reaches his arms toward us. ¡°Thank you! Two sensible people who can end this discussion.¡±
I slide onto the bench beside Jess. She rests her head on my shoulder. ¡°They¡¯ve been at it for fifteen minutes.¡±
Poor girl. I pat her hair. I have a secret crush on Jess¡¯s pixie cut. My neck¡¯s not long enough for one, but her hair is perfect. Every strand is where it should be. If I were into girls, Iwould totally date her for her hair, and she would date me for my shoulder.
¡°What¡¯s it about this time?¡± I ask.
¡°Pop Tarts,¡± Britt says.
Hailey turns to us and points at Luke. ¡°This jerk actually said they¡¯re better warmed up in the microwave.¡±
¡°Eww,¡±I say, instead of my usual ¡°Ill,¡± and Maya goes, ¡°Are you serious?¡±
¡°I know, right?¡± says Hailey.
¡°Jesus Christ!¡± Luke says. ¡°I only asked for a dor to buy one from the machine!¡±
¡°You¡¯re not wasting my money to destroy a perfectly good Pop Tart in a microwave.¡±
¡°They¡¯re supposed to be heated up!¡± he argues.
¡°I actually agree with Luke,¡± Jess says. ¡°Pop Tarts are ten times better heated up.¡±
I move my shoulder so her head isn¡¯t resting on it. ¡°We can¡¯t be friends anymore.¡±
Her mouth drops open, and she pouts.
¡°Fine, fine,¡± I say, and she rests her head on my shoulder with a wide grin. Total weirdo. I don¡¯t know how she¡¯ll survive without my shoulder when she graduates in a few months.
¡°Anyone who heats up a Pop Tart should be charged,¡± Hailey says.
¡°And imprisoned,¡± I say.
¡°And forced to eat uncooked Pop Tarts until they epthow good they are,¡± Maya adds.
¡°It isw,¡± Hailey finishes, smacking the table like that settles it.
¡°You guys have issues,¡± Luke says, hopping off the table. He picks at Hailey¡¯s hair. ¡°I think all that dye seeped into your brain.¡±
She swats at him as he leaves. She¡¯s added blue streaks to her honey-blond hair and cut it shoulder-length. In fifth grade, she trimmed it with some scissors during a math test because she felt like it. That was the moment I knew she didn¡¯t give a shit.
¡°I like the blue, Hails,¡± I say. ¡°And the cut.¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± Maya grins. ¡°It¡¯s very Joe Jonas of you.¡±
Hailey whips her head around so fast, her eyes shing. Maya and I snicker.
So there¡¯s a video deep in the depths of YouTube of the three of us lip-syncing to the Jonas Brothers and pretending to y guitars and drums in Hailey¡¯s bedroom. She decided she was Joe, I was Nick, and Maya was Kevin. I really wanted to be Joe¡ªI secretly loved him the most, but Hailey said she should have him, so I let her.
I let her have her way a lot. Still do. That¡¯s part of being Williamson Starr, I guess.
¡°I so have to find that video,¡± Jess says.
¡°Nooo,¡± Hailey goes, sliding off the tabletop. ¡°It must never be found.¡± She sits across from us. ¡°Never. Ne-ver. If I remembered that ount¡¯s password, I¡¯d delete it.¡±
¡°Ooh, what was the ount¡¯s name?¡± Jess asks. ¡°JoBro Lover or something? Wait, no, JoBroLova. Everybody liked to misspell shit in middle school.¡±
I smirk and mumble, ¡°Close.¡±
Hailey looks at me. ¡°Starr!¡±
Maya and Britt crack up.
It¡¯s moments like this that I feel normal at Williamson. Despite the guidelines I put on myself, I¡¯ve still found my group, my table.
¡°Okay then,¡± Hailey says. ¡°I see how it is, Maya Jonas and Nick¡¯s Starry Girl 2000¡ª¡±
¡°So, Hails,¡± I say before she can finish my old screen name. She grins. ¡°How was your spring break?¡±
Hailey loses her grin and rolls her eyes. ¡°Oh, it was wonderful. Dad and Stepmother Dearest dragged me and Remy to the house in the Bahamas for ¡®family bonding.¡¯¡±
And bam. That normal feeling? Gone. I suddenly remember how different I am from most of the kids here. Nobody would have to drag me or my brothers to the Bahamas¡ªwe¡¯d swim there if we could. For us, a family vacation is staying at a local hotel with a swimming pool for a weekend.
¡°Sounds like my parents,¡± says Britt. ¡°Took us to fucking Harry Potter World for the third year in a row. I¡¯m sick of Butter Beer and corny family photos with wands.¡±
Holy shit. Who the fuckins about going to Harry Potter World? Or Butter Beer? Or wands?
I hope none of them ask about my spring break. They went to Taipei, the Bahamas, Harry Potter World. I stayed in the hood and saw a cop kill my friend.
¡°I guess the Bahamas wasn¡¯t so bad,¡± Hailey says. ¡°They wanted us to do family stuff, but we ended up doing our own thing the entire time.¡±
¡°You mean you texted me the entire time,¡± Maya says.
¡°It was still my own thing.¡±
¡°All day, every day,¡± Maya adds. ¡°Ignoring the time difference.¡±
¡°Whatever, Shorty. You know you liked talking to me.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s cool.¡±
Really though, it¡¯s not. Hailey never texted me during spring break. She barely texts me at alltely. Maybe once a week now, and it used to be every day. Something¡¯s changed between us, and neither one of us acknowledges it. We¡¯re normal when we¡¯re at Williamson, like now. Beyond here though, we¡¯re no longer best friends, just ... I don¡¯t know.
Plus she unfollowed my Tumblr.
She has no clue that I know. I once posted a picture of Emmett Till, a fourteen-year-old ck boy who was murdered for whistling at a white woman in 1955. His mutted body didn¡¯t look human. Hailey texted me immediately after, freaking out. I thought it was because she couldn¡¯t believe someone would do that to a kid. No. She couldn¡¯t believe I would reblog such an awful picture.
Not long after that, she stopped liking and reblogging my other posts. I looked through my followers list. Aww, Hails was no longer following me. With me living forty-five minutes away, Tumblr is supposed to be sacred ground where our friendship is cemented. Unfollowing me is the same as saying ¡°I don¡¯t like you anymore.¡±
Maybe I¡¯m being sensitive. Or maybe things have changed, maybeI¡¯vechanged. For now I guess we¡¯ll keep pretending everything is fine.
The first bell rings. On Mondays AP English is first for me, Hailey, and Maya. On the way they get into this big discussion-turned-argument about NCAA brackets and the Final Four. Hailey was born a Notre Dame fan. Maya hates them almost unhealthily. I stay out that discussion. The NBA is more my thing anyway.
We turn down the hall, and Chris is standing in the doorway of our ss, his hands stuffed in pockets and a pair of headphones draped around his neck. He looks straight at me and stretches his arm across the doorway.
Hailey nces from him to me. Back and forth, back and forth. ¡°Did something happen with you guys?¡±
My pursed lips probably give me away. ¡°Yeah. Sort of.¡±
¡°That douche,¡± Hailey says, reminding me why we¡¯re friends¡ªshe doesn¡¯t need details. If someone hurts me in any way, they¡¯re automatically on her shit list. It started in fifth grade, two years before Maya came along. We were those¡°crybaby¡± kids who bust out crying at the smallest shit. Me because of Natasha, and Hailey because she lost her mom to cancer. We rode the waves of grief together.
That¡¯s why this weirdness between us doesn¡¯t make sense. ¡°What do you want to do, Starr?¡± she asks.
I don¡¯t know. Before Khalil, I nned to cold-shoulder Chris with a sting more powerful than a nies R&B breakup song. But after Khalil I¡¯m more like a Taylor Swift song. (No shade, I fucks with Tay-Tay, but she doesn¡¯t serve like nies R&B on the angry-girlfriend scale.) I¡¯m not happy with Chris, yet I miss him. I missus. I need him so much that I¡¯m willing to forget what he did. That¡¯s scary as fuck too. Someone I¡¯ve only been with for a year meansthatmuch to me? But Chris ... he¡¯s different.
You know what? I¡¯ll Beyonc¨¦ him. Not as powerful as a nies R&B breakup song, but stronger than a Taylor Swift. Yeah. That¡¯ll work. I tell Hailey and Maya, ¡°I¡¯ll handle him.¡±
They move so I¡¯m between them like they¡¯re my bodyguards, and we go to the door together.
Chris bows to us. ¡°Ladies.¡±
¡°Move!¡± Maya orders. Funny considering how much Chris towers over her.
He looks at me with those baby blues. He got a tan over break. I used to tell him he was so pale he looked like a marshmallow. He hated that Ipared him to food. I told him that¡¯s what he got for calling me caramel. It shut him up.
Dammit though. He¡¯s wearing theSpace JamElevens too. I forgot we decided to wear them the first day back. They look good on him. Jordans are my weakness. Can¡¯t help it.
¡°I just wanna talk to my girl,¡± he ims.
¡°I don¡¯t know who that is,¡± I say, Beyonc¨¦¡¯ing him like a pro.
He sighs through his nose. ¡°Please, Starr? Can we at least talk about it?¡±
I¡¯m back to Taylor Swift because thepleasedoes it. I nod at Hailey and Maya.
¡°You hurt her, and I¡¯ll kill you,¡± Hailey warns, and she and Maya go in to ss without me.
Chris and I move away from the door. I lean against a locker and fold my arms. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± I say.
A bass-heavy instrumental ys in his headphones. Probably one of his beats. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for what happened. I should¡¯ve talked to you first.¡±
I cock my head. ¡°We did talk about it. A week before. Remember?¡±
¡°I know, I know. And I heard you. I just wanted to be prepared in case¡ª¡±
¡°You could push the right buttons and convince me to change my mind?¡±
¡°No!¡± His hands go up in surrender. ¡°Starr, you know I wouldn¡¯t¡ªthat¡¯s not¡ªI¡¯m sorry, okay? I took it too far.¡±
Understatement. The day before Big D¡¯s party, Chris and Iwere in Chris¡¯s ridiculouslyrge room. The third floor of his parents¡¯ mansion is a suite for him, a perk of being thest born to empty-nesters. I try to forget that he has an entire floor as big as my house and hired help that looks like me.
Fooling around isn¡¯t new for us, and when Chris slipped his hand in my shorts, I didn¡¯t think anything of it. Then he got me going, and I really wasn¡¯t thinking. At all. For real, my thought process went out the door. And right as I was atthatmoment, he stopped, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a condom. He raised his eyebrows at me, silently asking for an invitation to go all the way.
All I could think about was those girls I see walking around Garden Heights, babies propped on their hips. Condom or no condom, shit happens.
I went off on Chris. He knew I wasn¡¯t ready for that, we already talked about it, and yet he had a condom? He said he wanted to be responsible, but if I said I¡¯m not ready, I¡¯m not ready.
I left his house pissedandhorny, the absolute worst way to leave.
My mom may have been right though. She once said that after you go there with a guy, it activates all these feelings, and you wanna do it all the time. Chris and I went far enough that I notice every single detail about his body now. His cute nostrils that re when he sighs. His soft brown hair that my fingers love to explore. His gentle lips, and his tongue that wets themevery so often. The five freckles on his neck that are in the perfect spots for kissing.
More than that, I remember the guy who spends almost every night on the phone with me talking about nothing and everything. The one who loves to make me smile. Yeah, he pisses me off sometimes, and I¡¯m sure I piss him off, but we mean something. We actually mean a lot.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck. I¡¯m crumbling. ¡°Chris ...¡±
He goes for a low blow and beatboxes an all-too-familiar, ¡°Boomp ... boomp, boomp, boomp.¡±
I point at him. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡±
¡°¡®Now, this is a story all about how, my life got flipped¡ªturned upside down. And I¡¯d like to take a minute, just sit right there, I¡¯ll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air.¡¯¡±
He beat-boxes the instrumental and pops his chest and booty to the rhythm. People pass by us,ughing. A guy whistles suggestively. Someone shouts, ¡°Shake that ass, Bryant!¡±
My smile grows before I can stop it.
The Fresh Princeisn¡¯t just my show, it¡¯sourshow. Sophomore year he followed my Tumblr, and I followed him back. We knew of each other from school, but we didn¡¯tknoweach other. One Saturday, I reblogged a bunch ofFresh PrinceGIFs and clips. He liked and reblogged every single one. That Monday morning in the cafeteria, he paid for my Pop Tarts and grape juice and said, ¡°The first Aunt Viv was the best Aunt Viv.¡±
It was the beginning of us.
Chris getsThe Fresh Prince,which helps him get me. We once talked about how cool it was that Will remained himself in his new world. I slipped up and said I wish I could be like that at school. Chris said, ¡°Why can¡¯t you, Fresh Princess?¡±
Ever since, I don¡¯t have to decide which Starr I have to be with him. He likes both. Well, the parts I¡¯ve shown him. Some things I can¡¯t reveal, like Natasha. Once you¡¯ve seen how broken someone is it¡¯s like seeing them naked¡ªyou can¡¯t look at them the same anymore.
I like the way he looks at me now, as if I¡¯m one of the best things in his life. He¡¯s one of the best things in mine too.
I can¡¯t lie, we get the ¡°why is he datingher¡± stare that usuallyes from rich white girls. Sometimes I wonder the same thing. Chris acts like those looks don¡¯t exist. When he does stuff like this, rapping and beatboxing in the middle of a busy hall just to make me smile, I forget about those looks too.
He starts the second verse, swaying his shoulders and looking at me. The worst part? His silly butt knows it¡¯s working. ¡°¡®In West Phdelphia, born and raised¡¯¡ªc¡¯mon, babe. Join in.¡±
He grabs my hands.
One-Fifteen follows Khalil¡¯s hands with the shlight.
He orders Khalil to get out with his hands up.
He barks at me to put my hands on the dashboard.
I kneel beside my dead friend in the middle of the street with my hands raised. A cop as white as Chris points a gun at me.
As white as Chris.
I flinch and snatch away.
Chris frowns. ¡°Starr, you okay?¡±
Khalil opens the door. ¡°You okay, Starr¡ª¡±
Pow!
There¡¯s blood. Too much blood.
The second bell rings, jolting me back to normal Williamson, where I¡¯m not normal Starr.
Chris leans down, his face in front of mine. My tears blur him. ¡°Starr?¡±
It¡¯s a few tears, yeah, but I feel exposed. I turn to go to ss, and Chris grabs my arm. I yank away and whirl on him.
His hands go up in surrender. ¡°Sorry. I was ...¡±
I wipe my eyes and walk into the ssroom. Chris is right behind me. Hailey and Maya shoot him the dirtiest looks. I lower myself into the desk in front of Hailey.
She squeezes my shoulder. ¡°That jackwad.¡±
Nobody mentioned Khalil at school today. I hate to admit it, because it¡¯s like throwing him the middle finger, but I¡¯m relieved.
Since basketball season is over, I leave when everybody else does. Probably for the first time in my life I wish it wasn¡¯t the end of the day. I¡¯m that much closer to talking to the cops.
Hailey and I trek across the parking lot, arm in arm. Maya has a driver to pick her up. Hailey has her own car, and I havea brother with a car; the two of us always end up walking out together.
¡°Are you absolutely sure you don¡¯t want me to kick Chris¡¯s ass?¡± Hailey asks.
I told her and Maya about Condomgate, and as far as they¡¯re concerned Chris is eternally banished to Asshole Land.
¡°Yes,¡± I say, for the hundredth time. ¡°You¡¯re violent, Hails.¡±
¡°When ites to my friends, possibly. Seriously though, why would he even? God, boys and their fucking sex drive.¡±
I snort. ¡°Is that why you and Luke haven¡¯t gotten together?¡±
She lightly elbows me. ¡°Shut up.¡±
Iugh. ¡°Why won¡¯t you admit you like him?¡±
¡°What makes you think I like him?¡±
¡°Really, Hailey?¡±
¡°Whatever, Starr. This isn¡¯t about me. This is about you and your sex-driven boyfriend.¡±
¡°He¡¯s not sex-driven,¡± I say.
¡°Then what do you call it?¡±
¡°He was horny at that moment.¡±
¡°Same thing!¡±
I try to keep a straight face and she does too, but soon we¡¯re cracking up. God, it feels good to be normal Starr and Hailey. Has me wondering if I imagined a change.
We part at the halfway point to Hailey¡¯s car and Seven¡¯s. ¡°The ass-kicking offer is still on the table,¡± she calls to me.
¡°Bye, Hailey!¡±
I walk off, rubbing my arms. Spring has decided to go through an identity crisis and get chilly on me. A few feet away, Seven keeps a hand on his car as he talks to his girlfriend, La. Him and that damn Mustang. He touches it more than he touches La. She obviously doesn¡¯t care. She ys with the dreadlock near his face that isn¡¯t pulled into his ponytail. Eye-roll worthy. Some girls do too much. Can¡¯t she y with all them curls on her own head?
Honestly though, I don¡¯t have a problem with La. She¡¯s a geek like Seven, smart enough for Harvard but Howard bound, and real sweet. She¡¯s one of the four ck girls in the senior ss, and if Seven just wants to date ck girls, he picked a great one.
I walk up to them and go,¡°Hem-hem.¡±
Seven keeps his eyes on La. ¡°Go sign Sekani out.¡±
¡°Can¡¯t,¡± I lie. ¡°Momma didn¡¯t put me on the list.¡±
¡°Yeah, she did. Go.¡±
I fold my arms. ¡°I am not walking halfway across campus to get him and halfway back. We can get him when we¡¯re leaving.¡±
He side-eyes me, but I¡¯m too tired for all that, and it¡¯s cold. Seven kisses La and goes around to the driver¡¯s side. ¡°Acting like that¡¯s a long walk,¡± he mumbles.
¡°Acting like we can¡¯t get him when we¡¯re leaving,¡± I say, and hop in.
He starts the car. This nice mix Chris made of Kanye andmy other future husband J. Cole ys from Seven¡¯s iPod dock. He maneuvers through the parking lot traffic to Sekani¡¯s school. Seven signs him out of his after-school program, and we leave.
¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± Sekani whines not even five minutes out the parking lot.
¡°Didn¡¯t they give you a snack in after-school?¡± Seven asks.
¡°So? I¡¯m still hungry.¡±
¡°Greedy butt,¡± Seven says, and Sekani kicks the back of his seat. Sevenughs. ¡°Okay, okay! Ma asked me to bring some food to the clinic anyway. I¡¯ll get you something too.¡± He looks at Sekani in the rearview mirror. ¡°Is that cool¡ª¡±
Seven freezes. He turns Chris¡¯s mix off and slows down.
¡°What you turn the music off for?¡± Sekani asks.
¡°Shut up,¡± Seven hisses.
We stop at a red light. A Riverton Hills patrol car pulls up beside us.
Seven straightens up and stares ahead, barely blinking and gripping the steering wheel. His eyes move a little like he wants to look at the cop car. He swallows hard.
¡°C¡¯mon, light,¡± he prays. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±
I stare ahead and pray for the light to change too.
It finally turns green, and Seven lets the patrol car go first. His shoulders don¡¯t rx until we get on the freeway. Mine neither.
We stop at this Chinese restaurant Momma loves and get food for all of us. She wants me to eat before I talk to thedetectives. In Garden Heights, kids y in the streets. Sekani presses his face against my window and watches them. He won¡¯t y with them though. Last time he yed with some neighborhood kids, they called him ¡°white boy¡± ¡¯cause he goes to Williamson.
ck Jesus greets us from a mural on the side of the clinic. He has locs like Seven. His arms stretch the width of the wall, and there are puffy white clouds behind him. Big letters above him remind us thatJesus Loves You.
Seven passes ck Jesus and goes into the parking lot behind the clinic. He punches in a code to open the gate and parks next to Momma¡¯s Camry. I get the tray of sodas, Seven gets the food, and Sekani doesn¡¯t take anything because he never takes anything.
I hit the buzzer for the back door and wave up at the camera. The door opens into a sterile-smelling hall with bright-white walls and white-tile floors that reflect us. The hall takes us to the waiting room. A handful of people watch the news on the old box TV in the ceiling or read magazines that have been there since I was little. When this shaggy-haired man sees that we have food, he straightens up and sniffs hard as if it¡¯s for him.
¡°What y¡¯all bringing up in here?¡± Ms. Felicia asks at the front desk, stretching her neck to see.
Mommaes from the other hallway in her in yellow scrubs, following a teary-eyed boy and his mom. The boy sucks on a lollipop, a reward for surviving a shot.
¡°There go my babies,¡± Momma says when she sees us. ¡°Andthey got my food too. C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s go in the back.¡±
¡°Save me some!¡± Ms. Felicia calls after us. Momma tells her to hush.
We set the food out on the break room table. Momma gets some paper tes and stic utensils that she keeps in a cab for days like this. We say grace and dig in.
Momma sits on the countertop and eats. ¡°Mmm-mm! This is hitting the spot. Thank you, Seven baby. I only had a bag of Cheetos today.¡±
¡°You didn¡¯t have lunch?¡± Sekani asks, with a mouth full of fried rice.
Momma points her fork at him. ¡°What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full? And for your information, no I did not. I had a meeting on my lunch break. Now, tell me about y¡¯all. How was school?¡±
Sekani always talks the longest because he gives every single detail. Seven says his day was fine. I¡¯m as short with my ¡°It was all right.¡±
Momma sips her soda. ¡°Anything happen?¡±
I freaked out when my boyfriend touched me, but¡ª¡°Nope. Nothing.¡±
Ms. Feliciaes to the door. ¡°Lisa, sorry to bother you, but we have anissueup front.¡±
¡°I¡¯m on break, Felicia.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t you think I know that? But she asking for you. It¡¯s Brenda.¡±
Khalil¡¯s momma.
My mom sets her te down. She looks straight at me when she says, ¡°Stay here.¡±
I¡¯m hardheaded though. I follow her to the waiting room. Ms. Brenda sits with her face in her hands. Her hair is ubed, and her white shirt is dingy, almost brown. She has sores and scabs on her arms and legs, and since she¡¯s real light-skinned they show up even more.
Momma kneels in front of her. ¡°Bren, hey.¡±
Ms. Brenda moves her hands. Her red eyes remind me of what Khalil said when we were little, that his momma had turned into a dragon. He imed that one day he¡¯d be a knight and turn her back.
It doesn¡¯t make sense that he sold drugs. I would¡¯ve thought his broken heart wouldn¡¯t let him.
¡°My baby,¡± his momma cries. ¡°Lisa, my baby.¡±
Momma sandwiches Ms. Brenda¡¯s hands between hers and rubs them, not caring that they¡¯re nasty looking. ¡°I know, Bren.¡±
¡°They killed my baby.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°They killed him.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°Lord Jesus,¡± Ms. Felicia says from the doorway. Next to her, Seven puts his arm around Sekani. Some patients in the waiting room shake their heads.
¡°But Bren, you gotta get cleaned up,¡± Momma says. ¡°That¡¯s what he wanted.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t. My baby ain¡¯t here.¡±
¡°Yes, you can. You have Cameron, and he needs you. Your momma needs you.¡±
Khalil needed you, I wanna say. He waited for you and cried for you. But where were you? You don¡¯t get to cry now. Nuh-uh. It¡¯s toote.
But she keeps crying. Rocking and crying.
¡°Tammy and I can get you some help, Bren,¡± Momma says. ¡°But you gotta really want it this time.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t wanna live like this no more.¡±Content ? N?velDrama.Org.
¡°I know.¡± Momma waves Ms. Felicia over and hands Ms. Felicia her phone. ¡°Look through my contacts and find Tammy Harris¡¯s number. Call and tell her that her sister is here. Bren, when was thest time you ate?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t¡ªmy baby.¡±
Momma straightens up and rubs Ms. Brenda¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m gonna get you some food.¡±
I follow Momma back. She walks kinda fast but passes the food and goes to the counter. She leans on it with her back to me and bows her head, not saying a word.
Everything I wanted to say in the waiting roomes bubbling out. ¡°Howe she gets to be upset? She wasn¡¯t there for Khalil. You know how many times he cried about her? Birthdays, Christmas, all that. Why does she get to cry now?¡±
¡°Starr, please.¡±
¡°She hasn¡¯t acted like a mom to him! Now all of a sudden,he¡¯s her baby? It¡¯s bullshit!¡±
Momma smacks the counter, and I jump. ¡°Shut up!¡± she screams. She turns around, tears streaking her face. ¡°That wasn¡¯t some li¡¯l friend of hers. That was her son, you hear me? Her son!¡± Her voice cracks. ¡°She carried that boy, birthed that boy. And you have no right to judge her.¡±
I have cotton-mouth. ¡°I¡ª¡±
Momma closes her eyes. She massages her forehead. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Fix her a te, baby, okay? Fix her a te.¡±
I do and put a little extra of everything on it. I take it to Ms. Brenda. She mumbles what sounds like ¡°thank you¡± as she takes it.
When she looks at me through the red haze, Khalil¡¯s eyes stare back at me, and I realize my mom¡¯s right. Ms. Brenda is Khalil¡¯s momma. Regardless.
: Part 1 – Chapter 6
My mom and I arrive at the police station at four thirty on the dot.
A handful of cops talk on phones, type onputers, or stand around. Normal stuff, like onLaw & Order, but my breath catches. I count: One. Two. Three. Four. I lose count around twelve because the guns in their holsters are all I can see.
All of them. Two of us.
Momma squeezes my hand. ¡°Breathe.¡±
I didn¡¯t realize I had grabbed hers.
I take a deep breath and another, and she nods with each one, saying, ¡°That¡¯s it. You¡¯re okay. We¡¯re okay.¡±
Uncle Carloses over, and he and Momma lead me to his desk, where I sit down. I feel eyes on me from all around.The grip tightens around my lungs. Uncle Carlos hands me a sweating bottle of water. Momma puts it up to my lips.
I take slow sips and look around Uncle Carlos¡¯s desk to avoid the curious eyes of the officers. He has almost as many pictures of me and Sekani on disy as he has of his own kids.
¡°I¡¯m taking her home,¡± Momma tells him. ¡°I¡¯m not putting her through this today. She¡¯s not ready.¡±
¡°I understand, but she has to talk to them at some point, Lisa. She¡¯s a vital part of this investigation.¡±
Momma sighs. ¡°Carlos¡ª¡±
¡°I get it,¡± he says, in a noticeably lower voice. ¡°Believe me, I do. Unfortunately, if we want this investigation done right, she has to talk to them. If not today, then another day.¡±
Another day of waiting and wondering what¡¯s gonna happen.
I can¡¯t go through that.
¡°I wanna do it today,¡± I mumble. ¡°I wanna get it over with.¡±
They look at me, like they just remembered I¡¯m here.
Uncle Carlos kneels in front of me. ¡°Are you sure, baby girl?¡±
I nod before I lose my nerve.
¡°All right,¡± Momma says. ¡°But I¡¯m going with her.¡±
¡°That¡¯s totally fine,¡± Uncle Carlos says.
¡°I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s not fine.¡± She looks at me. ¡°She¡¯s not doing this alone.¡±
Those words feel as good as any hug I¡¯ve ever gotten.All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.
Uncle Carlos keeps an arm around me and leads us to a small room that has nothing in it but a table and some chairs. An unseen air conditioner hums loudly, sting freezing air into the room.
¡°All right,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°I¡¯ll be outside, okay?¡±
¡°Okay,¡± I say.
He kisses my forehead with his usual two pecks. Momma takes my hand, and her tight squeeze tells me what she doesn¡¯t say out loud¡ªI got your back.
We sit at the table. She¡¯s still holding my hand when the two detectivese in¡ªa young white guy with slick ck hair and a Latina with lines around her mouth and a spiky haircut. Both of them wear guns on their waists.
Keep your hands visible.
No sudden moves.
Only speak when spoken to.
¡°Hi, Starr and Mrs. Carter,¡± the woman says, holding out her hand. ¡°I¡¯m Detective Gomez, and this is my partner, Detective Wilkes.¡±
I let go of my mom¡¯s hand to shake the detectives¡¯ hands. ¡°Hello.¡± My voice is changing already. It always happens around ¡°other¡± people, whether I¡¯m at Williamson or not. I don¡¯t talk like me or sound like me. I choose every word carefully and make sure I pronounce them well. I can never, ever let anyone think I¡¯m ghetto.
¡°It¡¯s so nice to meet you both,¡± Wilkes says.
¡°Considering the circumstances, I wouldn¡¯t call it nice,¡± says Momma.
Wilkes¡¯s face and neck get extremely red.
¡°What he means is we¡¯ve heard so much about you both,¡± Gomez says. ¡°Carlos always gushes about his wonderful family. We feel like we know you already.¡±
She¡¯sying it on extra thick.
¡°Please, have a seat.¡± Gomez points to a chair, and she and Wilkes sit across from us. ¡°Just so you know, you¡¯re being recorded, but it¡¯s simply so we can have Starr¡¯s statement on record.¡±
¡°Okay,¡± I say. There it is again, all perky and shit. I¡¯m never perky.
Detective Gomez gives the date and time and the names of the people in the room and reminds us that we¡¯re being recorded. Wilkes scribbles in his notebook. Momma rubs my back. For a moment there¡¯s only the sound of pencil on paper.
¡°All right then.¡± Gomez adjusts herself in her chair and smiles, the lines around her mouth deepening. ¡°Don¡¯t be nervous, Starr. You haven¡¯t done anything wrong. We just want to know what happened.¡±
I know I haven¡¯t done anything wrong, I think, but ites out as, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°You¡¯re sixteen, right?¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°How long did you know Khalil?¡±
¡°Since I was three. His grandmother used to babysit me.¡±
¡°Wow,¡± she says, all teacher-like, stretching out the word. ¡°That¡¯s a long time. Can you tell us what happened the night of the incident?¡±
¡°You mean the night he was killed?¡±
Shit.
Gomez¡¯s smile dims, the lines around her mouth aren¡¯t as deep, but she says, ¡°The night of the incident, yes. Start where you feelfortable.¡±
I look at Momma. She nods.
¡°My friend Kenya and I went to a house party hosted by a guy named Darius,¡± I say.
Thump-thump-thump.I drum the table.
Stop. No sudden moves.
Iy my hands t to keep them visible.
¡°He has one every spring break,¡± I say. ¡°Khalil saw me, came over, and said hello.¡±
¡°Do you know why he was at the party?¡± Gomez asks.
Why does anybody go to a party? To party.¡°I assume it was for recreational purposes,¡± I say. ¡°He and I talked about things going on in our lives.¡±
¡°What kind of things?¡± she questions.
¡°His grandmother has cancer. I didn¡¯t know until he told me that evening.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Gomez says. ¡°What happened after that?¡±
¡°A fight urred at the party, so we left together in his car.¡±
¡°Khalil didn¡¯t have anything to do with the fight?¡±
I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Nah.¡±
Dammit. Proper English.
I sit up straight. ¡°I mean, no, ma¡¯am. We were talking when the fight urred.¡±
¡°Okay, so you two left. Where were you going?¡±
¡°He offered to take me home or to my father¡¯s grocery store. Before we could decide, One-Fifteen pulled us over.¡±
¡°Who?¡± she asks.
¡°The officer, that¡¯s his badge number,¡± I say. ¡°I remember it.¡±
Wilkes scribbles.
¡°I see,¡± Gomez says. ¡°Can you describe what happened next?¡±
I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever forget what happened, but saying it out loud, that¡¯s different. And hard.
My eyes prickle. I blink, staring at the table.
Momma rubs my back. ¡°Look up, Starr.¡±
My parents have this thing where they never want me or my brothers to talk to somebody without looking them in their eyes. They im that a person¡¯s eyes say more than their mouth, and that it goes both ways¡ªif we look someone in their eyes and mean what we say, they should have little reason to doubt us.
I look at Gomez.
¡°Khalil pulled over to the side of the road and turned the ignition off,¡± I say. ¡°One-Fifteen put his brights on. Heapproached the window and asked Khalil for his license and registration.¡±
¡°Did Khalilply?¡± Gomez asks.
¡°He asked the officer why he pulled us over first. Then he showed his license and registration.¡±
¡°Did Khalil seem irate during this exchange?¡±
¡°Annoyed, not irate,¡± I say. ¡°He felt that the cop was harassing him.¡±
¡°Did he tell you this?¡±
¡°No, but I could tell. I assumed the same thing myself.¡±
Shit.
Gomez scoots closer. Maroon lipstick stains her teeth, and her breath smells like coffee. ¡°And why was that?¡±
Breathe.
The room isn¡¯t hot. You¡¯re nervous.
¡°Because we weren¡¯t doing anything wrong,¡± I say. ¡°Khalil wasn¡¯t speeding or driving recklessly. It didn¡¯t seem like he had a reason to pull us over.¡±
¡°I see. What happened next?¡±
¡°The officer forced Khalil out the car.¡±
¡°Forced?¡±she says.
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. He pulled him out.¡±
¡°Because Khalil was hesitant, right?¡±
Momma makes this throaty sound, like she was about to say something but stopped herself. She purses her lips and rubs my back in circles.
I remember what Daddy said¡ª¡°Don¡¯t let them put words in your mouth.¡±
¡°No, ma¡¯am,¡± I say to Gomez. ¡°He was getting out on his own, and the officer yanked him the rest of the way.¡±
She says ¡°I see¡± again, but she didn¡¯t see it so she probably doesn¡¯t believe it. ¡°What happened next?¡± she asks.
¡°The officer patted Khalil down three times.¡±
¡°Three?¡±
Yeah. I counted.¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. He didn¡¯t find anything. He then told Khalil to stay put while he ran his license and registration.¡±
¡°But Khalil didn¡¯t stay put, did he?¡± she says.
¡°He didn¡¯t pull the trigger on himself either.¡±
Shit. Your fucking big mouth.
The detectives nce at each other. A moment of silent conversation.
The walls move in closer. The grip around my lungs returns. I pull my shirt away from my neck.
¡°I think we¡¯re done for today,¡± Momma says, taking my hand as she starts to stand up.
¡°But Mrs. Carter, we¡¯re not finished.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t care¡ª¡±
¡°Mom,¡± I say, and she looks down at me. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I can do this.¡±
She gives them a re simr to the one she gives me and my brothers when we¡¯ve pushed her to her limit. She sits down but holds on to my hand.
¡°Okay,¡± Gomez says. ¡°So he patted Khalil down and told him he would check his license and registration. What next?¡±
¡°Khalil opened the driver¡¯s side door and¡ª¡±
Pow!
Pow!
Pow!
Blood.
Tears crawl down my cheeks. I wipe them on my arm. ¡°The officer shot him.¡±
¡°Do you¡ª¡± Gomez starts, but Momma holds a finger toward her.
¡°Could youpleasegive her a second,¡± she says. It sounds more like an order than a question.
Gomez doesn¡¯t say anything. Wilkes scribbles some more.
My mom wipes some of my tears for me. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± she says.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
¡°Okay,¡± Gomez says, and takes a deep breath. ¡°Do you know why Khalil came to the door, Starr?¡±
¡°I think he wasing to ask if I was okay.¡±
¡°You think?¡±
I¡¯m not a telepath.¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. He started asking but didn¡¯t finish because the officer shot him in the back.¡±
More salty tears fall on my lips.
Gomez leans across the table. ¡°We all want to get to the bottom of this, Starr. We appreciate your cooperation. I understand this is hard right now.¡±
I wipe my face on my arm again. ¡°Yeah.¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± She smiles and says in that same sugary, sympathetic tone, ¡°Now, do you know if Khalil sold narcotics?¡±
Pause.
What the fuck?
My tears stop. For real, my eyes get dry with the quickness. Before I can say anything, my mom goes, ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡±
¡°It¡¯s only a question,¡± Gomez says. ¡°Do you, Starr?¡±
All the sympathy, the smiles, the understanding. This chick was baiting me.
Investigating or justifying?
I know the answer to her question. I knew it when I saw Khalil at the party. He never wore new shoes. And jewelry? Those little ny-nine-cent chains he bought at the beauty supply store didn¡¯t count. Ms. Rosalie just confirmed it.
But what the hell does that have to do with him getting murdered? Is that supposed to make all of this okay?
Gomez tilts her head. ¡°Starr? Can you please answer the question?¡±
I refuse to make them feel better about killing my friend.
I straighten up, look Gomez dead in her eyes, and say, ¡°I never saw him sell drugs or do drugs.¡±
¡°But do you know if he sold them?¡± she asks.
¡°He never told me he did,¡± I say, which is true. Khalil never t-out admitted it to me.
¡°Do you have knowledge of him selling them?¡±
¡°I heard things.¡± Also true.
She sighs. ¡°I see. Do you know if he was involved with the King Lords?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°The Garden Disciples?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Did you consume any alcohol at the party?¡± she asks.
I know that move fromLaw & Order. She¡¯s trying to discredit me. ¡°No. I don¡¯t drink.¡±
¡°Did Khalil?¡±
¡°Whoa, wait one second,¡± Momma says. ¡°Are y¡¯all putting Khalil and Starr on trial or the cop who killed him?¡±
Wilkes looks up from his notes.
¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t quite understand, Mrs. Carter?¡± Gomez sputters.
¡°You haven¡¯t asked my child about that cop yet,¡± Momma says. ¡°You keep asking her about Khalil, like he¡¯s the reason he¡¯s dead. Like she said, he didn¡¯t pull the trigger on himself.¡±
¡°We just want the whole picture, Mrs. Carter. That¡¯s all.¡±
¡°One-Fifteen killed him,¡± I say. ¡°And he wasn¡¯t doing anything wrong. How much of a bigger picture do you need?¡±
Fifteen minutester, I leave the police station with my mom. Both of us know the same thing:
This is gonna be some bullshit.
: Part 1 – Chapter 7
Khalil¡¯s funeral is Friday. Tomorrow. Exactly one week since he died.
I¡¯m at school, trying not to think about what he¡¯ll look like in the coffin, how many people will be there, what he¡¯ll look like in the coffin, if other people will know I was with him when he died ... what he¡¯ll look like in the coffin.
I¡¯m failing at not thinking about it.
On the Monday night news, they finally gave Khalil¡¯s name in the story about the shooting, but with a title added to it¡ªKhalil Harris, a Suspected Drug Dealer. They didn¡¯t mention that he was unarmed. They said that an ¡°unidentified witness¡± had been questioned and that the police were still investigating.
After what I told the cops, I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s left to ¡°investigate.¡±
In the gym everyone¡¯s changed into their blue shorts and gold Williamson T-shirts, but ss hasn¡¯t started yet. To pass time, some of the girls challenged some of the boys to a basketball game. They¡¯re ying on one end of the gym, the floor squeaking as they run around. The girls are all¡°Staawp!¡±when the guys guard them. Flirting, Williamson style.
Hailey, Maya, and I are in the bleachers on the other end. On the floor, some guys are supposedly dancing, trying to get their moves ready for prom. I saysupposedlybecause there¡¯s no way that shit can be called dancing. Maya¡¯s boyfriend, Ryan, is the only one even close, and he¡¯s just doing the dab. It¡¯s his go-to move. He¡¯s a big, wide-shouldered linebacker, and it looks a little funny, but that¡¯s an advantage of being the sole ck guy in ss. You can look silly and still be cool.
Chris is on the bottom bleacher, ying one of his mixes on his phone for them to dance to. He nces over his shoulder at me.
I have two bodyguards who won¡¯t allow him near me¡ªMaya on one side, cheering Ryan on, and Hailey, who¡¯sughing her ass off at Luke and recording him. They¡¯re still pissed at Chris.
I¡¯m honestly not. He made a mistake, and I forgive him.The Fresh Princetheme and his willingness to embarrass himself helped with that.
But that moment he grabbed my hands and I shed back to that night, it¡¯s like I suddenly really,reallyrealized that Chrisis white. Just like One-Fifteen. And I know, I¡¯m sitting here next to my white best friend, but it¡¯s almost as if I¡¯m giving Khalil, Daddy, Seven, and every other ck guy in my life a big, loud ¡°fuck you¡± by having a white boyfriend.
Chris didn¡¯t pull us over, he didn¡¯t shoot Khalil, but am I betraying who I am by dating him?
I need to figure this out.
¡°Oh my God, that¡¯s sickening,¡± says Hailey. She¡¯s stopped recording to watch the basketball game. ¡°They¡¯re not even trying.¡±
They¡¯re really not. The ball sails past the hoop from an attempted shot by Bridgette Holloway. Either homegirl¡¯s hand-eye coordination is way off or she missed that on purpose, because now Jackson Reynolds is showing her how to shoot. Basically, he¡¯s all up on her. And shirtless.
¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse,¡± Hailey says. ¡°The fact that they¡¯re going soft on them because they¡¯re girls, or that the girls are letting them go soft on them.¡±
¡°Equality in basketball. Right, Hails?¡± Maya says with a wink.
¡°Yes! Wait.¡± She eyes Maya suspiciously. ¡°Are you making fun of me or are you serious, Shorty?¡±
¡°Both,¡± I say, leaning back on my elbows, my belly pooching out my shirt¡ªa food baby. We just left lunch, and the cafeteria had fried chicken, one of the foods Williamson gets right. ¡°It¡¯s not even a real game, Hails,¡± I tell her.
¡°Nope.¡± Maya pats my stomach. ¡°When are you due?¡±
¡°Same day as you.¡±
¡°Aww! We can raise our food offspring as siblings.¡±
¡°I know, right? I¡¯m naming mine Fernando,¡± I say.
¡°Why Fernando?¡± Maya asks.
¡°Dunno. It sounds like a food baby name. Especially when you roll ther.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t roll myr¡¯s.¡± She tries, but she makes some weird noise, spit flying, and I¡¯m cracking up.
Hailey points at the game. ¡°Look at that! It¡¯s that whole ¡®y like a girl¡¯ mind-set the male gender uses to belittle women, when we have as much athleticism as they do.¡±
Oh my Lord. She¡¯s seriously upset over this.
¡°Take the ball to the hole!¡± she hollers to the girls.
Maya catches my eye, hers glimmering sneakily, and it¡¯s middle school d¨¦j¨¤ vu.
¡°And don¡¯t be afraid to shoot the outside J!¡± Maya shouts.
¡°Just keep ya head in the game,¡± I say. ¡°Just keep ya head in the game.¡±
¡°And don¡¯t be afraid to ¡®shoot the outside J,¡¯¡± Maya sings.
¡°¡®Just get¡¯cha head in the game,¡¯¡± I sing.
We bust out with ¡°Get¡¯cha Head in the Game¡± fromHigh School Musical. It¡¯ll be stuck in my head for days. We were obsessed with the movies around the same time as our Jonas Brothers obsession. Disney took all our parents¡¯ money.
We¡¯re loud with it now. Hailey¡¯s trying to re at us. She snorts.
¡°C¡¯mon.¡± She gets up and pulls me and Maya up too. ¡°Get¡¯cha head inthisgame.¡±
I¡¯m thinking,Oh, soyou can drag me to y basketball during one of your feminist rages, but you can¡¯t follow my Tumblr because of Emmett Till?I don¡¯t know why I can¡¯t make myself bring it up. It¡¯s Tumblr.
But then, it¡¯sTumblr.
¡°Hey!¡± Hailey says. ¡°We wanna y.¡±
¡°No we don¡¯t,¡± Maya mutters. Hailey nudges her.
I don¡¯t wanna y either, but for some reason Hailey makes decisions and Maya and I follow along. It¡¯s not like we nned it to be this way. Sometimes the shit just happens, and one day you realize there¡¯s a leader among you and your friends and it¡¯s not you.
¡°Come on in,dies.¡± Jackson beckons us into the game. ¡°There¡¯s always room for pretty girls. We¡¯ll try not to hurt you.¡±
Hailey looks at me, I look at her, and we have the same deadpan expression that we¡¯ve had mastered since fifth grade, mouths slightly open, eyes ready to roll at any moment.
¡°Alrighty then,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s y.¡±
¡°Three on three,¡± Hailey says as we take our positions. ¡°Girls versus boys. Half court. First to twenty. Sorry,dies, but me and my girls are gonna handle this one, mm-kay?¡±
Bridgette gives Hailey some serious stank-eye. She and her friends move to the sideline.
The dance party stops and those guyse over, Chrisincluded. He whispers something to Tyler, one of the boys who yed in the previous game. Chris takes Tyler¡¯s ce on the court.
Jackson checks the ball to Hailey. I run around my guard, Garrett, and Hailey passes to me. No matter what¡¯s going on, when Hailey, Maya, and I y together, it¡¯s rhythm, chemistry, and skill rolled into a ball of amazingness.
Garrett¡¯s guarding me, but Chris runs up and elbows him aside. Garrett goes, ¡°The hell, Bryant?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve got her,¡± Chris says.
He gets in his defensive stance. We¡¯re eye to eye as I dribble the ball.
¡°Hey,¡± he says.
¡°Hey.¡±
I do a chest-pass to Maya, who¡¯s wide open for a jump shot.
She makes it.
Two to zero.
¡°Good job, Yang!¡± says Coach Meyers. She¡¯se out her office. All it takes is a hint of a real game, and she¡¯s in coaching mode. She reminds me of a fitness trainer on a reality TV show. She¡¯s petite yet muscr, and God that woman can yell.
Garrett¡¯s at the baseline with the ball.
Chris runs to get open. Stomach full, I have to push harder to stay on him. We¡¯re hip to hip, watching Garrett try to decide who to pass to. Our arms brush, and something in me is activated; my senses are suddenly consumed by Chris. His legs lookso good in his gym shorts. He¡¯s wearing Old Spice, and even just from that little brush, his skin feels so soft.
¡°I miss you,¡± he says.
No point in lying. ¡°I miss you too.¡±
The ball sails his way. Chris catches it. Now I¡¯m in my defensive stance, and we¡¯re eye to eye again as he dribbles. My gaze lowers to his lips; they¡¯re a little wet and begging me to kiss them. See, this is why I can never y ball with him. I get too distracted.
¡°Will you at least talk to me?¡± Chris asks.
¡°Defense, Carter!¡± Coach yells.
I focus on the ball and attempt to steal. Not quick enough. He gets around me and goes straight for the hoop, only to pass it to Jackson, who¡¯s open at the three-point line.
¡°Grant!¡± Coach shouts for Hailey.
Hailey runs over. Her fingertips graze the ball as it leaves Jackson¡¯s hand, changing its course.
The ball goes flying. I go running. I catch it.
Chris is behind me, the only thing between me and the hoop. Let me rify¡ªmy butt is against his crotch, my back against his chest. I¡¯m bumping up against him, trying to figure out how to get the ball in the hole. It sounds way dirtier than it actually is, especially in this position. I understand why Bridgette missed shots though.
¡°Starr!¡± Hailey calls.
She¡¯s open at the three. I bounce-pass it to her.
She shoots. Nails it.
Five to zero.
¡°C¡¯mon, boys,¡± Maya taunts. ¡°Is that all you can do?¡±
Coach ps. ¡°Good job. Good job.¡±
Jackson¡¯s at the baseline. He passes to Chris. Chris chest-passes it back to him.
¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Chris says. ¡°You practically freaked out the other day in the hall. What¡¯s going on?¡±
Garrett passes to Chris. I get in my defensive stance, eyes on the ball. Not on Chris. Cannot look at Chris. My eyes will give me away.
¡°Talk to me,¡± he says.
I attempt to steal again. No luck.
¡°y the game,¡± I say.
Chris goes left, quickly changes direction, and goes right. I try to stay on him, but my heavy stomach slows me down. He gets to the hoop and makes theyup. It¡¯s good.
Five to two.
¡°Dammit, Starr!¡± Hailey yells, recovering the ball. She passes it to me. ¡°Hustle! Pretend the ball is some fried chicken. Bet you¡¯ll stay on it then.¡±
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck?
The world surges forward without me. I hold the ball andstare at Hailey as she jogs away, blue-streaked hair bouncing behind her.
I can¡¯t believe she said ... She couldn¡¯t have. No way.
The ball falls out my hands. I walk off the court. I¡¯m breathing hard, and my eyes burn.
The smell of postgame funk lingers in the girls¡¯ locker room. It¡¯s my ce of sce when we lose a game, where I can cry or cuss if I want.
I pace from one side of the lockers to the other.
Hailey and Maya rush in, out of breath. ¡°What¡¯s up with you?¡± Hailey asks.
¡°Me?¡± I say, my voice bouncing off the lockers. ¡°What the hell was thatment?¡±
¡°Lighten up! It was only game talk.¡±
¡°A fried chicken joke was only game talk? Really?¡± I ask.
¡°It¡¯s fried chicken day!¡± she says. ¡°You and Maya were just joking about it. What are you trying to say?¡±
I keep pacing.
Her eyes widen. ¡°Oh my God. You think I was beingracist?¡±
I look at her. ¡°You made a fried chickenment to the only ck girl in the room. What do you think?¡±
¡°Ho-ly shit, Starr! Seriously? After everything we¡¯ve been through, you think I¡¯m a racist? Really?¡±
¡°You can say something racist and not be a racist!¡±
¡°Is something else going on, Starr?¡± Maya says.
¡°Why does everyone keep asking me that?¡± I snap.
¡°Because you¡¯re acting so weirdtely!¡± Hailey snaps back. She looks at me and asks, ¡°Does this have something to do with the police shooting that drug dealer in your neighborhood?¡±
¡°Wh-what?¡±
¡°I heard about it on the news,¡± she says. ¡°And I know you¡¯re into that sort of thing now¡ª¡±
That sort of thing? What the fuck is ¡°that sort of thing¡±?
¡°And then they said the drug dealer¡¯s name was Khalil,¡± she says, and exchanges a look with Maya.
¡°We¡¯ve wanted to ask if it was the Khalil who used toe to your birthday parties,¡± Maya adds. ¡°We didn¡¯t know how, though.¡±
The drug dealer. That¡¯s how they see him. It doesn¡¯t matter that he¡¯s suspected of doing it. ¡°Drug dealer¡± is louder than ¡°suspected¡± ever will be.
If it¡¯s revealed that I was in the car, what will that make me? The thug ghetto girl with the drug dealer? What will my teachers think about me? My friends? The whole fucking world, possibly?
¡°I¡ª¡±
I close my eyes. Khalil stares at the sky.
¡°Mind your business, Starr,¡±he says.
I swallow and whisper, ¡°I don¡¯t know that Khalil.¡±
It¡¯s a betrayal worse than dating a white boy. I fucking denyhim, damn near erasing everyugh we shared, every hug, every tear, every second we spent together. A million ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±s sound in my head, and I hope they reach Khalil wherever he is, yet they¡¯ll never be enough.
But I had to do it. I had to.Content ? N?velDrama.Org.
¡°Then what is it?¡± Hailey asks. ¡°Is this, like, Natasha¡¯s anniversary or something?¡±
I stare at the ceiling and blink fast to keep from bawling. Besides my brothers and the teachers, Hailey and Maya are the only people at Williamson who know about Natasha. I don¡¯t want all the pity.
¡°Mom¡¯s anniversary was a few weeks ago,¡± Hailey says. ¡°I was in a shitty mood for days. I understand if you¡¯re upset, but to use me of being racist, Starr? How can youeven?¡±
I blink faster. God, I¡¯m pushing her away, Chris away. Hell, do I deserve them? I don¡¯t talk about Natasha, and I just t-out denied Khalil. I could¡¯ve been the one killed instead of them. I don¡¯t have the decency to keep their memories alive, yet I¡¯m supposed to be their best friend.
I cover my mouth. It doesn¡¯t stop the sob. It¡¯s loud and echoes off the walls. One follows it, and another and another. Maya and Hailey rub my back and shoulders.
Coach Meyers rushes in. ¡°Carter¡ª¡±
Hailey looks at her and says, ¡°Natasha.¡±
Coach nods heavily. ¡°Carter, go see Ms. Lawrence.¡±
What? No. She¡¯s sending me to the school shrink? All theteachers know about poor Starr who saw her friend die when she was ten. I used to bust out crying all the time, and that was always their go-to line¡ªsee Ms. Lawrence. I wipe my eyes. ¡°Coach, I¡¯m okay¡ª¡±
¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± She pulls a hall pass from her pocket and holds it toward me. ¡°Go talk to her. It¡¯ll help you feel better.¡±
No it won¡¯t, but I know what will.
I take the pass, grab my backpack out my locker, and go back into the gym. My ssmates follow me with their eyes as I hurry toward the doors. Chris calls out for me. I speed up.
They probably heard me crying. Great. What¡¯s worse than being the Angry ck Girl? TheWeakck Girl.
By the time I get to the main office, I¡¯ve dried my eyes and my facepletely.
¡°Good afternoon, Ms. Carter,¡± Dr. Davis, the headmaster, says. He¡¯s leaving as I¡¯m going in and doesn¡¯t wait for my response. Does he know all the students by name, or just the ones who are ck like him? I hate that I think about stuff like that now.
His secretary, Mrs. Lindsey, greets me with a smile and asks how she can assist me.
¡°I need to call someone toe get me,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t feel good.¡±
I call Uncle Carlos. My parents would ask too many questions. A limb has to be missing for them to take me out of school. Ionly have to tell Uncle Carlos that I have cramps, and he¡¯ll pick me up.
Feminine problems. The key to ending an Uncle Carlos interrogation.
Luckily he¡¯s on lunch break. He signs me out, and I hold my stomach for added effect. As we leave he asks if I want some fro-yo. I say yeah, and a short whileter we¡¯re going into a shop that¡¯s walking distance from Williamson. It¡¯s in a brand-new mini mall that should be called Hipster Heaven, full of stores you¡¯d never find in Garden Heights. On one side of the fro-yo ce, there¡¯s Indie Urban Style and on the other side, Dapper Dog, where you can buy outfits for your dog. Clothes. For a dog. What kinda fool would I be, dressing Brickz in a linen shirt and jeans?
On a serious tip¡ªwhite people are crazy for their dogs.
We fill our cups with yogurt. At the toppings bar, Uncle Carlos breaks out into his fro-yo rap. ¡°I¡¯m getting fro-yo, yo. Fro-yo, yo, yo.¡±
He loves his fro-yo. It¡¯s kinda adorable. We take a booth in a corner that¡¯s got a lime-green table and hot-pink seats. You know, typical fro-yo decor.
Uncle Carlos looks over into my cup. ¡°Did you seriously ruin perfectly good fro-yo with Cap¡¯n Crunch?¡±
¡°You can¡¯t talk,¡± I say. ¡°Oreos, Uncle Carlos? Really? And they¡¯re not even the Golden Oreos, which are by far the superior Oreos. You got the regr ones.Ill.¡±
He devours a spoonful and says, ¡°You¡¯re weird.¡±
¡°You¡¯reweird.¡±
¡°So cramps, huh?¡± he says.
Shit. I almost forgot about that. I hold my stomach and groan. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re real bad today.¡±
I know whowon¡¯twin an Oscar anytime soon. Uncle Carlos gives me his hard detective stare. I groan again; this one sounds a little more believable. He raises his eyebrows.
His phone rings in his jacket pocket. He sticks another spoonful of fro-yo in his mouth and checks it. ¡°It¡¯s your mom calling me back,¡± he says around the spoon. He holds the phone with his cheek and shoulder. ¡°Hey, Lisa. You get my message?¡±
Shit.
¡°She¡¯s not feeling good,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°She¡¯s got, you know,feminineproblems.¡±
Her response is loud but muffled. Shit, shit.
Uncle Carlos holds the nape of his neck and slowly releases a long, deep breath. He turns into a little boy when Momma raises her voice at him, and he¡¯s supposed to be the oldest.
¡°Okay, okay. I hear you,¡± he says. ¡°Here, you talk to her.¡±
Shit, shit, shit.
He passes me the piece of dynamite formerly known as his phone. There¡¯s an explosion of questioning as soon as I say, ¡°Hello?¡±
¡°Cramps, Starr? Really?¡± she says.
¡°They¡¯re bad, Mommy,¡± I whine, lying my butt off.
¡°Girl, please. I went to ss inbor with you,¡± she says. ¡°I pay too much money for you to go to Williamson so you can leave because of cramps.¡±
I almost point out that I get a schrship too, but nah. She¡¯d be the first person in history to hit someone through a phone.
¡°Did something happen?¡± she asks.
¡°No.¡±
¡°Is it Khalil?¡± she asks.
I sigh. This time tomorrow I¡¯ll be staring at him in a coffin.
¡°Starr?¡± she says.
¡°Nothing happened.¡±
Ms. Felicia calls for her in the background. ¡°Look, I gotta go,¡± she says. ¡°Carlos will take you home. Lock the door, stay inside, and don¡¯t let anybody in, you hear me?¡±
Those aren¡¯t zombie survival tips. Just normal instructions fortchkey kids in Garden Heights. ¡°I can¡¯t let Seven and Sekani in? Great.¡±
¡°Oh, somebody¡¯s trying to be funny. Now I know you ain¡¯t feeling bad. We¡¯ll talkter. I love you. Mwah!¡±
It takes a lot of nerve to go off on somebody, call them out, and tell them you love them within a span of five minutes. I tell her I love her too and pass Uncle Carlos his phone.
¡°All right, baby girl,¡± he says. ¡°Spill it.¡±
I stuff some fro-yo in my mouth. It¡¯s melting already. ¡°Like I said. Cramps.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not buying that, and let¡¯s be clear about something: you only get one ¡®Uncle Carlos, get me out of school¡¯ card per school year, and you¡¯re using it right now.¡±
¡°You got me in December, remember?¡± For cramps also. I didn¡¯t lie about those. They were a bitch that day.
¡°All right, one percalendaryear,¡± he rifies. I smile. ¡°But you gotta give me a little more to work with. So talk.¡±
I push Cap¡¯n Crunch around my fro-yo. ¡°Khalil¡¯s funeral is tomorrow.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know if I should go.¡±
¡°What? Why?¡±
¡°Because,¡± I say. ¡°I hadn¡¯t seen him in months before the party.¡±
¡°You still should go,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll regret it if you don¡¯t. I thought about going. Not sure if that¡¯s a good idea, considering.¡±
Silence.
¡°Are you really friends with that cop?¡± I ask.
¡°I wouldn¡¯t say friends, no. Colleagues.¡±
¡°But you¡¯re on a first-name basis, right?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± he says.
I stare at my cup. Uncle Carlos was my first dad in some ways. Daddy went to prison around the time I realized that ¡°Mommy¡± and ¡°Daddy¡± weren¡¯t just names, but they meant something. I talked to Daddy on the phone every week, but hedidn¡¯t want me and Seven to ever set foot in a prison, so I didn¡¯t see him.
I saw Uncle Carlos though. He fulfilled the role and then some. Once I asked if I could call him Daddy. He said no, because I already had one, but being my uncle was the best thing he could ever be. Ever since, ¡°Uncle¡± has meant almost as much as ¡°Daddy.¡±
My uncle. On a first-name basis with that cop.
¡°Baby girl, I don¡¯t know what to say.¡± His voice is gruff. ¡°I wish I could¡ªI¡¯m sorry this happened. I am.¡±
¡°Why haven¡¯t they arrested him?¡±
¡°Cases like this are difficult.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not that difficult,¡± I say. ¡°He killed Khalil.¡±
¡°I know, I know,¡± he says, and wipes his face. ¡°I know.¡±
¡°Would you have killed him?¡±
He looks at me. ¡°Starr¡ªI can¡¯t answer that.¡±
¡°Yeah, you can.¡±
¡°No, I can¡¯t. I¡¯d like to think I wouldn¡¯t have, but it¡¯s hard to say unless you¡¯re in that situation, feeling what that officer is feeling¡ª¡±
¡°He pointed his gun at me,¡± I blurt out.
¡°What?¡±
My eyes prickle like crazy. ¡°While we were waiting on help to show up,¡± I say, my words wobbling. ¡°He kept it on me until somebody else got there. Like I was a threat. I wasn¡¯t the one with the gun.¡±
Uncle Carlos stares at me for the longest time.
¡°Baby girl.¡± He reaches for my hand. He squeezes it and moves to my side of the table. His arm goes around me, and I bury my face in his rib cage, tears and snot wetting his shirt.
¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry.¡± He kisses my hair with each apology. ¡°But I know that¡¯s not enough.¡±
: Part 1 – Chapter 8
Funerals aren¡¯t for dead people. They¡¯re for the living.
I doubt Khalil cares what songs are sung or what the preacher says about him. He¡¯s in a casket. Nothing can change that.
My family and I leave thirty minutes before the funeral starts, but the parking lot at Christ Temple Church is already full. Some kids from Khalil¡¯s school stand around in ¡°RIP Khalil¡± T-shirts with his face on them. A guy tried to sell some to us yesterday, but Momma said we weren¡¯t wearing them today¡ªT-shirts are for the streets, not for church.
So here we are, getting out the car in our dresses and suits. My parents hold hands and walk in front of me and my brothers. We used to go to Christ Temple when I was younger, but Momma got tired of how people here act like their shit don¡¯tstank, and now we go to this ¡°diverse¡± church in Riverton Hills. Way too many people go there, and praise and worship is led by a white guy on guitar. Oh, and servicests less than an hour.
Going back in Christ Temple is like when you go back to your old elementary school after you¡¯ve been to high school. When you were younger it seemed big, but when you go back you realize how small it is. People fill up the tiny foyer. It has cranberry-colored carpet and two burgundy high-back chairs. One time Momma brought me out here because I was acting up. She made me sit in one of those chairs and told me not to move until service was over. I didn¡¯t. A painting of the pastor hung above the chairs, and I could¡¯ve sworn he was watching me. All these yearster and they still have that creepy painting up.
There¡¯s a line to sign a book for Khalil¡¯s family and another line to go into the sanctuary. To see him.
I catch a glimpse of the white casket at the front of the sanctuary, but I can¡¯t make myself try to see more than that. I¡¯ll see him eventually, but¡ªI don¡¯t know. I wanna wait until I don¡¯t have any other choice.
Pastor Eldridge greets people in the doorway of the sanctuary. He¡¯s wearing a long white robe with gold crosses on it. He smiles at everyone. I don¡¯t know why they made him look so creepy in that painting. He¡¯s not creepy at all.
Momma nces back at me, Seven, and Sekani, like she¡¯s making sure we look nice, then she and Daddy go up to Pastor Eldridge. ¡°Morning, Pastor,¡± she says.
¡°Lisa! So good to see you.¡± He kisses her cheek and shakes Daddy¡¯s hand. ¡°Maverick, good to see you as well. We miss y¡¯all around here.¡±
¡°I bet y¡¯all do,¡± Daddy mumbles. Another reason we left Christ Temple: Daddy doesn¡¯t like that they take up so many offerings. But he doesn¡¯t even go to our diverse church.
¡°And these must be the children,¡± Pastor Eldridge says. He shakes Seven¡¯s and Sekani¡¯s hands and kisses my cheek. I feel more of his bristly mustache than anything. ¡°Y¡¯all sure have grown since Ist saw you. I remember when the little one was an itty-bitty thing wrapped up in a nket. How¡¯s your momma doing, Lisa?¡±
¡°She¡¯s good. She missesing here, but the drive is a little long for her.¡±
I side-eye the hell¡ªexcuse me, heck; we¡¯re in church¡ªout of her. Nana stoppeding to Christ Temple because of some incident between her and Mother Wilson over Deacon Rankin. It ended with Nana storming off from the church pic, banana pudding in hand. That¡¯s all I know though.
¡°We understand,¡± says Pastor Eldridge. ¡°Let her know we¡¯re praying for her.¡± He looks at me with an expression I know too well¡ªpity. ¡°Ms. Rosalie told me you were with Khalil when this happened. I am so sorry you had to witness it.¡±
¡°Thank you.¡± It¡¯s weird saying that, like I¡¯m stealing sympathy from Khalil¡¯s family.
Momma grabs my hand. ¡°We¡¯re gonna find some seats.Nice talking to you, Pastor.¡±
Daddy wraps his arm around me, and the three of us walk into the sanctuary together.
My legs tremble and a wave of nausea hits me, and we aren¡¯t even at the front of the viewing line yet. People go up to the casket in twos, so I can¡¯t see Khalil at all.
Soon there are six people in front of us. Four. Two. I keep my eyes closed the whole time with thest two. Then it¡¯s our turn.
My parents lead me up. ¡°Baby, open your eyes,¡± Momma says.
I do. It looks more like a mannequin than Khalil in the casket. His skin is darker and his lips are pinker than they should be, because of the makeup. Khalil would¡¯ve had a fit if he knew they put that on him. He¡¯s wearing a white suit and a gold cross pendant.
The real Khalil had dimples. This mannequin version of him doesn¡¯t.
Momma brushes tears from her eyes. Daddy shakes his head. Seven and Sekani stare.
That¡¯s not Khalil, I tell myself.Like it wasn¡¯t Natasha.
Natasha¡¯s mannequin wore a white dress with pink and yellow flowers all over it. It had on makeup too. Momma had told me, ¡°See, she looks asleep,¡± but when I squeezed her hand, her eyes never opened.
Daddy carried me out the sanctuary as I screamed for her to wake up.
We move so the next set of people can look at Khalil¡¯s mannequin. An usher is about to direct us to some seats, but thisdy with natural twists gestures toward the front row of the friends¡¯ side, right in front of her. No clue who she is, but she must be somebody if she¡¯s giving orders like that. And she must know something about me if she thinks my family deserves the front row.
We take our seats, and I focus on the flowers instead. There¡¯s a big heart made out of red and white roses, a ¡°K¡± made out of ca lilies, and an arrangement of flowers in orange and green, his favorite colors.
When I run out of flowers, I look at the funeral program. It¡¯s full of pictures of Khalil, from the time he was a curly-haired baby up until a few weeks ago with friends I don¡¯t recognize. There are pictures of me and him from years ago and one with us and Natasha. All three of us smile, trying to look gangster with our peace signs. The Hood Trio, tighter than the inside of Voldemort¡¯s nose. Now I¡¯m the only one left.
I close the program.
¡°Let us stand.¡± Pastor Eldridge¡¯s voice echoes throughout the sanctuary. The organist starts ying, and everyone stands.
¡°And Jesus said, ¡®Do not let your hearts be troubled,¡¯¡± he says,ing down the aisle. ¡°¡®You believe in God, believe also in me.¡¯¡±
Ms. Rosalie marches behind him. Cameron walks alongside her, gripping her hand. Tears stain his chubby cheeks. He¡¯sonly nine, a year older than Sekani. Had one of those bullets hit me, that could¡¯ve been my little brother crying like that.
Khalil¡¯s aunt Tammy holds Ms. Rosalie¡¯s other hand. Ms. Brenda is wailing behind them, wearing a ck dress that once belonged to Momma. Her hair has beenbed into a ponytail. Two guys, I think they¡¯re Khalil¡¯s cousins, hold her up. It¡¯s easier to look at the casket.
¡°¡®My Father¡¯s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a ce for you?¡¯¡± Pastor Eldridge says. ¡°¡®And if I go and prepare a ce for you, I wille back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.¡¯¡±
At Natasha¡¯s funeral, her momma passed out when she saw her in the casket. Somehow Khalil¡¯s momma and grandma don¡¯t.
¡°I wanna make one thing clear today,¡± Pastor Eldridge says once everyone is seated. ¡°No matter the circumstances, this is a homegoing celebration. Weeping may endure for a night, but how many of you know that JOY¡ª!¡± He doesn¡¯t even finish and people shout.
The choir sings upbeat songs, and almost everyone ps and praises Jesus. Momma sings along and waves her hands. Khalil¡¯s grandma and auntie p and sing too. A praise break even starts, and people run around the sanctuary and do the ¡°Holy Ghost Two-Step,¡± as Seven and I call it, their feet moving like James Brown and their bent arms pping like chicken wings.
But if Khalil¡¯s not celebrating, how the hell can they? And why praise Jesus, since he let Khalil get shot in the first ce?
I put my face in my hands, hoping to drown out the drums, the horns, the shouting. This shit doesn¡¯t make any sense.
After all that praising, some of Khalil¡¯s ssmates¡ªthe ones who were in the parking lot in the T-shirts¡ªmake a presentation. They give his family the cap and gown Khalil would¡¯ve worn in a few months and cry as they tell funny stories I¡¯d never heard. Yet I¡¯m the one in the front row on the friends¡¯ side. I¡¯m such a fucking phony.
Next, thedy with the twists goes up to the podium. Her ck pencil skirt and zer are more professional-looking than church-looking, and she¡¯s wearing an ¡°RIP Khalil¡± T-shirt too.
¡°Good morning,¡± she says, and everyone responds. ¡°My name is April Ofrah, and I¡¯m with Just Us for Justice. We are a small organization here in Garden Heights that advocates for police ountability.
¡°As we say farewell to Khalil, we find our hearts burdened with the harsh truth of how he lost his life. Just before the start of this service, I was informed that, despite a credible eyewitness ount, the police department has no intentions of arresting the officer who murdered this young man.¡±
¡°What?¡± I say, as people murmur around the sanctuary. Everything I told them, and they¡¯re not arresting him?
¡°What they don¡¯t want you to know,¡± Ms. Ofrah says, ¡°is that Khalil was unarmed at the time of his murder.¡±
Peoplereallystart talking then. A couple of folks yell out, including one person who¡¯s bold enough to shout ¡°This is bullshit¡± in a church.
¡°We won¡¯t give up until Khalil receives justice,¡± Ms. Ofrah says over the talking. ¡°I ask you to join us and Khalil¡¯s family after the service for a peaceful march to the cemetery. Our route happens to pass the police station. Khalil was silenced, but let¡¯s join together and make our voices heard for him. Thank you.¡±
The congregation gives her a standing ovation. As she returns to her seat, she nces at me. If Ms. Rosalie told the pastor I was with Khalil, she probably told thisdy too. I bet she wants to talk.
Pastor Eldridge just about preaches Khalil into heaven. I¡¯m not saying Khalil didn¡¯t make it to heaven¡ªI don¡¯t know¡ªbut Pastor Eldridge tries to make sure he gets there. He sweats and breathes so hard I get tired looking at him.
At the end of the eulogy, he says, ¡°If anybody wishes to view the body, now is the¡ª¡±
He stares at the back of the church. Murmurs bubble around the sanctuary.
Momma looks back. ¡°What in the world?¡±
King and a bunch of his boys post up in the back in their gray clothes and bandanas. King has his arm hooked around ady in a tight ck dress that barely covers her thighs. She has way too much weave in her head¡ªfor real, ites to her ass¡ªand way too much makeup on.
Seven turns back around. I wouldn¡¯t wanna see my momma looking like that either.
But why are they here? King Lords only show up at King Lord funerals.
Pastor Eldridge clears his throat. ¡°As I was saying, if anyone wishes to view the body, now is the time.¡±
King and his boys swagger down the aisle. Everybody stares. Iesha walks alongside him, all proud and shit, not realizing she looks a hot mess. She nces at my parents and smirks, and I can¡¯t stand her ass. I mean, not just because of how she treats Seven, but because every time she shows up, there¡¯s suddenly an unspoken tension between my parents. Like now. Momma shifts her shoulder so it¡¯s not as close to Daddy, and his jaw is clenched. She¡¯s the Achilles¡¯ heel of their marriage, and it¡¯s only noticeable if you¡¯ve been watching it for sixteen years like I have.
King, Iesha, and the rest of them go up to the casket. One of King¡¯s boys hands him a folded gray bandana, and heys it across Khalil¡¯s chest.
My heart stops.
Khalil was a King Lord too?
Ms. Rosalie jumps up. ¡°Like hell you will!¡±
She marches to the coffin and snatches the bandana off Khalil. She starts toward King, but Daddy catches her halfway and holds her back. ¡°Get outta here, you demon!¡± she screams. ¡°And take this mess with you!¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.
She throws the bandana at the back of King¡¯s head.
He stills. Slowly, he turns around.
¡°Now look, bi¡ª¡±
¡°Ay!¡± Daddy says. ¡°King, man, just go! Leave, a¡¯ight?¡±
¡°You ol¡¯ hag,¡± Iesha snarls. ¡°Got some nerve treating my man like this after he offered to pay for this funeral.¡±
¡°He can keep his filthy money!¡± Ms. Rosalie says. ¡°And you can take your behind right out the door too. Coming in the Lord¡¯s house, looking like the prostitute you are!¡±
Seven shakes his head. It¡¯s no secret that my big brother is the result of a ¡°for hire¡± session Daddy had with Iesha after a fight with Momma. Iesha was King¡¯s girl, but he told her to ¡°hook Maverick up,¡± not knowing Seven woulde along looking exactly like Daddy. Fucked up, I know.
Momma reaches behind me and rubs Seven¡¯s back. There are rare times, when Seven¡¯s not around and Momma thinks Sekani and I can¡¯t hear her, that she¡¯ll tell Daddy, ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you slept with that nasty ho.¡± But Seven can¡¯t be around. When he¡¯s around, none of that matters. She loves him more than she hates Iesha.
The King Lords leave, and conversations break out all around.
Daddy leads Ms. Rosalie to her seat. She¡¯s so mad she¡¯s shaking.
I look at the mannequin in the coffin. All those horror stories Daddy told us about gangbanging, and Khalil became aKing Lord? How could he eventhinkabout doing that?
It doesn¡¯t make sense though. He had green in his car. That¡¯s what Garden Disciples do, not King Lords. And he didn¡¯t run to help out with the fight at Big D¡¯s party.
But the bandana. Daddy once said that¡¯s a King Lord tradition¡ªthey crown their fallenrades by putting a folded bandana on the body, as if to say they¡¯re going into heaven repping their set. Khalil must¡¯ve joined to get that honor.
I could¡¯ve talked him out of it, I know it, but I abandoned him. Fuck the friends¡¯ side. I shouldn¡¯t even be at his funeral.
Daddy stays with Ms. Rosalie for the rest of the service andter helps her when the family follows the casket out. Aunt Tammy motions us over to join them.
¡°Thank you for being here,¡± she tells me. ¡°You meant a lot to Khalil, I hope you know that.¡±
My throat tightens too much for me to tell her he means a lot to me too.
We follow the casket with the family. Just about everyone we pass has tears in their eyes. For Khalil. He really is in that casket, and he¡¯s noting back.
I¡¯ve never told anyone, but Khalil was my first crush. He unknowingly introduced me to stomach butterflies andter heartbreak when he got his own crush on Imani Anderson, a high schooler who wasn¡¯t even thinking about fourth-grade him. I worried about my appearance for the first time around him.
But fuck the crush, he was one of the best friends I ever had, no matter if we saw each other every day or once a year. Time didn¡¯tpare to all the shit we went through together. And now he¡¯s in a casket, like Natasha.
Big fat tears fall from my eyes, and I sob. A loud, nasty, ugly sob that everybody hears and sees as Ie up the aisle.
¡°They left me,¡± I cry.
Momma wraps her arm around me and presses my head onto her shoulder. ¡°I know, baby, but we¡¯re here. We aren¡¯t going anywhere.¡±
Warmth brushes my face, and I know we¡¯re outside. All of the voices and noises make me look. There are more people out here than in the church, holding posters with Khalil¡¯s face on them and signs that say ¡°Justice for Khalil.¡± His ssmates have posters saying ¡°Am I Next?¡± and ¡°Enough Is Enough!¡± News vans with tall antennas are parked across the street.
I bury my face in Momma¡¯s shoulder again. People¡ªI don¡¯t know who¡ªpat my back and tell me it¡¯ll be okay.
I can tell when it¡¯s Daddy who¡¯s rubbing my back without him even saying anything. ¡°We gon¡¯ stay and march, baby,¡± he tells Momma. ¡°I want Seven and Sekani to be a part of this.¡±
¡°Yeah, I¡¯m taking her home. How are y¡¯all getting back?¡±
¡°We can walk to the store. I gotta open up anyway.¡± He kisses my hair. ¡°I love you, baby girl. Get some rest, a¡¯ight?¡±
Heels ck toward us, then someone says, ¡°Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Carter, I¡¯m April Ofrah with Just Us for Justice.¡±
Momma tenses up and pulls me closer. ¡°How may we help you?¡±
She lowers her voice and says, ¡°Khalil¡¯s grandmother told me that Starr is the one who was with Khalil when this happened. I know she gave a statement to the police, and I want tomend her on her bravery. This is a difficult situation, and that must¡¯ve taken a lot of strength.¡±
¡°Yeah, it did,¡± Daddy says.
I move my head off Momma¡¯s shoulder. Ms. Ofrah shifts her weight from foot to foot and fumbles with her fingers. My parents aren¡¯t helping with the hard looks they¡¯re giving her.
¡°We all want the same thing,¡± she says. ¡°Justice for Khalil.¡±
¡°Excuse me, Ms. Ofrah,¡± Momma says, ¡°but as much as I want that, I want my daughter to have some peace. And privacy.¡±
Momma looks at the news vans across the street. Ms. Ofrah nces back at them.
¡°Oh!¡± she says. ¡°Oh no. No, no, no. We weren¡¯t¡ªI wasn¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t want to put Starr out there like that. Quite the opposite, actually. I want to protect her privacy.¡±
Momma loosens her hold. ¡°I see.¡±
¡°Starr offers a unique perspective in this, one you don¡¯t get a lot with these cases, and I want to make sure her rights are protected and that her voice is heard, but without her being¡ª¡±
¡°Exploited?¡± Daddy asks. ¡°Pimped?¡±
¡°Exactly. The case is about to gain national media attention,but I don¡¯t want it to be at her expense.¡± She hands each of us a business card. ¡°Besides being an advocate, I¡¯m also an attorney. Just Us for Justice isn¡¯t providing the Harris family with legal representation¡ªsomeone else is doing that. We¡¯re simply rallying behind them. However, I¡¯m avable and willing to represent Starr on my own. Whenever you¡¯re ready, please give me a call. And I am so sorry for your loss.¡±
She disappears into the crowd.
Call her when I¡¯m ready, huh? I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll ever be ready for the shit that¡¯s about to happen.
: Part 1 – Chapter 9
My brotherse home with a message¡ªDaddy¡¯s spending the night at the store.
He also leaves instructions for us¡ªstay inside.
A chain-link fence surrounds our house. Seven puts the big lock on the gate, the one we use when we go out of town. I bring Brickz inside. He doesn¡¯t know how to act, walking around in circles and jumping on the furniture. Momma doesn¡¯t say anything until he gets on her good sofa in the living room.
¡°Ay!¡± She snaps her fingers at him. ¡°Get your big behind off my furniture. You crazy?¡±
He whimpers and scurries over to me.
The sun sets. We¡¯re in the middle of saying grace over pot roast and potatoes when the first gunshots ring out.
We open our eyes. Sekani flinches. I¡¯m used to gunshots,but these are louder, faster. One barely sounds off before another¡¯s right behind it.
¡°Machine guns,¡± says Seven. More shots follow.
¡°Take your dinner to the den,¡± Momma says, getting up from the table. ¡°And sit on the floor. Bullets don¡¯t know where they¡¯re supposed to go.¡±
Seven gets up too. ¡°Ma, I can¡ª¡±
¡°Seven, den,¡± she says.
¡°But¡ª¡±
¡°Se-ven.¡± She breaks his name down. ¡°I¡¯m turning the lights off, baby, okay? Please, go to the den.¡±
He gives in. ¡°All right.¡± When Daddy isn¡¯t home, Seven acts like he¡¯s the man of the house by default. Momma always has to break his name down and put him in his ce.
I grab my te and Momma¡¯s and head for the den, the one room without exterior walls. Brickz is right behind me, but he always follows food. The hallway darkens as Momma turns off the lights throughout the house.
We have one of those old-school big-screen TVs in the den. It¡¯s Daddy¡¯s prized possession. We crowd around it, and Seven turns on the news, lighting up the den.
There are at least a hundred people gathered on Magnolia Avenue. They chant for justice and hold signs, fists high in the air for ck power.
Mommaes in, talking on the phone. ¡°All right, Mrs. Pearl, as long as you sure. Just remember we got enough roomover here for you if you don¡¯t feelfortable being alone. I¡¯ll check inter.¡±
Mrs. Pearl is this elderlydy who lives by herself across the street. Momma checks on her all the time. She says Mrs. Pearl needs to know that somebody cares.
Momma sits next to me. Sekani rests his head in herp. Brickz mimics him and puts his head in myp, licking my fingers.
¡°Are they mad ¡¯cause Khalil died?¡± Sekani asks.
Momma brushes her fingers through his high-top fade. ¡°Yeah, baby. We all are.¡±
But they¡¯rereallymad that Khalil was unarmed. Can¡¯t be a coincidence this is happening after Ms. Ofrah announced that at his funeral.
The cops respond to the chants with tear gas that nkets the crowd in a white cloud. The news cuts to footage inside the crowd of people running and screaming.
¡°Damn,¡± Seven says.N?velDrama.Org: text ? owner.
Sekani buries his face in Momma¡¯s thigh. I feed Brickz a piece of my pot roast. The clenching in my stomach won¡¯t let me eat.
Sirens wail outside. The news shows three patrol cars that have been set aze at the police precinct, about a five-minute drive away from us. A gas station near the freeway gets looted, and the owner, this Indian man, staggers around bloody, saying he didn¡¯t have anything to do with Khalil¡¯s death. A line of copsguard the Walmart on the east side.
My neighborhood is a war zone.
Chris texts to see if I¡¯m okay, and I immediately feel like shit for avoiding him, Beyonc¨¦¡¯ing him, and everything else. I would apologize, but texting ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡±bined with every emoji in the world isn¡¯t the same as saying it face-to-face. I do let him know I¡¯m okay though.
Maya and Hailey call, asking about the store, the house, my family, me. Neither of them mention the fried chicken drama. It¡¯s weird talking to them about Garden Heights. We never do. I¡¯m always afraid one of them will call it ¡°the ghetto.¡±
I get it. Garden Heights is the ghetto, so it wouldn¡¯t be a lie, but it¡¯s like when I was nine and Seven and I got into one of our fights. He went for a low blow and called me Shorty McShort-Short. Ame insult now when I think about it, but it tore me up back then. I knew there was a possibility I was short¡ªeverybody else was taller than I was¡ªand I could call myself short if I wanted. It became an ufortable truth when Seven said it.
I can call Garden Heights the ghetto all I want. Nobody else can.
Momma stays on her phone too, checking on some neighbors and getting calls from others who are checking on us. Ms. Jones down the street says that she and her four kids are holed up in their den like we are. Mr. Charles next door says that if the power goes out we can use his generator.
Uncle Carlos checks on us too. Nana takes the phone andtells Momma to bring us out there. Like we¡¯re about to go through the shit to get out of it. Daddy calls and says the store is all right. It doesn¡¯t stop me from tensing up every time the news mentions a business that¡¯s been attacked.
The news does more than give Khalil¡¯s name now¡ªthey show his picture too. They only call me ¡°the witness.¡± Sometimes ¡°the sixteen-year-old ck female witness.¡±
The police chief appears onscreen and says what I was afraid he¡¯d say: ¡°We have taken into consideration the evidence as well as the statement given by the witness, and as of now we see no reason to arrest the officer.¡±
Momma and Seven nce at me. They don¡¯t say anything with Sekani right here. They don¡¯t have to. All of this is my fault. The riots, gunshots, tear gas, all of it, are ultimately my fault. I forgot to tell the cops that Khalil got out with his hands up. I didn¡¯t mention that the officer pointed his gun at me. I didn¡¯t say something right, and now that cop¡¯s not getting arrested.
But while the riots are my fault, the news basically makes it sound like it¡¯s Khalil¡¯s fault he died.
¡°There are multiple reports that a gun was found in the car,¡± the anchor ims. ¡°There is also suspicion that the victim was a drug dealer as well as a gang member. Officials have not confirmed if any of this is true.¡±
The gun stuff can¡¯t be true. When I asked Khalil if he had anything in the car, he said no.
He also wouldn¡¯t say if he was a drug dealer or not. And hedidn¡¯t even mention the gangbanging stuff.
Does it matter though? He didn¡¯t deserve to die.
Sekani and Brickz start breathing deeply around the same time, fast asleep. That¡¯s not an option for me with the helicopters, the gunshots, and the sirens. Momma and Seven stay up too. Around four in the morning, when it¡¯s quieted down, Daddyes in bleary-eyed and yawning.
¡°They didn¡¯t hit Marigold,¡± he says between bites of pot roast at the kitchen table. ¡°Looks like they keeping it mostly on the east side, near where he was killed. For now at least.¡±
¡°For now,¡± Momma repeats.
Daddy runs his hand over his face. ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s gon¡¯ stop them froming this way. Shit, much as I understand it, I dread it if they do.¡±
¡°We can¡¯t stay here, Maverick,¡± she says, and her voice is shaky, like she¡¯s been holding something in this entire time and is just now letting it out. ¡°This won¡¯t get better. It¡¯ll get worse.¡±
Daddy reaches for her hand. She lets him take it, and he pulls her onto hisp. Daddy wraps his arms around her and kisses the back of her head.
¡°We¡¯ll be a¡¯ight.¡±
He sends me and Seven to bed. Somehow I fall asleep.
Natasha runs into the store again. ¡°Starr,e on!¡±
Her braids have dirt in them, and her once-fat cheeks are sunken. Blood soaks through her clothes.
I step back. She runs up to me and grabs my hand. Hers feels icy like it did in her coffin.
¡°Come on.¡± She tugs at me. ¡°Come on!¡±
She pulls me toward the door, and my feet move against my will.
¡°Stop,¡± I say. ¡°Natasha, stop!¡±
A hand extends through the door, holding a Glock.
Bang!
I jolt awake.
Seven bangs his fist against my door. He doesn¡¯t text normal, and he doesn¡¯t wake people up normal either. ¡°We¡¯re leaving in ten.¡±
My heart beats against my chest like it¡¯s trying to get out.You¡¯re fine,I remind myself.It¡¯s Seven¡¯s stupid butt.¡°Leaving for what?¡± I ask him.
¡°Basketball at the park. It¡¯s thest Saturday of the month, right? Isn¡¯t this what we always do?¡±
¡°But¡ªthe riots and stuff?¡±
¡°Like Pops said, that stuff happened on the east. We¡¯re good over here. Plus the news said it¡¯s quiet this morning.¡±
What if somebody knows I¡¯m the witness? What if they know that it¡¯s my fault that cop hasn¡¯t been arrested? What if wee across some cops and they know who I am?
¡°It¡¯ll be all right,¡± Seven says, like he read my mind. ¡°I promise. Now get yourzy butt up so I can kill you on the court.¡±
If it¡¯s possible to be a sweet asshole, that¡¯s Seven. I get out of bed and put on my basketball shorts, LeBron jersey, and my Thirteens like Jordan wore before he left the Bulls. Ib my hair into a ponytail. Seven waits for me at the front door, spinning the basketball between his hands.
I snatch it from him. ¡°Like you know what to do with it.¡±
¡°We¡¯ll see ¡¯bout that.¡±
I holler to let Momma and Daddy know we¡¯ll be backter and leave.
At first Garden Heights looks the same, but a couple of blocks away at least five police cars speed by. Smoke lingers in the air, making everything look hazy. It stinks too.
We make it to Rose Park. Some King Lords sit in a gray Escde across the street, and a younger one¡¯s on the park merry-go-round. Long as we don¡¯t bother them, they won¡¯t bother us.
Rose Park upies a whole block, and a tall chain-link fence surrounds it. I¡¯m not sure what it¡¯s protecting¡ªthe graffiti on the basketball court, the rusting yground equipment, the benches that way too many babies have been made on, or the liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and trash that litter the grass.
We¡¯re right near the basketball courts, but the entrance to the park is on the other side of the block. I toss the ball to Seven and climb the fence. I used to jump down from the top, but one fall and a sprained ankle stopped me from doing that again.
When I get over the fence Seven tosses the ball to me andclimbs. Khalil, Natasha, and I used to take a shortcut through the park after school. We¡¯d run up the slides, spin on the merry-go-round till we were dizzy, and try to swing higher than one another.
I try to forget all that as I check the ball to Seven. ¡°First to thirty?¡±
¡°Forty,¡± he says, knowing damn well he¡¯ll be lucky if he gets twenty points. He can¡¯t y ball just like Daddy can¡¯t y ball.
As if to prove it, Seven dribbles using the palm of his hand. You¡¯re supposed to use your fingertips. Then this fool shoots for a three.
The ball bounces off the rim. Of course. I grab it and look at him. ¡°Weak! You knew that shit wasn¡¯t going in.¡±
¡°Whatever. y the damn game.¡±
Five minutes in, I have ten points to his two, and I basically gave him those. I fake left, make a quick right in a smooth crossover, and go for the three. That baby goes in nicely. This girl¡¯s got game.
Seven makes aTwith his hands. He pants harder than I do, and I¡¯m the one who used to have asthma. ¡°Time out. Water break.¡±
I wipe my forehead with my arm. The sun res on the court already. ¡°How about we call it?¡±
¡°Hell no. I got some game in me. I gotta get my angles right.¡±
¡°Angles? This is ball, Seven. Not selfies.¡±
¡°Ay, yo!¡± some boy calls.
We turn around, and my breath catches. ¡°Shit.¡±
There are two of them. They look thirteen, fourteen years old and are wearing green Celtics jerseys. Garden Disciples, no doubt. They cross the courts,ing straight for us.
The tallest one steps to Seven. ¡°Nigga, you Kinging?¡±
I can¡¯t even take this fool seriously. His voice squeaks. Daddy says there¡¯s a trick to telling OGs from Young Gs, besides their age. OGs don¡¯t start stuff, they finish it. Young Gs always start stuff.
¡°Nah, I¡¯m neutral,¡± Seven says.
¡°Ain¡¯t King your daddy?¡± the shorter one asks.
¡°Hell, no. He just messing with my momma.¡±
¡°It don¡¯t even matter.¡± The tall one flicks out a pocket knife. ¡°Hand your shit over. Sneakers, phones, everything.¡±
Rule of the Garden¡ªif it doesn¡¯t involve you, it doesn¡¯t have shit to do with you. Period. The King Lords in the Escde see everything going down. Since we don¡¯t im their set, we don¡¯t exist.
But the boy on the merry-go-round runs over and pushes the GDs back. He lifts up his shirt, shing his piece. ¡°We got a problem?¡±
They back up. ¡°Yeah, we got a problem,¡± the shorter one says.
¡°You sure? Last time I checked, Rose Park was King territory.¡± He looks toward the Escde. The King Lords inside nodat us, a simple way of asking if things are cool. We nod back.
¡°A¡¯ight,¡± the tall GD says. ¡°We got you.¡±
The GDs leave the same way they came.
The younger King Lord ps palms with Seven. ¡°You straight, bruh?¡± he asks.
¡°Yeah. Good looking out, Vante.¡±
I can¡¯t lie, he¡¯s kinda cute. Hey, just ¡¯cause I have a boyfriend doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t look, and as much as Chris drools over Nicki Minaj, Beyonc¨¦, and Amber Rose, I dare him to get mad at me for looking.
On a side note¡ªmy boyfriend clearly has a type.
This Vante guy¡¯s around my age, a little taller, with a big Afro puff and the faint signs of a mustache. He has some nice lips too. Real plump and soft.
I¡¯ve looked at them too long. He licks them and smiles. ¡°I had to make sure you and li¡¯l momma were okay.¡±
And that ruins it. Don¡¯t call me by a nickname if you don¡¯t know me. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re fine,¡± I say.
¡°Them GDs helped you out anyway,¡± he tells Seven. ¡°She was killing you out here.¡±
¡°Man, shut up,¡± Seven says. ¡°This is my sister, Starr.¡±
¡°Oh yeah,¡± the guy says. ¡°You the one who work up in Big Mav¡¯s store, ain¡¯t you?¡±
Like I said, I get that all. The. Time. ¡°Yep. That¡¯s me.¡±
¡°Starr, this is DeVante,¡± Seven says. ¡°He¡¯s one of King¡¯s boys.¡±
¡°DeVante?¡± So this is the dude Kenya fought over.
¡°Yeah, that¡¯s me.¡± He looks at me from head to toe and licks his lips again. ¡°You heard ¡¯bout me or something?¡±
All that lip licking. Not cute. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve heard about you. And you may wanna get some Chapstick if your lips that dry, since you¡¯re licking them so much.¡±
¡°Damn, it¡¯s like that?¡±
¡°What she means is thanks for helping us out,¡± Seven says, even though that¡¯s not what I meant. ¡°We appreciate it.¡±
¡°It¡¯s all good. Them fools running around here ¡¯cause the riots happening on their side. It¡¯s too hot for them over there.¡±
¡°What you doing in the park this early anyway?¡± Seven asks.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. ¡°Posted up. You know how it go.¡±
He¡¯s a d-boy. Damn, Kenya really knows how to pick them. Anytime drug-dealing gangbangers are your type, you¡¯ve got some serious issues. Well, Kingisher daddy.
¡°I heard about your brother,¡± Seven says. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, man. Dalvin was a cool dude.¡±
DeVante kicks at a pebble on the court. ¡°Thanks. Mom¡¯s taking it real hard. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. Had to get out the house.¡±
Dalvin? DeVante? I tilt my head. ¡°Your momma named y¡¯all after them dudes from that old group Jodeci?¡± I only know because my parents love them some Jodeci.
¡°Yeah, so?¡±
¡°It was just a question. You don¡¯t have to have an attitude.¡±
A white Tahoe screeches to a stop on the other side of the fence. Daddy¡¯s Tahoe.
His window rolls down. He¡¯s in a wifebeater and pillow marks zigzag across his face. I pray he doesn¡¯t get out because knowing Daddy his legs are ashy and he¡¯s wearing Nike flip-flops with socks. ¡°What the hell y¡¯all thinking, leaving the house without telling nobody?¡± he yells.
The King Lords across the street bust outughing. DeVante coughs into his fist like he wants tough too. Seven and I look at everything but Daddy.
¡°Oh, y¡¯all wanna act like y¡¯all don¡¯t hear me? Answer me when I¡¯m talking to you!¡±
The King Lords howl withughter.
¡°Pops, we just came to y ball,¡± Seven says.
¡°I don¡¯t care. All this shit going on, and y¡¯all leave? Get in this truck!¡±
¡°Goddamn,¡± I say under my breath. ¡°Always gotta act a fool.¡±
¡°What you say?¡± he barks.
The King Lords howl louder. I wanna disappear.
¡°Nothing,¡± I say.
¡°Nah, it was something. Tell you what, don¡¯t climb the fence. Go round to the entrance. And I bet¡¯ not beat y¡¯all there.¡±
He drives off.
Shit.
I grab my ball, and Seven and I haul ass across the park. Thest time I ran this fast, Coach was making us do suicides. We get to the entrance as Daddy pulls up. I climb in the back of the truck, and Seven¡¯s dumb butt gets in the passenger seat.
Daddy drives off. ¡°Done lost y¡¯all minds,¡± he says. ¡°People rioting, damn near calling the National Guard around here, and y¡¯all wanna y ball.¡±
¡°Why you have to embarrass us like that?¡± Seven snaps.
I¡¯m so d I¡¯m in the backseat. Daddy turns toward Seven, not even looking at the road, and growls, ¡°You ain¡¯t too old.¡±
Seven stares ahead. Steam is just abouting off him.
Daddy looks at the road again. ¡°Got some goddamn nerve talking to me like that ¡¯cause some King Lords wereughing at you. What, you Kinging now?¡±
Seven doesn¡¯t respond.
¡°I¡¯m talking to you, boy!¡±
¡°No, sir,¡± he bites out.
¡°So why you care what they think? You wanna be a man so damn bad, but men don¡¯t care what nobody thinks.¡±
He pulls into our driveway. Not even halfway up the walkway I see Momma through the screen on the door in her nightgown, her arms folded and her bare foot tapping.
¡°Get in this house!¡± she shouts.
She paces the living room as wee in. The question isn¡¯t if she¡¯ll explode but when.
Seven and I sink onto her good sofa.
¡°Where were y¡¯all?¡± she asks. ¡°And you better not lie.¡±
¡°The basketball court,¡± I mumble, staring at my J¡¯s.
Momma leans down close to me and puts her hand to her ear. ¡°What was that? I didn¡¯t hear you good.¡±
¡°Speak up, girl,¡± Daddy says.
¡°The basketball court,¡± I repeat louder.
¡°The basketball court.¡± Momma straightens up andughs. ¡°She said the basketball court.¡± Herughter stops, and her voice gets louder with each word. ¡°I¡¯m walking around here, worried out my mind, and y¡¯all at the damn basketball court!¡±
Somebody giggles in the hallway.
¡°Sekani, go to your room!¡± Momma says without looking that way. His feet thump hurriedly down the hall.
¡°I hollered and told y¡¯all we were leaving,¡± I say.
¡°Oh, she hollered,¡± Daddy mocks. ¡°Did you hear anybody holler, baby? ¡¯Cause I didn¡¯t.¡±
Momma sucks her teeth. ¡°Neither did I. She can wake us up to ask for some money, but she can¡¯t wake us up to tell us she¡¯s going in a war zone.¡±
¡°It¡¯s my fault,¡± Seven says. ¡°I wanted to get her out the house and do something normal.¡±
¡°Baby, there¡¯s no such thing as normal right now!¡± says Momma. ¡°You see what¡¯s been happening. And y¡¯all were crazy enough to go out there like that?¡±
¡°Dumb enough is more like it,¡± Daddy adds.
I keep my eyes on my shoes.
¡°Hand over your phones,¡± Momma says.
¡°What?¡± I shriek. ¡°That¡¯s not fair! I hollered and told y¡¯all¡ª¡±
¡°Starr Amara,¡± she says through her teeth. Since my first name is only one syble, she has to throw my middle name in there to break it down. ¡°If you don¡¯t hand me that phone, I swear to God.¡±
I open my mouth, but she goes, ¡°Say something else! I dare you, say something else! I¡¯ll take all them Jordans too!¡±
This is some bullshit. For real. Daddy watches us; her attack dog, waiting for us to make a wrong move. That¡¯s how they work. Momma does the first round, and if it¡¯s not sessful, Daddy goes for the KO. And you never want Daddy to go for the KO.
Seven and I hand her our phones.
¡°I thought so,¡± she says, and passes them to Daddy. ¡°Since y¡¯all want ¡®normal¡¯ so much, go get your stuff. We¡¯re going to Carlos¡¯s for the day.¡±
¡°Nah, not him.¡± Daddy motions Seven to get up. ¡°He going to the store with me.¡±
Momma looks at me and jerks her head toward the hall. ¡°Go. I oughta make you take a shower, smelling like outside.¡± As I¡¯m leaving, she hollers, ¡°And don¡¯t get any skimpy stuff to wear to Carlos¡¯s either!¡±
Ooh, she gets on my nerves. See, Chris lives down the street from Uncle Carlos. I am d she didn¡¯t say any more in front of Daddy though.
Brickz meets me at my bedroom door. He jumps up my legs and tries to lick my face. I had about forty shoe boxes stacked in a corner, and he knocked all of them over.
I scratch behind his ears. ¡°Clumsy dog.¡±
I would take him with us, but they don¡¯t allow pits in Uncle Carlos¡¯s neighborhood. He settles on my bed and watches me pack. I only really need my swimsuit and some sandals, but Momma could decide to stay out there the whole weekend because of the riots. I pack a couple of outfits and get my school backpack. I throw each backpack over a shoulder. ¡°C¡¯mon, Brickz.¡±
He follows me to his spot in the backyard, and I hook him up to his chain. While I refill Brickz¡¯s food and water bowls, Daddy crouches beside his roses and examines the petals. He waters them like he¡¯s supposed to, but for some reason they¡¯re dry looking.
¡°C¡¯mon, now,¡± he tells them. ¡°Y¡¯all gotta do better than this.¡±
Momma and Sekani wait for me in her Camry. I end up in the passenger¡¯s seat. It¡¯s childish, but I don¡¯t wanna sit this close to her right now. Unfortunately it¡¯s either sit next to her or next to Sir-Farts-a-Lot Sekani. I¡¯m staring straight ahead, and out the corner of my eye I see her looking at me. She makes this sound like she¡¯s about to speak, but her words decide toe out as a sigh.
Good. I don¡¯t wanna talk to her either. I¡¯m being petty as hell and don¡¯t even care.
We head for the freeway, passing the Cedar Grove projects, where we used to live. We get to Magnolia Avenue, the busiest street in Garden Heights, where most of the businesses are located. Usually on Saturday mornings, guys around the neighborhood have their cars on disy, cruising up and down the street and racing each other.
Today the street¡¯s blocked off. A crowd marches down the middle of it. They¡¯re holding signs and posters of Khalil¡¯s face and are chanting, ¡°Justice for Khalil!¡±
I should be out there with them, but I can¡¯t join that march, knowing I¡¯m one of the reasons they¡¯re protesting.
¡°You know none of this is your fault, right?¡± Momma asks.
How in the world did she do that? ¡°I know.¡±
¡°I mean it, baby. It¡¯s not. You did everything right.¡±
¡°But sometimes right¡¯s not good enough, huh?¡±
She takes my hand, and despite my annoyance I let her. It¡¯s the closest thing I get to an answer for a while.
Saturday morning traffic on the freeway moves smoothlypared to weekday traffic. Sekani puts his headphones on and ys with his tablet. Some nies R&B songs y on the radio, and Momma sings along under her breath. When she really gets into it, she attempts all kinds of runs and goes, ¡°Yes, girl! Yes!¡±
Out of nowhere she says, ¡°You weren¡¯t breathing when you were born.¡±
My first time hearing that. ¡°For real?¡±
¡°Uh-huh. I was eighteen when I had you. Still a baby myself,but I thought I was grown. Wouldn¡¯t admit to anybody that I was scared to death. Your nana thought there was no way in hell I could be a good parent. Not wild Lisa.
¡°I was determined to prove her wrong. I stopped drinking and smoking, went to all of my appointments, ate right, took my vitamins, the whole nine. Shoot, I even yed Mozart on some headphones and put them on my belly. We see what good that was. You didn¡¯t finish a month of piano lessons.¡±
Iugh. ¡°Sorry.¡±
¡°It¡¯s okay. Like I was saying, I did everything right. I remember being in that delivery room, and when they pulled you out, I waited for you to cry. But you didn¡¯t. Everybody ran around, and your father and I kept asking what was wrong. Finally the nurse said you weren¡¯t breathing.
¡°I freaked out. Your daddy couldn¡¯t calm me down. He was barely calm himself. After the longest minute of my life, you cried. I think I cried harder than you though. I knew I did something wrong. But one of the nurses took my hand¡±¡ªMomma grabs my hand again¡ª¡°looked me in the eye, and said, ¡®Sometimes you can do everything right and things will still go wrong. The key is to never stop doing right.¡¯¡±
She holds my hand the rest of the drive.
I used to think the sun shone brighter out here in Uncle Carlos¡¯s neighborhood, but today it really does¡ªthere¡¯s no smoke lingering, and the air is fresher. All the houses have two stories.Kids y on the sidewalks and in the big yards. There are lemonade stands, garage sales, and lots of joggers. Even with all that going on, it¡¯s real quiet.
We pass Maya¡¯s house, a few streets over from Uncle Carlos¡¯s. I would text her and see if I coulde over, but, you know, I don¡¯t have my phone.
¡°You can¡¯t visit your li¡¯l friend today,¡± Momma says, reading my mind once a-freaking-gain. ¡°You¡¯re grounded.¡±
My mouth flies wide open.
¡°But she cane over to Carlos¡¯s and see you.¡±
She nces at me out the corner of her eye with a half smile. This is supposed to be the moment I hug her and thank her and tell her she¡¯s the best.
Not happening. I say, ¡°Cool. Whatever,¡± and sit back.
She busts outughing. ¡°You are so stubborn!¡±
¡°No, I¡¯m not!¡±
¡°Yes, you are,¡± she says. ¡°Just like your father.¡±
Soon as we pull into Uncle Carlos¡¯s driveway, Sekani jumps out. Our cousin Daniel waves at him from down the sidewalk with some other boys, and they¡¯re all on their bikes.
¡°Later, Momma,¡± Sekani says. He runs past Uncle Carlos, who¡¯sing out the garage, and grabs his bike. Sekani got it for Christmas, but he keeps it at Uncle Carlos¡¯s house because Momma¡¯s not about to let him ride around Garden Heights. He pedals down the driveway.
Momma hops out and calls after him, ¡°Don¡¯t go too far!¡±
I get out, and Uncle Carlos meets me with a perfect Uncle Carlos hug¡ªnot too tight, but so firm that it tells me how much he loves me in a few seconds.
He kisses the top of my head twice and asks, ¡°How are you doing, baby girl?¡±
¡°Okay.¡± I sniff. Smoke¡¯s in the air. The good kind though. ¡°You barbecuing?¡±
¡°Just heated the grill up. Gonna throw some burgers and chicken on for lunch.¡±
¡°I hope we don¡¯t end up with food poisoning,¡± Momma teases.
¡°Ah, look who¡¯s trying to be aedian,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll be eating your words and everything I cook, baby sis, because I¡¯m about to throw down. Food Network doesn¡¯t have anything on me.¡± And he pops his cor.
Lord. He¡¯s so corny sometimes.
Aunt Pam tends to the grill on the patio. My little cousin Ava sucks her thumb and hugs Aunt Pam¡¯s leg. The second she sees me, shees running. ¡°Starr-Starr!¡±
Her ponytails fly as she runs, and sheunches herself into my arms. I swing her around, getting a whole lot of giggles out of her. ¡°How¡¯s my favorite three-year-old in the whole wide world doing?¡±
¡°Good!¡± She sticks her wrinkly, wet thumb back in her mouth. ¡°Hey, Auntie Leelee.¡±
¡°Hey, baby. You¡¯ve been good?¡±
Ava nods too much. No way she¡¯s beenthatgood.
Aunt Pam lets Uncle Carlos handle the grill and greets Momma with a hug. She has dark-brown skin and big curly hair. Nana likes her because shees from a ¡°good family.¡± Her mom is an attorney, and her dad is the first ck chief of surgery at the same hospital where Aunt Pam works as a surgeon. Real-life Huxtables, I swear.
I put Ava down, and Aunt Pam hugs me extra tight. ¡°How are you doing, sweetie?¡±
¡°Okay.¡±
She says she understands, but nobody really does.
Nanaes busting out the back door with her arms outstretched. ¡°My girls!¡±
That¡¯s the first sign something¡¯s up. She hugs me and Momma and kisses our cheeks. Nana never kisses us, and she never lets us kiss her. She says she doesn¡¯t know where our mouths have been. She frames my face with her hands, talking about, ¡°Thank the Lord. He spared your life. Hallelujah!¡±
So many rms go off in my head. Not that she wouldn¡¯t be happy that ¡°the Lord spared my life,¡± but this isn¡¯t Nana. At all.
She takes me and Momma by our wrists and pulls us toward the poolside loungers. ¡°Y¡¯alle over here and talk to me.¡±
¡°But I was gonna talk to Pam¡ª¡±
Nana looks at Momma and hisses through gritted teeth, ¡°Shut the hell up, sit down, and talk to me, goddammit.¡±
Nowthat¡¯sNana. She sits back in a lounger and fans herselfall dramatically. She¡¯s a retired theater teacher, so she does everything dramatically. Momma and I share a lounger and sit on the side of it.
¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Momma asks.
¡°When¡ª¡± she begins, but sters on a fake smile when Ava waddles over with her baby doll and ab. Ava hands both to me and goes to y with some of her other toys.
Ib the doll¡¯s hair. That girl has me trained. Doesn¡¯t have to say anything, and I do it.
Once Ava¡¯s out of earshot, Nana says, ¡°When y¡¯all taking me back to my house?¡±
¡°What happened?¡± Momma asks.
¡°Keep your damn voice down!¡± Ironically, she¡¯s not keeping hers down. ¡°Yesterday morning, I took some catfish out for dinner. Was gonna fry it up with some hush puppies, fries, the whole nine. I left to run some errands.¡±
¡°What kinda errands?¡± I ask for the hell of it.
Nana cuts me ¡°the look¡± and it¡¯s like seeing Momma in thirty years, with a few wrinkles and gray hairs she missed when coloring her hair (she¡¯d whoop my behind for saying that).
¡°I¡¯m grown, li¡¯l girl,¡± she says. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me what I do. Anyway, Ie home and thatheffadone covered my catfish in some damn cornkes and baked it!¡±
¡°Cornkes?¡± I say, parting the doll¡¯s hair.
¡°Yes! Talking ¡¯bout, ¡®It¡¯s healthier that way.¡¯ If I want healthy, I eat a sd.¡±
Momma covers her mouth, and the edges of her lips are turned up. ¡°I thought you and Pam got along.¡±
¡°We did. Until she messed with my food. Now, I¡¯ve dealt with a lotta things since I¡¯ve been here. But that¡±¡ªshe holds up a finger¡ª¡°is taking it too damn far. I¡¯d rather live with you and that ex-con than deal with this.¡±
Momma stands and kisses Nana¡¯s forehead. ¡°You¡¯ll be all right.¡±
Nana waves her off. When Momma leaves, she looks at me. ¡°You okay, li¡¯l girl? Carlos told me you were in the car with that boy when he was killed.¡±
¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, I¡¯m okay.¡±
¡°Good. And if you¡¯re not, you will be. We¡¯re strong like that.¡±
I nod, but I don¡¯t believe it. At least not about myself.
The doorbell rings up front. I say, ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± put Ava¡¯s doll down, and go inside.
Crap. Chris is on the other side of the door. I wanna apologize to him, but dammit, I need time to prepare.
Weird though. He¡¯s pacing. The same way he does when we study for tests or before a big game. He¡¯s afraid to talk to me.
I open the door and lean against the frame. ¡°Hey.¡±
¡°Hey.¡± He smiles, and despite everything I smile too.
¡°I was washing one of my dad¡¯s cars and saw you guys pull up,¡± he says. That exins his tank top, flip-flops, and shorts. ¡°Are you okay? I know you said you were in your text, but I wanted to be sure.¡±
¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± I say.
¡°Your dad¡¯s store didn¡¯t get hit, did it?¡± he asks.
¡°Nope.¡±
¡°Good.¡±
Staring and silence.
He sighs. ¡°Look, if this is about the condom stuff, I¡¯ll never buy one again.¡±
¡°Never?¡±
¡°Well, only when you want me to.¡± He quickly adds, ¡°Which doesn¡¯t have to be anytime soon. Matter of fact, you don¡¯t have to ever sleep with me. Or kiss me. Hell, if you don¡¯t want me to touch you, I¡ª¡±
¡°Chris, Chris,¡± I say, my hands up to get him to slow down, and I¡¯m fighting augh. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I know what you mean.¡±
¡°Okay.¡±
¡°Okay.¡±
Another round of staring and silence.
¡°I¡¯m sorry, actually,¡± I tell him, shifting my weight from foot to foot. ¡°For giving you the silent treatment. It wasn¡¯t about the condom.¡±
¡°Oh ...¡± His eyebrows meet. ¡°Then what was it about?¡±
I sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t feel like talking about it.¡±
¡°So you can be mad at me, but you can¡¯t even tell me why?¡±
¡°It has nothing to do with you.¡±
¡°Yeah, it does if you¡¯re givingmethe silent treatment,¡± he says.
¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±
¡°Maybe you should let me determine that myself?¡± he says. ¡°Here I am, calling you, texting you, everything, and you can¡¯t tell me why you¡¯re ignoring me? That¡¯s kinda shitty, Starr.¡±
I give him this look, and I have a strong feeling I look like Momma and Nana right now with their ¡°I know you didn¡¯t just say that¡± re.
¡°I told you, you wouldn¡¯t understand. So drop it.¡±
¡°No.¡± He folds his arms. ¡°I came all the way down here¡ª¡±
¡°All the way? Bruh, allwhatway? Down the street?¡±
Garden Heights Starr is all up in my voice right now.
¡°Yeah, down the street,¡± he says. ¡°And guess what? I didn¡¯t have to do that. But I did. And you can¡¯t even tell me what¡¯s going on!¡±
¡°You¡¯re white, okay?¡± I yell. ¡°You¡¯re white!¡±
Silence.
¡°I¡¯m white?¡± he says, like he¡¯s just hearing that for the first time. ¡°What the fuck¡¯s that got to do with anything?¡±
¡°Everything! You¡¯re white, I¡¯m ck. You¡¯re rich, I¡¯m not.¡±
¡°That doesn¡¯t matter!¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t care about that kinda stuff, Starr. I care about you.¡±
¡°That kinda stuff is part of me!¡±
¡°Okay, and ... ? It¡¯s no big deal. God, seriously? This is what you¡¯re pissed about?Thisis why you¡¯re giving me the silent treatment?¡±
I stare at him, and I know, Iknow, I¡¯m straight up lookinglike Lisa Janae Carter. My mouth is slightly open like hers when I or my brothers ¡°get smart,¡± as she calls it, I¡¯ve pulled my chin back a little, and my eyebrows are raised. Shit, my hand¡¯s even on my hip.
Chris takes a small step back, just like my brothers and I do. ¡°It just ... it doesn¡¯t make sense to me, okay? That¡¯s all.¡±
¡°So like I said, you don¡¯t understand. Do you?¡±
Bam. If I am acting like my mom, this is one of her ¡°see, I told you¡± moments.
¡°No. I guess I don¡¯t,¡± he says.
Another round of silence.
Chris puts his hands in his pockets. ¡°Maybe you can help me understand? I don¡¯t know. But I do know that not having you in my life is worse than not making beats or ying basketball. And you know how much I love making beats and ying basketball, Starr.¡±
I smirk. ¡°You call that a line?¡±
He bites his bottom lip and shrugs. Iugh. He does too.
¡°Bad line, huh?¡± he asks.
¡°Awful.¡±
We go silent again, but it¡¯s the type of silence I don¡¯t mind. He puts his hand out for mine.
I still don¡¯t know if I¡¯m betraying who I am by dating Chris, but I¡¯ve missed him so much it hurts. Momma thinksing to Uncle Carlos¡¯s house is normal, but Chris is the kind of normal I really want. The normal where I don¡¯t have to choose whichStarr to be. The normal where nobody tells you how sorry they are or talks about ¡°Khalil the drug dealer.¡± Just ... normal.
That¡¯s why I can¡¯t tell Chris I¡¯m the witness.
I take his hand, and everything suddenly feels right. No flinching and no shbacks.
¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I say. ¡°Uncle Carlos should have the burgers ready.¡±
We go into the backyard, hand in hand. He¡¯s smiling, and surprisingly I am too.
: Part 1 – Chapter 10
We spend the night at Uncle Carlos¡¯s house because the riots started again as soon as the sun went down. Somehow the store got spared. We should go to church and thank God for that, but Momma and I are too tired to sit through less than an hour of anything. Sekani wants to spend another day at Uncle Carlos¡¯s, so Sunday morning we return to Garden Heights without him.
Right as we get off the freeway, we¡¯re met by a police roadblock. Only onene of traffic isn¡¯t blocked by a patrol car, and officers talk to drivers before letting them pass through.
Suddenly it¡¯s as if someone grabbed my heart and twisted it. ¡°Can we¡ª¡± I swallow. ¡°Can we get around them?¡±
¡°Doubt it. They probably got these all around the neighborhood.¡± Momma nces over at me and frowns. ¡°Munch? You okay?¡±
I grab my door handle. They can easily grab their guns and leave us like Khalil. All the blood in our bodies pooling on the street for everybody to see. Our mouths wide open. Our eyes staring at the sky, searching for God.
¡°Hey.¡± Momma cups my cheek. ¡°Hey, look at me.¡±
I try to, but my eyes are filled with tears. I¡¯m so sick of being this damn weak. Khalil may have lost his life, but I lost something too, and it pisses me off.
¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Momma says. ¡°We got this, all right? Close your eyes if you have to.¡±
I do.
Keep your hands visible.
No sudden moves.
Only speak when spoken to.
The seconds drag by like hours. The officer asks Momma for her ID and proof of insurance, and I beg ck Jesus to get us home, hoping there won¡¯t be a gunshot as she searches through her purse.
We finally drive off. ¡°See, baby,¡± she says. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine.¡±
Her words used to have power. If she said it was fine, it was fine. But after you¡¯ve held two people as they took theirst breaths, words like that don¡¯t mean shit anymore.
I haven¡¯t let go of the car door handle when we pull into our driveway.
Daddyes out and knocks on my window. Momma rolls it down for me. ¡°There go my girls.¡± He smiles, but it fades into a frown. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±
¡°You about to go somewhere, baby?¡± Momma asks, meaning they¡¯ll talkter.
¡°Yeah, gotta run to the warehouse and stock up.¡± He taps my shoulder. ¡°Ay, wanna hang out with your daddy? I¡¯ll get you some ice cream. One of them big fat tubs that¡¯llst ¡¯bout a month.¡±
Iugh even though I don¡¯t feel like it. Daddy¡¯s talented like that. ¡°I don¡¯t need all that ice cream.¡±
¡°I ain¡¯t say you needed it. When we get back, we can watch that Harry Potter shit you like so much.¡±
¡°Noooooooo.¡±
¡°What?¡± he asks.
¡°Daddy, you¡¯re the worst person to watch Harry Potter with. The whole time you¡¯re talking about¡±¡ªI deepen my voice¡ª¡°¡®Why don¡¯t they shoot that nigga Voldemort?¡¯¡±
¡°Ay, it don¡¯t make sense that in all them movies and books, nobody thought to shoot him.¡±
¡°If it¡¯s not that,¡± Momma says, ¡°you¡¯re giving your ¡®Harry Potter is about gangs¡¯ theory.¡±
¡°It is!¡± he says.
Okay, so itisa good theory. Daddy ims the Hogwarts houses are really gangs. They have their own colors, their own hideouts, and they are always riding for each other, like gangs.Harry, Ron, and Hermione never snitch on one another, just like gangbangers. Death Eaters even have matching tattoos. And look at Voldemort. They¡¯re scared to say his name. Really, that ¡°He Who Must Not Be Named¡± stuff is like giving him a street name. That¡¯s some gangbanging shit right there.
¡°Y¡¯all know that make a lot of sense,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Just ¡¯cause they was in Ennd don¡¯t mean they wasn¡¯t gangbanging.¡± He looks at me. ¡°So you down to hang out with your old man today or what?¡±
I¡¯m always down to hang out with him.
We roll through the streets, Tupac sting through the subwoofers. He¡¯s rapping about keeping your head up, and Daddy nces at me as he raps along, like he¡¯s telling me the same thing Tupac is.
¡°I know you¡¯re fed up, baby¡±¡ªhe nudges my chin¡ª¡°but keep your head up.¡±
He sings with the chorus about how things will get easier, and I don¡¯t know if I wanna cry ¡¯cause that¡¯s really speaking to me right now, or crack up ¡¯cause Daddy¡¯s singing is so horrible.
Daddy says, ¡°That was a deep dude right there. Real deep. They don¡¯t make rappers like that no more.¡±
¡°You¡¯re showing your age, Daddy.¡±
¡°Whatever. It¡¯s the truth. Rappers nowadays only care ¡¯bout money, hoes, and clothes.¡±
¡°Showing your age,¡± I whisper.
¡°¡¯Pac rapped ¡¯bout that stuff too, yeah, but he also cared¡¯bout uplifting ck people,¡± says Daddy. ¡°Like he took the word ¡®nigga¡¯ and gave it a whole new meaning¡ªNever Ignorant Getting Goals Aplished. And he said Thug Life meant¡ª¡±
¡°The Hate U Give Little Infants F¡ªs Everybody,¡± I censor myself. This is my daddy I¡¯m talking to, you know?
¡°You know ¡¯bout that?¡±
¡°Yeah. Khalil told me what he thought it means. We were listening to Tupac right before ... you know.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight, so what do you think it means?¡±
¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± I ask.
¡°I know. I wanna hear whatyouthink.¡±
Here he goes. Picking my brain. ¡°Khalil said it¡¯s about what society feeds us as youth and how ites back and bites themter,¡± I say. ¡°I think it¡¯s about more than youth though. I think it¡¯s about us, period.¡±
¡°Us who?¡± he asks.
¡°ck people, minorities, poor people. Everybody at the bottom in society.¡±
¡°The oppressed,¡± says Daddy.
¡°Yeah. We¡¯re the ones who get the short end of the stick, but we¡¯re the ones they fear the most. That¡¯s why the government targeted the ck Panthers, right? Because they were scared of the Panthers?¡±
¡°Uh-huh,¡± Daddy says. ¡°The Panthers educated and empowered the people. That tactic of empowering the oppressed goes even further back than the Panthers though. Name one.¡±
Is he serious? He always makes me think. This one takes me a second. ¡°The ve rebellion of 1831,¡± I say. ¡°Nat Turner empowered and educated other ves, and it led to one of the biggest ve revolts in history.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight, a¡¯ight. You on it.¡± He gives me dap. ¡°So, what¡¯s the hate they¡¯re giving the ¡®little infants¡¯ in today¡¯s society?¡±
¡°Racism?¡±
¡°You gotta get a li¡¯l more detailed than that. Think ¡¯bout Khalil and his whole situation. Before he died.¡±
¡°He was a drug dealer.¡± It hurts to say that. ¡°And possibly a gang member.¡±
¡°Why was he a drug dealer? Why are so many people in our neighborhood drug dealers?¡±
I remember what Khalil said¡ªhe got tired of choosing between lights and food. ¡°They need money,¡± I say. ¡°And they don¡¯t have a lot of other ways to get it.¡±
¡°Right. Lack of opportunities,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Corporate America don¡¯t bring jobs to ourmunities, and they damn sure ain¡¯t quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don¡¯t prepare us well enough. That¡¯s why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don¡¯t get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It¡¯s easier to find some crack than it is to find a good school around here.
¡°Now, think ¡¯bout this,¡± he says. ¡°How did the drugs evenget in our neighborhood? This is a multibillion-dor industry we talking ¡¯bout, baby. That shit is flown into ourmunities, but I don¡¯t know anybody with a private jet. Do you?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Exactly. Drugse from somewhere, and they¡¯re destroying ourmunity,¡± he says. ¡°You got folks like Brenda, who think they need them to survive, and then you got the Khalils, who think they need to sell them to survive. The Brendas can¡¯t get jobs unless they¡¯re clean, and they can¡¯t pay for rehab unless they got jobs. When the Khalils get arrested for selling drugs, they either spend most of their life in prison, another billion-dor industry, or they have a hard time getting a real job and probably start selling drugs again. That¡¯s the hate they¡¯re giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That¡¯s Thug Life.¡±
¡°I hear you, but Khalil didn¡¯thaveto sell drugs,¡± I say. ¡°You stopped doing it.¡±
¡°True, but unless you¡¯re in his shoes, don¡¯t judge him. It¡¯s easier to fall into that life than it is to stay outta it, especially in a situation like his. Now, one more question.¡±
¡°Really?¡± Damn, he¡¯s messed with my head enough.
¡°Yeah, really,¡± he mocks in a high voice. I don¡¯t even sound like that. ¡°After everything I¡¯ve said, how does Thug Life apply to the protests and the riots?¡±
I have to think about that one for a minute. ¡°Everybody¡¯s pissed ¡¯cause One-Fifteen hasn¡¯t been charged,¡± I say, ¡°but also because he¡¯s not the first one to do something like this and get away with it. It¡¯s been happening, and people will keep riotinguntil it changes. So I guess the system¡¯s still giving hate, and everybody¡¯s still getting fucked?¡±
Daddyughs and gives me dap. ¡°My girl. Watch your mouth, but yeah, that¡¯s about right. And we won¡¯t stop getting fucked till it changes. That¡¯s the key. It¡¯s gotta change.¡±
A lump forms in my throat as the truth hits me. Hard. ¡°That¡¯s why people are speaking out, huh? Because it won¡¯t change if we don¡¯t say something.¡±
¡°Exactly. We can¡¯t be silent.¡±
¡°SoIcan¡¯t be silent.¡±
Daddy stills. He looks at me.
I see the fight in his eyes. I matter more to him than a movement. I¡¯m his baby, and I¡¯ll always be his baby, and if being silent means I¡¯m safe, he¡¯s all for it.
This is bigger than me and Khalil though. This is about Us, with a capital U; everybody who looks like us, feels like us, and is experiencing this pain with us despite not knowing me or Khalil. My silence isn¡¯t helping Us.
Daddy fixes his gaze on the road again. He nods. ¡°Yeah. Can¡¯t be silent.¡±
The trip to the warehouse is hell.
You got all these people pushing big tbeds around, and them things are hard to push as it is, and you gotta maneuver it while it¡¯s stacked with stuff. By the time we leave, I feel like ck Jesus snatched me from the depths of hell. Daddy does get me ice cream though.
Buying the stuff is only the first step. We unload it at the store, put it on the shelves, and we (scratch that,I) put price stickers on all those bags of chips, cookies, and candies. I should¡¯ve thought about that before I agreed to hang out with Daddy. While I do the hard work, he pays bills in his office.
I¡¯m putting stickers on the Hot Fries when somebody knocks on the front door.
¡°We¡¯re closed,¡± I yell without looking. We have a sign, can¡¯t they read?
Obviously not. They knock again.
Daddy appears in the doorway of his office. ¡°We closed!¡±
Another knock.
Daddy disappears into his office and returns with his Glock. He¡¯s not supposed to carry it since he¡¯s a felon, but he says that technically he doesn¡¯t carry it. He keeps it in his office.
He looks out at the person on the other side of the door. ¡°What you want?¡±
¡°I¡¯m hungry,¡± a guy says. ¡°Can I buy something?¡±
Daddy unlocks the door and holds it open. ¡°You got five minutes.¡±
¡°Thanks,¡± DeVante says as hees in. His Afro puff has be a full-blown Afro. He has this wild look about him, and I don¡¯t mean ¡¯cause of his hair, but like in his eyes. They¡¯re puffy and red and darting around. He barely gives me a nod when he passes.
Daddy waits at the cash register with his piece.
DeVante nces outside. He looks at the chips. ¡°Fritos, Cheetos, or Dori¡ª¡± His voice trails off as he nces again. He notices me watching him and looks at the chips. ¡°Doritos.¡±
¡°Your five minutes getting shorter,¡± Daddy says.
¡°Damn, man. A¡¯ight!¡± DeVante grabs a bag of Fritos. ¡°Can I get something to drink?¡±
¡°Hurry up.¡±
DeVante goes to the refrigerators. I join Daddy at the cash register. It¡¯s so obvious something is up. DeVante keeps stretching his neck to look outside. His five minutes pass at least three times. It doesn¡¯t take anybody that long to choose between Coke, Pepsi, or Faygo. I¡¯m sorry but it doesn¡¯t.
¡°A¡¯ight, Vante.¡± Daddy motions him to the cash register. ¡°You trying to get the nerve to stick me up or you running from somebody?¡±
¡°Hell nah, I ain¡¯t trying to stick you up.¡± He takes out a wad of money and sets it on the counter. ¡°I¡¯m paid. And I¡¯m a King. I don¡¯t run from no-damn-body.¡±
¡°No, you hide in stores,¡± I say.
He res at me, but Daddy tells him, ¡°She right. You hiding from somebody. Kings or GDs?¡±
¡°It¡¯s not those GDs from the park, is it?¡± I ask.
¡°Why don¡¯t you mind your business?¡± he snaps.
¡°You came in my daddy¡¯s business, so I am minding my business.¡±
¡°Ay!¡± Daddy says. ¡°But for real, who you hiding from?¡±
DeVante stares at his scuffed-up Chucks that are beyond the help of my cleaning kit. ¡°King,¡± he mumbles.
¡°Kings or King?¡± Daddy asks.
¡°King,¡± DeVante repeats louder. ¡°He wants me to handle the dudes that killed my brother. I¡¯m not trying to have that on me though.¡±
¡°Yeah, I heard ¡¯bout Dalvin,¡± Daddy says. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What happened?¡±
¡°We were at Big D¡¯s party, and some GDs stepped to him. They got into it, and one of them cowards shot him in the back.¡±
Oh, damn. That was the same party Khalil and I were at. Those were the gunshots that made us leave.
¡°Big Mav, how¡¯d you get out the game?¡± DeVante asks.
Daddy strokes his goatee, studying DeVante. ¡°The hard way,¡± he eventually says. ¡°My daddy was a King Lord. Adonis Carter. A straight up OG.¡±
¡°Yo!¡± DeVante says. ¡°That¡¯s your pops? Big Don?¡±
¡°Yep. Biggest drug dealer this city ever seen.¡±
¡°Yo! Man, that¡¯s crazy.¡± DeVante¡¯s seriously fangirling right now. ¡°I heard he had cops working for him and everything. He pulled in big money.¡±
I heard my granddaddy was so busy pulling in big money that he didn¡¯t have time for Daddy. There are lots of pictures of Daddy when he was younger wearing mink coats, ying with expensive toys, shing jewelry, and Grandpa Don isn¡¯t in any of the pictures.
¡°Probably so,¡± Daddy says. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know too much ¡¯bout that. He went to prison when I was eight. Been there ever since. I¡¯m his only child, his son. Everybody expected me to pick up where he left off.
¡°I became a King Lord when I was twelve. Shit, that was the only way to survive. Somebody was alwaysing at me ¡¯cause of my pops, but if I was a King Lord I had folks to watch my back. Kinging became my life. I was down to die for it, say the word.¡±
He nces at me. ¡°Then I became a daddy, and I realized that King Lord shit wasn¡¯t worth dying for. I wanted out. But you know how the game work, it ain¡¯t as easy as saying you done. King was the crown and he was my boy, but he couldn¡¯t let me out like that. I was making good money too, and it was honestly hard to consider walking away from it.¡±
¡°Yeah, King says you one of the best d-boys he ever knew,¡± DeVante says.
Daddy shrugs. ¡°I got it from my pops. But really I was only good ¡¯cause I never got caught. One day, me and King took a trip to do a pickup, and we got busted. Cops wanted to know who the weapons belonged to. King had two strikes, and that charge would¡¯ve meant life. I didn¡¯t have a record, so I took the charge and got a few years and probation. Loyal like a motha.
¡°Those were the hardest three years of my life. Growing up I was pissed at my daddy for going to prison and leaving me.And there I was, in the same prison as him, missing out on my babies¡¯ lives.¡±
DeVante¡¯s eyebrows meet. ¡°You were in prison with your pops?¡±
Daddy nods. ¡°All my life, people made him sound like a real king, you know what I¡¯m saying? A legend. But he was a weak old man, regretting the time he missed with me. Realest thing he ever told me was, ¡®Don¡¯t repeat my mistakes.¡¯¡± Daddy looks at me again. ¡°And I was doing that. I missed first days of school, all that. Had my baby wanting to call somebody else daddy ¡¯cause I wasn¡¯t there.¡±
I look away. He knows how close Uncle Carlos and I became.
¡°I was officially done with the King Lord shit, drug shit, all of it,¡± Daddy says. ¡°And since I took that charge, King agreed to let me out. It made those three years worth it.¡±
DeVante¡¯s eyes dim like they do when he talks about his brother. ¡°You had to go to prison to get out?¡±
¡°I¡¯m the exception, not the rule,¡± Daddy says. ¡°When people say it¡¯s for life, it¡¯s for life. You gotta be willing to die in it or die for it. You want out?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t wanna go to prison.¡±
¡°He didn¡¯t ask you that,¡± I say. ¡°He asked if you wanted out.¡±Belongs ? to N?velDrama.Org.
DeVante is quiet for a long time. He looks up at Daddy and says, ¡°I just wanna be alive, man.¡±
Daddy strokes his goatee. He sighs. ¡°A¡¯ight. I¡¯ll help you. But I promise, you go back to slinging or banging, you¡¯ll wish King would¡¯ve got you when I¡¯m done. You go to school?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
¡°What your grades look like?¡± Daddy asks.
He shrugs.
¡°What the hell is this?¡± Daddy imitates DeVante¡¯s shrug. ¡°You know what grades you get, so what kind?¡±
¡°I mean, I get As and Bs and shit,¡± DeVante says. ¡°I ain¡¯t dumb.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight, good. We gon¡¯ make sure you stay in school too.¡±
¡°Man, I can¡¯t go back to Garden High,¡± DeVante says. ¡°All them King Lords up in there. You know that¡¯s a death wish, right?¡±
¡°I ain¡¯t say you was going there. We¡¯ll figure something out. In the meantime you can work here in the store. You been staying home at night?¡±
¡°Nah. King got his boys watching for me over there.¡±
¡°Of course he do,¡± Daddy mumbles. ¡°We¡¯ll figure something out with that too. Starr, show him how to do the price stickers.¡±
¡°You¡¯re really hiring him, just like that?¡± I ask.
¡°Whose store is this, Starr?¡±
¡°Yours, but¡ª¡±
¡°¡¯Nuff said. Show him how to do the price stickers.¡±
DeVante snickers. I wanna punch him in his throat.
¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I mumble.
We sit crossed-legged in the chip aisle. Daddy locks the front door and goes back in his office. I grab a jumbo bag of Hot Cheetos and p a ny-nine-cent sticker on them.
¡°You supposed to show me how to do it,¡± DeVante says.
¡°I am showing you. Watch.¡±
I grab another bag. He leans real close over my shoulder. Too close. Breathing in my ear and shit. I move my head and look at him. ¡°Do you mind?¡±
¡°What¡¯s your problem with me?¡± he asks. ¡°You caught an attitude yesterday, soon as I walked up. I ain¡¯t did nothing to you.¡±
I put a sticker on some Doritos. ¡°No, but you did it to Denasia. And Kenya. And who knows how many other girls in Garden Heights.¡±
¡°Hold up, I ain¡¯t do nothing to Kenya.¡±
¡°You asked for her number, didn¡¯t you? Even though you¡¯re with Denasia.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not with Denasia. I just danced with her at that party,¡± he says. ¡°She the one who wanted to act like she was my girlfriend and got mad ¡¯cause I was talking to Kenya. If I wouldn¡¯t have been dealing with them, I could¡¯ve¡ª¡± He swallows. ¡°I could¡¯ve helped Dalvin. By the time I got to him, he was on the floor, bleeding. All I could do was hold him.¡±
I see myself sitting in a pool of blood too. ¡°And try to tell him it would be okay, even though you knew¡ª¡±
¡°There was no chance in hell it would be.¡±
We go quiet.
I get one of those weird d¨¦j¨¤-vu moments though. I see myself sitting cross-legged like I am now, but I¡¯m showing Khalil how to do the price stickers.
We couldn¡¯t help Khalil with his situation before he died. Maybe we can help DeVante.
I hand him a bag of Hot Fries. ¡°I¡¯m only gonna exin how to use this price gun one time, and you better pay attention.¡±
He grins. ¡°My attention¡¯s all yours, li¡¯l momma.¡±
Later, when I¡¯m supposed to be asleep, my mom tells my dad in the hallway, ¡°So he¡¯s hiding from King, and you think he should hide here?¡±
DeVante. Apparently, Daddy couldn¡¯t ¡°figure it out¡± and decided that DeVante should stay with us. Daddy dropped the two of us off a couple of hours ago before heading back to the store to protect it from the rioters. He just got back. He said our house is the one ce King won¡¯t look for DeVante.
¡°I had to do something,¡± Daddy says.
¡°I understand that, and I know you think this is your do-over with Khalil¡ª¡±
¡°It ain¡¯t like that.¡±
¡°Yeah, it is,¡± she says softly. ¡°I get it, baby. I have a ton of regrets regarding Khalil myself. But this? This is dangerous for our family.¡±
¡°It¡¯s just for now. DeVante can¡¯t stay in Garden Heights. This neighborhood ain¡¯t good for him.¡±
¡°Wait. It¡¯s not good for him, but it¡¯s fine for our kids?¡±
¡°C¡¯mon, Lisa. It¡¯ste. I¡¯m not trying to hear this right now. I been at that store all night.¡±
¡°And I¡¯ve been up all night, worried about you! Worried about my babies being in this neighborhood.¡±
¡°They fine! They ain¡¯t involved in none of that banging shit.¡±
Momma scoffs. ¡°Yeah, so fine that I have to drive almost an hour to get them to a decent school. And God forbid Sekani wants to y outside. I gotta drive to my brother¡¯s house, where I don¡¯t have to worry about him getting shot like his sister¡¯s best friend did.¡±
It¡¯s messed up that she could mean either Khalil or Natasha.
¡°A¡¯ight, let¡¯s say we move,¡± Daddy said. ¡°Then what? We just like all the other sellouts who leave and turn their backs on the neighborhood. We can change stuff around here, but instead we run? That¡¯s what you wanna teach our kids?¡±
¡°I want my kids to enjoy life! I get it, Maverick, you wanna help your people out. I do too. That¡¯s why I bust my butt every day at that clinic. But moving out of the neighborhood won¡¯t mean you¡¯re not real and it won¡¯t mean you can¡¯t help thismunity. You need to figure out what¡¯s more important, your family or Garden Heights. I¡¯ve already made my choice.¡±
¡°What you saying?¡±
¡°I¡¯m saying I¡¯ll do what I gotta do for my babies.¡±
There are footsteps, then a door closes.
I stay up most of the night, wondering what that means for them. Us. Okay, yeah, they¡¯ve talked about moving before, but they weren¡¯t arguing about it like this until after Khalil died.
If they break up, it¡¯ll be one more thing One-Fifteen takes from me.
: Part 1 – Chapter 11
Monday morning, I know something is up when I first step into Williamson. Folks are quiet as hell. Well, whispering really, in little huddles in the halls and the atrium like they¡¯re discussing ys during a basketball game.
Hailey and Maya find me before I find them. ¡°Did you get the text?¡± Hailey asks.
That¡¯s the first thing she says. No hey or anything. I still don¡¯t have my phone, so I¡¯m like, ¡°What text?¡±
She shows me hers. There¡¯s a big group text with about a hundred names on it. Hailey¡¯s older brother, Remy, sent out the first message.
Protesting today @ 1st period.
Then curly-haired, dimpled Luke replied:
Hell yeah. Free day. I¡¯m game.
And Remy came back with:
That¡¯s the point, dumbass.
It¡¯s like somebody hit a pause button on my heart. ¡°They¡¯re protesting for Khalil?¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Hailey says, all giddy and shit. ¡°Perfect timing too. I so did not study for that English exam. This is, like, the first time Remy actually came up with a good idea to get out of ss. I mean, it¡¯s kinda messed up that we¡¯re protesting adrug dealer¡¯sdeath, but¡ª¡±
All my Williamson rules go out the door, and Starr from Garden Heights shows up. ¡°What the fuck that got to do with it?¡±
Their mouths open into perfectly shapedO¡¯s. ¡°Like, I mean ... if he was a drug dealer,¡± Hailey says, ¡°that exins why ...¡±
¡°He got killed even though he wasn¡¯t doing shit? So it¡¯s cool he got killed? But I thought you were protesting it?¡±
¡°We are! God, lighten up, Starr,¡± she says. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be all over this, considering your obsession on Tumblrtely.¡±
¡°You know what?¡± I say, one second fromreallygoing off. ¡°Leave me alone. Have fun in your little protest.¡±
I wanna fight every person I pass, Floyd Mayweather style. They¡¯re so damn excited about getting a day off. Khalil¡¯s in a grave. He can¡¯t get a day off from that shit. I live it every single day too.
In ss I toss my backpack on the floor and throw myselfinto my seat. When Hailey and Mayae in, I give them a stank-eye and silently dare them to say shit to me.
I¡¯m breaking all of my Williamson Starr rules with zero fucks to give.
Chris gets there before the bell rings, headphones draped around his neck. Hees down my aisle and squeezes my nose, going, ¡°Honk, honk,¡± because for some reason it¡¯s hrious to him. Usually Iugh and swat at him, but today ... Yeah, I¡¯m not in the mood. I just swat. Kinda hard too.
He goes, ¡°Ow,¡± and gives his hand a quick shake. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±
I don¡¯t respond. If I open my mouth, I¡¯ll explode.
He crouches beside my desk and shakes my thigh. ¡°Starr? You okay?¡±
Our teacher, balding, stumpy Mr. Warren, clears his throat. ¡°Mr. Bryant, my ss is not theLove Connection. Please have a seat.¡±
Chris slides into the desk next to mine. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± he whispers to Hailey.
She ys dumb and says, ¡°Dunno.¡±
Mr. Warren tells us to take out our MacBooks and begins the lesson on British literature. Not even five minutes in, someone says, ¡°Justice for Khalil.¡±
¡°Justice for Khalil,¡± the others chant. ¡°Justice for Khalil.¡±
Mr. Warren tells them to stop, but they get louder and pound their fists on the desks.
I wanna puke and scream and cry.
My ssmates stampede toward the door. Maya¡¯s thest one out. She nces back at me then at Hailey who motions her toe on. Maya follows her out.
I think I¡¯m done following Hailey.
In the hall, chants for Khalil go off like sirens. Unlike Hailey, some of them may not care that he was a drug dealer. They might be almost as upset as I am. But since I knowwhyRemy started this protest, I stay in my seat.
Chris does too for some reason. His desk scrapes the floor as it scoots closer to mine until they touch. He brushes my tears with his thumb.
¡°You knew him, didn¡¯t you?¡± he says.
I nod.
¡°Oh,¡± says Mr. Warren. ¡°I am so sorry, Starr. You don¡¯t have to¡ªyou can call your parents, you know?¡±
I wipe my face. Thest thing I want is Momma making a fuss because I can¡¯t handle all this. Worse, I don¡¯t wanna be unable to handle it. ¡°Can you continue with the lesson, sir?¡± I ask. ¡°The distraction would be nice.¡±
He smiles sadly and does as I ask.
For the rest of the day, sometimes Chris and I are the only ones in our sses. Sometimes one or two other people join us. People go out of their way to tell me they think Khalil¡¯s death is bullshit, but that Remy¡¯s reason for protesting is bullshit too. I mean, this sophomore girles up to me in the hall andexins that she supports the cause but decided to go back to ss after she heard why they were really protesting.
They act like I¡¯m the official representative of the ck race and they owe me an exnation. I think I understand though. If I sit out a protest, I¡¯m making a statement, but if they sit out a protest, they look racist.
At lunch, Chris and I head to our table near the vending machines. Jess with her perfect pixie cut is the only one there, eating cheese fries and reading her phone.
¡°Hey?¡± I ask more than say. I¡¯m surprised she¡¯s here.
¡°S¡¯up?¡± She nods. ¡°Have a seat. As you can see, there¡¯s plenty of room.¡±
I sit beside her, and Chris sits on the other side of me. Jess and I have yed basketball together for three years, and she¡¯s put her head on my shoulder for two of them, but I¡¯m ashamed to admit I don¡¯t know much about her. I do know she¡¯s a senior, her parents are attorneys, and she works at a bookstore. I didn¡¯t know that she¡¯d skip the protest.
I guess I¡¯m staring at her hard, because she says, ¡°I don¡¯t use dead people to get out of ss.¡±
If I wasn¡¯t straight I would totally date her for saying that. This time I rest my head on her shoulder.
She pats my hair and says, ¡°White people do stupid shit sometimes.¡±
Jess is white.
Seven and La join us with their trays. Seven holds his fistout to me. I bump it.
¡°Sev-en,¡± Jess says, and they fist-bump too. I had no idea they were cool like that. ¡°I take it we¡¯re protesting the ¡®Get Out of ss¡¯ protest?¡±
¡°Yep,¡± Seven says. ¡°Protesting the ¡®Get Out of ss¡¯ protest.¡±
Seven and I get Sekani after school, and he won¡¯t shut up about the news cameras he saw from his ssroom window, because he¡¯s Sekani and he came into this world looking for a camera. I have too many selfies of him on my phone giving the ¡°light skin face,¡± his eyes squinted and eyebrows raised.
¡°Are y¡¯all gonna be on the news?¡± he asks.
¡°Nah,¡± says Seven. ¡°Don¡¯t need to be.¡±
We could go home, lock the door, and fight over the TV like we always do, or we could help Daddy at the store. We go to the store.
Daddy stands in the doorway, watching a reporter and camera operator set up in front of Mr. Lewis¡¯s shop. Of course, when Sekani sees the camera, he says, ¡°Ooh, I wanna be on TV!¡±
¡°Shut up,¡± I say. ¡°No you don¡¯t.¡±
¡°Yes, I do. You don¡¯t know what I want!¡±
The car stops, and Sekani pushes my seat forward, sending my chin into the dashboard as he jumps out. ¡°Daddy, I wanna be on TV!¡±
I rub my chin. His hyper butt is gonna kill me one day.
Daddy holds Sekani by the shoulders. ¡°Calm down, man. You not gon¡¯ be on TV.¡±
¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Seven asks when we get out.
¡°Some cops got jumped around the corner,¡± Daddy says, one arm around Sekani¡¯s chest to keep him still.
¡°Jumped?¡± I say.
¡°Yeah. They pulled them out their patrol car and stomped them. Gray Boys.¡±
The code name for King Lords. Damn.
¡°I heard what happened at y¡¯all school,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Everything cool?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± I give the easy answer. ¡°We¡¯re good.¡±
Mr. Lewis adjusts his clothes and runs a hand over his Afro. The reporter says something, and he lets out a belly-jigglingugh.
¡°What this fool ¡¯bout to say?¡± Daddy wonders.
¡°We go live in five,¡± says the camera operator, and all I can think is,Please don¡¯t put Mr. Lewis on live TV. ¡°Four, three, two, one.¡±
¡°That¡¯s right, Joe,¡± the reporter says. ¡°I¡¯m here with Mr. Cedric Lewis Jr., who witnessed the incident involving the officers today. Can you tell us what you saw, Mr. Lewis?¡±
¡°He ain¡¯t witness nothing,¡± Daddy tells us. ¡°Was in his shop the whole time. I told him what happened!¡±
¡°I sholl can,¡± Mr. Lewis says. ¡°Them boys pulled thoseofficers out their car. They weren¡¯t doing nothing either. Just sitting there and got beat like dogs. Ridiculous! You hear me? Re-damn-diculous!¡±
Somebody¡¯s gonna turn Mr. Lewis into a meme. He¡¯s making a fool out of himself and doesn¡¯t even know it.
¡°Do you think that it was retaliation for the Khalil Harris case?¡± the reporter asks.
¡°I sholl do! Which is stupid. These thugs been terrorizing Garden Heights for years, how they gon¡¯ get mad now? What, ¡¯cause they didn¡¯t kill him themselves? The president and all¡¯a them searching for terrorists, but I¡¯ll name one right now they cane get.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t do it, Mr. Lewis,¡± Daddy prays. ¡°Don¡¯t do it.¡±
Of course, he does. ¡°His name King, and he live right here in Garden Heights. Probably the biggest drug dealer in the city. He over that King Lords gang. Come get him if you wanna get somebody. Wasn¡¯t nobody but his boys who did that to them cops anyway. We sick of this! Somebody march ¡¯bout that!¡±
Daddy covers Sekani¡¯s ears. Every cuss word that follows equals a dor in Sekani¡¯s jar if he hears it. ¡°Shit,¡± Daddy hisses. ¡°Shit, shit, shit. This motha¡ª¡±
¡°He snitched,¡± says Seven.
¡°On live TV,¡± I add.
Daddy keeps saying, ¡°Shit, shit, shit.¡±
¡°Do you think that the curfew the mayor announced today will prevent incidents like this?¡± the reporter asks Mr. Lewis.
I look at Daddy. ¡°What curfew?¡±
He takes his hands off Sekani¡¯s ears. ¡°Every business in Garden Heights gotta close by nine. And nobody can be in the streets after ten. Lights out, like in prison.¡±
¡°So you¡¯ll be home tonight, Daddy?¡± Sekani asks.
Daddy smiles and pulls him closer. ¡°Yeah, man. After you do your homework, I can show you a thang or two on Madden.¡±
The reporter wraps up her interview. Daddy waits until she and the camera operator leave and then goes over to Mr. Lewis. ¡°You crazy?¡± he asks.
¡°What? ¡¯Cause I told the truth?¡± Mr. Lewis says.
¡°Man, you can¡¯t be going on live TV, snitching like that. You a dead man walking, you know that, right?¡±
¡°I ain¡¯t scared of that nigga!¡± Mr. Lewis says real loud, for everybody to hear. ¡°You scared of him?¡±
¡°Nah, but I know how the game work.¡±
¡°I¡¯m too old for games! You oughta be too!¡±
¡°Mr. Lewis, listen¡ª¡±
¡°Nah, you listen here, boy. I fought a war, came back, and fought one here. See this?¡± He lifts up his pants leg, revealing a id sock over a prosthetic. ¡°Lost it in the war. This right here.¡± He lifts his shirt to his underarm. There¡¯s a thin pink scar stretching from his back to his swollen belly. ¡°Got it after some white boys cut me ¡¯cause I drank from their fountain.¡± He lets his shirt fall down. ¡°I done faced a whole lot worse than some so-called King. Ain¡¯t nothing he can do but kill me, and if that¡¯show I gotta go for speaking the truth, that¡¯s how I gotta go.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t get it,¡± Daddy says.
¡°Yeah I do. Hell, I get you. Walking around here, iming you ain¡¯t a gangster no more, iming you trying to change stuff, but still following all¡¯a that ¡®don¡¯t snitch¡¯ mess. And you teaching them kids the same thing, ain¡¯t you? King still controlling your dumb ass, and you too stupid to realize it.¡±
¡°Stupid? How you gon¡¯ call me stupid when you the one snitching on live TV!¡±
A familiarwhoop-whoopsound rms us.
Oh God.
The patrol car with shing lights cruises down the street. It stops next to Daddy and Mr. Lewis.
Two officers get out. One ck, one white. Their hands linger too close to the guns at their waists.
No, no, no.
¡°We got a problem here?¡± the ck one asks, looking squarely at Daddy. He¡¯s bald just like Daddy, but older, taller, bigger.
¡°No, sir, officer,¡± Daddy says. His hands that were once in his jeans pockets are visible at his sides.
¡°You sure about that?¡± the younger white one asks. ¡°It didn¡¯t seem that way to us.¡±
¡°We were just talking, officers,¡± Mr. Lewis says, much softer than he was minutes ago. His hands are at his sides too. His parents must¡¯ve had the talk with him when he was twelve.
¡°To me it looks like this young man was harassing you, sir,¡± the ck one says, still looking at Daddy. He hasn¡¯t looked at Mr. Lewis yet. I wonder if it¡¯s because Mr. Lewis isn¡¯t wearing an NWA T-shirt. Or because there aren¡¯t tattoos all on his arms. Or because he¡¯s not wearing somewhat baggy jeans and a backwards cap.
¡°You got some ID on you?¡± the ck cop asks Daddy.
¡°Sir, I was about to go back to my store¡ª¡±
¡°I said do you have some ID on you?¡±
My hands shake. Breakfast, lunch, and everything else churns in my stomach, ready toe back up my throat. They¡¯re gonna take Daddy from me.
¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±
I turn around. Tim, Mr. Reuben¡¯s nephew, walks over to us. People have stopped on the sidewalk across the street.
¡°I¡¯m gonna reach for my ID,¡± Daddy says. ¡°It¡¯s in my back pocket. A¡¯ight?¡±
¡°Daddy¡ª¡± I say.
Daddy keeps his eyes on the officer. ¡°Y¡¯all, go in the store, a¡¯ight? It¡¯s okay.¡±
We don¡¯t move though.
Daddy¡¯s hand slowly goes to his back pocket, and I look from his hands to theirs, watching to see if they¡¯re gonna make a move for their guns.
Daddy removes his wallet, the leather one I bought him for Father¡¯s Day with his initials embossed on it. He shows it to them.
¡°See? My ID is in here.¡±
His voice has never sounded so small.
The ck officer takes the wallet and opens it. ¡°Oh,¡± he says.¡°Maverick Carter.¡±
He exchanges a look with his partner.
Both of them look at me.
My heart stops.
They¡¯ve realized I¡¯m the witness.
There must be a file that lists my parents¡¯ names on it. Or the detectives bbed, and now everyone at the station knows our names. Or they could¡¯ve gotten it from Uncle Carlos somehow. I don¡¯t know how it happened, but it happened. And if something happens to Daddy ...
The ck officer looks at him. ¡°Get on the ground, hands behind your back.¡±
¡°But¡ª¡±
¡°On the ground, face-down!¡± he yells. ¡°Now!¡±
Daddy looks at us. His expression apologizes for the fact that we have to see this.
He gets down on one knee and lowers himself to the ground, face-down. His hands go behind his back, and his fingers interlock.
Where¡¯s that camera operator now? Why can¡¯t this be on the news?
¡°Now, wait a minute, Officer,¡± Mr. Lewis says. ¡°Me and him were just talking.¡±
¡°Sir, go inside,¡± the white cop tells him.
¡°But he didn¡¯t do anything!¡± Seven says.
¡°Boy, go inside!¡± the ck cop says.
¡°No! That¡¯s my father, and¡ª¡±
¡°Seven!¡± Daddy yells.
Even though he¡¯s lying on the concrete, there¡¯s enough authority in his voice to make Seven shut up.
The ck officer checks Daddy while his partner nces around at all of the onlookers. There¡¯s quite a few of us now. Ms. Yvette and a couple of her clients stand in her doorway, towels around the clients¡¯ shoulders. A car has stopped in the street.
¡°Everyone, go about your own business,¡± the white one says.
¡°No, sir,¡± says Tim. ¡°This is our business.¡±
The ck cop keeps his knee on Daddy¡¯s back as he searches him. He pats him down once, twice, three times, just like One-Fifteen did Khalil. Nothing.
¡°Larry,¡± the white cop says.
The ck one, who must be Larry, looks up at him, then at all the people who have gathered around.
Larry takes his knee off Daddy¡¯s back and stands. ¡°Get up,¡± he says.
Slowly, Daddy gets to his feet.
Larry nces at me. Bile pools in my mouth. He turns to Daddy and says, ¡°I¡¯m keeping an eye on you, boy. Remember that.¡±
Daddy¡¯s jaw looks rock hard.
The cops drive off. The car that had stopped in the streetleaves, and all of the onlookers go on about their business. One person hollers out, ¡°It¡¯s all right, Maverick.¡±
Daddy looks at the sky and blinks the way I do when I don¡¯t wanna cry. He clenches and unclenches his hands.
Mr. Lewis touches his back. ¡°C¡¯mon, son.¡±
He guides Daddy our way, but they pass us and go into the store. Tim follows them.N?velDrama.Org: text ? owner.
¡°Why did they do Daddy like that?¡± Sekani asks softly. He looks at me and Seven with tears in his eyes.
Seven wraps an arm around him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man.¡±
I know.
I go in the store.
DeVante leans against a broom near the cash register, wearing one of those ugly green aprons Daddy tries to make me and Seven wear when we work in the store.
There¡¯s a pang in my chest. Khalil wore one too.
DeVante¡¯s talking to Kenya as she holds a basket full of groceries. When the bell on the door ngs behind me, both of them look my way.
¡°Yo, what happened?¡± DeVante asks.
¡°Was that the cops outside?¡± says Kenya.
From here I see Mr. Lewis and Tim standing in the doorway of Daddy¡¯s office. He must be in there.
¡°Yeah,¡± I answer Kenya, heading toward the back. Kenya and DeVante follow me, asking about fifty million questions that I don¡¯t have time to answer.
Papers are scattered all on the office floor. Daddy¡¯s hunchedover his desk, his back moving up and down with each heavy breath.
He pounds the desk. ¡°Fuck!¡±
Daddy once told me there¡¯s a rage passed down to every ck man from his ancestors, born the moment they couldn¡¯t stop the ve masters from hurting their families. Daddy also said there¡¯s nothing more dangerous than when that rage is activated.
¡°Let it out, son,¡± Mr. Lewis tells him.
¡°Fuck them pigs, man,¡± Tim says. ¡°They only did that shit ¡¯cause they know ¡¯bout Starr.¡±
Wait. What?
Daddy nces over his shoulder. His eyes are puffy and wet, like he¡¯s been crying. ¡°The hell you talking ¡¯bout, Tim?¡±
¡°One of the homeboys saw you, Lisa, and your baby girl getting out an ambnce at the crime scene that night,¡± Tim says. ¡°Word spread around the neighborhood, and folks think she¡¯s the witness they been talking ¡¯bout on the news.¡±
Oh.
Shit.
¡°Starr, go ring Kenya up,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Vante, finish them floors.¡±
I head for the cash register, passing Seven and Sekani.
The neighborhood knows.
I ring Kenya up, my stomach knotted the whole time. If the neighborhood knows, it won¡¯t be long until people outside of Garden Heights know. And then what?
¡°You rang that up twice,¡± Kenya says.
¡°Huh?¡±
¡°The milk. You rang it up twice, Starr.¡±
¡°Oh.¡±
I cancel one of the milks and put the carton into a bag. Kenya¡¯s probably cooking for herself and Lyric tonight. She does that sometimes. I ring up the rest of her stuff, take her money, and hand her the change.
She stares at me a second, then says, ¡°Were you really the one with him?¡±
My throat is thick. ¡°Does it matter?¡±
¡°Yeah, it matters. Why you keeping quiet ¡¯bout it? Like you hiding or something.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t say it that way.¡±
¡°But it is that way. Right?¡±
I sigh. ¡°Kenya, stop. You don¡¯t understand, all right?¡±
Kenya folds her arms. ¡°What¡¯s to understand?¡±
¡°A lot!¡± I don¡¯t mean to yell, but damn. ¡°I can¡¯t go around telling people that shit.¡±
¡°Why not?¡±
¡°Because! You ain¡¯t see what the cops just did to my dad ¡¯cause they know I¡¯m the witness.¡±
¡°So you gon¡¯ let the police stop you from speaking out for Khalil? I thought you cared about him way more than that.¡±
¡°I do.¡± I care more than she may ever know. ¡°I already talked to the cops, Kenya. Nothing happened. What else am I supposed to do?¡±
¡°Go on TV or something, I don¡¯t know,¡± she says. ¡°Tell everybody what really happened that night. They¡¯re not even giving his side of the story. You¡¯re letting them trash-talk him¡ª¡±
¡°Excuse¡ª How the hell am I letting them do anything?¡±
¡°You hear all the stuff they¡¯re saying ¡¯bout him on the news, calling him a thug and stuff, and you know that ain¡¯t Khalil. I bet if he was one of your private school friends, you¡¯d be all on TV, defending him and shit.¡±
¡°Are you for real?¡±
¡°Hell yeah,¡± she says. ¡°You dropped him for them bougie-ass kids, and you know it. You probably would¡¯ve dropped me if I didn¡¯te around ¡¯cause of my brother.¡±
¡°That¡¯s not true!¡±
¡°You sure?¡±
I¡¯m not.
Kenya shakes her head. ¡°Fucked-up part about this? The Khalil I know would¡¯ve jumped on TV in a hot second and told everybody what happened that night if it meant defending you. And you can¡¯t do the same for him.¡±
It¡¯s a verbal p. The worst kind too, because it¡¯s the truth.
Kenya gets her bags. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, Starr. If I could change what happens at my house with my momma and daddy, I would. Here you are, with a chance to help change what happens in ourwhole neighborhood, and you staying quiet. Like a coward.¡±
Kenya leaves. Tim and Mr. Lewis aren¡¯t far behind her. Timgives me the ck power fist on his way out. I don¡¯t deserve it though.
I head to Daddy¡¯s office. Seven¡¯s standing in the doorway, and Daddy¡¯s sitting on his desk. Sekani¡¯s next to him, nodding along to whatever Daddy¡¯s saying but looking sad. Reminds me of the time Daddy and Momma had the talk with me. Guess Daddy decided not to wait until Sekani¡¯s twelve.
Daddy sees me. ¡°Sev, go cover the cash register. Take Sekani with you. ¡¯Bout time he learned.¡±
¡°Aww, man,¡± Sekani groans. Don¡¯t me him. The more you learn to do at the store, the more you¡¯re expected to do at the store.
Daddy pats the now-empty spot beside him on the desk. I hop up on it. His office has just enough space for the desk and a file cab. Framed photographs crowd the walls, like the one of him and Momma at the courthouse the day they got married, her belly (a.k.a. me) big and round; pictures of me and my brothers as babies, and this one picture from about seven years ago when my parents took the three of us to the mall for one of those J. C. Penney family portraits. They dressed alike in baseball jerseys, baggy jeans, and Timbends. Tacky.
¡°You a¡¯ight?¡± Daddy asks.
¡°Are you?¡±
¡°I will be,¡± he says. ¡°Just hate that you and your brothers had to see that shit.¡±
¡°They only did it ¡¯cause of me.¡±
¡°Nah, baby. They started that before they knew ¡¯bout you.¡±
¡°But that didn¡¯t help.¡± I stare at my J¡¯s as I kick my feet back and forth. ¡°Kenya called me a coward for not speaking out.¡±
¡°She didn¡¯t mean it. She going through a lot, that¡¯s all. King throwing Iesha around like a rag doll every single night.¡±
¡°But she¡¯s right.¡± My voice cracks. I¡¯m this close to crying. ¡°I am a coward. After seeing what they did to you, I don¡¯t wanna say shit now.¡±
¡°Hey.¡± Daddy takes my chin so I have no choice but to look at him. ¡°Don¡¯t fall for that trap. That¡¯s what they want. If you don¡¯t wanna speak out, that¡¯s up to you, but don¡¯t let it be because you¡¯re scared of them. Who do I tell you that you have to fear?¡±
¡°Nobody but God. And you and Momma. Especially Momma when she¡¯s extremely pissed.¡±
He chuckles. ¡°Yeah. The list ends there. You ain¡¯t got nothing or nobody else to fear. You see this?¡± He rolls up his shirt sleeve, revealing the tattoo of my baby picture on his upper arm. ¡°What it say at the bottom?¡±
¡°Something to live for, something to die for,¡± I say, without really looking. I¡¯ve seen it my whole life.
¡°Exactly. You and your brothers are something to live for, and something to die for, and I¡¯ll do whatever I gotta do to protect you.¡± He kisses my forehead. ¡°If you¡¯re ready to talk, baby, talk. I got your back.¡±
: Part 1 – Chapter 12
I¡¯m luring Brickz inside when it passes out front.
I watch it crawl down the street for the longest time till I get the sense to alert somebody. ¡°Daddy!¡±
He looks up from pulling weeds around his bell peppers. ¡°Are they for real with that?¡±
The tank resembles the ones they show on the news when talking about war in the Middle East. It¡¯s the size of two Hummers. The blue-and-white lights on the front make the street almost as bright as it is in daytime. An officer is positioned on top, wearing a vest and a helmet. He points his rifle ahead.
A voice booms from the armored vehicle, ¡°All persons found viting the curfew will be subject to arrest.¡±
Daddy pulls more weeds. ¡°Some bullshit.¡±
Brickz follows the piece of bologna I dangle in front of himall the way to his spot in the kitchen. He sits there all content, chomping on it and the rest of his food. Brickz won¡¯t act crazy as long as Daddy¡¯s home.
All of us are kinda like Brickz, really. Daddy being home means Momma won¡¯t sit up all night, Sekani won¡¯t flinch all the time, and Seven won¡¯t have to be the man of the house. I¡¯ll sleep better too.
Daddyes in, dusting caked dirt off his hands. ¡°Them roses dying. Brickz, you been pissing on my roses?¡±
Brickz¡¯s head perks up. He locks his eyes with Daddy¡¯s but eventually lowers his head.
¡°I bet¡¯ not catch you doing it,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Or we gon¡¯ have a problem.¡±
Brickz lowers his eyes too.
I grab a paper towel and a slice of pizza from the box on the counter. This is like my fourth slice tonight. Momma bought two huge pies from Sal¡¯s on the other side of the freeway. Italians own it, so the pizza is thin, herby (is that a word?), and good.
¡°You finished your homework?¡± Daddy asks.
¡°Yep.¡± A lie.
He washes his hands at the kitchen sink. ¡°Got any tests this week?¡±
¡°Trig on Friday.¡±
¡°You studied for it?¡±
¡°Yep.¡± Another lie.
¡°Good.¡± He gets the grapes out the refrigerator. ¡°You still got that oldptop? The one you had before we bought you that expensive-ass fruit one?¡±
Iugh. ¡°It¡¯s an Apple MacBook, Daddy.¡±
¡°It damn sure wasn¡¯t the price of an apple. Anyway, you got the old one?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
¡°Good. Give it to Seven. Tell him to look over it and make sure it¡¯s a¡¯ight. I want DeVante to have it.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°You pay bills?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Then I ain¡¯t gotta answer that.¡±
That¡¯s how he gets out of almost every argument with me. I should buy one of those cheap magazine subscriptions and say, ¡°Yeah, I pay a bill, and what?¡± It won¡¯t matter though.
I head to my room after I finish my pizza. Daddy¡¯s already gone to his and Momma¡¯s room. Their TV¡¯s on, and they¡¯re both lying on their stomachs on the bed, one of her legs on his as she types on herptop. It¡¯s oddly adorable. Sometimes I watch them to get an idea of what I want one day.
¡°You still mad at me ¡¯bout DeVante?¡± Daddy asks her. She doesn¡¯t answer, keeping her eyes on herptop. He scrunches up his nose and gets all in her face. ¡°You still mad at me? Huh? You still mad at me?¡±
Sheughs and yfully pushes at him. ¡°Move, boy. No,I¡¯m not mad at you. Now give me a grape.¡±
He grins and feeds her a grape, and I just can¡¯t. The cuteness is too much. Yeah, they¡¯re my parents, but they¡¯re my OTP. Seriously.
Daddy watches whatever she¡¯s doing on theputer, feeding her a grape every time he eats one. She¡¯s probably uploading thetest family snapshots on Facebook for our out-of-town rtives. With everything that¡¯s going on, what can she say? ¡°Sekani saw cops harass his daddy, but he¡¯s doing so well in school. #ProudMom.¡± Or, ¡°Starr saw her best friend die, keep her in your prayers, but my baby made the honor roll again. #Blessed.¡± Or even, ¡°Tanks are rolling by outside, but Seven¡¯s been epted into six colleges so far. #HeIsGoingces.¡±
I go to my room. Both my old and newptops are on my desk, which is a mess. There¡¯s a huge pair of Daddy¡¯s Jordans next to my oldptop. The yellowed bottoms of the sneakers face themp, and ayer of Saran Wrap protects my concoction of detergent and toothpaste that¡¯ll eventually clean them. Watching yellowed soles turn icy again is as satisfying as squeezing a ckhead and getting all the gunk out. Ah-maz-ing.
ording to the lie I told Daddy, my homework is supposed to be done, but I¡¯ve been on a ¡°Tumblr break,¡± a.k.a. I haven¡¯t started my homework and have spent thest two hours on Tumblr. I started a new blog¡ªThe Khalil I Know. It doesn¡¯t have my name on it, just pictures of Khalil. In the first one he¡¯s thirteen with an Afro. Uncle Carlos took us to a ranch so wecould ¡°get a taste of country life,¡± and Khalil¡¯s looking side-eyed at a horse that¡¯s beside him. I remember him saying, ¡°If this thing makes a wrong move, I¡¯m running!¡±
On Tumblr, I captioned the picture: ¡°The Khalil I know was afraid of animals.¡± I tagged it with his name. One person liked it and reblogged it. Then another and another.
That made me post more pictures, like one of us in a bathtub when we were four. You can¡¯t see our private parts because of all the suds, and I¡¯m looking away from the camera. Ms. Rosalie¡¯s sitting on the side of the tub, beaming at us, and Khalil¡¯s beaming right back at her. I wrote, ¡°The Khalil I know loved bubble baths almost as much as he loved his grandma.¡±
In just two hours, hundreds of people have liked and reblogged the pictures. I know it¡¯s not the same as getting on the news like Kenya said, but I hope it helps. It¡¯s helping me at least.
Other people posted about Khalil, uploaded artwork of him, posted pictures of him that they show on the news. I think I¡¯ve reblogged every single one.
Funny though: somebody posted a video clip of Tupac from back in the day. Okay, so every video clip of Tupac is from back in the day. He¡¯s got a little kid on hisp and is wearing a backwards snapback that would be fly now. He exins Thug Life like Khalil said he did¡ªThe Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody. ¡¯Pac spells out ¡°Fucks¡± because that kid is looking dead in his face. When Khalil told me what it meant I kinda understood it. I really understand it now.
I grab my oldptop when my phone buzzes on my desk. Momma returned it earlier¡ªhallelujah, thank you, ck Jesus. She said it¡¯s only in case there¡¯s another situation at school. I got it back though, don¡¯t really care why. I¡¯m hoping it¡¯s a text from Kenya. I sent her the link to my new Tumblr earlier. Thought she¡¯d like to see it since she kinda pushed me to do it.
But it¡¯s Chris. He took note from Seven with his all-caps texts:
OMG!
THISFRESH PRINCEEPISODE
WILL¡¯S DAD DIDN¡¯T TAKE HIM WITH HIM
THE ASSHOLE CAME BACK AND LEFT HIM AGAIN
NOW HE¡¯S HAVING A BREAKDOWN WITH UNCLE PHIL
MY EYES ARE SWEATING
Understandable. That¡¯s seriously the saddest episode ever. I text Chris back:
Sorry :(. And your eyes aren¡¯t sweating. You¡¯re crying, babe.
He replies:
LIES!
I say:
You ain¡¯t gotta lie, Craig. You ain¡¯t gotta lie.
He responds:
DID YOU REALLY USE A LINE FROM FRIDAY ON ME???
So watching nies movies is kinda our thing too. I text back:
Yep ??
He replies:
BYE, FELICIA!
I take theptop to Seven¡¯s room, phone in hand in case Chris has anotherFresh Princebreakdown. Some reggae chants meet me in the hall, followed by Kendrick Lamar rapping about being a hypocrite. Seven sits on the side of the lower bunk, an openputer tower at his feet. With his head down, his dreads hang loosely and make a curtain in front of his face. DeVante sits cross-legged on the floor. His Afro bobs to the song.
A zombie version of Steve Jobs watches them from a poster on the wall along with all these superheroes andStar Warscharacters. There¡¯s a Slytherinforter on the bottom bunk that I swear I¡¯ll steal one day. Seven and I are reverse HP fans¡ªwe liked the movies first, then the books. I got Khalil and Natasha hooked on them too. Momma found the first movie for a dor at a thrift store back when we lived in the Cedar Grove projects. Seven and I said we were Slytherins since almost all Slytherins were rich. When you¡¯re a kid in a one-bedroom in the projects, rich is the best thing anybody can be.
Seven removes a silver box from theputer and examines it. ¡°It¡¯s not even that old.¡±
¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask.
¡°Big D asked me to fix hisputer. It needs some newDVD drives. He burnt his out making all them bootlegs.¡±
My brother is the unofficial Garden Heights tech guy. Olddies, hustlers, and everybody in between pay him to fix theirputers and phones. He makes good money like that too.
A ck garbage bag leans against the foot of the bunk bed with some clothes sticking out the top of it. Somebody put it over the fence and left it in our front yard. Seven, Sekani, and I found it when we came home from the store. We thought it may have been DeVante¡¯s, but Seven looked inside and everything in it belonged to him. The stuff he had at his momma¡¯s house.
He called Iesha. She said she was putting him out. King told her to.
¡°Seven, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±
¡°It¡¯s okay, Starr.¡±
¡°But she shouldn¡¯t have¡ª¡±
¡°I said it¡¯s okay.¡± He nces up at me. ¡°All right? Don¡¯t sweat it.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say as my phone vibrates. I hand DeVante theptop and look. Still no response from Kenya. Instead it¡¯s a text from Maya.
Are u mad @ us?
¡°What¡¯s this for?¡± DeVante asks, staring at theptop.
¡°Daddy wants you to have it. But he said let Seven check it out first,¡± I tell him as I reply to Maya.
What do u think?
¡°What he want me to have it for?¡± DeVante asks.
¡°Maybe he wants to see if you actually know how to operate one,¡± I tell DeVante.
¡°I know how to use aputer,¡± DeVante says. He hits Seven, who¡¯s snickering.
My phone buzzes three times. Maya has responded.Content ? N?velDrama.Org.
Definitely mad.
Can the 3 of us talk?
Things have been awkwardtely.
Typical Maya. If Hailey and I have any kind of disagreement, she tries to fix it. She has to know this won¡¯t be a ¡°Kumbaya¡± moment. I reply:
Okay. Will let u know when I¡¯m @ my uncle¡¯s.
Gunshots fire at rapid speed in the distance. I flinch.
¡°Goddamn machine guns,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Folks acting like this Iran or some shit.¡±
¡°No cussing, Daddy!¡± Sekani says from the den.
¡°Sorry, man. I¡¯ll add a dor to the jar.¡±
¡°Two! You said the ¡®g-d¡¯ word.¡±
¡°A¡¯ight, two. Starr,e to the kitchen for a second.¡±
In the kitchen, Momma speaks in her ¡°other voice¡± on the phone. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. We want the same thing.¡± She sees me. ¡°And here¡¯s my lovely daughter now. Could you hold, please?¡± She covers the receiver. ¡°It¡¯s the DA. She would like to talk to you this week.¡±
Definitely not what I expected. ¡°Oh ...¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Momma says. ¡°Look, baby, if you¡¯re notfortable with it¡ª¡±
¡°I am.¡± I nce at Daddy. He nods. ¡°I can do it.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± she says, looking from me to Daddy and back. ¡°Okay. As long as you¡¯re sure. I think we should meet with Ms. Ofrah first though. Possibly take her up on her offer to represent you.¡±
¡°Definitely,¡± Daddy says. ¡°I don¡¯t trust them folks at the DA office.¡±
¡°So how about we see her tomorrow and meet with the DAter on this week?¡± Momma asks.
I grab another slice of pizza and take a bite. It¡¯s cold now, but cold pizza is the best pizza. ¡°So two days of no school?¡±
¡°Oh, you¡¯re going to school,¡± she says. ¡°And did you eat any sd while you¡¯re eating all that pizza?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve had veggies. These little bitty peppers.¡±
¡°They don¡¯t count when they¡¯re that little.¡±
¡°Yeah, they do. If babies can count as humans when they¡¯re little, veggies can count as veggies when they¡¯re little.¡±
¡°That logic ain¡¯t working with me. So, we¡¯ll meet with Ms. Ofrah tomorrow and the DA on Wednesday. Sound like a n?¡±
¡°Yeah, except the school part.¡±
Momma uncovers the phone. ¡°Sorry for the dy. We cane in on Wednesday morning.¡±
¡°In the meantime tell your boys the mayor and the police chief to get them fucking tanks out my neighborhood,¡± Daddysays loudly. Momma swats at him, but he¡¯s going down the hall. ¡°im folks need to act peaceful, but rolling through here like we in a goddamn war.¡±
¡°Two dors, Daddy,¡± Sekani says.
When Momma hangs up, I say, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t kill me to miss one day of school. I don¡¯t wanna be there if they try that protest mess again.¡± I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Remy tried to get a whole week off because of Khalil. ¡°I need two days, that¡¯s all.¡± Momma raises her brows. ¡°Okay, one and a half. Please?¡±
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. ¡°We¡¯ll see. But not a word of this to your brothers, you hear me?¡±
Basically, she said yes without saying yes outright. I can deal with that.
Pastor Eldridge once preached that ¡°Faith isn¡¯t just believing but taking steps toward that belief.¡± So when my rm goes off Tuesday morning, by faith I don¡¯t get up, believing that Momma won¡¯t make me go to school.
And to quote Pastor Eldridge, hallelujah, God shows up and shows out. Momma doesn¡¯t make me get up. I stay in bed, listening as everybody else gets ready for the day. Sekani makes it his business to tell Momma I¡¯m not up yet.
¡°Don¡¯t worry about her,¡± she says. ¡°Worry about yourself.¡±
The TV in the den res some morning news show, and Momma hums around the house. When Khalil and One-Fifteen are mentioned, the volume lowers a whole lot and doesn¡¯t goback up until a political storyes on.
My phone buzzes under my pillow. I take it out and look. Kenya finally texted me back about my new Tumblr. She would make me wait hours for a response, and herment is short as hell:
It¡¯s aight
I roll my eyes. That¡¯s about as close as I¡¯m gonna get to apliment from her. I text back.
I love you too
Her response?
I know ?
She¡¯s so petty. Part of me wonders though if she didn¡¯t respondst night ¡¯cause of drama at her house. Daddy said King¡¯s still beating Iesha up. Sometimes he hits Kenya and Lyric too. Kenya¡¯s not the type to talk about it like that, so I ask:
Everything okay?
The usual, she writes back.
Short, but it says enough. There isn¡¯t much I can do, so I just remind her:
I¡¯m here if you need me
Her response?
You better be
See? Petty.
Here¡¯s the messed-up part about missing school: you wonder what you would be doing if you went. At eight, I figure Chris and I would just be getting to history since it¡¯s our firstss on Tuesdays. I send him a quick text.
Won¡¯t be at school today.
Two minutester, he replies.
Are you sick? Need me to kiss it and make it better? Wink wink
He seriously typed ¡°wink wink¡± instead of two wink emojis. I¡¯ll admit, I smile. I write back:
What if I¡¯m contagious?
He says:
Doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll kiss you anywhere. Wink wink.
I reply:
Is that another line?
He responds in less than a minute.
It¡¯s whatever you want it to be. Love you Fresh Princess.
Pause. That ¡°L¡± wordpletely catches me off guard, like a yer from the other team stealing the ball right as you¡¯re about to make ayup. It takes all of your momentum and you spend a week wondering how that steal slipped up on you.
Yeah. Chris saying ¡°love you¡± is like that, except I can¡¯t waste a week wondering about it. By not answering, I¡¯m answering, if that makes sense. The shot clock is winding down, and I need to say something.
But what?
By not saying ¡°I¡± before ¡°love you,¡± he¡¯s making it more casual. Seriously, ¡°love you¡± and ¡°I love you¡± are different.Same team, different yers. ¡°Love you¡± isn¡¯t as forward or aggressive as ¡°I love you.¡± ¡°Love you¡± can slip up on you, sure, but it doesn¡¯t make an in-your-face m dunk. More like a nice jump shot.
Two minutes pass. I need to say something.
Love you too.
It¡¯s as foreign as a Spanish word I haven¡¯t learned yet, but funny enough ites pretty easily.
I get a wink emoji in return.
Just Us for Justice upies the old Taco Bell on Magnolia Avenue, between the car wash and the cash advance ce. Daddy used to take me and Seven to that Taco Bell every Friday and get us ny-nine-cent tacos, cinnamon twists, and a soda to share. This was right after he got out of prison, when he didn¡¯t have a lot of money. He usually watched us eat. Sometimes he asked the manager, one of Momma¡¯s girlfriends, to keep an eye on us, and he went to the cash advance ce next door. When I got older and discovered that presents don¡¯t just ¡°show up,¡± I realized Daddy always went over there around our birthdays and Christmas.
Momma rings the doorbell at Just Us, and Ms. Ofrah lets us in.
¡°Sorry about that,¡± she says, locking the door. ¡°It¡¯s just me here today.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Momma says. ¡°Where are your colleagues?¡±
¡°Some of them are at Garden Heights High doing a roundtable discussion. Others are leading a march on Carnation where Khalil was murdered.¡±
It¡¯s weird to hear somebody say ¡°Khalil was murdered¡± as easily as Ms. Ofrah does. She doesn¡¯t bite her tongue or hesitate.
Short-walled cubicles take up most of the restaurant. They have almost as many posters as Seven has, but the kind Daddy would love, like Malcolm X standing next to a window holding a rifle, Huey Newton in prison with his fist up for ck power, and photographs of the ck Panthers at rallies and giving breakfast to kids.
Ms. Ofrah leads us to her cubicle next to the drive-through window. It¡¯s kinda funny too ¡¯cause she has a Taco Bell cup on her desk. ¡°Thank you so much foring,¡± she says. ¡°I was so happy when you called, Mrs. Carter.¡±
¡°Please, call me Lisa. How long have you all been in this space?¡±
¡°Almost two years now. And if you¡¯re wondering, yes, we do get the asional prankster who pulls up to the window and tells me they want a chalupa.¡±
Weugh. The doorbell rings up front.
¡°That¡¯s probably my husband,¡± Momma says. ¡°He was on his way.¡±
Ms. Ofrah leaves, and soon Daddy¡¯s voice echoes through the office as he follows her back. He grabs a third chair from another cubicle and sets it halfway in Ms. Ofrah¡¯s office andhalfway in the hall. That¡¯s how small her cubicle is.
¡°Sorry I¡¯mte. Had to get DeVante situated with Mr. Lewis.¡±
¡°Mr. Lewis?¡± I ask.
¡°Yeah. Since I¡¯m here, I asked him to let DeVante help around the shop. Mr. Lewis needs somebody to look out for his dumb behind. Snitching on live TV.¡±
¡°You¡¯re talking about the gentleman who did the interview about the King Lords?¡± Ms. Ofrah asks.
¡°Yeah, him,¡± says Daddy. ¡°He owns the barbershop next to my store.¡±
¡°Oh, wow. That interview definitely has people talking. Last I checked it had almost a million views online.¡±
I knew it. Mr. Lewis has be a meme.
¡°It takes a lot of guts to be as upfront as he is. I meant what I said at Khalil¡¯s funeral, Starr. It was very brave of you to talk to the police.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t feel brave.¡± With Malcolm X watching me on her wall, I can¡¯t lie. ¡°I¡¯m not running my mouth on TV like Mr. Lewis.¡±
¡°And that¡¯s okay,¡± Ms. Ofrah says. ¡°It seemed Mr. Lewis impulsively spoke out in anger and frustration. In a case like Khalil¡¯s, I would much rather that you spoke out in a more deliberate and nned way.¡± She looks at Momma. ¡°You said the DA called yesterday?¡±
¡°Yes. They¡¯d like to meet with Starr tomorrow.¡±
¡°Makes sense. The case was turned over to their office, and they¡¯re preparing to take it to a grand jury.¡±
¡°What does that mean?¡± I ask.
¡°A jury will decide if charges should be brought against Officer Cruise.¡±
¡°And Starr will have to testify to the grand jury,¡± Daddy says.
Ms. Ofrah nods. ¡°It¡¯s a bit different from a normal trial. There won¡¯t be a judge or a defense attorney present, and the DA will ask Starr questions.¡±
¡°But what if I can¡¯t answer them all?¡±
¡°What do you mean?¡± Ms. Ofrah says.
¡°I¡ªthe gun in the car stuff. On the news they said there may have been a gun in the car, like that changes everything. I honestly don¡¯t know if there was.¡±
Ms. Ofrah opens a folder that¡¯s on her desk, takes a piece of paper out, and pushes it toward me. It¡¯s a photograph of Khalil¡¯s ck hairbrush, the one he used in the car.
¡°That¡¯s the so-called gun,¡± Ms. Ofrah exins. ¡°Officer Cruise ims he saw it in the car door, and he assumed Khalil was reaching for it. The handle was thick enough, ck enough, for him to assume it was a gun.¡±
¡°And Khalil was ck enough,¡± Daddy adds.
A hairbrush.
Khalil died over a fucking hairbrush.
Ms. Ofrah slips the photograph back in the folder. ¡°It¡¯ll beinteresting to see how his father addresses it in his interview tonight.¡±
Hold up. ¡°Interview?¡± I ask.
Momma shifts a little in her chair. ¡°Um ... the officer¡¯s father has a television interview that¡¯s airing tonight.¡±
I nce from her to Daddy. ¡°And nobody told me?¡±
¡°¡¯Cause it ain¡¯t worth talking about, baby,¡± Daddy says.
I look at Ms. Ofrah. ¡°So his dad can give his son¡¯s side to the whole world, and I can¡¯t give mine and Khalil¡¯s? He¡¯s gonna have everybody thinking One-Fifteen¡¯s the victim.¡±
¡°Not necessarily,¡± Ms. Ofrah says. ¡°Sometimes these kinds of things backfire. And at the end of the day, the court of public opinion has no say in this. The grand jury does. If they see enough evidence, which they should, Officer Cruise will be charged and tried.¡±
¡°If,¡± I repeat.
A wave of awkward silence rolls in. One-Fifteen¡¯s father is his voice, but I¡¯m Khalil¡¯s. The only way people will know his side of the story is if I speak out.
I look out the drive-through window at the car wash next door. Water cascades from a hose, making rainbows against the sunlight like it did six years ago, right before bullets took Natasha.
I turn to Ms. Ofrah. ¡°When I was ten, I saw my other best friend get murdered in a drive-by.¡±
Funny howmurderedI stare at my fingers and fumble with them. Tears well in my eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to forget it, but I remember everything. The shots, the look on Natasha¡¯s face. They never caught the person who did it. I guess it didn¡¯t matter enough. But it did matter.Shemattered.¡± I look at Ms. Ofrah, but I can barely see her for all the tears. ¡°And I want everyone to know that Khalil mattered too.¡±
Ms. Ofrah blinks. A lot. ¡°Absolutely. I¡ª¡± She clears her throat. ¡°I would like to represent you, Starr. Pro bono, in fact.¡±
Momma nods, and she¡¯s teary-eyed too.
¡°I¡¯ll do whatever I can to make sure you¡¯re heard, Starr. Because just like Khalil and Natasha mattered, you matter and your voice matters. I can start by trying to get you a television interview.¡± She looks at my parents. ¡°If you¡¯re okay with that.¡±
¡°As long as they don¡¯t reveal her identity, yeah,¡± Daddy says.
¡°That shouldn¡¯t be a problem,¡± she says. ¡°We will absolutely make sure her privacy is protected.¡±
A quiet buzzinges from Daddy¡¯s way. He takes out his phone and answers. The person on the other end shouts something, but I can¡¯t make it out. ¡°Ay, calm down, Vante. Say that again?¡± The response makes Daddy stand up. ¡°I¡¯ming. You call nine-one-one?¡±
¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Momma says.
He motions for us to follow him. ¡°Stay with him, a¡¯ight? We on the way.¡±
: Part 1 – Chapter 13
Mr. Lewis¡¯s left eye is swollen shut and blood drips onto his shirt from a sh on his cheek, but he refuses to go to the hospital.
Daddy¡¯s office has be an examining room, and Momma tends to Mr. Lewis with Daddy¡¯s help. I lean against the doorway and watch. DeVante stands even farther back in the store.
¡°It took five of ¡¯em to take me down,¡± Mr. Lewis says. ¡°Five of ¡¯em! Against one li¡¯l ol¡¯ man. Ain¡¯t that something?¡±
¡°It¡¯s really something that you¡¯re alive,¡± I say. Snitches get stitches doesn¡¯t apply to King Lords. More like snitches get graves.
Momma tilts Mr. Lewis¡¯s head to look at the cut on his cheek. ¡°She¡¯s right. You¡¯re real lucky, Mr. Lewis. Don¡¯t even need stitches.¡±
¡°King himself gave me that one,¡± he says. ¡°He ain¡¯te in till them other ones got me down. Ol¡¯ punk ass, looking like a ck Michelin Man.¡±
I snort.
¡°This ain¡¯t funny,¡± Daddy says. ¡°I told you they was gon¡¯e after you.¡±
¡°And I told you I ain¡¯t scared! If this the worst they could do, they ain¡¯t did nothing!¡±
¡°Nah, this ain¡¯t the worst,¡± says Daddy. ¡°They could¡¯ve killed you!¡±
¡°I ain¡¯t the one they want dead!¡± He stretches his fat finger my way, but he looks beyond me at DeVante. ¡°That¡¯s the one you need to worry ¡¯bout! I made him hide before they came in, but King said he know you helping that boy, and he gon¡¯ kill him if he find him.¡±
DeVante backs away, his eyes wide.
I swear, in like two seconds Daddy grabs DeVante by his neck and ms him against the freezer. ¡°What the hell you do?¡±
DeVante kicks and squirms and tries to pull Daddy¡¯s hands from his neck.
¡°Daddy, stop!¡±
¡°Shut up!¡± His re never leaves DeVante. ¡°I brought you in my house, and you ain¡¯t been honest ¡¯bout why you hiding? King wouldn¡¯t want you dead unless you did something, so what you do?¡±
¡°Mav-rick!¡± Momma breaks his name down real good. ¡°Let him go. He can¡¯t exin anything with you choking him.¡±
Daddy releases, and DeVante bends over, gasping for air. ¡°Don¡¯t be putting your hands on me!¡± he says.
¡°Or what?¡± Daddy taunts. ¡°Start talking.¡±
¡°Man, look, it ain¡¯t a big deal. King tripping.¡±
Is he for real? ¡°What did you do?¡± I ask.
DeVante slides onto the floor and tries to catch his breath. He blinks real fast for several seconds. His face scrunches up. Suddenly he¡¯s bawling like a baby.
I don¡¯t know anything else to do, so I sit in front of him. When Khalil would cry like that because his momma was messed up, I¡¯d lift his head.
I lift DeVante¡¯s. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I say.
That always worked with Khalil. It works with DeVante too. He stops crying as hard and says, ¡°I stole ¡¯bout five Gs from King.¡±
¡°Dammit!¡± Daddy groans. ¡°What the hell, man?¡±
¡°I had to get my family outta here! I was gonna handle the dudes that killed Dalvin, and shit, all that would do was make some GDse after me. I was a dead man walking, straight up. I didn¡¯t want my momma and my sisters caught up in that. So I got them some bus tickets and got them outta town.¡±
¡°That¡¯s why we can¡¯t get your momma on the phone,¡± Momma realizes.
Tears fall around his lips. ¡°She didn¡¯t want meing anyway. Said I¡¯d get them killed. Put me out the house before they left.¡± He looks at Daddy. ¡°Big Mav, I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯vetold you the other day. I did change my mind ¡¯bout killing them dudes though, but now King wants me dead. Please don¡¯t take me to him. I¡¯ll do anything. Please?¡±
¡°He bet¡¯ not!¡± Mr. Lewis limps out Daddy¡¯s office. ¡°You help that boy, Maverick!¡±
Daddy stares at the ceiling like he could cuss God out.
¡°Daddy,¡± I plead.
¡°A¡¯ight! C¡¯mon, Vante.¡±
¡°Big Mav,¡± he whimpers, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, please¡ª¡±
¡°I¡¯m not taking you to King, but we gotta get you outta here. Now.¡±
Forty minutester, Momma and I pull up behind Daddy and DeVante in Uncle Carlos¡¯s driveway.
I¡¯m surprised Daddy knows how to get here. He neveres out here with us. Ne-ver. Holidays, birthdays, none of that. I guess he doesn¡¯t wanna deal with Nana and her mouth.
Momma and I get out her car as Daddy and DeVante get out the truck.
¡°This is where you¡¯re bringing him?¡± Momma says. ¡°My brother¡¯s house?¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Daddy says, like it¡¯s no big deal.
Uncle Carloses from the garage, wiping oil off his hands with one of Aunt Pam¡¯s good towels. He shouldn¡¯t be home. It¡¯s the middle of a workday, and he never takes sick days. He stops wiping his hands, but the knuckles on one of them are still dark.
DeVante squints against the sunlight and looks around like we brought him to another. ¡°Damn, Big Mav. Where we at?¡±
¡°Where are we?¡± Uncle Carlos corrects, and offers his hand. ¡°Carlos. You must be DeVante.¡±
DeVante stares at his hand. No manners at all. ¡°How you know my name?¡±
Uncle Carlos awkwardly lets his hand fall to his side. ¡°Maverick told me about you. We¡¯ve discussed getting you out here.¡±
¡°Oh!¡± Momma says with a hollowugh. ¡°Maverick¡¯s discussed getting him out here.¡± She narrows her eyes at Daddy. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you even knew how to get out here, Maverick.¡±
Daddy¡¯s nostrils re. ¡°We¡¯ll talkter.¡±
¡°C¡¯mon,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°I¡¯ll show you your room.¡±
DeVante stares at the house, his eyes all big. ¡°What you do to get a house like this?¡±
¡°Dang, you¡¯re nosy,¡± I say.
Uncle Carlos chuckles. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Starr. My wife¡¯s a surgeon, and I¡¯m a detective.¡±
DeVante stops dead. He turns on Daddy. ¡°What the fuck, man? You brought me to a cop?¡±
¡°Watch your mouth,¡± Daddy says. ¡°And I brought you to somebody who actually wanna help you.¡±
¡°A cop though? If the homies find out, they gon¡¯ think I¡¯m snitching.¡±
¡°They¡¯re not your homies if you gotta hide from them,¡± I say. ¡°Plus Uncle Carlos wouldn¡¯t ask you to snitch.¡±
¡°She¡¯s right,¡± says Uncle Carlos. ¡°Maverick¡¯s really serious about getting you out of Garden Heights.¡±
Momma scoffs. Loudly.
¡°When he told us the situation, we wanted to help,¡± Uncle Carlos goes on. ¡°And it sounds like you need our help.¡±
DeVante sighs. ¡°Man, this ain¡¯t cool.¡±
¡°Look, I¡¯m on leave,¡± says Uncle Carlos. ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about me getting information out of you.¡±
¡°Leave?¡± I say. That exins the sweats in the middle of the day. ¡°Why¡¯d they put you on leave?¡±
He nces from me to Momma, and she probably doesn¡¯t know I see her shake her head real quick. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, baby girl,¡± he says, hooking his arm around me. ¡°I needed a vacation.¡±
It¡¯s so, so obvious. They put him on leave because of me.
Nana meets us at the front door. Knowing her, she¡¯s been watching through the window since we got here. She has one arm folded and takes a drag of her cigarette with the other. She blows the smoke toward the ceiling while staring at DeVante. ¡°Who he supposed to be?¡±
¡°DeVante,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°He¡¯s staying with us.¡±
¡°What you mean he¡¯s staying with us?¡±
¡°Just what I said. He got in a little trouble in Garden Heights and needs to stay here.¡±
She scoffs, and I know where Momma gets it from. ¡°A li¡¯l trouble, huh? Tell the truth, boy.¡± She lowers her voice and asks with suspicious, squinted eyes, ¡°Did you kill somebody?¡±
¡°Momma!¡± my momma says.
¡°What? I better ask before y¡¯all have me sleeping in the house with a murderer, waking up dead!¡±
What in the ... ¡°You can¡¯t wake up dead,¡± I say.
¡°Li¡¯l girl, you know what I mean!¡± She moves from the doorway. ¡°I¡¯ll be waking up in Jesus¡¯s face, trying to figure out what happened!¡±
¡°Like you going to heaven,¡± Daddy mumbles.
Uncle Carlos gives DeVante a tour. His room is about as big as me and Seven¡¯s rooms put together. It doesn¡¯t seem right that he only has a little backpack to put in it, and when we go to the kitchen Uncle Carlos makes him hand that over.
¡°There are a few rules for living here,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°One, follow the rules. Two¡±¡ªhe pulls the Glock from DeVante¡¯s backpack¡ª¡°no weapons and no drugs.¡±
¡°I know you ain¡¯t bring that in my house, Vante,¡± Daddy says.
¡°King probably got money on my head. You damn right I got a piece.¡±
¡°Rule three.¡± Uncle Carlos speaks over him. ¡°No cursing. I have an eight-year-old and a three-year-old. They don¡¯t need to hear that.¡±
¡¯Cause they hear it from Nana enough. Ava¡¯s new favorite word is ¡°Goddammit!¡±
¡°Rule four,¡± Uncle Carlos says, ¡°go to school.¡±
¡°Man,¡± DeVante groans. ¡°I already told Big Mav I can¡¯t go back to Garden High.¡±
¡°We know,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Once we get in touch with your momma, we¡¯ll get you enrolled in an online program. Lisa¡¯s momma is a retired teacher. She can tutor you through it so you can finish the year out.¡±
¡°Like hell I can!¡± Nana says. I don¡¯t know where she is, but I¡¯m not surprised she¡¯s listening.
¡°Momma, stop being nosy!¡± Uncle Carlos says.
¡°Stop volunteering me for shit!¡±
¡°Stop cursing,¡± he says.
¡°Tell me what to do again and see what happens.¡±
Uncle Carlos¡¯s face and neck go red.
The doorbell rings.
¡°Carlos, get the door,¡± Nana says from wherever she¡¯s hiding.
He purses his lips and leaves to answer. As hees back I can hear him talking to somebody. Then somebodyughs, and I know thatugh ¡¯cause it makes meugh.
¡°Look who I found,¡± Uncle Carlos says.
Chris is behind him in his white Williamson polo and khaki shorts. He has on the red-and-ck Jordan Twelves that MJ wore when he had the flu during the ¡¯97 finals. Shoot, thatmakes Chris finer for some reason. Or I have a Jordan fetish.
¡°Hi.¡± He smiles without showing teeth.
¡°Hi.¡± I smile too.
I forget that Daddy is here and that I potentially have a big-ass problem on my hands. That onlysts about ten seconds though because Daddy asks, ¡°Who you?¡±
Chris extends his hand to Daddy. ¡°Christopher, sir. Nice to meet you.¡±
Daddy gives him a twice-over. ¡°You know my daughter or something?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± Chris stretches it kinda long and looks at me. ¡°We both go to Williamson?¡±
I nod. Good answer.
Daddy folds his arms. ¡°Well, do you or don¡¯t you? You sound a li¡¯l unsure ¡¯bout that.¡±
Momma gives Chris a quick hug. All the while Daddy mean-mugs the hell outta him. ¡°How are you doing, sweetie?¡± she asks.
¡°I¡¯m fine. I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt anything. I saw your car, and Starr wasn¡¯t at school today, so I wanted to check on her.¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± says Momma. ¡°Tell your mom and dad I said hello. How are they?¡±
¡°Hold up,¡± Daddy says. ¡°Y¡¯all act like this dude been around a minute.¡± Daddy turns to me. ¡°Why ain¡¯t I never heard ¡¯bout him?¡±
It¡¯s gonna take a hell of a lotta boldness to put myself out there for Khalil. Like ¡°I once told my militant ck daddy about my white boyfriend¡± kinda boldness. If I can¡¯t stand up to my dad about Chris, how can I stand up for Khalil?
Daddy always tells me to never bite my tongue for anyone. That includes him.
So I say it. ¡°He¡¯s my boyfriend.¡±
¡°Boyfriend?¡± Daddy repeats.
¡°Yeah, her boyfriend!¡± Nana pipes up again from wherever she is. ¡°Hey, Chris baby.¡±
Chris nces around, all confused. ¡°Uh, hey, Ms. Montgomery.¡±
Nana was the first to find out about Chris, thanks to her master snooping skills. She told me, ¡°Go ¡¯head, get your swirl on, baby,¡± then proceeded to tell me about all of her swirling adventures, which I didn¡¯t need to know.
¡°The hell, Starr?¡± Daddy says. ¡°You dating a white boy?¡±
¡°Maverick!¡± Momma snaps.
¡°Calm down, Maverick,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°He¡¯s a good kid, and he treats her well. That¡¯s all that matters, isn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°You knew?¡± Daddy says. He looks at me, and I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s anger or hurt in his eyes. ¡°Heknew, and I didn¡¯t?¡±
This happens when you have two dads. One of them¡¯s bound to get hurt, and you¡¯re bound to feel like shit because of it.
¡°Let¡¯s go outside,¡± Momma says tightly. ¡°Now.¡±
Daddy res at Chris and follows Momma to the patio.The doors have thick ss, but I still hear her go off on him.
¡°C¡¯mon, DeVante,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°Gonna show you the basement and theundry room.¡±
DeVante sizes Chris up. ¡°Boyfriend,¡± he says with a slightugh, and looks at me. ¡°I should¡¯ve knownyou¡¯dhave a white boy.¡±
He leaves with Uncle Carlos. What the hell that¡¯s supposed to mean?
¡°Sorry,¡± I tell Chris. ¡°My dad shouldn¡¯t have gone off like that.¡±
¡°It could¡¯ve been worse. He could¡¯ve killed me.¡±
True. I motion him to sit at the counter while I get us some drinks.
¡°Who was that guy with your uncle?¡± he asks.
Aunt Pam ain¡¯t got one soda up in here. Juice, water, and sparkling water. I bet Nana has a stash of Sprite and Coke in her room though. ¡°DeVante,¡± I say, grabbing two apple juice boxes. ¡°He got caught up in some King Lord stuff, and Daddy brought him to live with Uncle Carlos.¡±
¡°Why was he looking at me like that?¡±
¡°Get over it, Maverick. He¡¯s white!¡± Momma shouts on the patio. ¡°White, white, white!¡±
Chris blushes. And blushes, and blushes, and blushes.
I hand him a juice box. ¡°That¡¯swhy DeVante was looking at you that way. You¡¯re white.¡±
¡°Okay?¡± he asks more than says. ¡°Is this one of those ckthings I won¡¯t understand?¡±
¡°Okay, babe, real talk? If you were somebody else I¡¯d side-eye the shit out of you for calling it that.¡±
¡°Calling it what? A ck thing?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
¡°But isn¡¯t that what it is?¡±
¡°Not really,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s not like this kinda stuff is exclusive to ck people, you know? The reasoning may be different, but that¡¯s about it. Your parents don¡¯t have a problem with us dating?¡±
¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it a problem,¡± Chris says, ¡°but we did talk about it.¡±
¡°So it¡¯s not just a ck thing then, huh?¡±
¡°Point made.¡±
We sit at the counter, and I listen to his y-by-y of school today. Nobody walked out because the police were there, waiting for any drama.
¡°Hailey and Maya asked about you,¡± he says. ¡°I told them you were sick.¡±
¡°They could¡¯ve texted me and asked themselves.¡±
¡°I think they feel guilty about yesterday. Especially Hailey. White guilt.¡± He winks.
I crack up. My white boyfriend talking about white guilt.
Momma yells, ¡°And I love how you insist on getting somebody else¡¯s child out of Garden Heights, but you want ours to stay in that hellhole!¡±
¡°You want them in the suburbs with all this fake shit?¡± Daddy says.
¡°If this is fake, baby, I¡¯ll take it over real any day. I¡¯m sick of this! The kids go to school out here, I take them to church out here, their friends are out here. We can afford to move. But you wanna stay in that mess!¡±
¡°¡¯Cause at least in Garden Heights people ain¡¯t gonna treat them like shit.¡±
¡°They already do! And wait until King can¡¯t find DeVante. Who do you think he¡¯s gonna look at? Us!¡±
¡°I told you I¡¯ll handle that,¡± Daddy says. ¡°We ain¡¯t moving. It ain¡¯t even up for discussion.¡±
¡°Oh, really?¡±
¡°Really.¡±
Chris gives me a bit of a smile. ¡°This is awkward.¡±
My cheeks are hot, and I¡¯m d I¡¯m too brown for it to show. ¡°Yeah. Awkward.¡±
He takes my hand and taps his fingertips against my fingertips, one at a time. Heces his fingers through mine, and we let our arms swing together in the space between us.
Daddyes in and ms the door behind him. He zeroes straight in on our joined hands. Chris doesn¡¯t let go. Point for my boyfriend.
¡°We¡¯ll talkter, Starr.¡± Daddy marches out.
¡°If this were a rom,¡± Chris says, ¡°you¡¯d be Zoe Saldana and I¡¯d be Ashton Kutcher.¡±
¡°Huh?¡±
He sips his juice. ¡°This old movie,Guess Who. I caught it when I had the flu a few weeks ago. Zoe Saldana dated Ashton Kutcher. Her dad didn¡¯t like that she was seeing a white guy. That¡¯s us.¡±
¡°Except this isn¡¯t funny,¡± I say.
¡°It can be.¡±
¡°Nah. What¡¯s funny though is that you watched a rom.¡±
¡°Hey!¡± he cries. ¡°It was hrious. More of aedy than a rom. Bernie Mac was her dad. That guy was hrious, one of the Kings of Comedy. I don¡¯t think it can be called a rom simply because he was in it.¡±
¡°Okay, you get points for knowing Bernie Mac and that he was a King of Comedy¡ª¡±
¡°Everyoneshould know that.¡±
¡°True, but you don¡¯t get a pass. It was still a rom. I won¡¯t tell anyone though.¡±
I lean over to kiss his cheek, but he moves his head, giving me no choice but to kiss him on the mouth. Soon we¡¯re making out, right there in my uncle¡¯s kitchen.
¡°Hem-hem!¡±Somebody clears their throat. Chris and I separate so fast.
I thought embarrassment was having my boyfriend hear my parents argue. Nope. Embarrassment is having my mom walk in on me and Chris making out. Again.
¡°Don¡¯t y¡¯all think y¡¯all should let each other breathe?¡± she says.
Chris blushes down to his Adam¡¯s apple. ¡°I should go.¡±
He leaves with a quick good-bye to Momma.
She raises her eyebrows at me. ¡°Are you taking your birth control pills?¡±
¡°Mommy!¡±
¡°Answer my question. Are you?¡±
¡°Yeeees,¡± I groan, putting my face on the countertop.
¡°When was yourst cycle?¡±
Oh. My. Lord. I lift my head and sh the fakest of fake smiles. ¡°We¡¯re fine. Promise.¡±
¡°Y¡¯all got some nerve. Your daddy was barely out the driveway, and y¡¯all slobbering all over each other. You know how Maverick is.¡±
¡°Are we staying out here tonight?¡±
The question catches her off guard. ¡°Why would you think that?¡±
¡°Because you and Daddy¡ª¡±
¡°Had a disagreement, that¡¯s all.¡±
¡°A disagreement the whole neighborhood heard.¡± Plus one the other night.
¡°Starr, we¡¯re okay. Don¡¯t worry about it. Your father¡¯s being ... your father.¡±
Outside, somebody honks his car horn a bunch of times.
Momma rolls her eyes. ¡°Speaking of your father, I guessMr. I¡¯m-Gonna-m-Doors needs me to move my car so he can leave.¡± She shakes her head and heads toward the front.
I throw Chris¡¯s juice away and search the cabs. Aunt Pam may be picky when ites to drinks, but she always buys good snacks, and my stomach is talking. I get some graham crackers and ther peanut butter on them. So good.
DeVantees in the kitchen. ¡°Can¡¯t believe you dating a white boy.¡± He sits next to me and steals a graham cracker sandwich. ¡°A wigga at that.¡±
¡°Excuse you?¡± I say with a mouth full of peanut butter. ¡°He is not a wigga.¡±
¡°Please! Dude wearing J¡¯s. White boys wear Converse and Vans, not no J¡¯s unless they trying to be ck.¡±
Really?¡°My bad. I didn¡¯t know shoes determined somebody¡¯s race.¡±
He can¡¯t say anything to that. Like I thought. ¡°What you see in him anyway? For real? All them dudes in Garden Heights who would get with you in a second, and you looking at Justin Bieber?¡±
I point in his face.¡°Don¡¯t call him that. And what dudes? Nobody in Garden Heights is checking for me. Hardly anybody knows my name. Hell, even you called me Big Mav¡¯s daughter who work in the store.¡±
¡°¡¯Cause you don¡¯te around,¡± he says. ¡°I ain¡¯t never seen you at a party, nothing.¡±
Without thinking, I say, ¡°You mean parties where peopleget shot at?¡± And as soon as it leaves my mouth, I feel like shit. ¡°Oh my God, I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±
He stares at the countertop. ¡°It¡¯s cool. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±
We quietly nibble on graham crackers.
¡°Um ...¡± I say. The silence is brutal. ¡°Uncle Carlos and Aunt Pam are cool. I think you¡¯ll like it here.¡±
He bites another graham cracker.
¡°They can be corny sometimes, but they¡¯re sweet. They¡¯ll look out for you. Knowing Aunt Pam, she¡¯ll treat you like Ava and Daniel. Uncle Carlos will probably be tougher. If you follow the rules, you¡¯ll be okay.¡±
¡°Khalil talked ¡¯bout you sometimes,¡± DeVante says.
¡°Huh?¡±
¡°You said nobody knows you, but Khalil talked ¡¯bout you. I ain¡¯t know you was Big Mav¡¯s daughter who¡ªI ain¡¯t know that was you,¡± he says. ¡°But he talked ¡¯bout his friend Starr. He said you were the coolest girl he knew.¡±
Some peanut butter gets stuck in my throat, but it¡¯s not the only reason I swallow. ¡°How did you know¡ªoh. Yeah. Both of y¡¯all were King Lords.¡±
I swear to God whenever I think about Khalil falling into that life, it¡¯s like watching him die all over again. Yeah, Khalil matters and not the stuff he did, but I can¡¯t lie and say it doesn¡¯t bother me or it¡¯s not disappointing. He knew better.
DeVante says, ¡°Khalil wasn¡¯t a King Lord, Starr.¡±
¡°But at the funeral, King put the bandana on him¡ª¡±
¡°To save face,¡± DeVante says. ¡°He tried to get Khalil to join, but Khalil said nah. Then a cop killed him, so you know, all the homies riding for him now. King not ¡¯bout to admit that Khalil turned him down. So he got folks thinking that Khalil repped King Lords.¡±
¡°Wait,¡± I say. ¡°How do you know he turned King down?¡±
¡°Khalil told me in the park one day. We was posted up.¡±
¡°So y¡¯all sold drugs together?¡±
¡°Yeah. For King.¡±
¡°Oh.¡±
¡°He didn¡¯t wanna sell drugs, Starr,¡± DeVante says. ¡°Nobody really wanna do that shit. Khalil ain¡¯t have much of a choice though.¡±All content ? N/.?vel/Dr/ama.Org.
¡°Yeah, he did,¡± I say thickly.
¡°No, he didn¡¯t. Look, his momma stole some shit from King. King wanted her dead. Khalil found out and started selling to pay the debt.¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°Yeah. That¡¯s the only reason he started doing that shit. Trying to save her.¡±
I can¡¯t believe it.
Then again, I can. That was ssic Khalil. No matter what his momma did, he was still her knight and he was still gonna protect her.
This is worse than denying him. I thought the worst of him. Like everybody else.
¡°Don¡¯t be mad at him,¡± DeVante says, and it¡¯s funny because I can hear Khalil asking me not to be mad too.
¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± I sigh. ¡°Okay, I was a little mad. I just hate how he¡¯s being called a thug and shit when people don¡¯t know the whole story. You said it, he wasn¡¯t a gangbanger, and if everybody knew why he sold drugs, then¡ª¡±
¡°They wouldn¡¯t think he was a thug like me?¡±
Oh, damn. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean ...¡±
¡°It¡¯s cool,¡± he says. ¡°I get it. I guess I am a thug, I don¡¯t know. I did what I had to do. King Lords was the closest thing me and Dalvin had to a family.¡±
¡°But your momma,¡± I say, ¡°and your sisters¡ª¡±
¡°They couldn¡¯t look out for us like King Lords do,¡± he says. ¡°Me and Dalvin looked out for them. With King Lords, we had a whole bunch of folks who had our backs, no matter what. They bought us clothes and shit our momma couldn¡¯t afford and always made sure we ate.¡± He looks at the counter. ¡°It was just cool to have somebody take care of us for a change, instead of the other way around.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± A shitty response, I know.
¡°Like I said, nobody likes selling drugs,¡± he says. ¡°I hated that shit. For real. But I hated seeing my momma and my sisters go hungry, you know?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I¡¯ve never had to know. My parents made sure of that.
¡°You got it good then,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m sorry they talking¡¯bout Khalil like that though. He really was a good dude. Hopefully one day they can find out the truth.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I say quietly.
DeVante. Khalil. Neither one of them thought they had much of a choice. If I were them, I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d make a much better one.
Guess that makes me a thug too.
¡°I¡¯m going for a walk,¡± I say, getting up. My head¡¯s all over the ce. ¡°You can have the rest of the graham crackers and peanut butter.¡±
I leave. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m going. I don¡¯t know much of anything anymore.
: Part 1 – Chapter 14
I end up at Maya¡¯s house. Truth be told, that¡¯s the farthest I can go in Uncle Carlos¡¯s neighborhood before the houses start looking the same.
It¡¯s that weird time between day and night when the sky looks like it¡¯s on fire and mosquitoes are on the hunt; all of the lights at the Yang house are already on, which is a lot of lights. Their house is big enough for me and my family to live with them and have a little wiggle room. There¡¯s a blue Infiniti Coupe with a dented bumper in the circr driveway. Hailey can¡¯t drive for shit.
No lie, it stings a little knowing they hang out without me. That¡¯s what happens when you live so far away from your friends. I can¡¯t get mad about it. Jealous maybe. Not mad.
That protest shit though? Now that makes me mad. Madenough to ring the doorbell. Besides, I told Maya the three of us could talk, so fine, we¡¯ll talk.
Mrs. Yang answers, her Bluetooth headset around her neck.
¡°Starr!¡± She beams and hugs me. ¡°So good to see you. How is everyone?¡±
¡°Good,¡± I say. She announces my arrival to Maya and lets me in. The aroma of Mrs. Yang¡¯s seafoodsagna greets me in the foyer.
¡°I hope it¡¯s not a bad time,¡± I say.
¡°Not at all, sweetie. Maya¡¯s upstairs. Hailey too. You¡¯re more than wee to join us for dinner... . No, George, I wasn¡¯t talking to you,¡± she says into her headset, then mouths at me,¡°My assistant,¡±and rolls her eyes a little.
I smile and take off my Nike Dunks. In the Yang house, shoe removal is part Chinese tradition, part Mrs. Yang likes people to befy.
Maya races down the stairs, wearing an oversized T-shirt and basketball shorts that almost hang to her ankles. ¡°Starr!¡±
She reaches the bottom, and there¡¯s this awkward moment where her arms are out like she wants to hug me, but she starts lowering them. I hug her anyway. It¡¯s been a while since I got a good Maya hug. Her hair smells like citrus, and she hugs all tight and motherly.
Maya leads me to her bedroom. White Christmas lights hang from the ceiling. There¡¯s a shelf for video games,Adventure Timememorabilia all around, and Hailey in a beanbagchair, concentrating on the basketball yers she¡¯s controlling on Maya¡¯s t-screen.
¡°Look who¡¯s here, Hails,¡± Maya says.
Hailey nces up at me. ¡°Hey.¡±
¡°Hey.¡±
It¡¯s Awkward Central in here.
I step over an empty Sprite can and a bag of Doritos and sit in the other beanbag chair. Maya closes her door. An old-school poster of Michael Jordan, in his famous Jumpman pose, is on the back.
Maya belly flops onto her bed and grabs a controller off the floor. ¡°You wanna join in, Starr?¡±
¡°Yeah, sure.¡±
She hands me a third controller, and we start a new game¡ªthe three of us against aputer-controlled team. It¡¯s a lot like when we y in real life, abination of rhythm, chemistry, and skill, but the awkwardness in the room is so thick it¡¯s hard to ignore.
They keep ncing at me. I keep my eyes on the screen. The animated crowd cheers as Hailey¡¯s yer makes a three-pointer. ¡°Nice shot,¡± I say.
¡°Okay, cut the crap.¡± Hailey grabs the TV remote and flicks the game off, turning to a detective show instead. ¡°Why are you mad at us?¡±
¡°Why did you protest?¡± Since she wants to cut the crap, may as well get right to it.
¡°Because,¡± she says, like that¡¯s reason enough. ¡°I don¡¯t see what the big deal is, Starr. You said you didn¡¯t know him.¡±
¡°Why does that make a difference?¡±
¡°Isn¡¯t a protest a good thing?¡±
¡°Not if you¡¯re only doing it to cut ss.¡±
¡°So you want us to apologize for it even though everybody else did it too?¡± Hailey asks.
¡°Just because everyone else did it doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s okay.¡±
Shit. I sound like my mother.
¡°Guys, stop!¡± Maya says. ¡°Hailey, if Starr wants us to apologize, fine, we can apologize. Starr, I¡¯m sorry for protesting. It was stupid to use a tragedy just to get out of ss.¡±
We look at Hailey. She sits back and folds her arms. ¡°I¡¯m not apologizing when I didn¡¯t do anything wrong. If anything, she should apologize for using me of being racistst week.¡±
¡°Wow,¡± I say. One thing that irks the hell out of me about Hailey? The way she can turn an argument around and make herself the victim. She¡¯s a master at this shit. I used to fall for it, but now?
¡°I¡¯m not apologizing for what I felt,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t care what your intention was, Hailey. That fried chickenment felt racist to me.¡±
¡°Fine,¡± she says. ¡°Just like I felt it was fine to protest. Since I won¡¯t apologize for what I felt, and you won¡¯t apologize for what you felt, I guess we¡¯ll just watch TV.¡±
¡°Fine,¡± I say.
Maya grunts like it¡¯s taking everything in her not to choke us. ¡°You know what? If you two want to be this stubborn, fine.¡±
Maya flicks through channels. Hailey does that BS move where you look at someone out the corner of your eye, but you don¡¯t want them to know that you care enough to look, so you avert your eyes. At this point it¡¯s whatever. I thought I came to talk, but yeah, I really want an apology.
I look at TV. A singingpetition, a reality show, One-Fifteen, a celebrity dance¡ªwait.
¡°Back up, back up,¡± I tell Maya.
She flicks through the channels, and when he appears again, I say, ¡°Right there!¡±
I¡¯ve pictured his face so much. Actually seeing it again is different. My memory is pretty spot-on¡ªa thin, jagged scar above his lip, bursts of freckles that cover his face and neck.
My stomach churns and my skin crawls, and I wanna get away from One-Fifteen. My instinct doesn¡¯t care that it¡¯s a photograph being shown on TV. A silver cross pendant hangs from his neck, like he¡¯s saying Jesus endorses what he did. We must believe in a different Jesus.
What looks like an older version of him appears on the screen, but this man doesn¡¯t have the scar on his lip, and there are more wrinkles on his neck than freckles. He has white hair, although there¡¯s still some streaks of brown in it.
¡°My son was afraid for his life,¡± he says. ¡°He only wanted to get home to his wife and kids.¡±
Pictures sh on the screen. One-Fifteen smiles with his arms draped around a blurred-out woman. He¡¯s on a fishing trip with two small, blurred-out children. They show him with a smiley golden retriever, with his pastor and some fellow deacons who are all blurred out, and then in his police uniform.
¡°Officer Brian Cruise Jr. has been on the force for sixteen years,¡± the voice-over says, and more pics of him as a cop are shown. He¡¯s been a cop for as long as Khalil was alive, and I wonder if in some sick twist of fate Khalil was only born for this man to kill.
¡°A majority of those years have been spent serving in Garden Heights,¡± the voice-over continues, ¡°a neighborhood notorious for gangs and drug dealers.¡±
I tense as footage of my neighborhood, my home, is shown. It¡¯s like they picked the worst parts¡ªthe drug addicts roaming the streets, the broken-down Cedar Grove projects, gangbangers shing signs, bodies on the sidewalks with white sheets over them. What about Mrs. Rooks and her cakes? Or Mr. Lewis and his haircuts? Mr. Reuben? The clinic? My family?
Me?
I feel Hailey¡¯s and Maya¡¯s eyes on me. I can¡¯t look at them.
¡°My son loved working in the neighborhood,¡± One-Fifteen¡¯s father ims. ¡°He always wanted to make a difference in the lives there.¡±
Funny. ve masters thought they were making a difference in ck people¡¯s lives too. Saving them from their ¡°wildAfrican ways.¡± Same shit, different century. I wish people like them would stop thinking that people like me need saving.
One-Fifteen Sr. talks about his son¡¯s life before the shooting. How he was a good kid who never got into trouble, always wanted to help others. A lot like Khalil. But then he talks about the stuff One-Fifteen did that Khalil will never get to do, like go to college, get married, have a family.
The interviewer asks about that night.
¡°Apparently, Brian pulled the kid over ¡¯cause he had a broken taillight and was speeding.¡±
Khalil wasn¡¯t speeding.
¡°He told me, ¡®Pop, soon as I pulled him over, I had a bad feeling,¡¯¡± says One-Fifteen Sr.
¡°Why is that?¡± the interviewer asks.
¡°He said the kid and his friend immediately started cursing him out¡ª¡±
We never cursed.
¡°And they kept ncing at each other, like they were up to something. Brian says that¡¯s when he got scared, ¡¯cause they could¡¯ve taken him down if they teamed up.¡±
I couldn¡¯t have taken anyone down. I was too afraid. He makes us sound like we¡¯re superhumans. We¡¯re kids.
¡°No matter how afraid he is, my son¡¯s still gonna do his job,¡± he says. ¡°And that¡¯s all he set out to do that night.¡±
¡°There have been reports that Khalil Harris was unarmed when the incident took ce,¡± the interviewer says. ¡°Has yourson told you why he made the decision to shoot?¡±
¡°Brian says he had his back to the kid, and he heard the kid say, ¡®I¡¯m gon¡¯ show your ass today.¡¯¡±
No, no, no. Khalil asked if I was okay.
¡°Brian turned around and saw something in the car door. He thought it was a gun¡ª¡±
It was a hairbrush.
His lips quiver. My body shakes. He covers his mouth to hold back a sob. I cover mine to keep from puking.
¡°Brian¡¯s a good boy,¡± he says, in tears. ¡°He only wanted to get home to his family, and people are making him out to be a monster.¡±
That¡¯s all Khalil and I wanted, and you¡¯re makingusout to be monsters.
I can¡¯t breathe, like I¡¯m drowning in the tears I refuse to shed. I won¡¯t give One-Fifteen or his father the satisfaction of crying. Tonight, they shot me too, more than once, and killed a part of me. Unfortunately for them, it¡¯s the part that felt any hesitation about speaking out.
¡°How has your son¡¯s life changed since this happened?¡± the interviewer asks.
¡°All of our lives have been hell, honestly,¡± his father ims. ¡°Brian¡¯s a people person, but now he¡¯s afraid to go out in public, even for something as simple as getting a gallon of milk. There have been threats on his life, our family¡¯s lives. His wife had to quit her job. He¡¯s even been attacked by fellow officers.¡±
¡°Physically or verbally?¡± the interviewer asks.
¡°Both,¡± he says.
It hits me. Uncle Carlos¡¯s bruised knuckles.
¡°This is awful,¡± Hailey says. ¡°That poor family.¡±
She¡¯s looking at One-Fifteen Sr. with sympathy that belongs to Brenda and Ms. Rosalie.
I blink several times. ¡°What?¡±
¡°His son lost everything because he was trying to do his job and protect himself. His life matters too, you know?¡±
I cannot right now. I can¡¯t. I stand up or otherwise I will say or do something really stupid. Like punch her.
¡°I need to ... yeah.¡± I say all that I can and start for the door, but Maya grabs the tail of my cardigan.
¡°Whoa, whoa. You guys haven¡¯t worked this out yet,¡± she says.
¡°Maya,¡± I say, as calmly as possible. ¡°Please let me go. I cannot talk to her. Did you not hear what she said?¡±
¡°Are you serious right now?¡± Hailey asks. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with saying his life matters too?¡±
¡°His life always matters more!¡± My voice is gruff, and my throat is tight. ¡°That¡¯s the problem!¡±
¡°Starr! Starr!¡± Maya says, trying to catch my eye. I look at her. ¡°What¡¯s going on? You¡¯re Harry inOrder of the Phoenixangrytely.¡±
¡°Thank you!¡± Hailey says. ¡°She¡¯s been in bitch mode for weeks but wants to me me.¡±
¡°Excuse you?¡±
There¡¯s a knock on the door. ¡°Girls, is everything okay?¡± Mrs. Yang asks.
¡°We¡¯re fine, Mom. Video game stuff.¡± Maya looks at me and lowers her voice. ¡°Please, sit down. Please?¡±
I sit on her bed. Commercials rece One-Fifteen Sr. on the TV and fill in the gap of silence we¡¯ve created.
I blurt out, ¡°Why did you unfollow my Tumblr?¡±
Hailey turns toward me. ¡°What?¡±
¡°You unfollowed my Tumblr. Why?¡±
She nces at Maya¡ªquickly, but I notice¡ªand goes, ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±
¡°Cut the bullshit, Hailey. You unfollowed me. Months ago. Why?¡±
She doesn¡¯t say anything.
I swallow. ¡°Is it because of the Emmett Till picture?¡±
¡°Oh my God,¡± she says, standing up. ¡°Here we go again. I am not gonna stay here and let you use me of something, Starr¡ª¡±
¡°You don¡¯t text me anymore,¡± I say. ¡°You freaked out about that picture.¡±
¡°Do you hear her?¡± Hailey says to Maya. ¡°Once again, calling me racist.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not calling you anything. I¡¯m asking a question and giving you examples.¡±
¡°You¡¯re insinuating!¡±
¡°I never even mentioned race.¡±
Silencees between us.
Hailey shakes her head. Her lips are thin. ¡°Unbelievable.¡± She grabs her jacket off Maya¡¯s bed and starts for the door. She stops, and her back is to me. ¡°You wanna really know why I unfollowed you, Starr? Because I don¡¯t know who the hell you are anymore.¡±
She ms the door on her way out.
The news program returns on the television. They show footage of protests all over the country, not just in Garden Heights. Hopefully none of them used Khalil¡¯s death to skip ss or work.
Out of nowhere, Maya says, ¡°That¡¯s not why.¡±
She¡¯s staring at her closed door, her shoulders a bit stiff.
¡°Huh?¡± I say.
¡°She¡¯s lying,¡± Maya says. ¡°That¡¯s not why she unfollowed you. She said she didn¡¯t wanna see that shit on her dashboard.¡±
I figured. ¡°That Emmett Till picture, right?¡±
¡°No. All the ¡®ck stuff,¡¯ she called it. The petitions. The ck Panther pictures. That post on those four little girls who were killed in that church. The stuff about that Marcus Garvey guy. The one about those ck Panthers who were shot by the government.¡±
¡°Fred Hampton and Bobby Hutton,¡± I say.
¡°Yeah. Them.¡±
Wow. She¡¯s been paying attention. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±
She stares at her plush Finn on the floor. ¡°I hoped she¡¯d change her mind before you found out. I should¡¯ve known better though. It¡¯s not like that¡¯s the first fucked-up thing she¡¯s said.¡±
¡°What are you talking about?¡±
Maya swallows hard. ¡°Do you remember that time she asked if my family ate a cat for Thanksgiving?¡±
¡°What? When?¡±
Her eyes are glossy. ¡°Freshman year. First period. Mrs. Edwards¡¯s biology ss. We¡¯d just gotten back from Thanksgiving break. ss hadn¡¯t started yet, and we were talking about what we did for Thanksgiving. I told you guys my grandparents visited, and it was their first time celebrating Thanksgiving. Hailey asked if we ate a cat. Because we¡¯re Chinese.¡±
Ho-ly shit. I¡¯m wracking my brain right now. Freshman year is so close to middle school; there¡¯s a huge possibility I said or did something extremely stupid. I¡¯m afraid to know, but I ask, ¡°What did I say?¡±
¡°Nothing. You had this look on your face like you couldn¡¯t believe she said that. She imed it was a joke andughed. Iughed, and then youughed.¡± Maya blinks. A lot. ¡°I onlyughed because I thought I was supposed to. I felt like shit the rest of the week.¡±
¡°Oh.¡±
¡°Yeah.¡±
Ifeel like shit right now. I can¡¯t believe I let Hailey say that.Or has she always joked like that? Did I alwaysugh because I thought I had to?
That¡¯s the problem. We let people say stuff, and they say it so much that it bes okay to them and normal for us. What¡¯s the point of having a voice if you¡¯re gonna be silent in those moments you shouldn¡¯t be?
¡°Maya?¡± I say.
¡°Yeah?¡±
¡°We can¡¯t let her get away with saying stuff like that again, okay?¡±
She cracks a smile. ¡°A minority alliance?¡±
¡°Hell, yeah,¡± I say, and weugh.
¡°All right. Deal.¡±
A game of NBA 2K15ter (I whooped Maya¡¯s butt), I¡¯m walking back to Uncle Carlos¡¯s house with a foil-wrapped te of seafoodsagna. Mrs. Yang never lets me leave empty-handed, and I never turn down food.
Iron streemps line the sidewalks, and I see Uncle Carlos from a few houses down, sitting on his front steps in the dark. He¡¯s chugging back something, and as I get closer, I can see the Heineken.
I put my te on the steps and sit beside him.
¡°You better not have been at your li¡¯l boyfriend¡¯s house,¡± he says.
Lord. Chris is always ¡°li¡¯l¡± to him, and they¡¯re almost thesame height. ¡°No. I was at Maya¡¯s.¡± I stretch my legs forward and yawn. It¡¯s been a long-ass day. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re drinking,¡± I say through my yawn.
¡°I¡¯m not drinking. It¡¯s one beer.¡±
¡°Is that what Nana said?¡±
He cuts me a look. ¡°Starr.¡±
¡°Uncle Carlos,¡± I say as firmly.
We battle it out, hard stare versus hard stare.
He sets the beer down. Here¡¯s the thing¡ªNana¡¯s an alcoholic. She¡¯s not as bad as she used to be, but all it takes is one hard drink and she¡¯s the ¡°other¡± Nana. I¡¯ve heard stories of her drunken rages from back in the day. She¡¯d me Momma and Uncle Carlos that their daddy went back to his wife and other kids. She¡¯d lock them out the house, cuss at them, all kinds of stuff.
So, no. One beer isn¡¯t one beer to Uncle Carlos, who¡¯s always been anti-alcohol.
¡°Sorry,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s one of those nights.¡±
¡°You saw the interview, didn¡¯t you?¡± I ask.
¡°Yeah. I was hoping you didn¡¯t.¡±
¡°I did. Did my mom see¡ª¡±
¡°Oh yeah, she saw it. So did Pam. And your grandma. I¡¯ve never been in a room with so many pissed-off women in my life.¡± He looks at me. ¡°How are you dealing with it?¡±
I shrug. Yeah, I¡¯m pissed, but honestly? ¡°I expected his dad to make him the victim.¡±
¡°I did too.¡± He rests his cheek in his palm, his elbow propped on his knee. It¡¯s not too dark on the steps. I see the bruising on his hand fine.
¡°So ... ,¡± I say, patting my knees. ¡°On leave, huh?¡±
He looks at me like he¡¯s trying to figure out what I¡¯m getting at. ¡°Yeah?¡±
Silence.
¡°Did you fight him, Uncle Carlos?¡±
He straightens up. ¡°No, I had a discussion with him.¡±
¡°You mean your fist talked to his eye. Did he say something about me?¡±
¡°He pointed his gun at you. That was more than enough.¡±
His voice has a foreign edge to it. It¡¯s totally inappropriate, but Iugh. I have to hold my side Iugh so hard.
¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± he cries.
¡°Uncle Carlos, you punched somebody!¡±
¡°Hey, I¡¯m from Garden Heights. I know how to fight. I can get down.¡±N?velDrama.Org: text ? owner.
I¡¯m hollering right now.
¡°It¡¯s not funny!¡± he says. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have lost my cool like that. It was unprofessional. Now I¡¯ve set a bad example for you.¡±
¡°Yeah, you have, Muhammad Ali.¡±
I¡¯m stillughing. Now he¡¯sughing.
¡°Hush,¡± he says.
Ourughter dies down, and it¡¯s real quiet out here. Nothingto do but look at the sky and all the stars. There¡¯s so many of them tonight. It¡¯s possible that I don¡¯t notice them at home because of all the other stuff. Sometimes it¡¯s hard to believe Garden Heights and Riverton Hills share the same sky.
¡°You remember what I used to tell you?¡± Uncle Carlos says.
I scoot closer to him. ¡°That I¡¯m not named after the stars, but the stars are named after me. You were really trying to give me a big head, huh?¡±
He chuckles. ¡°No. I wanted you to know how special you are.¡±
¡°Special or not, you shouldn¡¯t have risked your job for me. You love your job.¡±
¡°But I love you more. You¡¯re one reason I even became a cop, baby girl. Because I love you and all those folks in the neighborhood.¡±
¡°I know. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t want you to risk it. We need the ones like you.¡±
¡°The ones like me.¡± He gives a hollowugh. ¡°You know, I got pissed listening to that man talk about you and Khalil like that, but it made me consider thements I made about Khalil that night in your parents¡¯ kitchen.¡±
¡°Whatments?¡±
¡°I know you were eavesdropping, Starr. Don¡¯t act brand-new.¡±
I smirk. Uncle Carlos said ¡°brand-new.¡± ¡°You mean when you called Khalil a drug dealer?¡±
He nods. ¡°Even if he was, I knew that boy. Watched him grow up with you. He was more than any bad decision he made,¡± he says. ¡°I hate that I let myself fall into that mind-set of trying to rationalize his death. And at the end of the day, you don¡¯t kill someone for opening a car door. If you do, you shouldn¡¯t be a cop.¡±
I tear up. It¡¯s good to hear my parents and Ms. Ofrah say that or see all the protestors shout about it. From my uncle the cop though? It¡¯s a relief, even if it makes everything hurt a little more.
¡°I told Brian that,¡± he says, looking at his knuckles. ¡°After I clocked him. Told the chief too. Actually, I think I screamed it loud enough for everybody in the precinct to hear. It doesn¡¯t take away from what I did though. I dropped the ball on Khalil.¡±
¡°No, you didn¡¯t¡ª¡±
¡°Yes, I did,¡± he says. ¡°I knew him, knew his family¡¯s situation. After he stoppeding around with you, he was out of sight and out of mind to me, and there¡¯s no excuse for that.¡±
There¡¯s no excuse for me either. ¡°I think all of us feel like that,¡± I mutter. ¡°That¡¯s one reason Daddy¡¯s determined to help DeVante.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± he says. ¡°Me too.¡±
I look at all the stars again. Daddy says he named me Starr because I was his light in the darkness. I need some light in my own darkness right about now.
¡°I wouldn¡¯t have killed Khalil, by the way,¡± Uncle Carlos says. ¡°I don¡¯t know a lot of stuff, but I do know that.¡±
My eyes sting, and my throat tightens. I¡¯ve turned into such a damn crybaby. I snuggle closer to Uncle Carlos and hope it says everything I can¡¯t.
: Part 1 – Chapter 15
It takes an untouched stack of pancakes for Momma to say, ¡°All right, Munch. What¡¯s up?¡±
We have a table to ourselves in IHOP. It¡¯s early morning, and the restaurant¡¯s almost empty except for us and these big-bellied, bearded truckers stuffing their faces in a booth. Thanks to them, country music ys on the jukebox.
I poke my fork at my pancakes. ¡°Not real hungry.¡±
Somewhat a lie, somewhat the truth. I¡¯m having a serious emotional hangover. There¡¯s that interview. Uncle Carlos. Hailey. Khalil. DeVante. My parents.
Momma, Sekani, and I spent the night at Uncle Carlos¡¯s house, and I know it was more because Momma¡¯s mad at Daddy than it was about the riots. In fact, the news saidst night was the first semipeaceful night in the Garden. Just protests, noriots. Cops were still throwing tear gas though.
Anyway, if I bring up my parents¡¯ fight, Momma¡¯s gonna tell me, ¡°Stay outta grown folks¡¯ business.¡± You¡¯d think since it¡¯s partially my fault they fought, itismy business, but nope.
¡°I don¡¯t know who¡¯s supposed to believe thatyou¡¯renot hungry,¡± Momma says. ¡°You¡¯ve always been greedy.¡±
I roll my eyes and yawn. She got me up too early and said we were going to IHOP, just the two of us like we used to do before Sekani came along and ruined everything. He has an extra uniform at Uncle Carlos¡¯s and can go to school with Daniel. I only had some sweats and a Drake T-shirt¡ªnot DA office appropriate. I gotta go home and change.
¡°Thanks for bringing me here,¡± I say. With my awful mood, I owe her that.
¡°Anytime, baby. We haven¡¯t hung out in a while. Somebody decided I wasn¡¯t cool anymore. I thought I was still cool, so whatever.¡± She sips from her steaming mug of coffee. ¡°Are you scared to talk to the DA?¡±
¡°Not really.¡± Although I do notice the clock is only three and a half hours away from our nine-thirty meeting.
¡°Is it that BS of an interview? That bastard.¡±
Here we go again. ¡°Momma¡ª¡±
¡°Got his damn daddy going on TV, telling lies,¡± she says. ¡°And who¡¯s supposed to believe a grown man was that scared of twochildren?¡±
People on the inte are saying the same thing. ckTwitter¡¯s been going in on Officer Cruise¡¯s dad, iming his name should be Tom Cruise with that performance he put on. Tumblr too. I¡¯m sure there are people who believe him¡ªHailey did¡ªbut Ms. Ofrah was right: it backfired. Folks who never met me or Khalil are calling BS.
So while the interview bothers me, it doesn¡¯t bother methatmuch.
¡°It¡¯s not really the interview,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s other stuff too.¡±
¡°Like?¡±
¡°Khalil,¡± I say. ¡°DeVante told me some stuff about him, and I feel guilty.¡±
¡°Stuff like what?¡± she says.
¡°Why he sold drugs. He was trying to help Ms. Brenda pay a debt to King.¡±
Momma¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°What?¡±
¡°Yeah. And he wasn¡¯t a King Lord. Khalil turned King down, and King¡¯s been lying to save face.¡±
Momma shakes her head. ¡°Why am I not surprised? King would do some mess like that.¡±
I stare at my pancakes. ¡°I should¡¯ve known better. Should¡¯ve knownKhalilbetter.¡±
¡°You had no way of knowing, baby,¡± she says.
¡°That¡¯s the thing. If I would¡¯ve been there for him, I¡ª¡±
¡°Couldn¡¯t have stopped him. Khalil was almost as stubborn as you. I know you cared about him a lot, even as more than a friend, but you can¡¯t me yourself for this.¡±
I look up at her. ¡°What you mean ¡®cared about him as more than a friend¡¯?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t y dumb, Starr. Y¡¯all liked each other for a long time.¡±
¡°You think he liked me too?¡±
¡°Lord!¡± Momma rolls her eyes. ¡°Between the two of us, I¡¯m the old one¡ª¡±
¡°You just called yourself old.¡±
¡°Olderone,¡± she corrects, and shoots me a quick stank-eye, ¡°and I saw it. How in the world did you miss it?¡±
¡°I dunno. He always talked about other girls, not me. It¡¯s weird though. I thought I was over my crush, but sometimes I don¡¯t know.¡±
Momma traces the rim of her mug. ¡°Munch,¡± she says, and it¡¯s followed by a sigh. ¡°Baby, look. You¡¯re grieving, okay? That can amplify your emotions and make you feel things you haven¡¯t felt in a long time. Even if you do have feelings for Khalil, there¡¯s nothing wrong with that.¡±
¡°Even though I¡¯m with Chris?¡±
¡°Yes. You¡¯re sixteen. You¡¯re allowed to have feelings for more than one person.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re saying I can be a ho?¡±
¡°Girl!¡± She points at me. ¡°Don¡¯t make me kick you under this table. I¡¯m saying don¡¯t beat yourself up about it. Grieve Khalil all you want. Miss him, allow yourself to miss what could¡¯ve been, let your feelings get out of whack. But like I toldyou, don¡¯t stop living. All right?¡±
¡°All right.¡±
¡°Good. So that¡¯s two things,¡± she says. ¡°What else is up?¡±
What isn¡¯t up? My head is tight like my brain is overloaded. I¡¯m guessing emotional hangovers feel a lot like actual hangovers.
¡°Hailey,¡± I say.
She slurps her coffee. Loudly. ¡°What that li¡¯l girl do now?¡±
Here she goes with this. ¡°Momma, you¡¯ve never liked her.¡±
¡°No, I¡¯ve never liked how you¡¯ve followed her like you can¡¯t think for yourself. Difference.¡±
¡°I haven¡¯t¡ª¡±
¡°Don¡¯t lie! Remember that drum set you begged me to buy. Why did you want it, Starr?¡±
¡°Hailey wanted to start a band, but I liked the idea too.¡±
¡°Hold up, though. Didn¡¯t you tell me you wanted to y guitar in this ¡®band,¡¯ but Hailey said you should y drums?¡±
¡°Yeah, but¡ª¡±
¡°Them li¡¯l Jonas boys,¡± she says. ¡°Which one did you really like?¡±
¡°Joe.¡±
¡°But who said you should be with the curly-headed one instead?¡±
¡°Hailey, but Nick was still fine as all get-out, and this is middle school stuff¡ª¡±
¡°Uh-uh! Last year you begged me to let you color your hair purple. Why, Starr?¡±Text content ? N?velDrama.Org.
¡°I wanted¡ª¡±
¡°No.Why, Starr?¡± she says. ¡°The real why.¡±
Damn. There¡¯s a pattern here. ¡°Because Hailey wanted me, her, and Maya to have matching hair.¡±
¡°E-xact-damn-ly. Baby, I love you, but you have a history of putting your wants aside and doing whatever that li¡¯l girl wants. Excuse me if I don¡¯t like her.¡±
With all my receipts put out there like that, I say, ¡°I can see why.¡±
¡°Good. Realizing is the first step. So what she do now?¡±
¡°We had an argument yesterday,¡± I say. ¡°Really though, things have been weird for a while. She stopped texting me and unfollowed my Tumblr.¡±
Momma reaches her fork onto my te and breaks off a piece of pancake. ¡°What is Tumblr anyway? Is it like Facebook?¡±
¡°No, and you¡¯re forbidden to get one. No parents allowed. You guys already took over Facebook.¡±
¡°You haven¡¯t responded to my friend request yet.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°I need Candy Crush lives.¡±
¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯ll never respond.¡±
She gives me ¡°the look.¡± I don¡¯t care. There are some things I absolutely refuse to do.
¡°So she unfollowed your Tumblr thingy,¡± Momma says, proving why she can never have one. ¡°Is that all?¡±
¡°No. She said and did some stupid stuff too.¡± I rub my eyes.Like I said, it¡¯s too early. ¡°I¡¯m starting to wonder why we¡¯re friends.¡±
¡°Well, Munch¡±¡ªshe gets another freaking piece of my pancakes¡ª¡°you have to decide if the rtionship is worth salvaging. Make a list of the good stuff, then make a list of the bad stuff. If one outweighs the other, then you know what you gotta do. Trust me, that method hasn¡¯t failed me yet.¡±
¡°Is that what you did with Daddy after Iesha got pregnant?¡± I ask. ¡°¡¯Cause I¡¯ll be honest, I would¡¯ve kicked him to the curb. No offense.¡±
¡°It¡¯s all right. A lot of people called me a fool for going back to your daddy. Shoot, they may still call me a fool behind my back. Your nana would have a stroke if she knew this, but she¡¯s the real reason I stayed with your daddy.¡±
¡°I thought Nana hated Daddy?¡± I think Nana still hates Daddy.
Sadness creeps into Momma¡¯s eyes, but she gives me a small smile. ¡°When I was growing up, your grandmother would do and say hurtful things when she was drunk, and apologize the next morning. At an early age I learned that people make mistakes, and you have to decide if their mistakes are bigger than your love for them.¡±
She takes a deep breath. ¡°Seven¡¯s not a mistake, I love him to death, but Maverick made a mistake in his actions. However, all of his good and the love we share outweighs that one mistake.¡±
¡°Even with crazy Iesha in our lives?¡± I ask.
Momma chuckles. ¡°Even with crazy, messy, annoying Iesha. It¡¯s a little different, yeah, but if the good outweighs the bad, keep Hailey in your life, baby.¡±
That might be the problem. A lot of the good stuff is from the past. The Jonas Brothers,High School Musical, our shared grief. Our friendship is based on memories. What do we have now?
¡°What if the good doesn¡¯t outweigh the bad?¡± I ask.
¡°Then let her go,¡± Momma says. ¡°And if you keep her in your life and she keeps doing the bad, let her go. Because I promise you, had your daddy pulled some mess like that again, I¡¯d be married to Idris Elba and saying, ¡®Maverick who?¡¯¡±
I bust outughing.
¡°Now eat,¡± she says, and hands me her fork. ¡°Before I have no choice but to eat these pancakes for you.¡±
I¡¯m so used to seeing smoke in Garden Heights, it¡¯s weird when we go back and there isn¡¯t any. It¡¯s dreary because of ate-night storm, but we can ride with the windows down. Even though the riots stopped, we pass as many tanks as we pass lowriders.
But at home smoke greets us at the front door.
¡°Maverick!¡± Momma hollers, and we hurry toward the kitchen.
Daddy pours water on a skillet at the sink, and the skilletresponds with a loud sizzle and a white cloud. Whatever he burned, he burned it bad.
¡°Hallelujah!¡± Seven throws his hands up at the table. ¡°Somebody who can actually cook.¡±
¡°Shut up,¡± Daddy says.
Momma takes the skillet and examines the unidentifiable remains. ¡°What was this? Eggs?¡±
¡°d to see you know how toe home,¡± he says. He walks right by me without a nce or a good morning. He¡¯s still pissed about Chris?
Momma gets a fork and stabs at the charred food stuck to the skillet. ¡°You want some breakfast, Seven baby?¡±
He watches her and goes, ¡°Um, nah. By the way, the skillet didn¡¯t do anything, Ma.¡±
¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she says, but she keeps stabbing. ¡°Seriously, I can fix you something. Eggs. Bacon.¡± She looks toward the hall and shouts, ¡°Theporkkind! Pig! Swine! All¡¯a that!¡±
So much for the good outweighing the bad. Seven and I look at each other. We hate when they fight because we always get stuck in the middle of their wars. Our appetites are the greatest casualty. If Momma¡¯s mad and not cooking, we have to eat Daddy¡¯s struggle meals, like spaghetti with ketchup and hot dogs in it.
¡°I¡¯ll grab something at school.¡± Seven kisses her cheek. ¡°Thanks though.¡± He gives me a fist bump on his way out, the Seven way of wishing me good luck.
Daddy returns wearing a backwards cap. He grabs his keys and a banana.
¡°We have to be at the DA¡¯s office at nine thirty,¡± Momma says. ¡°Are youing?¡±
¡°Oh, Carlos can¡¯t do it? Since he the one y¡¯all let in on secrets and stuff.¡±
¡°You know what, Maverick¡ª¡±
¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± he says, and leaves.
Momma stabs the skillet some more.
The DA personally escorts us to a conference room. Her name is Karen Monroe, and she¡¯s a middle-aged whitedy who ims she understands what I¡¯m going through.
Ms. Ofrah is already in the conference room along with some people who work at the DA¡¯s office. Ms. Monroe gives a long speech about how much she wants justice for Khalil and apologizes that it¡¯s taken this long for us to meet.
¡°Twelve days, to be exact,¡± Daddy points out. ¡°Too long, if you ask me.¡±
Ms. Monroe looks a bit ufortable at that.
She exins the grand jury proceedings. Then she asks about that night. I pretty much tell her what I told the cops, except she doesn¡¯t ask any stupid questions about Khalil. But when I get to the part when I describe the number of shots, how they hit Khalil in his back, the look on his face¡ª
My stomach bubbles, bile pools in my mouth, and I gag.Momma jumps up and grabs a garbage bin. She puts it in front of me quick enough to catch the vomit that spews from my mouth.
And I cry and puke. Cry and puke. It¡¯s all I can do.
The DA gets me a soda and says, ¡°That¡¯ll be all today, sweetie. Thank you.¡±
Daddy helps me to Momma¡¯s car, and people in the halls gawk. I bet they know I¡¯m the witness from my teary, snotty face, and are probably giving me a new name¡ªPoor Thing. As in, ¡°Oh, that poor thing.¡± That makes it worse.
I get in the car away from their pity and rest my head against the window, feeling like shit.
Momma parks in front of the store, and Daddy pulls up behind us. He gets out his truck andes to Momma¡¯s side of the car. She rolls her window down.
¡°I¡¯m going to the school,¡± she tells him. ¡°They need to know what¡¯s going on. Can she stay with you?¡±
¡°Yeah, that¡¯s fine. She can rest in the office.¡±
Another thing puking and crying gets you¡ªpeople talk about you like you¡¯re not there and make ns for you. Poor Thing apparently can¡¯t hear.
¡°You sure?¡± Momma asks him. ¡°Or do I need to take her to Carlos?¡±
Daddy sighs. ¡°Lisa¡ª¡±
¡°Maverick, I don¡¯t give a flying monkey¡¯s ass what your problem is, just be there for your daughter. Please?¡±
Daddy moves to my side of the car and opens the door. ¡°Come here, baby.¡±
I climb out, blubbering like a little kid who skinned her knee. Daddy pulls me into his chest, rubbing my back and kissing my hair. Momma drives off.
¡°I¡¯m sorry, baby,¡± he says.
The crying, the puking don¡¯t mean anything anymore. My daddy¡¯s got me.
We go in the store. Daddy turns on the lights but keeps the closed sign in the window. He goes to his office for a second, thenes back to me and holds my chin.
¡°Open your mouth,¡± he says. I open it, and his face scrunches up. ¡°Ill.We gotta get you a whole bottle of mouthwash. ¡¯Bout to raise the dead with that breath.¡±
Iugh with tears in my eyes. Like I said, Daddy¡¯s talented that way.
He wipes my face with his hands, which are rough as sandpaper, but I¡¯m used to them. He frames my face. I smile. ¡°There go my baby,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯ll be a¡¯ight.¡±
I feel normal enough to say, ¡°Now I¡¯m your baby? You haven¡¯t been acting like it.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t start!¡± He goes down the medicine aisle. ¡°Sounding like your momma.¡±
¡°I¡¯m just saying. You¡¯ve been extra salty today.¡±
He returns with a bottle of Listerine. ¡°Here. Before you kill my produce with your breath.¡±
¡°Like you killed those eggs this morning?¡±
¡°Ay, those were ckened eggs. Y¡¯all don¡¯t know ¡¯bout that.¡±
¡°Nobodyknows ¡¯bout that.¡±
A couple of rinses in the restroom transform my mouth from a swamp of puke residue to normal. Daddy waits on the wooden bench at the front of the store. Our older customers who can¡¯t walk much usually sit there as Daddy, Seven, or I get their groceries for them.
Daddy pats the spot next to him.
I sit. ¡°You¡¯re gonna open back up soon?¡±
¡°In a li¡¯l bit. What you see in that white boy?¡±
Damn. I wasn¡¯t expecting him to go right into it. ¡°Besides the fact he¡¯s adorable¡ª¡± I say, and Daddy makes a gagging sound, ¡°he¡¯s smart, funny, and he cares about me. A lot.¡±
¡°You got a problem with ck boys?¡±
¡°No. I¡¯ve had ck boyfriends.¡± Three of them. One in fourth grade, although that doesn¡¯t really count, and two in middle school, which don¡¯t count either ¡¯cause nobody knows shit about a rtionship in middle school. Or about anything really.
¡°What?¡± he says. ¡°I ain¡¯t know ¡¯bout them.¡±
¡°Because I knew you¡¯d act crazy. Put a hit on them or something.¡±
¡°You know, that ain¡¯t a bad idea.¡±
¡°Daddy!¡± I smack his arm as he cracks up.
¡°Did Carlos know ¡¯bout them?¡± he asks.
¡°No. He would¡¯ve ran background checks on them or arrested them. Not cool.¡±
¡°So why you tell him ¡¯bout the white boy?¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t tell him,¡± I say. ¡°He found out. Chris lives down the street from him, so it was harder to hide. And let¡¯s be real here, Daddy. I¡¯ve heard the stuff you¡¯ve said about interracial couples. I didn¡¯t want you talking about me and Chris like that.¡±
¡°Chris,¡± he mocks. ¡°What kinda in-ass name is that?¡±
He¡¯s so petty. ¡°Since you wanna ask me questions, do you have a problem with white people?¡±
¡°Not really.¡±
¡°Not really?¡±
¡°Ay, I¡¯m being honest. My thing is, girls usually date boys who are like their daddies, and I ain¡¯t gon¡¯ lie, when I saw that white¡ªChris,¡± he corrects, and I smile. ¡°I got worried. Thought I turned you against ck men or didn¡¯t set a good example of a ck man. I couldn¡¯t handle that.¡±
I rest my head on his shoulder. ¡°Nah, Daddy. You haven¡¯t set a good example of what a ck man should be. You¡¯ve set a good example of what amanshould be. Duh!¡±
¡°Duh,¡± he mocks, and kisses the top of my head. ¡°My baby.¡±
A gray BMWes to a sudden stop in front of the store.
Daddy nudges me off the bench. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±
He pulls me to his office and shoves me in. I catch a glimpseof King getting out the BMW before Daddy closes the door in my face.
Hands shaking, I crack open the door.
Daddy stands guard in the entrance of the store. His hand drifts to his waist. His piece.
Three other King Lords hop out the BMW, but Daddy calls out, ¡°Nah. If you wanna talk, we do this alone.¡±
King nods at his boys. They wait beside the car.
Daddy steps aside, and King lumbers in. I¡¯m ashamed to admit it, but I don¡¯t know if Daddy stands a chance against King. Daddy isn¡¯t skinny or short, butpared to King, who¡¯s pure muscle at six feet, he looks tiny. It¡¯s damn near sphemous to think like that though.
¡°Where he at?¡± King asks.
¡°Where who at?¡±
¡°You know who. Vante.¡±
¡°How I¡¯m supposed to know?¡± Daddy says.
¡°He was working here, wasn¡¯t he?¡±
¡°For a day or two, yeah. I ain¡¯t seen him today.¡±
King paces and points his cigar at Daddy. Sweat glistens on the rolls of fat on the back of his head. ¡°You lying.¡±
¡°Why I gotta lie, King?¡±
¡°All the shit I did for you,¡± King says, ¡°and this how you repay me? Where he at, Big Mav?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±
¡°Where he at?¡± King yells.