“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—” 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—”
“There was no chance in hell it would be.”
We go quiet.
I get one of those weird déjà-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 explain 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 place 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—”
“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’s late. 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 play 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 this community. 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.
ELEVEN
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 plays 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 class. I mean, it’s kinda messed up that we’re protesting a drug dealer’s death, but—”
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 shaped O’s. “Like, I mean . . . if he was a drug dealer,” Hailey says, “that explains 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 Tumblr lately.”
“You know what?” I say, one second from really going 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 class I toss my backpack on the floor and throw myself into my seat. When Hailey and Maya come 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. He comes down my aisle and squeezes my nose, going, “Honk, honk,” because for some reason it’s hilarious to him. Usually I laugh 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 class is not the Love Connection. Please have a seat.”
Chris slides into the desk next to mine. “What’s wrong with her?” he whispers to Hailey.
She plays 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 classmates stampede toward the door. Maya’s the last one out. She glances back at me then at Hailey who motions her to come 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 know why Remy 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—you can call your parents, you know?”
I wipe my face. The last 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.”