“But at the funeral, King put the bandana on him—”
“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.”
“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 classic 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—” 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—”
“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—”
“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 place. “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.
FOURTEEN
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 circular 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. Mad enough 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 seafood lasagna 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 welcome 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 be comfy.
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 Time memorabilia all around, and Hailey in a beanbag chair, concentrating on the basketball players she’s controlling on Maya’s flat-screen.
“Look who’s here, Hails,” Maya says.
Hailey glances 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—the three of us against a computer-controlled team. It’s a lot like when we play in real life, a combination of rhythm, chemistry, and skill, but the awkwardness in the room is so thick it’s hard to ignore.
They keep glancing at me. I keep my eyes on the screen. The animated crowd cheers as Hailey’s player 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 class.”
“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 class.”
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 accusing me of being racist last 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 chicken comment 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.