“No, you didn’t—”
“Yes, I did,” he says. “I knew him, knew his family’s situation. After he stopped coming 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.
FIFTEEN
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 plays 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 said last night was the first semipeaceful night in the Garden. Just protests, no riots. 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, it is my business, but nope.
“I don’t know who’s supposed to believe that you’re not 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—not 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—”
“Got his damn daddy going on TV, telling lies,” she says. “And who’s supposed to believe a grown man was that scared of two children?”
People on the internet are saying the same thing. Black Twitter’s been going in on Officer Cruise’s dad, claiming his name should be Tom Cruise with that performance he put on. Tumblr too. I’m sure there are people who believe him—Hailey did—but 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 me that much.
“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 known Khalil better.”
“You had no way of knowing, baby,” she says.
“That’s the thing. If I would’ve been there for him, I—”
“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 blame yourself for this.”
I look up at her. “What you mean ‘cared about him as more than a friend’?”
“Don’t play 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—”
“You just called yourself old.”
“Older one,” 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 told you, 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—”
“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 play guitar in this ‘band,’ but Hailey said you should play drums?”
“Yeah, but—”
“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—”
“Uh-uh! Last year you begged me to let you color your hair purple. Why, Starr?”
“I wanted—”
“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 plate 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?”