“Yes, I know,” she says. “How are you?”
“Dray’s uncle is a guy named Q.” My breathing is still heavy. I can’t get the words out fast enough. “My uncle Phillip went down for him, or something like that.”
“You sound out of breath. Are you okay? Did something just happen?”
“Q runs a business out of that club. Dray is there. And . . . there is a gun.”
“We know about the club, Fabiola. We need something that places Dray and his drugs at that party in Grosse Point. I need you to calm down a bit so you can understand what I’m saying.”
“But . . . ,” I start to say. I take in a deep breath. “He is doing bad things in that place.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Thank you, Fabiola. You’re doing good, but I want you to be very careful. Don’t put yourself in any dangerous situations. Just listen and pay close attention. Get me something I can use.”
I nod, but she can’t see me, of course.
“Fabiola?”
“Yes?”
“If you can be free tomorrow around noon, I can arrange a phone call with your mother.”
I close my eyes and exhale. I don’t say a word to her. She lets me have this moment of quiet gratitude and hangs up the phone.
It starts to rain hard again. I let it pour over my head for a few minutes before I go back inside.
SIXTEEN
WE’RE NOT ALLOWED to have our cell phones in class. But at school the next day, I manage to keep mine in my book bag all morning. After every class, I run into the bathroom to see if the detective has left a number or has called.
Then, around eleven thirty in the morning, after my math class, the detective sends a text with a time. My mother has my number. She will be calling exactly at noon. Good. It’ll be lunchtime, so I won’t have to miss a class. I’m in a bathroom stall and I press myself against the door, holding the phone to my heart. I count the minutes, the seconds, the milliseconds until my phone rings.
“Alo, alo? Manman?”
“Alo?”
“Manman?”
“Fabiola? Oh, Faboubou!”
“Manman! Kommen ou ye? How are you?”
“Oh, mezanmi! Fabiola? When can I see your face, dear daughter?”
“Manman, I’m working so hard to get you out. I promise. We will see each other soon. How are they treating you? What are you eating? It’s so cold. Are you warm, Manman? Do you have enough clothes? Do you have socks? Do they give you soap?”
“No, Fab. How are you? I don’t want you to worry about me. How are your cousins, and my dear sister? How is school? Fab, tell me that you are studying lots.”
“Wi, Manman. Yes, yes, yes! I’m working to get you out. Get your things ready. I have your suitcases here. I will pick out a dress for you to wear when you arrive.”
“I tell you don’t worry about me. That is Marjorie’s job. Now, where is she? Is she sending money? She needs to send me a good lawyer and money. Is she coming to see me?”
“No, Manman. I’m taking care of it.”
“Stay out of it, Fabiola. Focus on your books. Let me speak to Marjorie.”
“Matant Jo is not here. I will tell her— Alo? Alo?”
“Alo? Fabiola?”
“Manman, I can’t hear you. Alo?”
“Alo? Alo?”
“Manman? I’m here. I’m here. Alo, alo? What happened? I can’t hear you. Hello? Manman, I love you. I love you! Hello?”
Someone knocks on the stall’s door.
“Fabiola? Who are you talking to?” It’s Imani.
I need to think quick, because this little slice of happiness is part of a secret deal. “Just my aunt,” I lie.
“Well, you need to put that phone away so you don’t get detention,” she says.
I hold the phone in my hand even as I walk out of the bathroom. Detention or not, I just spoke to my mother and there is sunshine again.
I’ve been knocking for almost two minutes with no answer, so I open the door. “Matant,” I start to say when I see her lying on her bed. But before I even ask my question, she reaches over the edge of her bed, picks something up, and throws it straight at me. I don’t even have time to duck. It hits the wall next to the door and lands right at to my feet. A slipper. My aunt threw a slipper at me. I quickly close the door.
“Hey, hey!” she calls out. “Come back in here! You wake me up and then you’re gonna leave just like that?”
I open the door again. Slowly this time, ready to duck. I don’t step all the way in.
“What do you want?” she yells. “Come in here and close the door behind you.”
I do as she says. “Wi, Matant.”
“I keep telling you, English. Now, what do you want?” Her voice is softer. She rolls to her back. It’s dark in her room, and the one window behind her headboard is covered with a thick curtain. The air is thick, too, a mix of alcohol and food. Her bedroom is next to the kitchen.
“I spoke to my mother today,” I say soft, soft, as if my words are tiptoeing.