by Kim Johnson
“Stay away from Chris. He’ll get Daddy Sheriff on you and won’t think twice about making your life hell. School’s already hard enough.”
“What do you think they were working on?”
“If I say something, you’re going to go looking, and that means trouble for you.”
“Why?”
“Because Angela was curious. Now there ain’t no Angela.” He looks away and blows out a breath, then catches my gaze. “I don’t want you getting in over your head. Talk to Jamal.”
“He’s not saying much on text. You gotta tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know nothing. Anyway, I’m not gonna speculate. Then if it turns out to be something and you get into it, it’d be on my conscience. You’re gonna have to be mad at me. If I say anything, your head gon’ start spinning, then the world gon’ spin, then there ain’t no stopping it. If Jamal ain’t answering, go look for him. He can’t be far.”
“I’m not stopping looking for Jamal. I’m going to get the truth.”
Quincy kicks at the ground. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“No.” I feel him wearing down.
“I really don’t know much.”
“She wrote a note about going to ‘the underground.’ Also about having Jamal keep a memory card at Herron Media for her. You know about this?”
“You ask him?”
“Waiting until ten, but if I don’t hear from him, I’m checking there.”
“How? You think you gonna waltz in there? Don’t even know where to look.”
“You do?”
“Nah. I don’t work there no more. Can’t get in without getting turned away because of Jamal.”
“Did you try?” I study Quincy.
He looks away. “Jamal asked for it, so I been working on that.”
“What…wh-what else did he say?” I stammer.
“That’s it.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder.
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s truth. Jamal’s paranoid. He’s not talking over text. Just locations for me to drop off food. Clothes. And he asked if I could get into Herron. Look for a memory card.”
My eyebrows scrunch, trying to hold in how pissed I am.
“Don’t look at me like that. I gave you the phone. Ask Jamal.”
The bell rings and Quincy starts walking to the breezeway, but I stay.
“What are you doing?”
“You can go on without me,” I say. “I’m waiting to talk to Cuddy and Demarcus.”
“Guess I’m staying, then.”
“Thought you were rushing off to first period. Get your education on.” I flutter my eyelashes at him.
“If you’re gonna start interrogating the senior class, I gotta at least supervise.”
“Interrogating? I’m just asking questions.”
“I’ve never known you to do anything delicately.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“I just mean you get shit done. Besides, Cuddy and Demarcus won’t tell you jack unless I seem cool with it.”
“So, they know something?” I watch Cuddy and Demarcus as they end practice and make their way toward Quincy.
“Here you go. I don’t know what they know. And you know what they say, snitches get—”
“Stitches. Yeah. I know the rules. Do you, though? Aka, older sister who’s a cop.”
“Don’t play me. I can’t choose my family.”
Quincy tries to egg me on more but I’m back out, looking at the track. The team is finishing up, and I notice Scott is missing. He’s the one who told Chris about Jamal and Angela messing around. I need to work up a plan to talk to Scott. Maybe check his response, or even learn how Chris reacted to Scott’s news. I try to spot Dean, because he might be able to speak to them in a way I can’t.
Dean is packing up his things. I didn’t even think about him being here until now. As close as we are, he never talks about track with me since I quit. He didn’t get why I knelt during the anthem because I knew the coach wouldn’t let me get away with it. He didn’t get I don’t care if I had the clout to influence change. I wanted people talking about it, then maybe it would start a conversation. That didn’t work for Dean and me, so we just let it go. That meant letting go of talking about track, too. I hadn’t thought about how that’s an unspoken part of our friendship.
Dean waves at me, and I wave back. Normally I’d run to Dean, say what’s up, but Cuddy and Demarcus are now joining us, and they won’t talk in front of Dean. Quincy’s saddled up next to me, so Dean disappears down the breezeway.
“Yo.” Quincy goes in for fist bumps and side hugs with Cuddy, then Demarcus.
I stand back, waiting for the rest of the team to go into the lockers and get ready for school.
“Cuddy. Demarcus.” I give them a nod, handing out my Know Your Rights workshop flyer I’m running later tonight. This should warm them up and put their guard down.
“Yo. Heard from Jamal?” Cuddy runs a pick through his high-top fade and grooms the suspect beard he’s trying to grow. I’m immediately deflated at his question. I didn’t want his first response to be a question about whether I’d heard from Jamal. I want him avoiding talk about Jamal, so then I’d know that they’ve been in touch.
“You still doing these?” Demarcus looks at the flyer. “Are they any good? Seems like they’re not much help when it’s shoot now, ask questions later.”
“It’s mostly not like that, but you still gotta stay fresh on this stuff.”
“I’m always ready.” Cuddy towers over all of us.
I look away. I froze at the sight of the officer’s gun aimed at me at the Pike. I was able to keep my hands up high, out and in view. But I was terrified. Even armed with the knowledge about my rights, all that went out the window. I couldn’t replace the fear with my life on the line.
“What do you know about Jamal and Angela?” I ask.
“This why you out here so early?” Demarcus shakes his head.
“I caught them together, so it’s not like you’re telling me something I don’t know. I’m trying to clear my brother’s name. If the word is out about Angela and Jamal, that means Chris knows. You know I saw him at the police station the day after she was murdered, and he had a black eye.”
“I trust Tracy,” Quincy says. “Maybe not anything else but trying to free a Black man. Yeah, you can trust her.”
“Is that a compliment or…?” I try to say it with a straight face, but I feel my cheeks going red.
“Probably both,” Quincy says. “But for real, if you know something, you gotta say.”
“What about you? If anybody knows anything, it’d be with you,” Cuddy says.
Quincy shakes his head like he knows nothing, and I don’t give a clue, either. The less people who know we’ve been in touch with Jamal, the better.
“Chris’s black eye might not have had anything to do with Angela,” Cuddy says. “Scott and Chris got into a fight at lunch. I saw them down by the Pearl Coffee and Tea shop off East.”
“The same day Angela died?”
“I think so,” Cuddy says.
“Was Scott at practice the next morning?”
“Nah.” Demarcus sips his Gatorade. “He off the track team.”
“Why?” I’m shocked.
“Some shit he did. Coach kicked him off a few weeks ago. He’d been wanting to for a while because Scott was skipping practice, complaining about not being in the four hundred when Todd was out,” Cuddy says. “No loss. He was always trying to train without us.”
The ten-minute-warning bell rings.
“We still gotta shower.” Demarcus nudges Cuddy.
“All right,” I say. “If you think of something, let me know.”
They nod and leave me
and Quincy trailing behind.
“They probably don’t know nothing,” Quincy says. “You know how Jamal was. After your dad, it’s hard to get close. If he had something he wanted to share, I’m guessing it’d be with me.”
I nod. It’s true, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be.
Walking into school with Quincy, I can’t help but smile. It feels like we’ve reset our friendship to where we left off years ago.
Dean and Tasha wait by my locker.
“Hey,” I say.
“You’re back,” Tasha says. “Heard you ditched yesterday.”
I see Dean look at me, then Quincy.
“Mom tell you?” I ask Tasha.
“Yeah. You know she’s gonna call me first, but maybe I should tell her to call Quincy next time.” Her response is soft but flat.
“Nah.” Quincy puts a finger up. “I have no claim to what Tracy be doing.”
“I gotta go to class,” I say. “You ready, Dean?”
Dean and I head to math class.
“What was that all about?” Dean asks. “You trying to get back on the track team?”
“Looking for answers for Jamal. They don’t seem to know anything. You hear anything at practice?”
“No one’s talking about it. They know better. Cuddy makes sure of that.” Cuddy is about the size of M’Baku from Black Panther. No one people easily mess with.
We stand in front of math class, not going in quite yet, even though the bell’s about to ring any second.
“What about Scott? You know why he was kicked off the team?” Scott off the team took me by surprise. Now Scott and Chris are hard to get ahold of.
“Not really. He was always complaining.”
“What about Chris, have you seen him?” Scott and Chris are best friends, and Chris arguing with Angela might have more to do with her murder.
“Chris? He’s the last person you should talk to.”
“You can help me, or I’ll do it without you.”
The bell rings and we rush to our seats. Dean shakes his head, but he doesn’t say no.
* * *
After class, I head to the newsroom to take another look for any clues about what Angela was working on. When I turn the knob, it’s locked. I’m taken aback. Mr. Kaine has an open-door policy. We’re all on our own schedules trying to meet deadlines.
My backpack buzzes. A text from Jamal. Finally, he’s responding to my question about the memory card.
Can you get access to HM production room?
My thumbs hover over the phone keyboard. I’m not sure how I’ll do it, but I’ll find a way.
Yes! Is that where the SD card is?
Hidden compartment. Near controller desk.
K. What’s on it?
IDK. If you can safely get to it, it could have answers.
I go back and forth with Jamal until he stops answering. Satisfied I’ve got a new lead, I peek inside the classroom’s window and see Natalie at the editor desk. She looks up when I tap the window. She doesn’t move. I tap again, and she swoops her blond-streaked hair from one side to the other before finally making it to the door.
“What do you want?”
“What do I want? You don’t own the classroom.”
“Well, since it got trashed during Angela’s memorial, we’ve been on high alert.”
“Trashed?” I jerk my head.
“Don’t act all brand-new. I know you had something to do with it. Mr. Kaine saw you in here before the memorial.”
“I had nothing to do with that. Why would I trash the newsroom?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you didn’t get the editor position. You’re mad we honored Angela instead of posting your article. Your brother is on the run, suspected of killing Angela. Should I go on?”
“I didn’t trash the class.” My face feels hot. I tense my jaw to hold in my anger. “If I’m suspected of doing it, how come no one’s called me in?”
“Because Mandy said she locked up behind you after Mr. Kaine left, but we all know you could’ve come back. You weren’t at the memorial.”
I don’t answer her. I wasn’t at the memorial, but what I’m most confused about was why Mandy would cover for me. She left before me, not after me. I didn’t trash it. Who did? And why?
“I had nothing to do with that. Mandy already told you.” I step away from Natalie. More puzzled by the fact someone trashed the room. I look to Angela’s corner and her desk is spotless, totally cleared out. Natalie’s box on top of the desk. She’s not only the editor, she’s already claimed her desk.
I turn back to Natalie. “Did you know Angela was working on an article with me? To help me show I have what it takes to be editor.”
Natalie’s lip twitches. Her eyes are steel. I can’t read her. Can’t tell what she’s thinking, but the way she’s looking at me now is like she knew Angela wasn’t a sure vote for her.
EACH ONE TEACH ONE
I never know what to expect when I run a Know Your Rights workshop. They were bigger back when Raheem Smith was shot, and after Calvin Pascal killed himself in Rikers after waiting three years for a trial, unable to pay bail on a twenty-dollar robbery charge. The horrors of his time as a teen among adult inmates wouldn’t let him go, so he made it stop.
The past few months there’s been one to two people trickling into the workshops, mostly repeats. Today, I breathe out when more people file in than usual. Most of the campaign spikes come out of news stories away from here, but Jamal is local. He made the news. That’s big in Galveston County, even bigger in Crowning Heights.
I smile when I see Cuddy, Demarcus, and Todd from Jamal’s track team. Eight people total. All Black men, except for the man enjoying his free meal provided by the center.
I pass out my pamphlets, with a carefully folded Know Your Rights campaign crib sheet like the one I took to the police station. That’s the one most people are drawn to, so they each grab a couple.
Quincy arrives, taking a seat next to his younger brother, Malcolm. He gives me a nod. Quincy’s been through this session at least six or seven times. He always stays in the back with his headphones on, not fully covering his ears, leg stretched out, and usually outta here before I can say something to him. Today, though, his headphones are off while he reviews the pamphlet with Malcolm. Malcolm’s now thirteen, no longer a boy in the eyes of police or white America.
“Welcome, everyone,” I say. “Let’s go around the room and share why you’re here today.”
“Thought I’d come by and refresh my stuff,” Demarcus says.
“Yeah.” Todd flicks his finger in the air.
I go around the room to a few more people. Malcolm stands up when it’s his turn.
“My sister is a cop.”
Heads turn to him.
“Her and my brother said I should be learning my rights.”
“That’s wassup,” Demarcus says.
Quincy pulls his shoulder-length locs back, taking his time sitting up. I wait to see if he’s going to speak before I start my presentation. He watches me, and with Malcolm here I know he won’t play quiet in the back.
“And what are you here for?” I call him out.
“For you.”
Snickers in the front take over. My face feels hot. I hold back any reaction so they don’t think they can mess with me the entire presentation.
“Didn’t want you presenting to yourself,” Quincy says when the chuckles settle.
“Appreciate that.” I look around the room for anyone else, then begin.
“All right, let’s start with common scenarios.”
I go through the typical variety: being pulled over, walking on the street, coming to the house for questioning. Then I go over an actual stop scenario.
“Safety is always first,�
�� I say. “You’re not in a position of power, and it feels bad. You could be angry, scared, defensive. But that officer doesn’t care how you feel. You’re a suspect, until you’re not. And in that moment, you’re a threat. You have to control your language and your body movements.” I did that first step when the gun was on me at the Pike. Keeping myself still and following directions. I’m lucky it didn’t turn south when I ran out of that building.
“Now show me.” I put my hands up, spreading my fingers and staying still. “Everyone up.”
A few chuckles take place, and only a few people stand.
“I said up.” The rest of the group slowly gets up. “You got a gun on you, a Taser, a dog. Don’t move. Don’t talk back. Breathe in and out slowly to calm your nerves.”
“I don’t think I can stay calm if a cop’s yelling at me,” Malcolm says.
“It’s okay to be afraid,” I say. “Practice helps, but it never fully takes away the fear. Controlling your response can reduce the fear in an officer who’s reading you as a suspect, hiding something. Remember, they’re thinking in split seconds—all the bias goes up.”
“Why do I gotta calm down a professional? Shouldn’t he be breathing in and shit?” Demarcus says.
“They do, but I’m teaching you how to survive. Don’t try and reason. It ain’t fair, but a gun on you isn’t the time to debate. They’ll just twist in their head your confusion for anger.”
“Yeah, they see your black ass and think you a King Kong or something, D.” Todd locks his hands behind his head like he’s been through a few stops himself.
“Number one priority is your safety. Not the time to pop off.” I put my hands down, and the group takes a seat. “You use your resistance in other ways. Follow instructions. Be calm. State you know your rights if what they’re doing’s in violation, but always know who’s got the upper hand.”
“So, heads getting smashed in the ground ain’t the time, then.” An older guy in the front finally speaks.
“Definitely not the time. Now, everyone download the ACLU Blue app. You or someone else gets stopped by police, you can start filming. You can upload immediately. If they confiscate your phone, they can’t delete the video. Or press this button and it goes right to Twitter.” I pass out a handout on rights to film police in Texas.