Tears of a Tiger

by Sharon M. Draper

  The poem “One Thousand Nine Hundred and Sixty-eight Winters” by Jacqueline Earley appears here with the gracious permission of the author.

  Copyright © 1994 by Sharon M. Draper

  Simon Pulse

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows: Draper, Sharon M. (Sharon Mills)

  Tears of a tiger / by Sharon M. Draper.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: The death of high school basketball star Rob Washington in an automobile accident affects the lives of his close friend Andy, who was driving the car, and many others in the school.

  [1. Death—Fiction. 2. High schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Afro-Americans—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.D78325Te 1994 [Fic]—dc20 94-10278

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-2831-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-2831-6

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  This book is dedicated, with love, to my parents, Victor and Catherine Mills, who gave me wings to fly.

  The author gratefully wishes to acknowledge the following people:

  Margaret—for her insight, editing, and encouragement

  Sandy—for her cheers and her ears

  Fred—for his smiles and support

  Dr. Kelly—for his psychological expertise

  Jeff—for his athletic input

  Janell—for her continued belief in me

  Jeremy—who is still missed

  Vicky—for her gentle spirit

  Damon and Cory—my inspirations

  Crystal—my Crystal Ballerina

  Wendy—my baby girl

  All my students who gave me guidance to make it real and finally

  Larry—my strength.

  A man shrieks in pain

  Crying to the universe.

  Panic is abrupt.

  Crash, Fire, Pain

  Newspaper Article

  NOVEMBER 8

  TEEN BASKETBALL STAR

  KILLED IN FIERY CRASH

  Nov. 8—Robert Washington, age 17, captain of the Hazelwood High School basketball team, was killed last night in a fiery automobile accident on I–75. Witnesses say the car, driven by Andrew Jackson, 17, also of the Hazelwood team, had been noticeably weaving across the lanes of the expressway just before it hit a retaining wall and burst into flames.

  Jackson, who police said had been drinking, was taken to Good Samaritan Hospital, where he is being treated for burns and bruises. He is listed in good condition. Two other Hazelwood students, B.J. Carson, 16, and Tyrone Mills, 17, who were also in the car, were treated and released.

  The three students who escaped serious injury were able to jump from the four-door Chevy immediately after the accident, say witnesses. Washington, however, who was sitting in the front seat next to the driver, had his feet on the dashboard. The force of the crash sent his feet through the windshield, pinning him inside the automobile. The car’s gas tank then exploded. Although Jackson tried frantically to rescue Washington, he and his friends watched helplessly as Robert Washington burned to death.

  Hit the Showers!

  Hit the Streets!

  Locker-Room Conversation

  after the Game

  NOVEMBER 7

  9:30 P.M.

  —Hey, Rob! Live game, man. You be flyin’ with the hoops, man! Swoosh! Ain’t nobody better, ‘cept maybe me.

  —Yo, Andy, my main man! I see you been eatin’ bull crap for dinner again! You only wish you was as good as me! I, Robert Orlando Washington, will be makin’ billions of dollars playin’ for the N.B.A.! Want me to save you a ticket to one of my games?

  —Man, you be trippin’! You better be lookin’ out for me—here’s my card—Andy Jackson—superstar shooter and lover to the ladies—’cause I’m gonna be the high-point man on the opposin’ team—the team that wipes the floor with you and your billion dollars!

  —Dream on, superstar! Just for that, I’m gonna make you buy your ticket!

  —Let’s get outta here, man, before I feel the need to dust you off. This locker room smell really funky tonight.

  —I’m with you, my man Andy. You the one with the raggedy ride. Hey, and when you take them funky basketball shoes and your underarms outta here, I bet this locker room be smellin’ like roses.

  —You fulla mess, Rob. See, one minute, you makin’ plans to keep me outta your N.B.A. games, and the next minute you beggin’ a ride in my raggedy wheels. You think the brew is cold, man?

  —Yeah, man. It oughta be. We put it in the trunk of your car hours ago—Ain’t nothin’ like some cool bottled sunshine in the moonlight after a hot game!

  —Talk about hot! Didga see my Keisha up in the stands? She had on this short, butt-huggin’ skirt, and she kept jumpin’ and shakin’ every time we scored and…

  —Well, she did a whole lotta shakin’ then! I was in there! No wonder you only scored six tonight. You too busy scopin’ the women in the stands. Keisha got your nose wide open. She say “jump” and you say “how high.”

  —Hey, jumpin’ with Keisha is like touchin’ the sky. I’d say I had an honorable excuse, my man. Yo, I betcha I score more than six with Keisha tonight!

  —That girl got you wrapped and slapped, my man.

  —Oooo! Well, slap me some more! Let’s raise.

  —Hey, Gerald, what’s up, man?

  —Nothin’ much—cold-blooded game, Rob. Twenty-seven points—you be dealin’ out there!

  —What can I say? College scouts from all over the world are knockin’ on my door, beggin’ me to drive six new Cadillacs to their school, to instruct the women in the dorms on the finer points of—shall we say—“scorin’”—and to teach skinny little farm boys what it is, what it is!!

  —Andy, I don’t see why you hang with this big-head fool, except maybe to learn some basketball. What you score tonight—four?

  —Hey, Gerald, I thought you was my man. You sound like the coach—and it was six points, thank you. I got more important things on my mind tonight.

  —Yeah, maybe Keisha can teach him some basketball! You wanna go with us tonight, Gerald? We got some brew and we just gonna be chillin’.

  —Naw, Rob. I got to be gettin’ home. And my old man…you know how he is…. Besides, who would wanna be seen with two dudes named after a couple of dead presidents anyway?

  —Forget you, man. You seen B.J. and Tyrone?

  —Yeah, man. They waitin’ for you out by Andy’s car. Tyrone went out early to see if he could catch up with Rhonda. He said he wanted to see if she was leavin’ with anybody. He ain’t called her yet, but he’s got that puppy-dog look—kinda like the look on Andy’s face when Keisha walks into study hall.

  —Naw, man. Ain’t no girl got me hooked up. I got her well trained.

  —You better not let Keisha hear you say that!

  —You got that right!

  —Hey, Andy, when you gonna get that raggedy red car of yours painted?

  —When my old man gets tired of lookin’ at it, I guess. He said something about a reward if my grades get better, but you know how that is.

  —Yeah, man. Parents be trippin’. But don’t get me talkin’ ‘bout fathers. He’s the reason why I gotta raise outta here now. Where y’all goin’?

  —No particular place. We just gonna chill. We might try to find a party, or we might just finish off them beers and let the party find us. Then I’m headin’ over to Keisha’s house, after I take these turkeys home.

  —Do
n’t let Keisha find out you been drinkin’. I swear, sometimes a girlfriend is worse than a mother!

  —Not to worry, Gerald, my man. Besides, we got B.J. with us. He keeps us straight—or at least gives us breath mints.—Ooowee! Them shoes need some breath mints! I’m outta here! Peace.

  —Let’s raise, Roberto. Tyrone and B.J. gonna freeze to death.

  —I’m with you, Andini. Let’s heat up the night!

  Oh No! It Just Can’t Be!

  Phone Calls

  NOVEMBER 7

  11:00 P.M.

  —Hello, may I speak to Keisha, please?

  —Keisha, this is Rhonda. Sit down, girl. There’s been an accident. Some lady who works at Good Sam with my mother called her a few minutes ago and told her that they had just brought in some kids from Hazelwood—basketball players, she thinks.

  —Oh, Rhonda, I just called Andy to find out what was taking him so long. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. There’s no answer at his house. I was gonna kill him! You don’t think it was Andy, do you?

  —I don’t know, Keisha. I called Robert’s house and all I got was that stupid recording. But then that’s all you ever get when you call Rob.

  —What about Gerald? He usually hangs with them after the game. I’ll call him and then I’ll call you right back, okay?

  —Gerald, this is Keisha. Have you seen Andy?

  —Naw, I went home right after the game, but Andy and Rob, and I think Tyrone and B.J. too, left together in Andy’s car. Andy said he was comin’ by your house after he took those clowns home. He ain’t there yet?

  —Uh-uh. Well, if he calls you, tell him to get in touch with me right away, okay? Hey, you haven’t heard anything about an accident, have you?

  —Why is it the first thing a girl thinks about if her boyfriend is late is that he been in an accident? I bet he’s in the backseat of his car, kissin’ all over some real sexy mama!!

  —All you fellas are alike—worthless. Call me if you hear anything, okay?

  —Sure. Later.

  —Hello, may I speak to Rhonda? Rhonda, is that you? This is Keisha. I hardly recognized your voice. Have you heard anything?…Rhonda? What’s wrong?

  —Oh, Keisha, it’s terrible. There was a crash, and the car exploded, and my mother’s friend said she thinks at least one of the boys was killed, maybe more. She said the police officer who came in with the ambulance told her that the car involved in the accident was a red Chevette. Isn’t that what Andy drives?

  —Oh my God. Rhonda, I’ve got to go. I’ll get my mom to drive me to the hospital. Oh, please let them all be okay. I’ll call you from the hospital.

  —Rhonda, me again. I’m here at the hospital…. It’s Robbie Washington. He’s…He’s…He’s dead! Oh, Rhonda, he died in the accident. No, Andy, B.J., and Tyrone are okay. Tyrone and B.J. have already been sent home. Andy has been admitted, but he’s not seriously hurt. Rhonda, what are we going to do? I’ve never known anybody who died before, except my grandmother, and she was old.

  —Oh, Keisha, this is so scary. I don’t know how to deal with it. Have you talked to Andy?

  —No, they wouldn’t let me in there. But I saw him through the door. He looked bad—not injured, but his eyes looked funny—I guess he was in shock. I’ve got to go now. My mom is taking me home. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  Memories of Fire

  Tyrone’s Statement to Police

  NOVEMBER 8

  —Tyrone Mills? My name is Officer Casey, and I’d like to ask you a few questions. I understand you were in the car involved in the accident last night. I know you are upset, but it is necessary that we complete this report while the facts are still fresh in your mind. I’d like for you to tell me, in as much detail as possible, what happened last night.

  —Well, the game was over ‘bout nine-thirty and we was all in a good mood ‘cause we won big—by something like forty points, so we was gonna celebrate. Me and B.J. and Andy and…and…Rob—we left after we all got changed. Gerald was gonna come with us…yeah, Gerald Nickelby, but he had to go home. His stepfather beats…uh, I mean, his old man is real strict. So it was just the four of us…. Naw, B.J. don’t play on the team—he’s too short, but the four of us hang together. We been tight since seventh grade.

  So, we get in the car…yeah, Andy’s car, and we start drivin’ around, you know, just foolin’ around, havin’ a good time, yellin’ out the window at old white ladies—it always freaks ‘em out…. Yeah, we was drinkin’—all ‘cept B.J.—he don’t drink. We had put about four six-packs in the trunk of Andy’s car before the game. Since the weather’s been so cold, puttin’ ‘em in the trunk was as good as a cooler, so they was nice and frosty by the time we got to ‘em…. Yeah, all of us was drinkin’, ‘cept B.J., like I said, but Andy probably had the most. He was in a real good mood ‘cause this girl named Keisha had started goin’ with him and he was goin’ over to her house after he took us home.

  After a while the car started to sway, but I wasn’t sure if it was me gettin’ dizzy or if the car really was weaving across the expressway. At the time it seemed really funny. We was laughin’ so hard—especially when people started honkin’ at us. The more they tried to signal us, and I guess, warn us, the more we was crackin’ up and laughin’. Rob had his feet up on the dashboard, partly actin’ silly, and partly ‘cause his legs was so long that they got cramped in that little car of Andy’s. Me and B.J. was in the backseat. I was sittin’ right behind Andy, and B.J. was sittin’ next to me, behind Rob, ‘cause he had the shortest legs, and Rob could push the seat all the way back.

  Then, all of a sudden, like outta nowhere, this wall was in front of us, like it just jumped out in front of the car, and Andy was trying to find the brakes with his foot, and then there was glass everywhere and this crunchin’, grindin’ sound. My door flew open, and I rolled out. I remember I was cryin’ and crawlin’ around on my hands and knees—that’s the only thing that got hurt on me—I got glass in my hands and in my knees.

  I got to my feet, and I helped Andy outta the front seat. His head was bleedin’ pretty bad, and he was holdin’ his chest like he couldn’t breathe so good—I think he hit the steerin’ wheel pretty hard. We could smell gas real strong—it made me dizzy—like the gas station smells when some lady don’t know when to stop and she spills gas all down the side of her car.

  By that time, B.J. had gotten out, and we was lookin’ for Rob. He musta passed out at first, ‘cause all of a sudden we hear this screamin’. We ran around to that side but the door was bent shut and we couldn’t get it open. All of us was screamin’ by that time, ‘cause we could see his feet stickin’ through the windshield. His legs was cut and bleedin’ really bad. All we could see was these brand-new Nikes stickin’ out the window, with the rest of Rob screamin’ and hollerin’, stuck inside.

  So then Andy and B.J. climb on top of the car and start to knock pieces of the windshield out of the way, so we can try to get Rob out that way. But then…then…we hear this heavy, thick sound, like an explosion in a closed room, and Andy and B.J. is knocked off the hood. Me and B.J. grab Andy then, and we have to hold him back, ‘cause the whole car is in flames, and Rob is still stuck inside, and we can hear him screamin’, “Andy! Andy! Help me—Help me—Oh God, please don’t let me die like this! Andy!…”

  He screamed what seemed like a long time. Then it was real quiet. All we could hear was the sound of the flames, and little pieces of the car sizzlin’ and burnin’, and then the sirens of the police cars. I think I passed out then. That’s what I remember—and that’s what I’ll never be able to forget.”

  “Dear Lord”

  B.J.’s Prayer

  NOVEMBER 15

  —Dear Lord, this is me, B.J. Carson. You know, the one You made too short. But that’s okay; I know You had Your reasons. I know I don’t pray very often, and I know You haven’t seen me in church lately, but I feel like I need to pray or something. There’s some stuff I don’t understand about this accident—like wh
y it happened and why Robbie had to die and why I didn’t die. Mama keeps huggin’ me, sayin’, “Praise the Lord” and stuff like that. But what about Robbie’s mama? What is she saying?

  Is it my fault that Robbie is dead? I wasn’t drivin’. I wasn’t even drinkin’. Andy and Rob and Tyrone all knew that I didn’t drink—they never bothered me much about it. I think they even respected me a little because of it. I told them that drinking at an early age had stunted my growth, so I had given it up in favor of other vices. (Actually I think beer tastes like boiled sweat socks.) So they knew not to push me. Maybe that’s all I have left over from those days when I used to go to church every Sunday with Mama. So why do I feel so guilty?

  I don’t sleep so good at night. I keep seein’ the fire and hearin’ his screams and feelin’ so helpless. He was too young to die like that. It’s not fair. He never had a chance. Was all this done to teach us kids a lesson? Will it stop us from drinkin’ and drivin’? Maybe—a few. But the rest will keep on doing it, no matter what. So I still don’t understand why.

  Mama says the Lord knows all, and that He in His infinite wisdom knows the reason for all things. But Mama is gettin’ old, and she’s known a lot of people who’ve died, so she probably understands all this death stuff a whole lot better than I do.

  Maybe I shoulda tried to stop them that night. Maybe I shoulda been drivin’. But I’m always so glad that they include me in their group, I hardly ever try to change their plans. I’m just glad to go along. Actually, I never really understood why they like me. They’re all tall, popular with the girls, and basically outrageous. Me, I’m short—never once made the basketball team—kinda quiet, and still unsure of myself when it comes to girls. But somehow, I was always “one of the boys”—and the four of us did everything together, ever since seventh grade. And I’ve just been glad that I had such good friends. Now one of them is gone and I feel responsible.