by Angie Thomas
Dr. Cook turns to the police officer. “Give us a few minutes.”
The officer nods back, and Dr. Cook leads us into a room full of large, shadowed objects. He flicks a light switch, revealing drum sets and horns.
Dr. Cook closes the door behind us. “Mrs. Jackson, again, my sincerest apologies that we haven’t spoken before today.”
“It’s a shame,” Jay says. She’s not the type to lie, even to be polite.
“It is. I take full responsibility for that.” He holds his hand out to me. “Nice to meet you, Brianna.”
I don’t shake it at first. Jay nods at me and I do.
“I want you to look at her for a second, Dr. Cook,” Jay says. “Really look at her.”
She sets her hand on my back so I have no choice but to stand straight and look him in the eye, too.
“She’s sixteen, Dr. Cook,” Jay says. “Not a grown woman, not a threat. A child. Do you know how I felt when I was told that two grown men manhandled my child?”
Dr. Cook’s eyes are full of pity. “I can only imagine.”
“No, you can’t,” Jay says. “But this was not the first call I’ve received about my child, Dr. Cook. Now, Brianna can be argumentative, I’ll be the first to admit that. She unfortunately got it from me.”
Look at her, not putting something off on Dad for once.
“But she has been sent to the office for ‘aggressive behavior’ simply for rolling her eyes. You are more than welcome to pull her records. In fact, please do. Read the reports from when she was sent to the office or suspended, then tell me if any of those situations truly called for those consequences.
“I only have two options for my daughter, Dr. Cook,” Jay says. “Two. It’s either the school in our neighborhood or this school. At that school, they don’t set students up to succeed, but here? It’s starting to feel like they’re setting my child up to fail. As a mother, what am I supposed to do? As the superintendent, what are you going to do?”
Dr. Cook is quiet at first. He sighs. “Hopefully much more than I’ve currently done. I’m sorry that we’ve failed you in any way, Brianna.”
Two words, three syllables: I’m sorry.
Does he know how far we’ve
Come without hearing, “I’m sorry?”
I blink before too many tears build up. “Thank you.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think and act on, Mrs. Jackson,” Dr. Cook says. “Please feel free to reach out to me at any time with any concerns either of you may have. It may take me a while to get back to you, but I will.”
“Because you currently don’t have a secretary, right?” Jay says. “I saw the opening on the school district’s website.”
“Ah, yes. I almost need a secretary to schedule time for me to interview secretaries,” he teases.
Jay reaches into her briefcase and takes out some papers. “I’m sure this is not the proper protocol for applying for a position, but I figured why not. Here is my résumé as well as my references. I have several years of secretarial experience.”
“Oh,” Dr. Cook says, clearly taken aback. But he accepts the papers and pulls out his glasses.
“Before you ask, the gap of unemployment is due to my past drug addiction,” Jay says. “However, I recently celebrated my eighth year of sobriety.”
“Wow. That’s commendable, Mrs. Jackson.”
Now Jay seems to be the one taken aback. “Really?”
“Yes,” he says. “It shows your determination. That’s a good character skill. I’m thirty years sober myself from alcoholism. Have to take it one day at a time. I can only imagine the type of willpower you must have. You should be proud of yourself.”
From the looks of it, Jay never thought of it like that. I haven’t either, honestly. I’m proud of her, but I always looked at it like she got off of drugs, and that was that. She used to say she went to rehab so she could fight her way back to me and Trey. Dr. Cook makes it seem like she fights to stay, too.
He tucks her résumé and references inside his jacket pocket and holds his hand out to her. “I’ll be in touch.”
Jay looks dazed as she shakes his hand.
By the time we leave the band room, everyone’s made their way outside. Aunt Gina, Aunt ’Chelle, Sonny, and Malik wait for us in the parking lot.
“Lord, if I get that job,” Jay mutters. “Benefits, Jesus. Benefits!”
There are jobs, and there are jobs with benefits. Big difference. Whenever somebody in my family gets a job, the first question is, “Does it have benefits?”
Jay immediately tells Aunt ’Chelle and Aunt Gina what just went down. They’re so happy that they suggest we go out to dinner for a precelebration, their treat. Nothing’s guaranteed, but I’m pretty sure they just wanna get my mom’s mind off all the other stuff.
I’m usually good with free food, but free food with my mom and her friends? I shake my head. “No thank you. I cannot go out to eat with you three.”
Sonny busts out laughing, ’cause he knows why. Malik doesn’t smirk or even look at me.
Jay sets her hand on her hip. “What’s wrong with going out with us?”
“What’s not wrong?” I say. “Y’all are the worst at restaurants.” First off, anything I order, Jay has to have some of it, too, and before I know it most of my food is gone. Secondly, Aunt Gina loves to send stuff back to the kitchen until it’s “right,” and I wouldn’t be surprised if they spit in our food. Third, my mom and my godmothers don’t know how to leave. Their butts will be sitting there laughing and talking until the restaurant closes. Especially if it’s one of those “bottomless drinks and appetizers” places.
“She’s right,” Sonny says. “Unless we have a table to ourselves, it’s a no from me, too.”
“Y’all hear this?” Jay asks the other two. “We carried these jokers, birthed them, and now they got the nerve to be ashamed of us.”
Aunt Gina kisses her teeth. “Mm-hmm. Bet they won’t be ashamed when we pay the bill.”
Sonny grins. “Now that’s a fact.”
Aunt ’Chelle laughs. “Whatever. You three can have your li’l table to yourselves.”
“Nah,” says Malik. “Count me out.”
He looks at me as he says it.
Malik kisses his mom’s cheek, says something about hanging out with Shana, and walks away from us.
But it feels like he’s walking away from me.
Twenty-Five
Ten days after I sent my text, Aunt Pooh finally responds to me.
Meet me at the Maple after school
I almost walk out of Long Fiction class when I see it. After that, I swear the day seems to drag. The moment the last bell rings at the end of the day, I head straight for the school bus. When Mr. Watson pulls up at Maple Grove to drop off Curtis, I get off, too.
We cross the parking lot together. I can almost feel every single rock I step on. These fake Timbs are wearing out. Jay was up and about when I left this morning, and I have yet to talk to her about Supreme, so I couldn’t wear the real ones. Hell, I still gotta break the news to Aunt Pooh.
“What you doing in the Maple?” Curtis asks. “You stalking me now, Princess?”
You know, there was a time his little jokes would’ve made me roll my eyes. They still do, but now I smirk. “Boy, nobody’s stalking you. I’m here to see my aunt.”
We dodge some shirtless guy who runs to catch a football sailing in the air. He’s gotta be freezing.
Curtis stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I went to see my mom this weekend.”
“For real? How’d it go?”
“She was so happy she cried. I hadn’t really thought of how much it hurt her when I was staying away. I thought I was helping. Kinda messed up that I was hurting her more than any of that prison shit.”
“You didn’t know,” I say. “Besides, I’m sure she understood why it was hard for you.”
“She actually did. I told her you convinced me to go. She said
that you sound like a smart girl. She ain’t lying about that.”
“Wow, all of these compliments lately, from the same person who said my head was big enough. Why are you trying to make it bigger?”
“Whatever, Princess. For real though. Thank you,” Curtis says.
“You’re welcome.” I punch his arm. “But that’s for calling my head big.”
“Was I lying?”
A gang of little kids bound toward us. Jojo pedals behind them on his bike. Curtis goes, “Whoa!” and jumps out of their way just before they swarm me.
“Bri, can I get your autograph?” a little girl with a ponytail asks.
“Your song is my favorite!” a boy in a puffy coat adds.
They all want me to sign something or pose for a selfie.
“Y’all, stop being thirsty,” Jojo says. “One at a time, people.”
Curtis laughs as he walks away. “You hood famous, Princess.”
Damn, I guess I am. I have to come up with an autograph on the spot. I’ve never signed anything other than school forms, and that’s different. These kids are cool with my little scribbles.
“Bri, tell them me and you homies,” Jojo says. “They don’t believe me.”
“We’re homies,” I say, signing my name for a little boy who’s sucking his thumb. “Long as you’ve been going to school and staying out of trouble.” I look up at him as I write.
“I been going to school!” he says. No mention of the trouble part.
“Me and my twin know all the words to your song!” this snaggle-toothed girl pipes up.
I scribble my name for her. “Oh, for real?”
“‘Strapped like backpacks, I pull triggers,’” she and her sister squeak. “‘All the clips on my hips change my figure.’”
I stop writing.
How old are they? Six? Seven?
“I told them you be blasting niggas, Bri,” Jojo says. “Don’t you?”
My stomach churns. “No, I don’t, Jo—”
“Ay, ay, ay!” Aunt Pooh calls out as she comes over. She moves several of the kids out of her way. “Y’all, chill out. Give the superstar a break, a’ight?”
Aunt Pooh leads me toward the courtyard. I glance back at Jojo and his friends. I’ve got them rapping about guns and shit. Is that even okay?
Aunt Pooh hops up on the hood of Scrap’s car. He’s nowhere around. She pats the spot beside her. “You good?”
She’s been MIA for over a week after vowing to go kill somebody. How does she think I am? “Where you been?”
“Look, that ain’t your business.”
“Are you kidding—I been texting you! You had me worried! You remember the last time I saw you?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you—”
“Don’t worry ’bout what I did. I ain’t get the chain back, so it don’t even matter.”
Oh, shit. She did something. I fold my hands on top of my head. “Please don’t tell me you killed—”
“Ain’t nobody dead, Bri,” she says.
“I’m supposed to feel better about that? What did you do?”
“The less you know, the better, a’ight!” she snaps.
Oh, God. Thing is, nobody has to be dead. Aunt Pooh just started something, regardless, and starting something in the Garden is never good.
Retaliation never ends around here. But lives do. Worst part? It’s on me.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Bri, chill!” Aunt Pooh says. “I told you, ain’t nobody dead.”
“That won’t make a difference! They could—”
“They ain’t gon’ do shit,” Aunt Pooh claims.
“I shouldn’t have called you. I don’t want them coming after you.”
“Look, I’m ready for whatever, whenever,” she says. “I’m sorrier that I didn’t get that chain back for you.”
Once upon a time I was devastated to lose that thing, but now? It seems worthless. “I’d rather have you.”
“Me.” She says it almost mockingly, as if she’s a joke. “Shit, I ain’t gon’ lie. You just gave me an excuse to go after them fools. I been wanting to do something to them.”
“Because of Dad?”
Aunt Pooh nods. “Why you think I became a Garden Disciple in the first place? I wanted to go after whoever killed Law.”
Add that to the list of things I didn’t know. I hop up onto the hood beside her. “Really?”
It takes her a second to answer. She stares at this black car with tinted windows that cruises through the parking lot.
“Yeah,” she finally says. “Law was my brother, my Yoda, or whatever that li’l green dude’s name is.”
“You got it right.” Impressively. I mean, damn, she knew the name and that he’s green.
“Yeah, him,” she says. “He looked out for me and genuinely cared about me, you know? When they killed him, it was one of the worst days of my life. Losing Momma and Daddy was bad enough. Then Jay got on that stuff not long after he died. Felt like I ain’t have anybody.”
“You had me and Trey.”
“Nah. Your grandma and granddaddy had you and Trey,” she says. “That grandma of yours is a trip. She ain’t really want me coming around y’all. Can’t blame her though. I wanted blood. I went to the GDs that used to hang with Law and told them I was down for whatever to get revenge. They told me I don’t want that on me. But they let me join. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have had anybody.”
“Well, you’ve got us now.”
Her lips slowly turn up. “Corny ass. Getting all sentimental. You know you done pissed off a hell of a lot of people, right? That news report and that petition?” She laughs. “Goddamn, who knew a song could get folks that upset?”
I gotta tell her about Supreme. She may hate me, might cuss me out, but she has to know. “Hype invited me on his show to talk about it.”
“Whaaaat?” she says, pulling her head back. “Li’l Bit going on the Hot Hour?”
“Yeah. Saturday morning.”
“Yoooo. That’s major! How’d that happen?”
Here we go. “Supreme set it up.”
Her eyebrows meet. “Law’s old manager?”
“Yeah. He, umm . . . he actually wants to be my manager.”
I keep my eyes on my faux Timbs. I just have to tell her that I took Supreme up on his offer. Just spit it out like I’m in the middle of a freestyle in a battle.
Before I can say anything though, Aunt Pooh goes, “You took him up on it, didn’t you?”
My entire face gets hot. “It’s nothing against you, Aunt Pooh! I swear it’s not. I still want you to be a part of all of this.”
“Just not as your manager.”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
Aunt Pooh slowly lets out a sigh. “I get it. It’s cool.”
“Wait, what?”
“A’ight, maybe not cool, but I understand,” she says. “I’ve got too much else going on to help you the way you really need.”
Here’s an idea: “You could just let that stuff go.”
“I don’t know enough about the music business either.” She totally ignores what I said. “I’ve had folks hitting me up about the petition, and I ain’t got a damn clue what to say or do. This could either make you sink or swim, you know? I don’t wanna mess that up.”
Aunt Pooh’s not one to front, but maybe she fronts with me more than I realize. “You sure you okay with this?”
“I can help you out, even if I’m not your manager,” she says. “I can be on your team. Help you put together songs. Make sure you ain’t rapping stuff that makes white ladies shit themselves.” She playfully ruffles my braids.
I snicker. “Whatever.”
She holds her palm out. I slap it, but she pulls me across her lap and plants the longest, sloppiest kiss on my cheek, like she would do when I was little. I crack up. “You gotta come up with a title for me, superstar.”
“Head Aunty in Charge.”
“You know damn well Jay ain’t
gon’ be cool with anybody else thinking they’re in—”
Something catches her eye again. That same black car with tinted windows is back in the parking lot. The driver turns the engine off and the car sits there, facing us.
Aunt Pooh stares at it. “Bri, promise me something.”
“What?” I say with my head still in her lap.
She won’t look away from the car. “Promise you gon’ get outta the Garden.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Promise that you gon’ do whatever you gotta do to make it. Promise like it’s the last thing you’ll ever promise me.”
“Now look who’s getting all sentimental,” I tease.
“I’m serious! Promise!”
“I . . . I promise?” I somewhat say, somewhat ask. “What’s got you talking like this?”
She makes me sit up and nudges me off the car. “Go home.”
“What?”
“Go ho—”
Two black vans screech into the parking lot. Cops in SWAT gear rush out, guns pointed in every direction.
Twenty-Six
“Bri, go!” Aunt Pooh yells.
I’m stuck. The SWAT team swarms the projects, going after the Garden Disciples. All around, people run and scream. Parents dash for their kids or carry them as quickly as they can. Some kids are left crying by themselves.
Aunt Pooh drops to her knees with her hands behind her head. A SWAT team member rushes toward her, gun pointed.
Oh, God. “Aunty—”
“Go!” she yells again.
Somebody grabs my arm.
“C’mon!” Curtis says.
He pulls me with him. I try to look back for Aunt Pooh, but the stampede makes it impossible.
Along the way, something . . . weird happens with one of my shoes. Like it’s off balance. It forces me to limp as I try to keep up with Curtis. He leads me to the apartment where he lives with his grandma. We don’t stop until we get inside.
Curtis fastens every lock on the door. “Bri, you okay?”
“What the hell’s happening?”
He lifts a blind to peek out. “Drug bust. I knew something was about to go down. That black car kept circling the parking lot. Looked like an undercover.”