“It’s the perfect place.” He turned to Gabby. “We need to build a coalition, don’t you think? Target the neighborhood that protects Officer Reynaud.”
“Yeah, Rus. We need to bring our voices to the scene of the crime.” She popped her head up from her cup, an idea working behind her bright eyes as she stared at me. “Like you did on Shreveport’s field. Or, you know what would be cool? You could speak at Saturday’s demonstration.”
“Gabby, come on...” I shrank away from her outstretched arm. “You want me to cause more trouble for myself?”
“We have the permits to assemble. No one’s going to get in trouble, Rus.” Gabby chuckled, nudging my elbow. “I know you have plenty to say.”
Without waiting for me to agree, she looked to Dave. He rubbed his chin, nodding slowly as he worked out the details in his head. “That’s actually a really good idea.” Dave looked at his phone, checking the time. “If I hurry, I can squeeze your name into the school paper before it goes to print.”
My muscles tensed. I’d barely survived my last protest, and now they wanted to throw me on the stage of the biggest protest this town had seen in decades? As Dave nodded more fervently, I shook my head. Gabby swung her head to each of us, looking for consensus.
“You in?” Dave raised his eyebrows, growing more impatient as the seconds ticked closer to the school paper’s deadline.
“Nah.” I held my lips between my teeth, avoiding eye contact with everyone—especially Gabby.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those one-and-done brothers.” Dave scrunched up his mouth. “You have a platform. You have people’s attention. Use it.”
I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up. I was exhausted—from the game I’d played tonight and from a lack of sleep. But most of all, I was tired of people telling me what to do. Don’t speak up. Use your voice more.
I was being pulled from both ends, and I felt overextended. I grabbed my jacket and made a beeline for the door, unwilling to lose myself in any more causes.
* * *
My mood got increasingly sour as I stalked through the dorm, tiptoeing around empty bottles and crushed Solo cups. By the time I made it to the sidewalk, I was salty as hell.
One and done?
Dave was killing me. I didn’t want to think about Gabby—how disappointed she’d looked as he skewered me for being a fair-weather activist. My activism had lost the game against Shreveport and mangled my teammates’ and my parents’ respect. How was that fair-weather?
“Rus!” Footsteps padded down the sidewalk, closing in on me. “Rus, stop!”
Gabby’s small fingers nipped at my sleeve but I tore away, redoubling my speed toward the parking lot. The auditorium stood in the distance. The parking lot was just behind it.
“Russell Boudreaux!” Gabby paused on the sidewalk, gasping to catch her breath. “Don’t you dare leave me stranded at another party.”
My knees locked into place. I had promised her I would never abandon her at a party like I had freshman year. And now I was breaking that promise. I ran my fingers over my scalp, cussing under my breath.
“He didn’t mean anything by it.” Gabby nodded in the direction of Raven Hall, where Dave was probably scratching his head at our abrupt departure.
“I can’t win.” I threw my hands up. My eyes started to sting, but I coughed the tears away. “Everybody back home says I did too much—that my kneeling might have gone too far. And then you and Dave think I’m not doing enough?”
“You can’t hide from what you did. You took a knee in front of a whole stadium full of people.” She gathered her hair off her face and gripped it at the roots. “Rus, you’re braver than you think.”
“I’m not brave.” I shook my head. I was just a football player, a guy who wanted a shot on the field. I wanted to make opportunity for myself. And as much as these protests spoke of a bigger picture—of more equality in the near or distant future—what good would that do me now? “I blew up my whole life when I took a knee. You don’t get it.”
“You think I don’t understand what it is to voice an unpopular opinion?” She raised her eyebrows, her nostrils flaring.
Before I could respond, she swung her backpack around her shoulder and unzipped the back compartment, packed to the brim like it always was. I leaned forward, wondering why she was going to show me her books.
There must have been two reams of printer paper stuffed in there. She pried her fingers between the stack and slid a page up so that I could see. It was an image of Officer Reynaud pointing his gun at a boy in a hoodie, his hands in the air. I recognized it from the security footage I’d just seen in the auditorium. The bold text on the bottom of the page said: No Justice, No Peace.
“Now do you see?” she asked expectantly.
“Wait a minute.” It was obvious what this was. These were more Dante Maynard flyers. My eyes grew wider as I looked from the flyer to Gabby’s face. “You’re Dante’s Shadow?”
24
My fingers twisted into knots as I fidgeted in the front seat of Gabby’s fancy Ford F-150. It was much roomier than my small car, but my head almost grazed the roof. She pressed a button on the center console, and the sunroof began to retract.
I leaned back, watching the clouds drift across the sky. They were backlit by a bright moon, just as they had been the night I’d wandered from the party and seen Dante’s Shadow running behind town hall. I’d replayed that night over and over again, wondering who would be so brave and reckless.
That was Gabby that night.
I almost couldn’t believe it, but something about her revelation made perfect sense. I remembered the slight frame of the masked person, her agile and graceful movements as she ran through the alley. Her way with words was written all over the flyers, which dripped with the passion of activism. Of course the Shadow was Gabby.
“Paperwork,” I said under my breath, remembering the excuse she’d given me the night she didn’t show up to the team party. The taut leather squeaked as I turned to her, finally able to look her in the eyes. “This is why you ghosted me that night?”
“Yeah. I can’t exactly have my phone on when I’m in the middle of civil disobedience.” She laughed awkwardly as she shifted in her seat. She hitched her knee on the center console and faced me. “You’re not alone in this fight. Do you see that now?”
“How did you get mixed up in this?”
“I take a college level course here on Tuesdays and Thursdays—biochem. Our school doesn’t offer it, and I want to stand out in my college applications...”
I cleared my throat, urging her to get back on track.
“After class, I overheard one of Charlotte Martin’s lectures. I stood outside the door to her classroom while she spoke about the history of policing in America, the dog whistles of law and order.” She rested her head on her headrest, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “That’s where I met Dave.”
I rolled my eyes at the mention of his name. As if she could read the anger in my thoughts, she spoke.
“He’s a good guy, Rus. He really is. And he has an admin key to the school’s newspaper room.” She grinned mischievously. “That’s a whole lot of paper. I couldn’t resist.”
“But why take the risk?” The way I saw it, the reward didn’t outweigh the risks. Why was she going to such lengths to plaster her voice all over town? I didn’t understand it. I slumped against my window. “Papering the town with those flyers—Gabby, you’re bound to get caught.”
“Not necessarily.” She slouched behind the steering wheel, folding her arms. “Besides, even if I was arrested, I’d probably get a gold medal from Berkeley. They live for this kinda stuff over there.”
“That’s where you’re going?” I blinked, trying to think about how far Louisiana was from Berkeley, California.
“I applied early decision, so I’m waiting
to hear back, but I think I have a shot.” She sighed, her eyes hooded as she looked into her lap. “I don’t want to live close to home. Anywhere in the South, for that matter. We live in a city where a Black boy was murdered, and his killer is still walking free. It’s too creepy.”
“Beyond creepy.” I shuddered as I thought of Officer Reynaud’s smug face as he put handcuffs around Marion’s wrists.
“About the protest on Saturday—speaking publicly won’t get you into any more trouble than you’re already in. If anything, it should have the opposite effect. Dave has invited other local papers. The media will gather public pressure against the Westmond police.”
“It shouldn’t be me up there.” I shook my head. I wasn’t the story here. I hadn’t been shot or kicked off the field. I had yet to run afoul of Reynaud. But I knew someone who had. “It should be Marion.”
I slid my phone out of my back pocket and scrolled through my contacts, searching for the one person who had more to say than I did. Marion had suffered greatly at the hands of the police and the football league. He knew how to speak to a crowd—I’d seen him do it countless times in the locker room. He could dig deep when he wanted to pull our team out of a rut. Now it was his turn to help himself.
With one eye on my keyboard and one eye on Gabby, I texted Marion.
“That’s up to you. I won’t push you. I know now what happens when I push you too hard.” She shook her head, laughing under her breath. “I can’t believe I told you. You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”
“I’m no snitch.” I folded my arms.
“Good.” She nodded, then tapped the clock on the dashboard. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah, I better get home.” It was after midnight. But I was worried about Gabby, concerned that when I left her truck, she’d put on her black bandana and paper Westmond. There was a lot of unfairness going on between law enforcement and Black bodies. I knew that firsthand. Officers like Reynaud wouldn’t think twice about cuffing her—even with her fancy truck and her house on the hill.
“Please don’t put the flyers up by yourself.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, just as she’d done during Charlotte Martin’s speech. She blushed and squeezed back. “I would be your lookout, but I literally can’t stay out any later.”
“Relax, Rus. This isn’t my first rodeo. I outran those cops last time.”
“Yeah, because I pulled you out of the way.” I glared at her, remembering the waifish figure running down the alleyway. She’d been doing this for a while, and by the determined set of her jaw, she was going out tonight—with or without my blessing. I ran my fingers over my scalp. “Text me when you get home? Seriously.”
“I will.”
* * *
My foot eased off the brake pedal, and the Civic shuddered to a halt beneath the live oak down the street from my house. The glow from my phone broke up the darkness as I scrolled through my texts, searching for a message from Gabby. Maybe she’d decided not to go out after I begged her not to.
Nothing.
I tried not to think about what she was doing, but I couldn’t help it. It had been only fifteen minutes since I’d seen her at the community college, but that was long enough for Gabby to get into trouble. If she needed help, I hoped she would call me.
The clock in the corner of the screen bored into my eye sockets. It was just after 1:00 a.m., which meant I was well past any wiggle room on my curfew. I gently pushed the car door shut, careful not to make too much noise, and devised a plan to sneak in the back door, praying the footboards wouldn’t squeak too much.
I gently pushed the door closed so that the latch wouldn’t make a sound. I didn’t want to wake anybody up, especially Pops. I wanted more than one night of being ungrounded, and coming in after curfew was not a good start.
The light and the TV were on in the living room, casting Marion’s face in shifting shadows. He looked over when my keys gently clanked against the kitchen island.
“What up?” He gave a lazy wave over his stomach, his voice a little too loud.
“Shh, you’ll wake them up.” I sank into the rocking chair and waited a few seconds to make sure my parents were still asleep.
“Don’t worry, I covered for you.” Marion yawned. “Told Pops you were blowing off steam.”
I wasn’t sure if blowing off steam was supposed to mean that I was off banging Gabby or that I was off partying with the team. Either way, Marion had missed the mark. He had no idea what I was really up to.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake.” I tugged on his comforter, waking him up before he dozed back to sleep. “Why didn’t you text me back?”
He drew his blankets around his shoulders. “’Cause I think you’re talking crazy.”
“It’s really not that crazy. The local news will be there, so you can tell your side of the story.” I said, parroting Gabby, suddenly more comfortable with the idea. If Gabby was fearless in the face of Officer Reynaud, then we could be too. And Gabby said it was permitted and lawful.
“You saw the video. The lawyer says there’s no way the prosecutor will want to move forward with the case.” Marion propped himself on his elbows, his eyes heavy with sleep. “I’ve got a meeting with him next week. And by that time...all this will be in the past.”
“For real?”
Marion nodded, lowering his head back to the couch.
“But what about Officer Reynaud? He’s still on the streets.” My whisper came out in a hiss, but I didn’t care. I was happy that Marion was on his way to clearing his record. But this was bigger than just Marion.
“I gotta steer clear of any more controversy. And getting a mug shot in front of town hall sure as hell would be a controversy.”
“It’s permitted, so you know we’re not breaking the law. This is important, Marion.” I tapped the couch with the tip of my sneaker. “And Ms. J will even be there to support us.”
“I worry about you, Rus.” He paused. Then, in little more than a whisper, he said, “You’re my boy for life, you know that. I got your back. But I need your help here. I need you to not make no more waves, you hear me?”
“You mean keep my mouth shut? Let you watch your football scholarships pass you by?”
“I’ll be back on the field in no time. You can come to the lawyer’s office if it’ll calm your ass down.” He shook his head, looking at the ceiling. “It’s the most justice we can hope for. We’re not going to solve racism. Not in this town. But I am gonna get back on that field.”
25
Marion wiped the front of his dress shirt, practically vibrating with excitement as we sat in Mr. Samuels’s office. Mama wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gave a playful tug on his ear.
“Ain’t nothing but a conversation. Quit fussing,” she teased, even though she was anxious herself. I could tell by the way her ankle kept twitching. Mama wouldn’t believe Marion’s exoneration until she heard it from the lawyer’s mouth.
I was edgy, too, but I hid it better than they did. I hoped we hadn’t come all the way to New Orleans to meet with a lawyer who would tell us the same thing as the court-appointed lawyer: There’s no hope for Marion, so take a plea.
Mr. Samuels opened the door to his office and stepped into the small waiting room. He rubbed his hand over his short, salt-and-pepper-colored hair before straightening his tie.
“You must be Marion LaSalle,” he said with an outstretched hand, brown and wrinkly like my father’s. “Good to finally meet you.”
“You too.” Marion released his breath in a rush, like he’d been holding it in all the way from Monroe.
“Let’s go to the conference room.” He tilted his head, appraising Marion’s size. “You’ll have more room there.”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded, then looked back at me and Mama.
“Will they be joining us?” Mr. Samuels asked, opening his a
rms to include the two of us.
“Can they?” Relief painted Marion’s words.
“It’s up to you. This is your meeting.”
With his nod, Mama and I fell in line after Mr. Samuels and Marion. The conference room was spacious, with large tan leather chairs. I’d read online that Samuels specialized in white collar crime, and it showed in his fancy office.
“Mr. LaSalle, it’s so good to finally meet you. As you know, as soon as Gabby and her dad told me about you, I took your case pro bono.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been speaking with the DA. And if ever there was a good-old-boys network alive and well, it’s in Monroe.” He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, then rested his elbows on the table. “The prosecutor’s office offered a plea bargain. As your lawyer, I am obligated to present you the offer, even though in my opinion, it is preposterous.”
Marion nodded slowly.
“They are willing to drop the assault and battery charges if you plead guilty to the resisting arrest charge.”
“But I didn’t resist.” Marion’s chest rose and fell quickly as he panted. “Rus, you were standing right next to me.”
“He didn’t struggle.” I nodded in confirmation. Mama wrapped her arm around the top of Marion’s chair, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s on the video. Did they watch it?”
“They watched it.” Mr. Samuels reached for his laptop on the corner of the table, which sat next to Marion’s file. He turned it so that the screen faced Marion. Mama and I scooted toward him. Mr. Samuels pressed Play. “See that wiggle as the arresting officer grabs your arm?”
No. This couldn’t be right. I’d watched that video over and over again. I’d seen every exonerating minute of it. It cleared Marion of all charges. Right?
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