MY PARENTS TOLD ME A LONG TIME AGO WHAT to do if I ever got pulled over by a police officer.
They sat me down together and told me that while a lot of cops are good and doing their best to look out for the community, all the stories about the bad officers were very true. And that I should know some of them will look at me differently because I’m Black, and treat me unfairly. They told me that I had to be polite, obedient, and calm. Do my best to make sure things didn’t escalate, even though that wasn’t my responsibility.
I remember all of that as the officer walks up to my car. The window is already half-open, and when the cop leans down to look in, I see it’s a Latina officer. I swallow. That makes me feel better. A little.
“How are you today?” she asks. Her badge says GONZALEZ.
“Fine, Officer.”
“In a hurry?” Her voice is not exactly mean, just…brusque. “I pulled you over because I saw you run that red light.”
I thought I made it through before it turned red, but I know better than to argue.
“We’re on our way to vote,” I say, nodding toward Duke. “Well, I’ve already voted. I’m driving him.”
“The polls are open until eight. You have time,” she says. “License and registration?”
I carefully pull out my ID from my bag. My hand brushes against Duke’s knee as I reach into the glove compartment for the registration. He’s ramrod straight in the seat, eyes focused on the windshield.
Officer Gonzalez looks at my ID and registration for almost a minute, staring from me to the picture on my license several times. She finally hands it back, and says, “Letting you off with a warning. Look, I get how important voting is, but you have to be careful. No election is worth endangering your life or someone else’s, okay?”
“Yes, Officer. Thank you,” I say in my most respectful voice. “I promise to be more careful.”
She nods at me, and my breath catches when she looks at Duke. Please don’t ask him to get out. Please.
She pauses, her eyes moving back and forth between us, then says, “You kids have a good night. Be safe.”
Duke doesn’t breathe until she’s back in her car. I don’t think he moved once after I pulled over.
I look at him. “Are you okay?”
He swallows, glancing at the Mexican restaurant beside us. The Volvo is a few feet from the entrance. “I keep wondering how many times I’ll be so lucky.”
“Lucky?”
“The first time I was in a car that got pulled over, my brother said we were lucky. Because the cop didn’t make him get out and…he wasn’t violent. But I was with him when he got stopped again, two more times. And I’ve been pulled over and—some people aren’t so lucky, you know? Some people don’t make it out of a ‘routine traffic stop,’” he says, making air quotes with his fingers.
“This is why getting people out to vote is so important to me,” I say quietly. “We shouldn’t still be dealing with this. We never should’ve had to deal with this. Too many people risked their lives and—I’ll never forget the first time I heard about the four girls in Birmingham. I was in fifth grade…the youngest was the same age as me when she died. Or the Freedom Summer murders. I didn’t understand how anyone could hate Black people so much just because we were Black.” I take a deep breath. “But that’s when I learned about people like Bayard Rustin and Diane Nash and Stokely Carmichael and Coretta Scott King and…so many people who worked over the last century to make sure we wouldn’t still be where we are. I know voting doesn’t solve everything, and people may think one vote isn’t all that important, but I really believe it makes a difference.”
I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I want him to understand why I’d willingly spend a whole day running around with someone I barely know.…Except, is that still true? Because ever since he got back in my car, it’s been hitting me how very comfortable I am with him. Spending today with Duke hasn’t felt like a chore. It’s been…nice.
Then, before I know it, my hand is sliding across the seat to his. I place my palm over the hand clasped to his knee, and leave it there. He looks down, startled at the sudden warmth of my fingers on his, then his gaze shifts to me.
I’ve seen other people have conversations with their eyes. I’ve watched as they work out whole discussions with nothing more than a few blinks and intense stares. But I’ve never had that with anyone, not even Alec. Not until now.
Because Duke’s eyes are telling a story. They are saying that he likes my hand there, and he wishes I would leave it. But that I can’t, because that might lead to something else, and that can’t happen, because I just broke up with my boyfriend. They are saying that he is trying to be good and respectful, but there is something between us, and we both know it.
Yes, my eyes say back. I know it.
I pull my hand away and look straight ahead. “Okay, what’s going to be our next crisis?”
“Huh?” His voice sounds too loud in the car after what was just unspoken.
“Well, my gas tank is three-quarters full, so we won’t run out of that. What else? A flat tire? A fire? A collision?”
“Hey, don’t even be joking like that. We’ll get there,” he says. “If that traffic stop was lucky, maybe our luck is turning.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say.
And if that’s true, I hope Selma is part of that good luck, too.
MY STOMACH DROPS AS SOON AS WE PULL UP TO the church.
If it was bad before, the parking lot is an absolute nightmare now. It’s dark out, so everything looks even more dramatic under the parking-lot lights. Cars are blocking one another in and people are honking and nobody seems to be getting anywhere. And when I look back at the front of the church, the line is longer than ever.
“Holy shit,” Marva breathes as she takes in the scene, too. “Is this because of us?”
“Maybe?”
As we look around, I see a lot of people about Clive’s age and even older. Some are just being dropped off before their drivers head out to pick up more people. But others are being escorted up to the church, and some volunteers are even staying to talk with them.
Marva parks in a red zone, saying she’ll deal with the ticket later if it comes to that. “We have to go—what time do you need to be at the venue?”
I check the time. I needed to meet up with the band about an hour ago to start getting our gear together. They’ll probably be getting to the Fractal in the next half hour, then warm-ups, then…damn.
I don’t know if anyone was more excited than me about our first paying gig. Drumming has helped keep my head together since Julian died, but I like performing, too. And proving we’re good enough to be paid…Well, Drugstore Sorrow is one of the dopest things I’ve ever been a part of, and my stomach sinks when I realize I may not be there for our biggest night yet.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it,” I say, staring at the line. It’s just too long. Even if they don’t run out of ballots by the time we get to the front, the show will have started long before that.
Except I’m the drummer and they can’t go on without me.
Oh, man. I just realize I didn’t even check in with the group chat to update them on where I am. They are going to kill me.
“But those shows don’t ever start on time, do they?” Marva says, eyeing the crowd with me. I see a few of the same faces from before. I wonder if everyone who had to leave earlier made it back. After all we’ve been through, I hope so. I especially hope Clive already made it in.
“It’s all right,” I say as we start walking toward the back of the line. “They’ll hate me for a little bit, but this won’t be our last show. They’ll get it once the election results come in. Either way, they’ll know this was too important for me to just take off.”
“Okay, but, Duke, your gig is important, too! You shouldn’t have to choose between that and voting.” Marva’s voice is so loud that people are starting to look at us. “If the people in charge of this had their shit
together in any way, you already would’ve voted this afternoon!”
I’m kinda embarrassed that she’s being so loud, but I like that she cares so much. That she realizes the gig and my music are important.
“It’s okay, Marva. Sometimes things just don’t work out. I—”
“Young man? Hey, young man!”
I look up and over at the familiar voice. He’s shadowed under the building lights, but I recognize the outline of him and his cane. “Clive?”
“Hey, come on over here!”
Marva and I look at each other before we head over to Clive. He’s just a couple of people behind the entrance.
“You’re still here?” I ask.
“Still standing,” he grumbles. “Was wondering if you’d be back.”
“Did they ever deliver the ballots?” Marva glances nervously toward the church.
“Just about twenty minutes ago. A damn mess! But they finally got ’em and they letting us in. Thank god, ’cause people started showing up in droves all of a sudden. Someone said some nice kids organized rides for my friends at the senior center. And someone even brought waters and granola bars when they heard how long we’d been waiting.”
“That was Duke,” Marva says proudly, looking up at me. “He organized the whole thing.”
“It was a group effort,” I mumble.
“Made possible because of his idea.”
Clive nods at me, his eyes glistening with respect. “You done good, young man.”
“Thank you,” I say. “We should get in line now, though. I’m already late to be somewhere.”
Or maybe I should stop pretending I’m gonna get to the gig on time. It’s not gonna happen.
Clive shakes his head. “You trying to go to the back of the line? After all you’ve done today to help people? Boy, you better get in line ahead of me. I can’t do much, but I can do that for you.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay, I—”
Marva nudges me. Hard. “Thank you, Clive. We really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” he says, stepping back so we can file in ahead of him. “Y’all a real cute couple. I love to see Black love.”
Marva grins. So do I.
We don’t correct him.
HE VOTED.
After all that we’ve been through—cutting school and disappearing cats and family meetings and broken relationships—Duke got his ballot in.
And with just enough time to get to the Fractal.
“I can call a car,” he says once we’re in the parking lot again. “It’s late, and I know you probably want to get back home to look for Selma.”
Yes, part of me wants that. But another part—a big part—wants to spend as much time with him as possible.
“There are so many people still looking for her,” I say slowly. “Does it make me a bad cat mom if I don’t join them?”
“Nobody I know deserves a break more than you,” he says.
My phone buzzes. I look at the screen, my eyes widening as a new text comes in. “My dad says somebody thinks they saw her. At the house behind ours. He’s going to keep me posted.”
“So…do you wanna come to the show?” Duke asks.
“If you don’t mind me being there.”
He smiles down at me with such warmth it’s startling. “I can’t imagine you not being there.”
My skin is the best kind of hot right now.
THE BAND IS FUCKING PISSED.
To be fair, I would be, too. I’ve been MIA all day, I left them to deal with my gear, and now I’m showing up fifteen minutes before we’re supposed to go on.
“Where the hell have you been?” Svetlana glares at me as I stand in the doorway of the Fractal’s dressing room, which is really more of a converted storage closet with a table and a couple of chairs.
“Dude, you will never believe this day, and honestly, I don’t have enough time to tell you before we go on,” I say, running a hand over my head.
“You missed the sound check, man,” Anthony says, shaking his head at me. “Not cool.”
“I know. I’m sorry, guys. For real. I feel like I’ve been all over town in the last twelve hours.”
Benicio shakes his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I saw your sister at lunch. She said you were running around with some girl.”
I twirl my sticks in my hand, trying to warm up my wrists. “She’s not just some girl. She’s pretty amazing, actually, and she made sure I got to—”
“Cool story, but you guys need to get out there.” The voice comes from behind me, and I turn around to see Kendall standing in the hall. “The Fractal doesn’t mess around with their acts. We’ve only got thirty minutes as the opener. They want the headliner set up with their gear and ready to play by nine.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m ready.”
I don’t know if that’s true. We’ve practiced so much, I feel like I am. But when Marva asked me about our songs on the way over here, I couldn’t name one. What if I forget everything we’ve been working on? And in front of the girl I’ve liked more than anyone in…maybe ever?
They file out of the dressing room, brushing past me one by one, faces stony.
“I hope she’s cute,” Svetlana huffs as she passes.
Kendall starts to follow them, but I say, “Hey, Kendall. Wait.”
She stops but doesn’t turn around. Her back is stiff and straight.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I mean, for being late, but also…”
“You’ve already said that. You don’t need to keep apologizing. I get it, okay? You liked me better when I was just a person behind a keyboard, not the actual person. End of story.”
I inhale. “But does it have to be the end of our story?”
She glares at me. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been a good friend to me, Kendall. Like not a lot of people have. You understand me and my life and everything with Julian like no one else I’ve met. I guess…that’s important to me. Your friendship…it’s important.”
“Then why did you say that, Duke?” Her eyes are dry but they show the hurt that’s built up since that night at the party. “It was embarrassing. Like, what did that even mean, that you liked it better when we only knew each other online? You don’t want to be seen with me? You liked me better when you didn’t have to hear my voice?”
I wince. I still can’t believe I said that, and I can’t blame it all on the vodka.
“No. God, no. Kendall. I didn’t mean…Look, you helped me so much after Julian died, and I don’t even know how to thank you for that, for real.” I pause. Tell myself to take the time to get the words right instead of blurting out whatever will get me out of here the fastest. “I think what I was trying to say was that it was easier for me to talk about that stuff online. You brought up Ethan, and asked me about Julian and…I got nervous. I wasn’t used to showing that part of myself to anyone in person.”
“But we’ve been friends for years now, Duke. Did you really think we’d never talk about it?” She twists her hands at her sternum. “I noticed that you never brought up Julian when we hung out, so I didn’t either. But then I started wondering why. And…are you ashamed of what happened to our brothers?”
I flinch. I deserve that, but damn. I’d never be ashamed of Julian. “No, of course not. I…I guess I’m just used to people looking at me a certain way when I talk about him. They assume things.”
“So let them assume!” she says. “My brother wasn’t perfect, but he was my brother. And I loved him. And it’s okay that people know that. It’s okay to talk about it. About him.”
She’s right. Worrying about what other people think isn’t gonna change what happened. Talking about my feelings in front of her, in person—that doesn’t make me a loser. It’s real life.
“I’m sorry, Kendall.” She starts to talk again, but I hold up my hand. “That’s the last time I’ll say it, okay? But what I said that night was shitty. And I don’t want to wreck what we’ve got. I’m not sa
ying I’m gonna be perfect or, like, suddenly cool about pouring my guts out to you in person. But I’ll try to get better.”
She looks at me for a bit, then takes a long, deep breath. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I say.
Kendall appraises me, arms crossed. “Okay. Now we really have to get out there or the stage manager is going to kill us.”
“Hey, Kendall?” I say before she turns around.
“Yeah?”
“We’re good? For real?”
“Yeah, Duke,” she says with a small smile. “We’re good.”
The curtain is still closed when we get to the stage and the band is already positioned in their respective places: Anthony behind the keyboard, Svetlana by the mic with her guitar strapped over her front, and Benicio in the corner, hugging his bass. I slide onto the stool behind my kit, sticks in hand.
“You all ready?” the stage manager, a small kid with frizzy black hair, asks. “Don’t forget, it needs to be a tight thirty. We’ll cut your sound if we have to.”
Kendall wasn’t kidding about this guy. But we just nod. I think we’re all still in shock that they’re paying us, so we’ll do whatever the hell they say. It’s not a lot of money or anything—barely enough for each of us to buy lunch. But it’s something. It means we’re legit.
“Hey, everybody!” the stage manager says on the other side of the curtain, addressing the crowd. “Thanks for coming out tonight! We’ve got the amazing headlining band, the Ashen Nobles, which will be going on in just a few. But first, please help us welcome to the Fractal stage for the very first time—Drugstore Sorrow!”
The audience cheers, and when the curtain snaps up, I can’t see a thing. The stage lights are too bright from my seat behind the kit. I can hear people and make out general dark shapes, outlines of bodies, but I don’t recognize anyone. And maybe that’s better, because I know Marva is out there, and I don’t want to be able to watch her face, seeing what she thinks of us in real time. I should’ve played her one of our practice sessions so she wouldn’t be surprised.
The Voting Booth Page 16