I won’t get my chance the following morning, either, because today I’m taking the day off. Though, I must admit, I’d much rather be stuck in the classroom than do what I have planned today. MiMi parks her car in the parking lot of Providence Baptist, lets out a heavy sigh. It was tough to find a spot since there were so many other folks here already. And sitting front and center at the entrance of the church is a black hearse. The vehicle that will be transporting Kenny to his final resting place after the service.
I look down so I won’t have to stare too long at it. As if avoiding eye contact with the car would make Kenny’s death less real. Less certain. Instead, I adjust a button on my shirt. A similar button-down to the one I described to the Boyces—dishing out fake promises about their son and his future. I don’t know what to even say to them today. Hell, I don’t even know how I can look them in the eyes today.
“You ready?” MiMi asks me.
“Not really,” I say. I button and unbutton, then button the same spot again. Just to keep my hands busy. MiMi places her hand over mine to relax them.
“Me neither,” she says. “But it’s important that we be here for his family. For Nic.” She squeezes my hands then opens her door, in a rush to get out of the car before things got too heavy inside. As if things were lighter out here. I get out, too, and we trudge toward the entrance. There’s already a line of Kenny’s loved ones trickling toward the door. Some weeping openly, some wearing shades to mask their grief. I don’t see Mr. and Mrs. Boyce. They must already be inside. Taking a quiet moment to be with their son one last time before they have to share him with everyone else. Near the start of the line, I scope out Doug. He wears all black. His hair is cut so short that he’s almost bald. An older woman muffles her face inside of his shirt while he rubs her back. His mom, maybe. Doug looks straight ahead, his face stretched into stillness. As if he’s trying to hold back anything he could possibly be feeling at the moment. His eyes land on me and I almost look away. Like maybe that moment between him and his mom was too intimate to witness. But Doug gives me a soft nod. A thank you for representing. I return the nod and tap my fist against my chest: Of course.
“Did any of you get a program yet?”
My eyebrows automatically hitch up. It’s been too long since I heard that voice, but I know it like a favorite song now. Riley makes her way down the line, passing out programs to all the attendees while they wait to be seated. Every now and then she pauses to give someone a comforting rub on the arm, or a gentle hug. And you can tell by the way she lingers with either act that she’s not just doing it because she’s the Reverend’s daughter. She’s doing it because she’s all light inside, and she wants to share it with others on their darkest day.
“She looks lovely,” MiMi says, watching Riley make her way over to us. Riley locks eyes with me and I don’t look away.
“Yeah,” I say, not even able to play it off. It’s not like she’s had a makeover for Kenny’s funeral. Her hair is still slicked up into a ponytail. She wears a long black dress that hits just above her ankles. She does, though, trade her Converses for a pair of low heels. But even though every feature looks the same on Riley, it’s like I finally got all the sleep out of my eyes and am getting the full picture. Every elegant curve and angle.
“Hey.” Riley smiles when she reaches me and MiMi. Passes MiMi a program. “Wow, you look great, Ms. Murphy. I’m so glad you’re doing better.”
“Thank you, baby. The good Lord wasn’t ready to take me.” MiMi’s mouth quirks as soon as the words leave it. Wrong time, wrong place. Riley gives her an understanding smile before leaning over to hug her.
“It’s certainly nice for you to help out like this,” MiMi says to her.
“Well, I figure it’s the least I can do. This whole situation is so sad.” Riley looks over at me. “How are you holding up?” By the way her forehead crinkles in the middle, I know she’s not just talking about Kenny.
“As much as I can,” I admit. It feels good not to dish out lies to that question. I couldn’t do that with Riley. Not after the week we’ve had. “Hey . . . let me help you with that. I’ll be back, MiMi.”
MiMi gives me a knowing eyebrow raise. “Mmm hmm,” she practically sings.
I step out of the line and Riley and I walk toward the parking lot, away from the prying ears of Kenny’s friends and family.
“I wanted to call you when I found out,” Riley says, once we’re at a safe distance. “I really wanted to. I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
“I shouldn’t have wanted you to call, but . . . it felt weird each day you didn’t.”
Riley flips through the programs, obviously embarrassed.
“But that’s on me, though,” I quickly add, touching her hands to calm them down. Thankfully, she doesn’t pull away. “I’m the one that told us to cool it. So, I should’ve been the one to pick up the phone to ask if we could thaw out.”
Riley gives me another smile, but then blinks it away. Again, wrong place. Wrong time. “Did the cops say anything to you and MiMi after they found Kenny?”
I roll my eyes. “Just that they had Javon in for questioning. But nobody had the decency to let us know that he was released. I had to find that out on the news.” I clench my teeth, remembering that smear job Price Bullock pulled on my family. What I would do to run across him in a dark alley.
Riley sighs and shakes her head. “That was a disgusting piece,” she says. Knowing that Riley watched that trash makes me want to crawl in a gutter. Right where pricks like Price think I belong. “Even my parents thought so.”
That should give me some peace, knowing what her parents thought about me. But still, I can’t help but wonder how much of it they thought was true. “But check this,” I say, trying to push the thought out of my head, “I followed Javon the other night.”
Riley’s mouth drops. “You followed Javon? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
I shrug. “I learned from the best.” If Riley could blush, she would at that moment. “And guess who he paid a visit to late at night?”
Riley leans forward, hungry for my response.
“Sterling—Nic’s bougie best friend. They had some kind of heated exchange in Javon’s car.”
“Whoa. What do you think that was about?”
“I don’t know. Sterling went MIA on me, and it’s not like Javon’s going to give me a straight answer. But you should’ve seen them, Riley. The way they were going at it . . . it was almost like they were trying to hide something they don’t want getting out.”
“Then we’ll get it out of them.”
Just as I’m about to shake my head to protest, Riley reaches out and grabs my arm.
“You can’t get rid of me. I got your back through this. You know that, right?”
I sigh. I want to push her away, but Riley is right. I can’t shake her off. She was already in too deep. She needed answers just as much as me. Not for herself, but for me. I know I can count on her. “Yeah,” I say. I take her hand, lace my fingers through hers. We stare at each other just as a car horn honks. Riley and I both jump as an angry arm waves at us out the window of a Cutlass Classic. Apparently, we’re in the last available parking space.
“I should get back to this,” Riley says, pointing to the growing line of attendants outside of the church. “Catch up with you later?”
I smile at her. “Don’t have a choice, right?”
We head back to the line as it slowly makes its way inside the church. As soon as I get back to MiMi, she weaves her arm through mine. Takes a breath to ready herself. I do the same.
It’s beautiful inside, but the Palmers always do it right for their funerals. There are huge flower arrangements anchoring either side of the stage. Two large pictures of Kenny set up on easels. Nice ones, ones that look like him—not those trashy ones on the news painting him as some kind of Bad News thug. One is the younger picture of him with the missing teeth I saw on the Boyces’ coffee table. The other a more rec
ent one of Kenny. He’s hugging his mom tightly, bending over to kiss her on the forehead while she beams at the camera. So proud to have a son who’s not embarrassed to still show her love like that.
But my heart really hits the floor when I spot the casket. A silver one, just underneath the pulpit. It’s closed, which makes sense based on how DeMarcus described Kenny’s remains. A velvet cover and another flower arrangement sit on top of it, right at the center. Kenny’s underneath all that pretty dressing. Sleeping but not, peaceful but not. Kenny won’t be able to rest in peace until his murder is solved. Hell, none of his family will be able to either.
I take in a shaky breath as MiMi and I slide into one of the pews. I finally spot Mr. and Mrs. Boyce at the front of the church, already seated in the first row. Mr. Boyce’s shoulders shake violently, the sobs leaving his body in angry bursts. Mrs. Boyce tries to be the strong one, rubbing his back and shushing him. I know that role must be tough for her to take on right now, but she plays it for her husband. For her son. This service is going to be too much to handle.
It starts off beautifully. One of Kenny’s female cousins goes on the stage to sing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” Her voice soars in all the right places, and breaks when everyone else is just about to, as well. But it’s the good kind of sorrow. The kind that makes mostly everyone in the congregation leap to their feet and raise their hands up toward the sky, as if they’re trying to send Kenny to the place we all hope he’s going. Reverend Palmer and I aren’t the best of friends, but the man also knows how to bring down the house. He shares some of the Boyces’ memories about Kenny before leading into a sermon about forgiveness. How we needed to forgive Kenny during his moments of weakness and forgive those that took advantage of his weakness. At that, MiMi climbs to her feet with others, shouts out an “Amen!” loud enough for Kenny to feel it.
Reverend Palmer wipes the sweat from his brow as he invites people who want to say a few kind words about Kenny to walk up to the pulpit. Some of the guys from the Youngs Mill basketball team walk up to the front, with DeMarcus and Rico leading the charge. Rico really cleaned up for today’s service. He still has beads in his hair, but the colors are more muted. Mainly clear and black, all out of respect for Kenny. DeMarcus unrolls Kenny’s team jersey and lays it across his casket. I ball my fists, try to stab what little fingernails I have into my palms—preferring to feel physical pain instead of grief.
“Kenny was our boy,” DeMarcus says, clearing his throat so that he can continue. “We all knew that he was the best on the team, but he’d never let anyone say it. ‘We’re a team,’ he’d always say. I remember the time when he could’ve broken a district record for the most three-pointers in one game. But instead, he used that opportunity for himself to pass the ball to me. I hadn’t gotten much floor time that season, so he wanted to—”
There’s a loud clank in the back of the church as the door swings open. Sunlight spills into the room and just as my eyes adjust, I see Javon strolling in—wearing a button-down with black jeans. My nostrils flare and I can feel the heat pouring out of them. The hell is he doing here? He’s like one of those creepy killers in the movies. The ones that like to return to the scene of the crime to gloat. The gasps spread through the congregation like wildfire once people realize who it is.
“Oh, hell naw!” Doug leaps to his feet, ready to take action, but other family members rush over to him. Speak in hushed tones as they sit him back down. Doug rocks angrily back and forth in his seat but doesn’t turn back around.
Javon seems unfazed by the whole exchange. He blinks a few times at Kenny’s pictures, then squeezes into an empty space in one of the back rows.
“Uh . . . yeah. Kenny will be sorely missed,” DeMarcus stammers. He and the rest of the team awkwardly return to their seats. Javon’s presence has thrown a wrench in everyone’s grief. And the clumsiness continues throughout the rest of the service. Others that come up to share their stories pause, sneak glances to the back of the church. Even though I don’t follow their eyes, I know who they’re scoping out: Javon. At the end of the service, the choir stands up to send us out with “Take Me to the King.” The vocals are just as rousing as Kenny’s cousin’s from earlier, but there’s a newfound heaviness in the air. When we rise to our feet now, it’s not to celebrate Kenny’s life—it’s to wait for our turn to head out to the cars. Follow the procession to his gravesite.
Kenny’s family trails down the aisle first. Mrs. Boyce and someone else have to hold Mr. Boyce up, his sorrow making it impossible to walk in a straight line. As Mrs. Boyce wipes away tears with her free hand, she gives a gentle nod to some of her loved ones as she passes their pews. I look down at my shoes. I’m not ready to exchange glances with her just yet. For some reason, even though I’m not the one that ditched Kenny in Deer Park, I can’t help but feel like I helped put him in there. If only I let his parents know the real deal, that Kenny took off and no one knew where to find him, maybe they’d have an opportunity to get him back home.
MiMi gives me a tiny nudge to let me know that it’s our pew’s turn to file out of the church. I help her out to the aisle and we wade our way to the door. Unfortunately, Mrs. Boyce and some older gentleman stand by the exit, hugging and shaking hands with other mourners. Mr. Boyce probably finds this moment too painful to participate. I can’t really blame him. I take a deep breath. What am I supposed to say to Mrs. Boyce? Do I just shake her hand, peck her on the cheek like nothing’s happened at all? Or do I apologize and risk explaining to her and MiMi why I’m apologizing? As we near the exit, my body jerks and I step out of the line. MiMi blinks at me.
“I have to tie my shoes,” I say to her. “I’ll catch up with you.” I pray that MiMi doesn’t look down at my tightly tied shoes. But she nods and makes her way over to Mrs. Boyce, ready to say and do all the right things. I sigh and lean forward to at least poke at my shoe, make it seem like I’m busy to anyone that caught wind of my explanation. Suddenly, I feel a pair of rough hands clamping down on my shoulders, dragging me backward. Before I can even cry out for help, I’m being hurled into the bathroom.
My side slams against the tiled wall. Just as I catch my breath, Javon steps forward with a frown tattooed across his whole face. Makes me grateful that we’re already in the bathroom. Still, my body acts on instinct. I ball up my fists, lift them close to my face. I’m not going to let him get a hold of that again. Javon smirks at me and slaps my hands down like he’s batting away a mosquito. Well, damn.
“You think I’m blind?” he snaps at me. “I saw you trailing me the other night.”
Well, goddamn. I clench my fists again and stand up straight, try to get as tall as him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just out riding my bike. It’s a free country, right?”
The air gets knocked out of me and I crumple at my waist. Grab onto my stomach that burns like it just ate a bullet. Only when I peek up at Javon through teary eyes do I see that his fists are also clenched. This mofo punched me in the stomach.
“Don’t get cute,” he warns. He pulls me up so that I’m eye-level with him. Gets so close to my face that I smell his aftershave. “And don’t pull that shit again. Back. Off.” He pokes me in the chest with enough fervor to send my back against the wall again. Then he’s out the door in a second like nothing happened.
I hobble over to the sink, catch my reflection in the mirror. My face all crooked in pain. Kind of like Javon’s when he ambushed me just now. There was some discomfort behind that rage. No wonder folks like Price Bullock always group us together. We both have a way of hiding our angst with anger. I splash some cold water on my face. Wash away the fear. Only it seems like I’m not the only one that’s afraid. Javon must know I’m close to something . . . but what? Sterling definitely knows.
And I think I know how I can get to her.
Twenty
“JAY! I’M SO GLAD YOU DECIDED TO JOIN US!” MRS. CHUNG greets me in front of her classroom. The final bell has just rung, but you
couldn’t tell from all her pep. As if seven and a half hours of dealing with teens wasn’t enough, she signed up to be an advisor for the lit magazine after school. I almost feel bad that I’m here under false pretenses. “Run of the Mill can certainly use some fresh ideas,” she continues, escorting me into her class as if I wasn’t in here all last year for tenth-grade English. She waves her hands toward the four students already camped out in desks. “Everyone, this is Jay Murphy. I’m sure most of you know each other.”
I nod to the group. “Yeah. What’s up,” I ask, but I laser in on just one of them. Sterling. She looks up at me from her phone, her eyes widening for a brief moment. Like it just hits her that I’m really here. It’s going to be tough to not have a conversation with me now, even though she’s been avoiding me like the plague all day.
“We were just talking about our upcoming winter issue,” Mrs. Chung explains. “It’ll be the first one this school year. We’re off to a late start, but quality is better than quantity, am I right? We were working in small teams. Brooks and Tasha were reviewing some of the early submissions. Evan was helping me take a look at some potential covers—”
“And what are you doing, Sterling?” I ask. Sterling and Mrs. Chung both glance at me. I give a shrug. “I know Mrs. Chung was thinking about us being co-editors. Figure we get on the same page, right?”
Sterling doesn’t respond. Just sets down her phone and returns to her open laptop on her desk. Brooks and Tasha look at each other and snicker. I’m coming across as one of these thirsty dudes trying to get at Sterling, but I don’t care how I look right now. Sterling and I are going to have a chat one way or another.
“I think that makes perfect sense,” Mrs. Chung answers for Sterling. “She was getting started with the letter from the editor. You both should take a crack at it.” She motions for me to join Sterling but I’m already two steps ahead of her. I push another desk right up against Sterling’s until they’re kissing, then plop down next to her.
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