When You Look Like Us
Page 25
I was surprised Bowie even said yes to the invite, what with me being a certified ass to him for the past few weeks. But he did. Didn’t ask why there was a need for security. Didn’t comment on the stray cats that roamed the parking lots. Didn’t even flinch when he walked through our cramped living room. All he did was hold up two bottles of soda and ask: “You have ice for this?”
“Bowie, baby, we take hats off at the table,” MiMi says.
I shake my head at her. “Don’t even bother, MiMi.”
Bowie scoffs. “What? You think I’m some kind of caveman? I have manners.” He peels his Steelers cap off his head and fluffs out his hair. The purple dye has faded some. Just hanging on at the tips.
“You look like the Joker,” Nic says to him.
“The Joker’s hair is green,” I say to her. “Besides, leave my boy alone. You’re one to talk, walking around here like you just got electrocuted.”
Nic gasps as she fingers one of her crinkly strands. She had taken her braids out a few days ago. Another step toward her moving forward. “It’s called going natural, punk,” she says. “Just like you naturally have a big head. You wish your hair could grow out to cover up that real estate you got.”
MiMi chuckles and turns to Bowie. “Looks like you’re the only one with table manners.”
Bowie smiles and leans back in his chair, like he’s taking in the whole scene. “No, this is great. We don’t do this at my house.”
“Do what, baby?”
“This.” He waves a finger around the whole table. “None of this. We bring our plates to our respective rooms to eat dinner. I’d much prefer to get ragged on about my hair than watch another episode of Jersey Shore by myself.”
MiMi smiles at him as we all join hands to say grace before dinner. As everyone bows their heads, I can’t help but peek up. I want this image seared into my brain. My grandma and sister back together. My friend at my side, smiling like he’s always been part of the family. We may not have a lot, but I’ll take what we have over what we didn’t for the past couple of weeks. I close my eyes again and exhale.
Epilogue
I STARE OUT THE CAR WINDOW AS THE INTERSTATE DRIFTS into rows upon rows of trees. We’ve definitely left the city. Cows graze the sides of the road, and every now and then we pass fields of cotton. It’s like I’m taking in the scenery for the first time. And it is my first time. At least my first time in a while. I had just entered middle school the last time MiMi took me on this route. Not that she hasn’t asked if I wanted to come back. It’s just that the rides back home were always a sick reminder that someone was missing. That we were leaving someone behind.
My phone buzzes.
Riley: You get there yet?
Me: Not yet . . . almost . . .
Riley: Come see me when you get home. We’ll talk as much or as little as you want.
I send three heart emojis to Riley. Again, because I’m that guy now. Then I rest the back of my head against my seat. Nic peers at me through the sideview mirror of the passenger seat.
“You good?” she asks.
I give her a thumbs-up sign, even though my hand feels weak. She smiles at me through the mirror. She’s tough. Way tougher than me. I lost count of how many times she had to tell what happened to her. What happened to Kenny. Any time a detective or one of those frat mofos’ lawyers tried to find holes in her story, Nic would patch them right up. She remembered every moment, every detail, without so much as a sneeze out of place that there was no plea deal that the frat guys could offer to the prosecution.
“Looks like there’s going to be a trial,” Officer Hunter had told us yesterday. He’s been making daily treks to our apartment. Claimed the Ducts was just added to his patrol, but we all knew there was more to it than that. Hunter needed to see we were all okay. “The State really wants to throw the book at them. Nic’s story stayed the same no matter what anyone threw at her. Plus, there’s enough physical evidence to corroborate her comments. You did good, kid.” Hunter glanced over at Nic like he wanted to pat her on the back, but that’s not his style. Instead, he went with a wink.
“Will she have to testify on the stand?” MiMi asked as she handed Hunter a jar of sweet tea. She always had a batch waiting for him for his daily visits. “They have enough of her comments on record. The judge could just use those, right?”
“It all depends on what the State thinks will best win the case,” Hunter explained. “Usually, actually hearing from a firsthand witness is just the icing the jury needs to do the right thing.” He raised an eyebrow at Nic. “Think you can handle telling your story again? More than likely, they’ll want you to share . . . everything.”
The way Hunter said everything sent my nerves on edge. Like at any moment one of them might blow. “Wait . . . what do you mean?” I asked.
Nic looked at MiMi. MiMi looked at Hunter. But nobody wanted to look at me.
“Hello?” I tried again.
Nic finally took a breath. “One night, Liam got too grabby.”
My hand clutched around my jar of sweet tea. Clutched around Liam’s neck. I waited for the jar to crack under the pressure and spill a river of Lipton.
“It didn’t go as far as it could have,” Nic quickly added, then looked down at her lap. “Tyler was home, at least. But it was bad enough.”
I propelled from my seat, stormed to my bedroom and punched a hole in my wall. Nic grabbed some ice, held it against my knuckles while she sat on my bed next to me. “This will only be my fuel, not my combustion,” she said. She told me her postsecondary plans. Do two years at community college. Transfer to Hampton University and go prelaw. She wanted to fight against the system that for so long fought against people who look like her. Yeah . . . my sister’s tough as titanium. And I’d have to steel myself to help her through these next few months.
“What are you going to say?” Nic asks me from the front of MiMi’s car.
I shrug at her through her sideview mirror and Nic smirks at me.
“Come on, like you really didn’t practice what you were going to say in the mirror?”
“Ugh, naw. What kind of clown do you think I am?” I ask. Truth is, though, I practiced with Riley. Everything down to the length of the first hug. If they were even going to allow us to hug.
“How about you just play it by ear?” Riley asked me, my arms still wrapped around her lower back. “If the hug feels right, keep going. If not, pull away and try to smile.”
“What if I can’t smile?” I rested my chin on top of Riley’s head. Her ponytail tickled the tip of my nose. “What if my cheeks freeze up on me and she can tell?”
“I think she’ll just be happy to see you.” Riley rubbed my back, reassured me. “You guys have a lot to catch up on. You’re editor of the lit mag, you did well on your SATs. You have an amazing girlfriend who roleplays with you for hours and hours on end.” She pulled away from me and smiled.
“Speaking of which . . .” I laced my fingers through hers. “Let’s practice that hug again.” We held each other until it was time for Riley to get home. I made sure she got there five minutes before her curfew. I definitely did not want to get on the Reverend’s bad side. He was this close to inviting me to their home for Christmas Eve dinner. Maybe I’d get MiMi to show me how to make her banana pudding for bonus points.
“Well . . . we’re here.” MiMi parks her car in the parking lot of Spotsylvania State Prison. My mom’s home for the past few years. Her home for the next few years to come.
I reach to unbuckle my seat belt but my hands won’t stop shaking. What did she even look like now? Would I see that the prison has eaten away at her? Would her eyes look different—hardened from years of being cooped in a six-by-eight-foot cell? What if she forgot what it felt like to even be a mom? That’s probably my biggest fear. Going in to see her, and she stares back at me like I’m a stranger.
I feel Nic’s hand cover my trembling one.
“Hey.” She leans back to me. “Me and you again
st the world, right?”
I squeeze her hand back and nod along to my heartbeat:
Thump, thump, thump.
Acknowledgments
Wow, I’ve always wanted to get a chance to write my own acknowledgments page as a published author. I hope I get this right!
First, I have to thank Sarah LaPolla—who always managed to believe in me and keep me motivated during this roller-coaster ride called publishing. Thanks for seeing my potential in the slush pile—I wouldn’t be here without you.
To the incredible Natalie Lakosil—thanks for taking me on as a client and helping me navigate the world as a debut author. You’ve asked questions about my writing that truly helps me get to the soul of my story.
To the amazing team at Alloy: Viana Siniscalchi, Josh Bank, and Sara Shandler, thanks for making this girl’s dreams come true. You have given me a voice throughout this process and allowed me to put so much of, well, me into this story. I’ll never forget my trip to New York to start this journey with you—and I still covet that whiteboard wall.
To Andrew Eliopulos, my wonderful editor, it’s taken us a few years but I’m so grateful that I finally get to work with you. You knew exactly the type of story I wanted to tell and stretched me so much as a writer that I’m still recovering. But seriously, it has been an honor receiving your insight for this novel.
To all those lovely hands that contributed to the final creation and promotion of this book: Rosemary Brosnan, Bria Ragin, David DeWitt, Shona McCarthy, Lana Barnes, Valerie Wong, and Aubrey Churchward—thank you times infinity. This book wouldn’t be what it is without your talents. If I left anyone out, please blame it on my head and not my heart.
To my wonderful cover artist, Shane Ramos, thanks for translating my ideas into a powerful image. You brought Jay and Nic alive for me.
Now, on a personal note, thank you to my parents—Tammy and Shelton. I was a strange kid (probably still am), but that never bothered you. Thanks for reading to me, buying me Lisa Frank notebooks, and pocket thesauruses to expand my vocabulary. I won the lottery with parents like you.
To my son, Easton—I started this book with you in my belly and am now ending it with your little sister in my belly! Thanks for being so patient with Mama when she had to sneak away to finish up revisions. Everything I do is for you.
To my cousin/sister/roommate/best friend and godmother to my children, Marquita Hockaday—you are a superhero. Thanks for picking up the slack when I’ve been too busy, too sick, or too much in general. I honestly wouldn’t know how to change a light bulb if it wasn’t for you. Thanks for always having my back. I can’t wait for the rest of the world to read your beautiful words.
To my cousin, Patricia Hockaday—you were my first role model. I’ll always remember those nights when you, Quita, and I would stay up late writing stories in our notebooks and reading them aloud to each other. You helped to ignite my love for reading and writing.
To my aunt, Pamela Hockaday, AKA PaPam, you’ve always been one of my biggest cheerleaders. You’re the best second mom a girl could ask for.
To my grandmother, Margaret “Peggy” Hunt (formerly Murphy). You were a huge inspiration behind MiMi. Thanks for watching over me. Rest in Power.
To my sister from another mister, Racquel Henry. I admire your creativity, your diligence, and your resilience. Thanks for being an incredible writing partner—and an even better friend.
Finally, to all the kids from Bad News. I got you. I see you. I am you.
About the Author
PHOTO BY HELEN ODERISI
PAMELA N. HARRIS was born and somewhat raised in Newport News, Virginia—also affectionately known as “Bad News.” A former school counselor by day, she received her BA in English and her master’s in school counseling at Old Dominion University, her MFA in creative writing at Fairleigh Dickinson University, and a PhD in counselor education and supervision at William & Mary. When she isn’t writing, Pam is rewatching Leonardo DiCaprio movies, chasing after her toddler son, and pretending to enjoy exercising. When You Look Like Us is her debut novel. She lives in Williamsburg, Virginia.
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Copyright
Quill Tree Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
WHEN YOU LOOK LIKE US. Copyright © 2021 by Alloy Entertainment, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2021 by Shane Ramos
Cover design by David DeWitt
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020946925
Digital Edition JANUARY 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-294591-4
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-294589-1
* * *
2122232425PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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