“Mrs. Pratt?”
Mrs. Pratt looks up from scolding a girl about wearing a camisole as a shirt. “How’s it going, Jay?”
“You said you had intel about SAT registration, right?” I ask.
Mrs. Pratt’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “You have a minute to come to my office now?”
I shrug. “I have more than a minute.” I follow Mrs. Pratt into her office, this time remembering every step.
MiMi sets a platter of freshly baked cornbread that’s been cut up into equal squares right in front of Bowie. Bowie’s eyes look like they’re about to roll right onto the kitchen table.
“Is all this for me?” he asks.
Nic and I crack up laughing. MiMi smiles as she takes a seat across from him.
“What?” Bowie blinks. “I’m not scared. I’ll knock this whole plate back in five minutes flat.”
“You take one and pass it, fool,” I say to him. “Just like you do with everything else.”
“You sure? I just figured you were bribing me with all this fickin’ food to make up for lost time.” He raises an eyebrow at me and gives me a smile. I give him a lazy roll of the eyes, then smile back.
When I texted MiMi from school about Bowie coming over for dinner tonight, she warned me that she might have to scrape something together. Of course, she still managed to go all out. Fried catfish, dirty rice, cabbage stir-fried with real bacon and not that rubbery turkey stuff she’s been buying lately. She even baked a yellow cake with chocolate frosting for later.
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.