The Weight of Blood (12)

Papa split her hair into four sections. He placed the comb directly on the fire, the iron blackened from use. The clock ticked as it sizzled. Maddy watched the comb from the corner of her eye, keeping her head straight, her mouth dry.

Moments later, Papa grabbed the comb’s handle, and her stomach tensed.

“Hold still.”

Maddy bent her head forward and tightened her neck muscles. At the nape of her neck, Papa parted her hair, applying a dollop of grease, then gently glided the hot comb from her scalp to her ends. The grease sizzled like butter in a hot skillet. She swallowed hard, trying not to flinch. If she flinched, the comb would burn her, and she already had enough scars on her neck and ears as it was.

Papa worked his way through her hair, section by section. It had taken years and many burns to master his daughter’s unruly texture. But every Sunday night, they went through the same routine.

Maddy bit her lip, the heat dangerously close to her skin. Her thoughts drifted back to school. How the kids laughed and threw things. How the room shook beneath her, the way Kendrick looked at her.

“Papa, what do I tell them?”

Her darkest secret had been exposed. Rumors once lingered, the Black kids giving her the occasional inquisitive looks, but since she was twelve, no one questioned her about potentially being one of them. After all this time, how would they ever explain it?

But Papa said nothing. He parted another square of hair, slicked it down with grease, and picked the comb off the stove.

“Tell me about the Battle of Midway,” he said.

Maddy’s hair sizzled close to her ear. She closed her eyes.

“The Battle of Midway occurred in 1942,” she answered. “During the Second World War. The US defeated a Japanese attacking fleet.”

“Ah yes. Defeated, right?”

“Yes, Papa. Consequences after the attack on Pearl Harbor.”

Papa slid through another section, meticulous and precise.

“Who was our thirty-fourth president?”

“Dwight Eisenhower.”

Papa continued testing Maddy’s knowledge. Any mistake, and Papa would casually let a finger slip, burning her. She knew the drill well.

When Papa finished, he brushed down her hair, marveling at his artistry. He nodded in approval, then turned off the burner.

“Go to bed.”





Three


MADDY DID IT

EPISODE 2

“White Prom vs. Black Prom”

Tanya: Mike, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve been doing my own research.

Michael: Okay! Let’s hear it.

Tanya: It was bothering me, you know? All that talk about some mysterious sound that made kids dizzy. Their symptoms sounded familiar, so I did a little digging and found the perfect explanation. I’m going to play something for you, and I want to know what you hear. Ready? Listen.

Michael: Uh . . . don’t hear anything.

Tanya: Right. Because you are over the age limit that it would affect. I just played a high-pitched noise that neither you nor I would notice because we do not fall between the ages of thirteen and twenty-one.

Michael: I’m not following.

Tanya: It’s an acoustic deterrent device, a technology originally invented to keep animals away from a designated area—until they realized it worked on humans. And not just any humans, kids. It targets that specific age group whose hearing hasn’t deteriorated due to age. And guess who usually uses it?

Michael: I don’t know. Who?

Tanya: Military and/or law enforcement. It’s been reportedly used at protests to drive kids away. It’s also used at playgrounds to keep kids from fraternizing late at night. Some have reported that it sounds like a high-pitched dog whistle. Others say it’s like nails on a chalkboard. It’s a sonic weapon!

Michael: So you’re saying the high-pitched noise was made on purpose? Why? And why pick Springville, of all places?

Tanya: Naturally, due to the rising racial tensions in the surrounding areas, I believe law enforcement was trying to control kids before the town lost control. If there were protests around prom, they probably used it there too. And given the proximity to the power plant, it makes sense they’d want to secure it.

Michael [narration]: The Springville Power Plant is a nuclear power station that sits just west of the town’s center, on the bank of the Chattahoochee Reservoir. Built in 1954, it powered the majority of upper Georgia, providing hundreds of jobs. But two weeks after Prom Night, the plant abruptly shut down, and all employees were let go with three months’ severance. The official reason was cited as “increasingly frequent issues with the aging reactors and ongoing environmental concerns.”

However, after the commission report revealed what happened that night, the people of Springville believed the real reason had everything to do with Maddy.

May 2, 2014

The end-of-the-year cheer banquet always took place at the country club, the evening donated by sponsors and Springville Cheer alumni. Girls, parents, and eager prospects gathered to celebrate the past season and say farewell to the departing seniors.

In the bathroom, Jules sat on the sink counter, angling her phone to find the best light for a selfie.

“Brady said my boobs have gotten bigger,” she said, fluffing her hair, giving the camera a juicy pout. “And he sure would know.”

Next to her, Wendy leaned closer to the mirror, reapplied some pink lip gloss, her shimmering eyeshadow making her bright blue eyes sparkle.