The Weight of Blood (52)

Michael [narration]: Those dates happen to align with the day Maddy was born and “the birds incident.”

Dr. Englert: The commission refused to acknowledge these findings, as it went against the picture they were trying to paint. Look, I’m a man of science, and I’ve been in this industry for over thirty years. So, much like you, Tanya, I went in skeptical about talk of flying cars and glowing girls. But I say that all to say, I believe that if Maddy had lived and made it within a mile of that plant . . . there wouldn’t be a soul alive within fifty miles to tell the story.

May 27, 2014

Kenny came home covered in sweat with bone-deep exhaustion. His father had left drills for him to do at the gym with a personal trainer—in preparation for his first season at Alabama and the rest of his life. Wendy had sat in the corner of the weight room, cheering him on. Her clinginess felt suffocating at times, but he also felt like a total asshole for thinking that. Guys would kill to have a girlfriend like her.

So why couldn’t he stop thinking about Maddy?

Ever since their trip to Dairy Queen, he had been replaying their conversation on a loop. He liked knowing how sharp her tongue could be, the way she checked him about his cursing, and how she wasn’t giving him the answers that she thought he wanted to hear. On the surface, she seemed rather jittery, insecure, and criminally out of touch. But he also recognized something buried deep—a spark, a longing. She didn’t need saving or changing, she could handle the world on her own. He felt in on her little secret. And in a town like theirs, he usually didn’t have the luxury of secrets. Not with everyone watching his every move.

A career in football meant resigning himself to interacting with an endless number of yes-men, fake people, and leeches. But what he didn’t realize, until those milkshakes, was how much he craved connection with someone who he could be his entire self around without his guard up. Someone who knew nothing about him before they’d even met. Someone just like him, estranged from their own race, forced to pretend. Someone like Maddy.

Why hasn’t she called yet?

Every time his cell rang, he’d jump, answering unknown numbers, expecting to hear her voice on the other line. He checked his email multiple times and considered changing his class route to pass her locker. But that would have been too much.

Kenny walked into his room and spotted the copy of The Autobiography of Malcolm X peeking out from under his pillow. The sight of it made his nostrils flare.

He stomped across the hall and rapped on Kali’s door.

“Come in!”

Kali sat on her bed, homework textbooks spread out. Their rooms differed drastically: a colorful, art-filled sanctuary with soft music, incense, and candles vs. a plain beige shrine to football.

“Here,” Kenny said, throwing the book on the bed. “I see you folded the pages with Malcolm dating a white girl. Nice. Real subtle.”

She shrugged. “Just giving you historical examples of what to watch out for.”

“Wendy’s not like that. Aye, why you gotta be so mean to her? She takes care of me. Supports me! What she ever do to you?”

Kali palmed the book, staring up at him with amused curiosity.

“Do you love her more than football?”

His head drew back as if he had been kicked in the throat. Flustered, he hesitated before leaning against the door. His little sister always knew how to ask questions that made him reconsider all his life choices. Which was why he never lied to her.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he admitted. Not because he didn’t love Wendy, but football felt just as important, if not his whole world. If he was honest with himself, Kenny could also admit that deep below the surface, rotting beneath the floorboards, lay resentment over the responsibility of loving them both more than he loved himself.

But what scared him most? When he stopped to picture what his life would look like in a few years, he never saw Wendy in the frame.

Kali pursed her lips. “Whatever. Looks like you’ve moved on already anyway.”

“With who?” He paused. “Wait, are you talking about Maddy?”

Kali rolled her eyes and went back to her book, flipping to the next page without sparing him another glance.

“Ha!” Kenny huffed, turning to walk away, but reconsidered.

“Fine, I’ll bite,” he said, closing the door. “What’s wrong with Maddy?”

“Pshh. Everything.”

“Everything like what?”

“You know what,” she snapped.

Kenny rolled his eyes, annoyed with her game. “I’m a dumb jock. School me.”

Kali slapped her book closed. “So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that all this time she been pretending to be white because being Black is clearly a problem.”

“Come on, she ain’t like that.”

“Sure,” she laughed. “’Cause you know her sooo well.”

Kenny crossed his arms. “Kali, be honest: If you had known she was Black, would you have given her a second thought? Would you have accepted her, tried to be her friend, or even talked to her?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I would’ve accepted her if she acknowledged her light-skin privilege.”

“Privilege? They threw pencils in her hair! How’s that a win?”

“You don’t get it,” she snapped. “Maddy wasn’t born with the stacks up against her. She’ll get things that I’ll never get, let into rooms I couldn’t even dream of, all because of the way she looks. Already she’s deemed softer, more delicate and sensitive. Peep how you’re caping for her now! She acted like being Black was the worst thing that ever happened to her, and she don’t even realize how good she got it.”