The Hate U Give(104)

“Hey,” Momma beckons me to look at her. “The decision may not have been right, but it’s not your fault. Remember what I said? Sometimes things will go wrong—”

“But the key is to keep doing right.” My eyes drift to my Timbs again. “Khalil still deserved better than that.”

“Yeah.” Her voice thickens. “He did.”

Daddy looks past me at my boyfriend. “So . . . Plain-Ass Chris.”

Seven snorts. DeVante snickers. Momma goes, “Maverick!” as I say, “Daddy!”

“At least it’s not white boy,” Chris says.

“Exactly,” Daddy says. “It’s a step up. You gotta earn my tolerance in increments if you gon’ date my daughter.”

“Lord.” Momma rolls her eyes. “Chris, baby, you’ve been out here all night?”

The way she says it, I can’t help but laugh. She’s basically asking him, “You do realize you’re in the hood, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chris says. “All night.”

Daddy grunts. “Maybe you do got some balls then.”

My mouth drops, and Momma says, “Maverick Carter!” Seven and DeVante crack up.

But Chris? Chris says, “Yes, sir, I’d like to think I do.”

“Daaaaamn,” says Seven. He reaches to give Chris dap, but Daddy cuts him a hard eye and he pulls his hand back.

“A’ight, Plain-Ass Chris,” Daddy says. “Boxing gym, next Saturday, you and me.”

Chris lifts his oxygen mask so fast. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

“Calm down, I’m not gon’ fight you,” Daddy says. “We gon’ train. Get to know each other. You been seeing my daughter for a minute now. I gotta know you, and you can learn a lot about a man at a boxing gym.”

“Oh . . .” Chris’s shoulders relax. “Okay.” He puts the oxygen mask back on.

Daddy grins. It’s a little too mischievous for my liking. He’s gonna kill my poor boyfriend.

The cops load King and his boys into patrol cars, and the crowd claps and cheers. Finally, something to celebrate tonight.

Uncle Carlos strolls over. He’s got on a wifebeater and shorts, which is so not Uncle Carlos, yet something about him still looks detectivey. He’s been in cop mode since his colleagues arrived.

Uncle Carlos gives this old-man grunt as he lowers himself onto the sidewalk next to DeVante. He grabs the back of DeVante’s neck the same way Daddy grabs Seven’s. Man hugs, I call them.

“I’m glad you’re safe, kid,” he says. “Even if you do look like a truck ran over you twice.”

“You not mad I left without telling y’all?”

“Of course I’m mad. I’m actually pissed. But I’m happier that you’re safe. Now, my mom and Pam, that’s a whole different story. I can’t save you from their wrath.”

“Are you putting me out?”

“No. You’re grounded, probably for the rest of your life, but that’s only because we love you.”

DeVante cracks a smile.

Uncle Carlos pats his knees. “Sooo . . . thanks to all these witnesses, we should get King for arson.”

“Oh, for real?” Daddy says.

“Yep. It’s a start, but not really enough. He’ll be out by the end of the week.”

And back to the same ol’ shit. With targets this time.

“If y’all knew where King’s stash was,” DeVante says, “would that help?”

Uncle Carlos says, “Probably, yeah.”

“If somebody agreed to rat on him, would that help?”

Uncle Carlos turns completely toward him. “Are you saying you want to turn witness?”

“I mean . . .” DeVante pauses. “Will it help Kenya, her momma, and her sister?”

“If King went to jail?” says Seven. “Yeah. A lot.”

“It’ll help the whole neighborhood, honestly,” Daddy says.

“And I’ll be protected?” DeVante asks Uncle Carlos.

“Absolutely. I promise.”

“And Uncle Carlos always keeps his promises,” I say.

DeVante nods for a moment. “Then I guess I will turn witness.”

Ho-ly shit again. “You’re sure about that?” I ask.

“Yeah. After seeing you face those cops the way you did, I don’t know, man. That did something to me,” he says. “And that lady said our voices are weapons. I should use mine, right?”

“So you’re willing to become a snitch,” Chris says.

“On King,” Seven adds.

DeVante shrugs. “I already need the stitches. Might as well snitch.”





TWENTY-SIX


It’s around eleven the next morning, and I’m still in bed. After the longest night ever I had to seriously get reacquainted with my pillow.

My mom flicks on the lights in my new room—good Lord, it’s too many lights in here. “Starr, your partner in crime is on the phone,” she says.

“Who?” I mumble.

“Your protest partner in crime. Momma told me she saw her hand you that bullhorn on TV. Putting you in danger like that.”