The Hate U Give(46)

He goes, “Ow,” and gives his hand a quick shake. “What’s wrong with you?”

I don’t respond. If I open my mouth, I’ll explode.

He crouches beside my desk and shakes my thigh. “Starr? You okay?”

Our teacher, balding, stumpy Mr. Warren, clears his throat. “Mr. Bryant, my class is not the Love Connection. Please have a seat.”

Chris slides into the desk next to mine. “What’s wrong with her?” he whispers to Hailey.

She plays dumb and says, “Dunno.”

Mr. Warren tells us to take out our MacBooks and begins the lesson on British literature. Not even five minutes in, someone says, “Justice for Khalil.”

“Justice for Khalil,” the others chant. “Justice for Khalil.”

Mr. Warren tells them to stop, but they get louder and pound their fists on the desks.

I wanna puke and scream and cry.

My classmates stampede toward the door. Maya’s the last one out. She glances back at me then at Hailey who motions her to come on. Maya follows her out.

I think I’m done following Hailey.

In the hall, chants for Khalil go off like sirens. Unlike Hailey, some of them may not care that he was a drug dealer. They might be almost as upset as I am. But since I know why Remy started this protest, I stay in my seat.

Chris does too for some reason. His desk scrapes the floor as it scoots closer to mine until they touch. He brushes my tears with his thumb.

“You knew him, didn’t you?” he says.

I nod.

“Oh,” says Mr. Warren. “I am so sorry, Starr. You don’t have to—you can call your parents, you know?”

I wipe my face. The last thing I want is Momma making a fuss because I can’t handle all this. Worse, I don’t wanna be unable to handle it. “Can you continue with the lesson, sir?” I ask. “The distraction would be nice.”

He smiles sadly and does as I ask.

For the rest of the day, sometimes Chris and I are the only ones in our classes. Sometimes one or two other people join us. People go out of their way to tell me they think Khalil’s death is bullshit, but that Remy’s reason for protesting is bullshit too. I mean, this sophomore girl comes up to me in the hall and explains that she supports the cause but decided to go back to class after she heard why they were really protesting.

They act like I’m the official representative of the black race and they owe me an explanation. I think I understand though. If I sit out a protest, I’m making a statement, but if they sit out a protest, they look racist.

At lunch, Chris and I head to our table near the vending machines. Jess with her perfect pixie cut is the only one there, eating cheese fries and reading her phone.

“Hey?” I ask more than say. I’m surprised she’s here.

“S’up?” She nods. “Have a seat. As you can see, there’s plenty of room.”

I sit beside her, and Chris sits on the other side of me. Jess and I have played basketball together for three years, and she’s put her head on my shoulder for two of them, but I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know much about her. I do know she’s a senior, her parents are attorneys, and she works at a bookstore. I didn’t know that she’d skip the protest.

I guess I’m staring at her hard, because she says, “I don’t use dead people to get out of class.”

If I wasn’t straight I would totally date her for saying that. This time I rest my head on her shoulder.

She pats my hair and says, “White people do stupid shit sometimes.”

Jess is white.

Seven and Layla join us with their trays. Seven holds his fist out to me. I bump it.

“Sev-en,” Jess says, and they fist-bump too. I had no idea they were cool like that. “I take it we’re protesting the ‘Get Out of Class’ protest?”

“Yep,” Seven says. “Protesting the ‘Get Out of Class’ protest.”

Seven and I get Sekani after school, and he won’t shut up about the news cameras he saw from his classroom window, because he’s Sekani and he came into this world looking for a camera. I have too many selfies of him on my phone giving the “light skin face,” his eyes squinted and eyebrows raised.

“Are y’all gonna be on the news?” he asks.

“Nah,” says Seven. “Don’t need to be.”

We could go home, lock the door, and fight over the TV like we always do, or we could help Daddy at the store. We go to the store.

Daddy stands in the doorway, watching a reporter and camera operator set up in front of Mr. Lewis’s shop. Of course, when Sekani sees the camera, he says, “Ooh, I wanna be on TV!”

“Shut up,” I say. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You don’t know what I want!”

The car stops, and Sekani pushes my seat forward, sending my chin into the dashboard as he jumps out. “Daddy, I wanna be on TV!”

I rub my chin. His hyper butt is gonna kill me one day.

Daddy holds Sekani by the shoulders. “Calm down, man. You not gon’ be on TV.”

“What’s going on?” Seven asks when we get out.

“Some cops got jumped around the corner,” Daddy says, one arm around Sekani’s chest to keep him still.

“Jumped?” I say.