The Hate U Give(69)

“More than what I make at the clinic. Six figures.”

“Six?” Seven and I say.

“Momma’s gonna be a millionaire!” Sekani shouts.

I swear he doesn’t know anything. “Six figures is the hundred thousands, Sekani,” I say.

“Oh. It’s still a lot.”

“What time is your interview?” Daddy asks.

“Eleven.”

“Okay, good.” He turns around and wipes a plate. “We can look at some houses before you go to it.”

Momma’s hand goes across her chest, and she steps back. “What?”

He looks at me, then at her. “I’m getting us outta Garden Heights, baby. You got my word.”

The idea is as crazy as a four-point shot. Living somewhere other than Garden Heights? Yeah, right. I’d never believe it if it wasn’t Daddy saying it. Daddy never says something unless he means it. King’s threat must’ve really got to him.

He scrubs the skillet that Momma stabbed this morning.

She takes it from him, sets it down, and grabs his hand. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I told you it’s cool. I can get the dishes.”

“Forget the dishes.”

And she pulls him to their bedroom and closes the door.

Suddenly, their TV blares real loud, and Jodeci sings over it from the stereo. If that woman ends up with a fetus in her uterus, I will be completely done. Done.

“Ill, man,” Seven says, knowing the deal too. “They’re too old for that.”

“Too old for what?” Sekani asks.

“Nothing,” Seven and I say together.

“You think Daddy meant that though?” I ask Seven. “We’re moving?”

He twists one of his dreads at the root. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. “Sounds like y’all are. Especially if Ma gets this job.”

“Y’all?” I say. “You’re not staying in Garden Heights.”

“I mean, I’ll visit, but I can’t leave my momma and my sisters, Starr. You know that.”

“Your momma put you out,” Sekani says “Where else you gonna go, stupid?”

“Who you calling stupid?” Seven sticks his hand under his armpit, then rubs it in Sekani’s face. The one time he did it to me I was nine. He got a busted lip, and I got a whooping.

“You’re not gonna be at your momma’s house anyway,” I say. “You’re going away to college, hallelujah, thank Black Jesus.”

Seven raises his brows. “You want an armpit hand too? And I’m going to Central Community so I can stay at my momma’s house and watch out for my sisters.”

That stings. A little. I’m his sister too, not just them. “House,” I repeat. “You never call it home.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Shut the hell up.” I end that argument.

“Ooh!” Sekani holds his hand out. “Gimme my dollar!”

“Hell no,” I say. “That shit doesn’t work with me.”

“Three dollars!”

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you a three-dollar bill.”

“I’ve never seen a three-dollar bill,” he says.

“Exactly. And you’ll never see my three dollars.”





PART 2


FIVE WEEKS AFTER IT





SIXTEEN


Ms. Ofrah arranged for me to do an interview with one of the national news programs today—exactly a week before I testify before the grand jury next Monday.

It’s around six o’clock when the limo that the news program sent arrives. My family’s coming with me. I doubt my brothers will be interviewed, but Seven wants to support me. Sekani claims he does too, but really he’s hoping he’ll get “discovered” somehow with all those cameras around.

My parents told him about everything. As much as he gets on my nerves, it was sweet when he gave me a handmade card that said “Sorry.” Until I opened it. There was drawing of me crying over Khalil, and I had devil horns. Sekani said he wanted it to be “real.” Little asshole.

We all head out to the limo. Some neighbors watch curiously from their porches and yards. Momma made all of us, including Daddy, dress up like we’re going to Christ Temple—not quite Easter formal but not “diverse church” casual. She says we’re not gonna have the news people thinking we’re “hood rats.”

So as we’re walking to the car, she’s all, “When we get there, don’t touch anything and only speak when somebody speaks to you. It’s ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘yes, sir,’ or ‘no, ma’am’ and ‘no, sir.’ Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the three of us say.

“All right now, Starr,” one of our neighbors calls out. I get that just about every day in the neighborhood now. Word’s spreading around the Garden that I’m the witness. “All right now” is more than a greeting. It’s a simple way people let me know they got my back.

The best part though? It’s never “All right now, Big Mav’s daughter who works in the store.” It’s always Starr.