The Hate U Give(77)

“Brickz can come out here, right?” I ask.

“Of course. We aren’t gonna leave him.”

Daddy brings burgers and fries, and we eat on the kitchen floor. It’s super quiet out here. Dogs bark sometimes, but wall-rattling music and gunshots? Not happening.

“So, we’re gonna close in the next few weeks or so,” Momma says, “but since it’s the end of the school year, we’ll wait until you guys are out for summer to move.”

“’Cause moving ain’t no joke,” Daddy adds.

“Hopefully, we can get settled in before you go off to college, Seven,” Momma says. “Plus it gives you a chance to make your room yours, so you can have it for holidays and the summer.”

Sekani slurps his milk shake and says with a mouth full of froth, “Seven said he’s not going to college.”

Daddy says, “What?”

Seven glares at Sekani. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to college. I said I wasn’t going away to college. I’m going to Central Community so I can be around for Kenya and Lyric.”

“Oh, hell no,” Daddy says.

“You can’t be serious,” says Momma.

Central Community is the junior college on the edge of Garden Heights. Some people call it Garden Heights High 2.0 ’cause so many people from Garden High go there and take the same drama and bullshit with them.

“They have engineering classes,” Seven argues.

“But they don’t have the same opportunities as those schools you applied to,” Momma says. “Do you realize what you’re passing up? Scholarships, internships—”

“The chance for me to finally have a Seven-free life,” I add, and slurp my milk shake.

“Who asked you?” Seven says.

“Yo’ momma.”

Low blow, I know, but that response comes naturally. Seven flicks a fry at me. I block it and come this close to flipping him off, but Momma says, “You bet’ not!” and I lower my finger.

“Look, you not responsible for your sisters,” Daddy says, “but I’m responsible for you. And I ain’t letting you pass up opportunities so you can do what two grown-ass people supposed to do.”

“A dollar, Daddy,” Sekani points out.

“I love that you look out for Kenya and Lyric,” Daddy tells Seven, “but there’s only so much you can do. You can choose whatever college you want, and you’ll be successful. But you choose because that’s where you wanna be. Not because you trying to do somebody else’s job. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” Seven says.

Daddy hooks his arm around Seven’s neck and pulls him closer. Daddy kisses his temple. “I love you. And I always got your back.”

After lunch we gather in the living room, join hands, and bow our heads.

“Black Jesus, thank you for this blessing,” Daddy says. “Even when we weren’t so crazy about the idea of moving—”

Momma clears her throat.

“Okay, when I wasn’t so crazy about the idea of moving,” Daddy corrects, “you worked things out. Thank you for Lisa’s new job. Please help her and continue to be with her when she does extra shifts at the clinic. Help Sekani with his end-of-the-year tests. And thank you, Lord, for helping Seven do something I didn’t, get a high school diploma. Guide him as he chooses a college and let him know you’re protecting Kenya and Lyric.

“Now, Lord, tomorrow is a big day for my baby girl as she goes before this grand jury. Please give her peace and courage. As much as I wanna ask you to work this case out a certain way, I know you already got a plan. I ask for some mercy, God. That’s all. Mercy for Garden Heights, for Khalil’s family, for Starr. Help all of us through this. In your precious name—”

“Wait,” Momma says.

I peek out with one eye. Daddy does too. Momma never, ever interrupts prayer.

“Uh, baby,” says Daddy, “I was finishing up.”

“I have something to add. Lord, bless my mom, and thank you that she went into her retirement fund and gave us the money for the down payment. Help us turn the basement into a suite so she can stay here sometimes.”

“No, Lord,” Daddy says.

“Yes, Lord,” says Momma.

“No, Lord.”

“Yes.”

“No, amen!”

We get home in time to catch a playoffs game.

Basketball season equals war in our house. I’m a LeBron fan through and through. Miami, Cleveland, it doesn’t matter. I ride with him. Daddy hasn’t jumped off the Lakers ship yet, but he likes LeBron. Seven’s all about the Spurs. Momma’s an “anybody but LeBron” hater, and Sekani is a “whoever is winning” fan.

It’s Cleveland versus Chicago tonight. The battle lines are drawn—me and Daddy versus Seven and Momma. Seven jumps on that “anybody but LeBron” bandwagon of hateration too.

I change into my LeBron jersey. Every time I don’t wear it, his team loses. Seriously, I’m not even lying. I can’t wash it either. Momma washed my last jersey right before Finals, and Miami lost to the Spurs. I think she did it on purpose.

I take my lucky spot in the den in front of the sectional. Seven comes in and steps over me, putting his big bare foot near my face. I smack it away. “Get your crusty foot outta my face.”