The Hate U Give(79)

“Mothaf—” Gunshots cut Daddy off.

My heart stops. For a split second, I visit a world without my dad, and it doesn’t seem like much of a world at all.

But his footsteps rush back in. “Y’all a’ight?”

The weight on top of me lifts. Momma says she’s okay, and Sekani says he is too. Seven echoes them.

Daddy’s holding his Glock. “I shot at them fools,” he says between heavy breaths. “I think I hit a tire. Ain’t never seen that car before.”

“Did they shoot in the house?” Momma asks.

“Yeah, a couple shots through the front window,” he says. “They threw something too. Landed in the living room.”

I head for the front.

“Starr! Get back here!” Momma calls.

I’m too curious and too hardheaded. Glass shards glisten all over Momma’s good sofa. A brick sits in the middle of the floor.

Momma calls Uncle Carlos. He gets to our house in half an hour.

Daddy hasn’t stopped pacing the den, and he hasn’t put his Glock down. Seven takes Sekani to bed. Momma has her arm around me on the sectional and won’t let go.

Some of our neighbors checked in, like Mrs. Pearl and Ms. Jones. Mr. Charles from next door rushed over, holding his own piece. None of them saw who did it.

Doesn’t matter who did it. It was clearly a message for me.

I have this sick feeling like I got when I ate ice cream and played in hot weather too long when I was younger. Ms. Rosalie said the heat “boiled” my stomach and that something cool would settle it. Nothing cool can settle this.

“Did you call the police?” Uncle Carlos asks.

“Hell nah!” says Daddy. “How I know it wasn’t them?”

“Maverick, you still should’ve called,” Uncle Carlos says. “This needs to be recorded, and they can send someone to guard the house.”

“Oh, I got somebody to guard the house. Don’t worry about that. It definitely ain’t gon’ be no crooked pig who may have been behind this.”

“King Lords could’ve done this!” says Uncle Carlos. “Didn’t you say King made a veiled threat against Starr because of her interview?”

“I’m not going tomorrow,” I say, but I have a better chance of being heard at a Drake concert.

“It ain’t no damn coincidence that somebody’s trying to scare us the night before she testifies to the grand jury,” Daddy says. “That’s some shit your buddies would do.”

“You’d be surprised at how many of us want justice in this case,” says Uncle Carlos. “But of course, classic Maverick. Every cop is automatically a bad cop.”

“I’m not going tomorrow,” I repeat.

“I ain’t say every cop is a bad cop, but I ain’t gon’ stand here like a fool, thinking that some of them don’t do dirty shit. Hell, they made me lay face-down on the sidewalk. And for what? ’Cause they could!”

“It could’ve been either one of them,” Momma says. “Trying to figure out who did it will get us nowhere. The main thing is making sure Starr is safe tomorrow—”

“I said I’m not going!” I shout.

They finally hear me. My stomach holds a roiling boil. “Yeah, it could’ve been King Lords, but what if it was the cops?” I look at Daddy and remember that moment weeks ago in front of the store. “I thought they were gonna kill you,” I croak. “Because of me.”

He kneels in front of me and sits the Glock beside my feet. He lifts my chin. “Point one of the Ten-Point Program. Say it.”

My brothers and I learned to recite the Black Panthers’ Ten-Point Program the same way other kids learn the Pledge of Allegiance.

“‘We want freedom,’” I say. “‘We want the power to determine the destiny of our black and oppressed communities.’”

“Say it again.”

“‘We want freedom. We want the power to determine the destiny of our black and oppressed communities.’”

“Point seven.”

“‘We want an immediate end to police brutality,’” I say, “‘and the murder of black people, other people of color, and oppressed people.’”

“Again.”

“‘We want an immediate end to police brutality and the murder of black people, other people of color, and oppressed people.’”

“And what did Brother Malcolm say is our objective?”

Seven and I could recite Malcolm X quotes by the time we were thirteen. Sekani hasn’t gotten there yet.

“‘Complete freedom, justice, and equality,’” I say, “‘by any means necessary.’”

“Again.”

“‘Complete freedom, justice, and equality, by any means necessary.’”

“So why you gon’ be quiet?” Daddy asks.

Because the Ten-Point Program didn’t work for the Panthers. Huey Newton died a crackhead, and the government crushed the Panthers one by one. By any means necessary didn’t keep Brother Malcolm from dying, possibly at the hands of his own people. Intentions always look better on paper than in reality. The reality is, I may not make it to the courthouse in the morning.