The Hate U Give(80)

Two loud knocks at the front door startle us.

Daddy straightens up, grabs his Glock, and leaves to answer. He says what’s up to somebody, and there’s a sound like palms slapping. Then a male voice says, “You know we got you, Big Mav.”

Daddy returns with some tall, wide-shouldered guys dressed in gray and black. It’s a lighter gray than what King and his folks wear. It takes a hood-trained eye to notice it and understand. This is a different set of King Lords.

“This is Goon.” Daddy points to the shortest one, in front with the ponytails. “Him and his boys gon’ provide security for us tonight and tomorrow.”

Uncle Carlos folds his arms and gives the King Lords a hard look. “You asked King Lords to guard the house when King Lords may have put us in this position?”

“They don’t mess with King,” Daddy says. “They Cedar Grove King Lords.”

Shit, they may as well be GDs then. Sets make all the difference in gangbanging, not colors. The Cedar Grove King Lords have been beefing with King’s set, the West Side King Lords, for a while now.

“You need us to fall back, Big Mav?” Goon asks.

“Nah, don’t worry about him,” Daddy says. “Y’all do what y’all came to do.”

“Nothing but a thang,” Goon says, and gives Daddy dap. Him and his boys head back outside.

“Are you serious right now?” Uncle Carlos yells. “You really think gangbangers can provide adequate security?”

“They strapped, ain’t they?” Daddy says.

“Ridiculous!” Uncle Carlos looks at Momma. “Look, I’ll go with you to the courthouse tomorrow as long as they aren’t coming too.”

“Punk ass,” Daddy says. “Can’t even protect your niece ’cause you scared of what it’ll look like to your fellow cops if you’re working with gangbangers.”

“Oh, you wanna go there, Maverick?” Uncle Carlos says.

“Carlos, calm down.”

“No, Lisa. I wanna make sure I got this right. Does he mean the same niece I took care of while he was locked up? Huh? The one I took to her first day of school because he took a charge for his so-called boy? The one I held when she cried for her daddy?”

He’s loud, and Momma stands in front of him to keep him from Daddy.

“You can call me as many names as you want, Maverick, but don’t you ever say I don’t care about my niece and nephews! Yeah, that’s right, nephews! Seven too. When you were locked up—”

“Carlos,” Momma says.

“No, he needs to hear this. When you were locked up, I helped Lisa every time your sorry-ass baby momma dropped Seven off on her for weeks at a time. Me! I bought clothes, food, provided shelter. My Uncle Tom ass! Hell no, I don’t wanna work with criminals, but don’t you ever insinuate I don’t care about any of those kids!”

Daddy’s mouth makes a line. He’s silent.

Uncle Carlos snatches his keys off the coffee table, gives my forehead two pecks, and leaves. The front door slams shut.





NINETEEN


The smell of hickory bacon and the sound of way too many voices wake me up.

I blink to soothe my eyes from the assault my neon-blue walls are giving them. It takes me a few minutes lying here to remember it’s grand jury day.

Time to see if I’ll fail Khalil or not.

I put my feet in my slippers and head toward the unfamiliar voices. Seven and Sekani are at school by now, plus their voices aren’t that deep. I should be worried about some unknown dudes seeing me in my pajamas, but that’s the beauty of sleeping in tanks and basketball shorts. They won’t see much.

The kitchen’s standing-room-only. Guys in black slacks, white shirts, and ties are at the table or standing against the wall, shoveling food in their mouths. They have tattoos on their faces and hands. A couple of them give me quick nods and mumble “S’up” through mouths full of food.

The Cedar Grove King Lords. Damn, they clean up nicely.

Momma and Aunt Pam work the stove as skillets full of bacon and eggs sizzle, blue flames dancing beneath them. Nana pours juice and coffee and runs her mouth.

Momma barely looks over her shoulder and says, “Morning, Munch. Your plate’s in the microwave. Come get these biscuits out for me, please.”

She and Aunt Pam move to the ends of the stove, stirring the eggs and turning the bacon. I grab a towel and open the oven. The aroma of buttery biscuits and a heat wave hit me head-on. I pick the pan up with the towel, and that thing is still too hot to hold for long.

“Over here, li’l momma,” Goon says at the table.

I’m glad to put it down. Not even two minutes after I set it on the table, every last biscuit is gone. Goddamn. I grab my paper towel–covered plate from the microwave before the King Lords inhale it too.

“Starr, get those other plates for your dad and your uncle,” Aunt Pam says. “Take them outside, please.”

Uncle Carlos is here? I tell Aunt Pam, “Yes, ma’am,” stack their plates on top of mine, grab the hot sauce and some forks, and leave as Nana starts one of her “back in my theater days” stories.

Outside, the sunlight’s so bright it makes the paint on my walls seem dim. I squint and look around for Daddy or Uncle Carlos. The hatch on Daddy’s Tahoe is up, and they’re sitting on the back of it.