The Hate U Give(83)

I nod, but Ms. Monroe says, “Please give a verbal response.”

I lean toward the mic and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Shit. I forgot the jurors can’t hear me on it and it’s only for recording. It doesn’t make any sense that I’m so nervous.

“How long did you know Khalil?”

The same story, all over again. I become a robot who repeats how I knew Khalil since I was three, how we grew up together, the kind of person he was.

When I finish, Ms. Monroe says, “Okay. We’re going to discuss the night of the shooting in detail. Are you okay with that?”

The un-brave part of me, which feels like most of me, shouts no. It wants to crawl up in a corner and act as if none of this ever happened. But all those people outside are praying for me. My parents are watching me. Khalil needs me.

I straighten up and allow the tiny brave part of me to speak. “Yes, ma’am.”





PART 3


EIGHT WEEKS AFTER IT





TWENTY


Three hours. That’s how long I was in the grand jury room. Ms. Monroe asked me all kinds of questions. What angle was Khalil at when he was shot? Where did he pull his license and registration from? How did Officer Cruise remove him from the car? Did Officer Cruise seem angry? What did he say?

She wanted every single detail. I gave her as much as I could.

It’s been over two weeks since I talked to the grand jury, and now we’re waiting for their decision, which is similar to waiting for a meteor to hit. You know it’s coming, you’re just not exactly sure when and where it’ll hit, and there ain’t shit you can do in the meantime but keep living.

So we’re living.

The sun is out today, but the rain fell in sheets as soon as we pulled into the parking lot of Williamson. When it rains like that while the sun’s out, Nana says the devil is beating his wife. Plus, it’s Friday the thirteenth, a.k.a. the devil’s day, according to Nana. She’s probably holed up in the house like it’s doomsday.

Seven and I dash from the car into the school. The atrium’s busy as usual with people talking to their little cliques or playing around. The school year’s almost over, so everybody’s goof-off levels are at their highest, and white-kid goofing off is a category of its own. I’m sorry, but it is. Yesterday a sophomore rode down the stairs in the janitor’s garbage can. His dumb ass got suspension and a concussion. Stupid.

I wiggle my toes. The one day I wear Chucks it decides to rain. They’re miraculously dry.

“You’re good?” Seven asks, and I doubt it’s about the rain. He’s been way more protective lately, ever since we got word that King’s still pissed I dry snitched. I heard Uncle Carlos tell Daddy it gave the cops another reason to watch King closely.

Unless King threw the brick, he hasn’t done anything. Yet. So Seven’s always on guard, even all the way out here at Williamson.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m good.”

“All right.”

He gives me dap and goes off to his locker.

I head for mine. Hailey and Maya are talking at Maya’s locker nearby. Actually, Maya’s doing most of the talking. Hailey’s got her arms folded and rolls her eyes a lot. She sees me down the hall and gets this smug expression.

“Perfect,” she says when I get closer. “The liar is here.”

“Excuse me?” It’s way too early for this bullshit.

“Why don’t you tell Maya how you flat-out lied to us?”

“What?”

Hailey hands me two pictures. One is Khalil’s thugshot, as Daddy calls it. One of the pictures they’ve shown on the news. Hailey printed it off the internet. Khalil wears a smirk, gripping a handful of money and throwing up a sideways peace sign.

The other picture, he’s twelve. I know because I’m twelve in it too. It’s my birthday party at this laser tag place downtown. Khalil’s on one side of me, shoveling strawberry cake into his mouth, and Hailey’s on my other side, grinning for the camera along with me.

“I thought he looked familiar,” Hailey says as smugly as she looks. “He is the Khalil you knew. Isn’t he?”

I stare at the two Khalils. The pictures only show so much. For some people, the thugshot makes him look just like that—a thug. But I see somebody who was happy to finally have some money in his hand, damn where it came from. And the birthday picture? I remember how Khalil ate so much cake and pizza he got sick. His grandma hadn’t gotten paid yet, and food was limited in their house.

I knew the whole Khalil. That’s who I’ve been speaking up for. I shouldn’t deny any part of him. Not even at Williamson.

I hand the pictures back to Hailey. “Yeah, I knew him. So what?”

“Don’t you think you owe us an explanation?” she says. “You owe me an apology too.”

“Um, what?”

“You’ve basically picked fights with me because you were upset about what happened to him,” she says. “You even accused me of being racist.”

“But you have said and done some racist stuff. So . . .” Maya shrugs. “Whether Starr lied or not doesn’t make it okay.”

Minority alliance activated.

“So, since I unfollowed her Tumblr because I didn’t wanna see any more pictures of that mutilated kid on my dashboard—”