This Is My America(42)

“Nah.” Quincy puts a finger up. “I have no claim to what Tracy be doing.”

“I gotta go to class,” I say. “You ready, Dean?”

Dean and I head to math class.

“What was that all about?” Dean asks. “You trying to get back on the track team?”

“Looking for answers for Jamal. They don’t seem to know anything. You hear anything at practice?”

“No one’s talking about it. They know better. Cuddy makes sure of that.” Cuddy is about the size of M’Baku from Black Panther. No one people easily mess with.

We stand in front of math class, not going in quite yet, even though the bell’s about to ring any second.

“What about Scott? You know why he was kicked off the team?” Scott off the team took me by surprise. Now Scott and Chris are hard to get ahold of.

“Not really. He was always complaining.”

“What about Chris, have you seen him?” Scott and Chris are best friends, and Chris arguing with Angela might have more to do with her murder.



“Chris? He’s the last person you should talk to.”

“You can help me, or I’ll do it without you.”

The bell rings and we rush to our seats. Dean shakes his head, but he doesn’t say no.



* * *





After class, I head to the newsroom to take another look for any clues about what Angela was working on. When I turn the knob, it’s locked. I’m taken aback. Mr. Kaine has an open-door policy. We’re all on our own schedules trying to meet deadlines.

My backpack buzzes. A text from Jamal. Finally, he’s responding to my question about the memory card.

Can you get access to HM production room?

My thumbs hover over the phone keyboard. I’m not sure how I’ll do it, but I’ll find a way.

Yes! Is that where the SD card is?

Hidden compartment. Near controller desk.

K. What’s on it?

IDK. If you can safely get to it, it could have answers.



I go back and forth with Jamal until he stops answering. Satisfied I’ve got a new lead, I peek inside the classroom’s window and see Natalie at the editor desk. She looks up when I tap the window. She doesn’t move. I tap again, and she swoops her blond-streaked hair from one side to the other before finally making it to the door.

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? You don’t own the classroom.”

“Well, since it got trashed during Angela’s memorial, we’ve been on high alert.”

“Trashed?” I jerk my head.

“Don’t act all brand-new. I know you had something to do with it. Mr. Kaine saw you in here before the memorial.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Why would I trash the newsroom?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you didn’t get the editor position. You’re mad we honored Angela instead of posting your article. Your brother is on the run, suspected of killing Angela. Should I go on?”

“I didn’t trash the class.” My face feels hot. I tense my jaw to hold in my anger. “If I’m suspected of doing it, how come no one’s called me in?”

“Because Mandy said she locked up behind you after Mr. Kaine left, but we all know you could’ve come back. You weren’t at the memorial.”

I don’t answer her. I wasn’t at the memorial, but what I’m most confused about was why Mandy would cover for me. She left before me, not after me. I didn’t trash it. Who did? And why?



“I had nothing to do with that. Mandy already told you.” I step away from Natalie. More puzzled by the fact someone trashed the room. I look to Angela’s corner and her desk is spotless, totally cleared out. Natalie’s box on top of the desk. She’s not only the editor, she’s already claimed her desk.

I turn back to Natalie. “Did you know Angela was working on an article with me? To help me show I have what it takes to be editor.”

Natalie’s lip twitches. Her eyes are steel. I can’t read her. Can’t tell what she’s thinking, but the way she’s looking at me now is like she knew Angela wasn’t a sure vote for her.





EACH ONE TEACH ONE


I never know what to expect when I run a Know Your Rights workshop. They were bigger back when Raheem Smith was shot, and after Calvin Pascal killed himself in Rikers after waiting three years for a trial, unable to pay bail on a twenty-dollar robbery charge. The horrors of his time as a teen among adult inmates wouldn’t let him go, so he made it stop.

The past few months there’s been one to two people trickling into the workshops, mostly repeats. Today, I breathe out when more people file in than usual. Most of the campaign spikes come out of news stories away from here, but Jamal is local. He made the news. That’s big in Galveston County, even bigger in Crowning Heights.

I smile when I see Cuddy, Demarcus, and Todd from Jamal’s track team. Eight people total. All Black men, except for the man enjoying his free meal provided by the center.



I pass out my pamphlets, with a carefully folded Know Your Rights campaign crib sheet like the one I took to the police station. That’s the one most people are drawn to, so they each grab a couple.