This Is My America

by Kim Johnson

  A heavy weight of guilt pulls at me because we’re not here to pay respects to Angela. Ten minutes of silence go by between Dean and me, until Chris arrives. I step out, taking a deep breath, and prepare myself for a confrontation.

  Dean paces in front of his truck. Even though things are tense between us, Dean was dead set on coming with me. I don’t want to scare Chris off from talking about Angela, so Dean knows he has to stay far enough away that Chris can let his guard down. Say something stupid.

  Chris doesn’t hear me coming up behind him. I walk cautiously, posting near the spreading oak by her grave, until I notice he’s so upset he won’t hear me. He hovers over her grave that’s still adorned with flowers, teddy bears, notes, and candles. Her marble headstone reads BELOVED DAUGHTER AND FRIEND.

  I hate myself for not knowing how to feel about Angela’s death. Any other situation, I’d be paralyzed with shock or grief, even if I didn’t know her much. No one deserves being murdered, but her death is tied to my brother’s freedom. Each time I grieve for her, I feel like I’m choosing sides.

  I look back at Dean, bite my lip, as I prepare to confront Chris. I clear my throat. We meet eyes. He stands up, pulling on his orange Texas A&M hat. I feel the color drain from my face when the vein in his neck pulses.

  “What do you want?”

  I take a step or two back. Then catch my breath.

  Chris pulls his hat down to cover more of his face, but I can still see his eye has settled to splotches of pink and some green since the police station.

  “Angela was on the paper with me. I care about what happened to her.”

  “You don’t deserve to be here. Not after what your brother did.”

  “My brother cared about Angela, too.”

  I swallow hard. Attempt to keep my cool, but I’m uneasy. I look back at Dean, confirm his presence, and then speak: “I know my brother had nothing to do with her death. You tell me.” I take a chance and say it with confidence. Like I know exactly what happened.

  “He murdered her. It was him.” He steps to me fast, and I fall back but stay on two feet.

  My eyes go wide, voice stuck in my throat. I want to scream but can’t get it out. From the corner of my eye, I see Dean run toward us. Chris backs up.

  “How dare you come here and…harass me while I’m grieving.” He spits his words at me, face flushed.

  I study his reaction. He’s so jittery, it’s possible he killed Angela. I swipe the air toward Dean to show I’m okay, but he ignores me. He waits by the tree near us, arms crossed over his chest.

  “You think you’re gonna scare me with Dean being here? You can get the whole track team out here, with Jamal. I’m not going to hide what I saw. You know who my father is, right? You don’t think I told him everything? If something happened to me, he’d be out here looking for who did it. Looking at your family.”

  Inside the back of my neck is tingling; what’s he talking about?

  “What happened to Angela?”

  “What happened?” His voice rises, angry. “Your fucking brother couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Thought he could get everything he wanted, even if it meant her life.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “She loved me. Jamal wasn’t shit to her. He confused her, made her think she could get out of Galveston Bay. But he wasn’t meant for her, and he couldn’t handle it.”

  “Jamal wasn’t ruining her life, and it’s not his fault you two didn’t work out. It’s high school. Sounds like you’re the one who was angry enough to get revenge.” I know it’s a risk, but I poke at him to get a response.

  Chris shakes his head. “I was ready to forgive her for getting caught up with Jamal, take her back by convincing her what the whole town already knows: Jamal is just like his dad.”

  “Jamal didn’t kill Angela.” I’m trembling. “She was out by the Pike because of you and your friends.” I know I’m reaching, but I need to see his response.

  “What do you know about the Pike?” Chris’s eyes widen, and his voice is shaky. Something about the Pike has him scared.

  “You tell me about the Pike. I know all about what happens there,” I lie. The memory card had a lot of photos that I’m still sorting out, so I put the only pieces I know together. Angela went to the Pike and was continuing to date Chris because he could help with whatever she was researching.

  “Angela is dead because of Jamal.” Chris is crying, choking on tears while he’s talking.

  I can’t get over his face exploding in pain, but is it pain from losing her or guilt because it’s his fault?

  Dean closes the distance between us, grips my shoulder, and holds me close to him.

  “Jamal is the reason she’s dead,” Chris says. “If he would’ve stayed away from her, none of this would’ve ever happened.”

  Chris is hazy talking. Like he’s reliving the horror of seeing her body. But he said Jamal was the reason she’s dead, not that Jamal actually killed her. There’s a difference.

  “Did you find Angela alive or dead?” I ask.

  “What does it matter?” Chris cries out, shaking his head. “It’s his fault.”

  “Did Jamal get there before or after you?”

  Chris grabs his things and walks away, mumbling to himself, “He killed her. He killed her.”

  “Chris is getting away,” I say to Dean. He wraps his arms around me, holding me back, shushing me to keep my cool. “He’s getting away.”

  “Let him go,” Dean says.

  “Chris!” I shout.

  He turns to me and cocks his head like he’s remembering we’re still talking.

  “Did you see Jamal with Angela before or after you found her body?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He keeps walking.

  I calm my voice, so he knows I’m not attacking him. “Before or after?” I just want the truth.

  “After,” he whispers, then jogs to his truck.

  A sudden lightness washes over my body. Jamal was with Angela after she was killed. Chris just admitted it.

  RECEIPTS

  Jamal’s been silent on text. Steve, Quincy, and Dean all think I should turn in Angela’s cell to Beverly. They’re right, I should. At least I conveniently uploaded the images from the SD card to the cloud, so I won’t have to admit I’ve conducted two break-ins.

  I pull up outside the police station.

  Beverly comes over and leans on the side of my car. “What’s with the cryptic call?”

  My ears get hot and I take a long breath out before speaking.

  “I found Angela’s cell inside the South Seafood Packing building…before I was caught.”

  “You’re mistaken.” Beverly snaps her head up, studies me. “We have Angela’s cell phone.”

  I squint hard, confused. “No, this is her phone. She used it at school. I can tell it’s hers because of the hearts on the cover.” I flash Angela’s phone and turn it on. “All her calls, texts, and photos are on here. I wasn’t sure who to trust, but I can’t hold on to it any longer if it has something that can help find Angela’s murderer.”

  I hold out the phone. I expect her to ask questions, but she’s got a tight grimace on her face.

  “What are you going to do with it?” I ask.

  “I stuck my neck out for you.” Beverly sweeps her hands out, then puts them on her head. “You took this from a crime scene where two officers were ready to arrest you. You could’ve been killed out there. Then they would’ve grabbed this phone and found cause, say you were helping Jamal hide evidence.”

  “I was scared when they went after me.” I grip my hand on the edge of the car window. “Then when I read in the paper her phone was found, I didn’t know who to trust. Not when Chris is referenced so many times in texts between Angela and Jamal. Sheriff Brighton was the one knocking on our d
oor looking for Jamal.”

  I look up at Beverly with hopeful eyes.

  She takes her time, then speaks. “Don’t bring this phone up to anyone else. Don’t mean I’m not going to turn it in. I need to think about how not to get you in trouble over this.”

  “They lied about having her phone.”

  “Exactly. Thank you for bringing this to me. Tracy, don’t ever do anything like this again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  I touch Beverly’s hand. “I won’t.” I pause, debating about sharing that I also confronted Chris. Then I look at the station; he’s already made a statement on record. My information could conflict.

  “I talked to Chris. He blames Jamal for her death, but he admitted to me that Jamal arrived after Chris found her body. It didn’t sound like he actually thinks Jamal did it. Just that it was his fault that caused it to happen, for whatever reasons.”

  Beverly nods. “The window for Angela’s murder is tight between the calls and when Chris found her. That’s why this phone might help. We also need to hear from Jamal.”

  “But Chris was out there with her body. Couldn’t Jamal say he caught Chris in the act—killing her?”

  “If Jamal hadn’t run, and if he’d called the police right then and there, he’d be better off. But he ran. Now he looks guilty.”

  I take stock of the police station. Everything probably happened so fast, and it’s too late for Jamal to backtrack and share his statement. No one’s going to believe him.

  “What do you know about the Pike?” I ask. “Angela took photos on a couple of Tuesday nights. Can’t be a coincidence…Angela…was murdered on a Tuesday?”

  “The Pike is generally empty, known for parties, and that’s it. Don’t know about Tuesdays. I don’t usually have that route. I can ask around.”

  “Good,” I say. “Let me know.”

  “Tracy.” Beverly puts both hands on the edge of my window. “I’ll find out more. You’re going to have to trust me, though. Police investigations are—”

  “Police business, I know.” I search her eyes. “Beverly, if you find out something you don’t like, be careful who you trust.”

  Beverly takes a step back, glancing all around before taking the phone, tucking it into her pocket, and entering the police station.

  I want to trust her, too, but I don’t know if I do enough to put my brother’s life at risk.

  I also don’t think I have a choice.

  PLUS-ONE

  Some would call this party crashing, but technically I’m Dean’s plus-one. The senior graduation party is the most exclusive party of the year, held at the biggest house. Which means usually most of the white kids go, and everyone else hitches rides with their white friends so the cops aren’t called by neighbors—neighbors who are perfectly fine with ragers, but not a car full of Black and brown kids. It would’ve been at Angela’s this year, but now it’s at Mandy Peters’s.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Dean asks.

  “What?” I step outside, readjust my dark green off-the-shoulder minidress. “It’s just a party.”

  “Neither of us is graduating.”

  “You went last year.” I fumble through my bag to apply more lipstick. Then stretch out my natural hair that’s now all blown out.

  “I crashed with the track team last year,” Dean says.

  “Track team’s crashing again, so no big deal.”

  Dean stops and runs his keys around his finger.

  “Listen,” I say. “No one at school wants to be caught talking to me. Drunk classmates are about the closest chance I have of interaction.”

  “What about angry, drunk classmates?”

  “That’s why I have you.” I hit his shoulder, then chuckle when he looks pissed. “I kid.”

  “Funny. For the record, this is a horrible idea.”

  Dean states the obvious. It is absolutely a horrible idea, but I also don’t have many options.

  We pass cars and trucks jammed in spots in front of Mandy’s house, a mini mansion compared to homes farther inland at Crowning Heights.

  As we approach it, Dean turns, giving me a last chance to bail back to the truck. I swallow hard, but I came with a game plan.

  “Let’s split up. You see what you can find out about Tuesdays at the Pike. If I get a bad vibe, I’ll wait at your truck until you’re done.”

  Dean nods, then enters the party first.

  Thirty seconds later, I beeline through the house, keeping my head down. Music blasting, the smells of beer, cigarettes, and weed taking over. It’s not that late, but it looks like people have been going at it for hours. There’s no way I could ever get away with throwing a party if we had a house like this. Mama would have everything covered in tablecloths and clear plastic. Carpet runners to protect the floor.

  I settle a bit when I see everyone is into themselves, laughing and talking. Not worried about me.

  I make my way to Mandy’s massive kitchen. My mouth drops when I look out the window. Tasha and Quincy are out on the back deck.

  Betrayal sets in. I asked both of them separately if they were going. Quincy practically begged me not to go, so I had to play off like he was right.

  I go to meet them outside. Greeted by the sound of Tasha laughing at Quincy telling her something.

  “Surprise seeing you here,” I say to Tasha, then glare at Quincy.

  “Changed my mind,” Tasha says.

  “And you weren’t gonna say something?” I lean against the post.

  “I knew I’d see you. Seems like you’ve been the one too busy for me lately.” Tasha’s tone is icy; there’s not even a hint she’s joking around. “I’m not sitting around to wait for you to call me, then come running at your begging.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Quincy says to me. “I tried to tell you.”

  “Why? Am I ruining a fun night for y’all?”

  Quincy furrows his brow and lowers his voice. “No, because your brother is a suspect in the murder of the girl they’ve memorialized with photos up there.”

  Quincy points inside at a white poster board with Angela’s photo in the middle, signatures and notes written on it by people at the party.

  “Anyone could feel like dragging you outta here, and you wouldn’t find anyone to help. Everyone drunk. This is dangerous. This how mobs get started,” Quincy says.

  I don’t speak. Hurt flits in my eyes, because I still feel betrayed.

  “I’m going inside.” Tasha begins to walk away with a drink in her hand.

  “I’m trying to help my brother,” I say. “You not the only one who’s got shit falling on them.”

  “All right, both of you, stop,” Quincy says. “Come here, Tracy.”

  Quincy leads me to the edge of the deck, leaving behind Tasha, who’s sipping on a beer even though she hates to drink.

  “Track team’s here. Coach was pissed the team’s been fighting. Pro- and anti-Jamal camps. I thought I’d come to help ask around. I’m not here to party. But seriously, you, here? Come on.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Figures,” Quincy says. “Just let him ask around.”

  “He is.”

  Quincy leans in closer. “What did Bev say?”

  “Kept things close to her chest,” I say. “Said she’d look into it. Jamal’s not answering my texts anymore. I’m worried time is running out for him and it won’t matter what was going down at the Pike.”

  “So, you came here to talk to Chris again?” Quincy was livid when he found out I confronted Chris at Angela’s grave. He thought I was reckless, even though I brought Dean.

  “No.” I avoid his eyes because that would be ideal. “I came to talk to Mandy. I
thought maybe she knew what Angela was working on. She was her best friend. She lied to Natalie about seeing me leave the newsroom so they’d stop suspecting I trashed it. She could be an ally to me.”

  “And you thought going to a party with the entire school that’s been treating you like trash was a good idea?”

  “The sooner I talk to her, the sooner I can go.”

  Quincy huffs. Then leans his back against the deck rail.

  “Over there.” Quincy points to Mandy, who’s out in her backyard, rocking on an old swing set, while the rest of the world is getting high and drunk.

  I walk down the steps toward Mandy. Quincy pulls at the hem of my shirt for me to stop, but I don’t. He hangs back by the gazebo and watches me.

  I take Mandy by surprise when she looks up. She stomps her feet down to stop from swinging and opens her mouth to speak. Before she can ask me what I’m doing here, I interrupt.

  “I won’t be here long. I know this is hard on you with Angela gone, but I’m here because I also want to know the truth about what happened to her.”

  Mandy doesn’t answer right away. I notice her eyes are puffy and red. I can sense the ache of pain shuffling through her body. I know the feeling, when you’ve been through so much you can’t even talk because it hurts so much.

  “Did you know Angela and Jamal were seeing each other?” I take a chance and let out their secret.

  “Of course.” Mandy musters an eye roll.

  “Did you know she wanted me to work on some exposé?”

  Mandy nods slowly. Looking around, checking to see if anyone else is within hearing distance. I look to where Quincy was waiting and notice he’s gone now. He’s moved up the stairs to the top deck where Tasha waits.

  “You think my brother killed her?”

  “I’m not talking about it.” Mandy grips the swing handles and takes a seat. She’s not yelling at me to leave, so I take a seat next to her.

  “I know that Jamal was worried about her,” I say. “Before she went to the Pike.”