2
Our ears perked up at the sound of tires churning up the exit ramp behind us. Headlights flooded the ground around my feet, and my jaw instinctively clenched. I hoped it wasn’t a cop, especially not one of the officers involved in Dante Maynard’s shooting.
I waved for the car to go around, but they flashed their lights—thankfully the yellow headlights of a truck, not the blue and red of a police cruiser. Straightening, I squinted toward the driver and exhaled when a familiar face leaned out of the window.
“You need help?” Henry Dupre asked.
“Thank you, sir.” I hadn’t realized my hands were shaking until relief stilled my nerves. “You couldn’t have come at a better time.” I jogged to his side of his truck, the Dupre Produce Delivery paint along the side barely visible in the waning light. He sank back to his seat, revealing his daughter on the passenger side. My pulse sputtered, but I recovered quickly with a shaky wave. “What up, Gabby.”
“Hey, Rus.” She nodded curtly, brushing her natural hair to the side before turning on the overhead light. A blush crept up her light brown cheeks, covering the trail of freckles beneath her glasses. She turned away, suddenly more interested in the book in her lap than me.
Mr. Dupre cleared his throat, snapping my attention back to the matter at hand.
“I think it’s the battery,” I said with confidence, though I was sure something else was wrong with the car. Batteries don’t gurgle. But we needed to patch up what we could and get home. “If you could give me a jump, I’d be grateful.”
“All right, son. But let’s get you off this hill. You know the gas station around the corner and down a ways.” He pointed to the right, across Gabby’s lap, and I nodded. “Put your car in Neutral, and I’ll push you from behind. Don’t worry, this old thing is stronger than she looks.”
Marion and I stuffed ourselves back into my car and waited for Mr. Dupre to tap the bumper. My hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to change into Neutral. I could feel Marion’s eyes boring into me. Preemptively, I shot my hand up.
“I know what you’re thinking. But there’s nothing there, so just let it go.”
“Okay, so we’re still playing that game.” Marion cradled his head in his hands, groaning. “The one where we pretend you don’t like Gabby.”
“Of course I like her. Just not like that.” When I felt the bump from behind us, I released the brake. “She looks good, though, right?”
“Sure. Sure. I mean, she’s no Aysha.” He bit down on his lip, his nostrils quivering. I knew he was holding in a laugh, so I pushed him against the window. I didn’t want to be reminded of my ex-girlfriend and how we’d fizzled out at the beginning of summer. Marion’s body rumbled as he let out a snicker. “What? I’m agreeing with you.”
Slowly, Mr. Dupre eased us up the hill, his engine wheezing through the added strain before tipping the Civic onto level ground. A few blocks later, we pulled into Emmett’s Quick Stop, the local Black-owned convenience store and gas station. He swung around the pumps to face us bumper-to-bumper then hopped from his truck.
“Let’s have a look at what we’re dealing with.” Henry sidled next to me, his calloused hands finding the lever to pop the hood quicker than you could say Sunday. He yelled over his shoulder. “Gabby, hand me those jumper cables, would ya?”
“Quit playin’ and get in there.” Marion shoved me out of my door, mumbling something about how I needed to slay the baller way.
But I didn’t feel like a big-shot baller—not after being heckled on the side of the road.
Itching to be useful, I rushed to grab the bundle of cables from Gabby’s arms. “I can help with those.”
“They’re not that heavy. I can handle it.” She shook her head as she pivoted away from my outstretched hands. “Rus, I’ve got it.”
My lips smacked as I struggled to rebound. I wasn’t used to flat-out rejection, not as the captain of the football team. Shoot, even my teachers gave me a wide berth. But Gabby wasn’t going to cut me a break. That wasn’t her style.
Henry Dupre cleared his throat.
“I’ll need to run current to the battery for a bit before giving it a go. Pass me your keys.” Mr. Dupre tucked the jumper cables under his arm and held his hand out, flicking his fingers back and forth. I gladly handed him the keys—he looked like he knew what he was doing, which was more than I could say for Marion and me. He stuffed them in his back pocket then turned his attention to the tangled clump of cables. He grumbled under his breath. “Let’s see if I can separate this dang knot.”
A light rain started trickling down, and Gabby dashed to stand beneath the awning of the store entrance. She wiped raindrops off her face, eyeing Marion and me as we left Mr. Dupre between the headlights and walked over to huddle next to her. An unlikely trio, silence stretched before us.
Gabby and I used to be friends—we’d known each other since elementary school. We’d been tight, but that all changed freshman year when I invited her to my first high school football party.
I’m not going to lie. I was feeling myself back then, and all the high fives and hollers from Aysha and her clique of high school royalty drew me deeper into the party—farther away from Gabby, who stood in a corner, looking out of place. After an hour of snapping selfies and chugging beers, I realized Gabby had bounced. At the time, I didn’t own up to what I had done to drive her away. I was too busy feeling hurt. I ended up going home with Aysha that night, and we’d dated ever since. Until, that is, this summer. Gabby and I hadn’t said more than a dozen words to each other since that party, even though we sat near each other in English class this year. But if I was being totally honest, she’d always had my eye.
The last time I checked, Gabby despised the town’s “hysteria” over organized sports, especially football, so finding something to talk about as we stood there in our football sweats was no easy feat. The Civic roared to life, breaking my train of thought as I looked to Mr. Dupre.
“We’ll let the cars run for about twenty minutes. Make sure the charge takes.” He wiped his blackened hands on a dirty rag. “If you come by my warehouse, I can set you up with some new connector cables.”
“How much would that be?” I hung my head, thinking of the ten dollars in my wallet.
“I keep spare parts around. Have to maintain the fleet.” He slapped his thigh with the rag in his hands. “It’s on the house. Happy to help both of the captains of the Jackson Jackals. Isn’t that right, sweet pea?”
Gabby shrugged, like she didn’t care about my baller status. I bit the inside of my cheek and scuffed the ground. How was I going to chat her up if she was immune to the strongest card I had to play?
“Anyone want some grub?” Mr. Dupre opened the door to the convenience store, the bell over the threshold chiming.
Marion followed closely behind him. “You know I can’t turn down a chance for some beef jerky.” He smirked as he looked over his shoulder. “You good?”
“I’m straight.” I turned to Gabby. “You a jerky fan?”
“Gross.” She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “I don’t eat meat. Thanks, though.”
So she was a vegetarian now. Meeting one of those in the Deep South was like finding a unicorn. She was lucky her dad owned the local produce distribution center. If not for him, the only lettuce you’d see for miles would be on a Big Mac.
Marion disappeared inside, leaving the two of us on our own. Gabby shrank to the cinder block wall with a sigh. Her gaze occasionally darted to me, her glasses catching the lamplights as she scanned my tracksuit and muddy shoes. She had a sharpness to her stare, like she was looking beyond the trappings of football. I squirmed in place, feeling a little vulnerable as she appraised me, hoping she didn’t find me lacking.
Our eyes locked, and I wondered if she might see my interest in my upturned brows, but she looked away quickly, her nostrils flaring as she studied the
asphalt.
“I liked your presentation the other day in Ms. Jabbar’s class.” I stepped nearer, naming the one class we had together—the one thing we shared. Ms. J had already jumped into assignments, and Gabby had made an incredible first impression on our teacher. “Your report about sectional feminism.”
“Intersectional feminism.” She blinked up at me, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. She eyed me with that same sharp, piercing gaze—one that would make any football player on the field feel exposed. I gulped.
“Right.” I nodded like I knew the difference. “That was real chill. I’m one hundred percent on board with that.”
God, I sound like a chump.
“Whatever.” Gabby rolled her eyes. She thought I was a chump, too, and maybe I deserved that, especially after I ditched her freshman year. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “No one else got it either.”
Feeling my cheeks heat, I ducked out from under the awning, deciding to take my chance with the rain. I paced around the building and released my breath in a whistle at the sight of a wall of rain-soaked flyers. There must have been fifty of them. Fifty pairs of Dante Maynard’s sad eyes staring back at me, the hood of his Shreveport High School basketball sweatshirt casting his face in shadow. The bold letters scrawled on the bottom of the pages read Justice 4 Dante.
“Did you know him?” Gabby asked from behind me.
I whipped my head around, startled by her lightness of foot. Like a shadow, she stood behind me, gazing up at the wall.
“Nah.” I shook my head, backing up to view the wall better. By now, everyone in Louisiana knew about the high school basketball player who got shot outside the Shreveport Kwiki Mart. Cops saw a hooded figure with black hands and assumed he must have been up to no good. What the officer thought was a concealed weapon in his pocket was just a bag of M&M’s. “But it hits too close to home.”
Dante had been the captain of his team, just like me.
“I know what you mean. It could have been anyone. Still could.” Gabby picked at the corner of a poster that was coming undone. “I heard the cop transferred to Westmond—Officer Reynaud.”
I nodded, and a shiver rolled up my spine.
“Oh, hell nah,” Marion said as he rejoined us, biting off a mouthful of beef jerky. “We don’t need to be anywhere near this mess. Just watch—a cop car gonna pull up and take all our asses to jail. Because whoever’s slapping up these posters and vandalizing buildings, he gonna get caught.”
“He’s right. We better head home.” I needed to eat dinner, finish my homework, and get some decent shut-eye if I wanted to be prepared, even though I wasn’t too worried about Friday’s game.
Our season opener against Deerlake would be a walk in the park. They were near the bottom of the district rankings after all. The real prize was the win against Westmond, and that game was scheduled for the week after. I had a score to settle with them—now more than ever—and I was counting down the days until I could face them on the field. Maybe then I’d get a chance to wipe that slick sneer off Brad’s face.
“Come by anytime, and I’ll change out those cables,” Mr. Dupre said as I opened my car door.
“Thank you, sir.” I looked to Gabby, itching to invite her to the party on Friday, but I chickened out. “See you around, Gabby.”
“Drive safely.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and quickly turned, as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. But the redness of her cheeks told a different story, and that made me smile.
* * *
As I turned off Calumet Street and into our driveway, Mama stepped onto the porch and waved, the screen door clapping shut behind her. Our house wasn’t much to look at from the front curb, with its flat, chipped-white exterior and faded blue shutters. People like Brad might have called it garbage, but if they came closer, they’d see Mama’s window boxes of bluebonnets, smell her cooking wafting from the kitchen.
It was home, and I’d never been happier to see it.
Marion and I grabbed our bags from the car and made our way up the warped steps.
“I was starting to worry. Hey, baby.” She stood on the tips of her toes to rub the top of my head, then looked over my shoulder at Marion. “You staying for dinner?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, sticking the roll of beef jerky into his sweatshirt pocket. “If you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Boy, give Mama a hug.”
Marion melted into my mama’s arms, sticking his tongue out at me. He liked to joke that he was Mama’s second son, that she loved him just as much as she loved me. And he was right—he got all the affection and none of the scolding. But I didn’t mind. He got enough scolding at his house.
“Coach keeps y’all later and later every day.” She glared at the sky, at the trees bending under the weight of the wind. “Got you out here in this howling wind and rain.”
“Coach knows what he’s doing. Working them boys hard,” Pops said from down the hall. The laces of his work boots dragged against the linoleum floor as he walked up to the screen. “Besides, Cheryl, a little wind never hurt nobody.”
“Eli, it’s hurricane season.” Her eyes narrowed at him.
September was the height of hurricane season in Louisiana, when all the storms seemed to find their way to our corner of the Gulf of Mexico. It also corresponded with the start of football season, when my days started to heat with the building pressure of getting scholarship offers.
“It’s gator season too.” I chuckled. “Maybe he’ll throw us in the swamp to make us hustle more.”
“Lord, help us.” Mama slapped her side and joined me in a hearty laugh. She swung the door open, shooing Pops aside to make room for Marion and me. “I know y’all hungry. Come on in.”
The faded green couch was a welcome sight for my weary body. I collapsed on it, feeling the springs creak as they surrendered to my hefty weight. I’d put on fifteen pounds since last year. It was that high protein diet Coach had us on. Marion, too, had bulked up. He could barely fit in the rocking chair on the other side of the living room where the AC unit rattled the windowpanes.
“Back in my day, we stayed on the field till midnight. And look what it got me.” Pops pointed to the middle shelf on the wall. He wiped a smudge of dust off his 1998 State Champions trophy, which sat next to his MVP trophy. “Nobody can take this away.”
I sighed. I’d heard his football stories many times before.
Mama’s brows furrowed as she scooted past Marion on her way to the kitchen. “I could wring Fontenot’s neck for keeping you until eight o’clock again. He better not do this every night.”
“We actually got out an hour ago,” Marion said. Knowing it didn’t take an hour to drive home from school, Mama raised her eyebrow. He was quick to add, “The Honda broke down.”
“Right on the exit ramp.” I threw my arms up, then slammed them back to the couch. A plume of dust escaped the cushions. “I actually was afraid to turn it off. I hope it starts in the morning.”
“How did you get it going again?” Pops asked as he shuffled to the fridge.
“Mr. Dupre gave us a jump,” I said, conveniently leaving out the part about Brad’s harassment. It was in the past and would only worry my parents. I shot Marion a look, praying that he wouldn’t bring it up, but by the twinkle in his eyes, he had another topic in mind.
“And don’t forget Gabby,” Marion said, his eyes flickering with amusement.
I grabbed a TV Guide from the coffee table and tossed it across the room, hoping to wipe that mischievous smile off his face. It missed him by a few inches, but with the way he clamped his mouth shut, he’d gotten the message. I was still kinda flustered about my interaction with Gabby, and I had no interest in involving my parents.
“Now, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a minute. You two used to be so close.” Mama leaned against the kitchen counter, which
overlooked the small living room. “Poor girl hasn’t been the same since her parents got divorced. I see her driving her daddy’s truck all over town. He must be keeping her busy.”
Pops took a measured sip from his beer—too measured. He didn’t want girls to steal my focus. Before my dad could give me a lecture about unnecessary distractions, I steered the conversation back to the car.
“Anyway, Mr. Dupre offered to change out the battery plugs.” Mama rubbed her chest at the base of her throat—a nervous tick. I rushed to put her mind at ease. “Don’t worry. It won’t cost anything.”
“Isn’t that charitable of him.” Pops grunted into his bottle of Bud. He was a proud man, who’d built his business from the ground up. He didn’t like anything that felt like charity, but I wasn’t as prideful. As hard as I worked at football, I figured I deserved the little perks that came my way. It’s not like we were Brad’s family. We needed all the help we could get.
“You do whatever you can to save that car,” Mama said. “Otherwise, we’ll be down to your dad’s truck. Between the three of us, that’s not enough.”
“We’ll make it work, mon cher. Don’t fill his head with worry. He just needs to keep his focus. Eye on the prize.” His gaze drifted to the trophy shelf mounted beside the couch.
Using her hips as a rudder, Mama pushed Pops aside, balancing a plate of golden corn bread and smothered meat loaf above her head.
Finally. What I’d been waiting for all night. I unzipped my hoodie and tossed it on the arm of the couch.
“What’s this?” Pops crossed the room in wide strides. Crouching in front of me, he appraised the tape wrapped around my elbow. He cradled it like a newborn baby, like all of his hopes and dreams were distilled in the crook of my arm.
He wasn’t the only one who prodded at me like a prized stallion. Coach did the same thing, and sometimes random people felt entitled to my space and body. And I just had to smile and nod, because mouthing off never got me anywhere. I loved playing the game, but not this part—the layers of fretting and worry that piled on top of my passion were exhausting.
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