Abandoning the TV, I scrambled to the back counter and aimed my attention to the blob of dish towels that floated in the sink. My nose crinkled at the smell of bleach. I swirled the cloths around, waking up the putrid smell. This was definitely my least favorite chore on the long list my parents had cooked up.
They said their reason for grounding me was simple: football was my job, and my promising career was my contribution to the family. Since I’d taken a knee, my spot on the team was jeopardized. So until my starting spot was normalized, my contributions would be chores.
I thought it was a little premature. I mean, we didn’t know for sure if Coach was going to bench me in the next game or if that was just a onetime punishment. But remembering his blistering red face, there was a good chance he might still be angry with me.
“You about done with those?” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Rinse ’em off real good and then hang them—”
“Over there,” I said, cutting her off. I huffed under my breath, trying not to sound too frustrated. I was in enough hot water as it was. I didn’t need to add mouthing off to my list of wrongs. “I got this, Mama.”
“You do that load of laundry yet?” she asked.
I stopped twirling the dish towels in the bleachy water as blood drained from my face. I’d totally forgotten the laundry.
“Yes, ma’am, he did,” Marion said from his barstool. “He switched it over to the dryer an hour ago.”
Relief washed over me. I’d owe Marion a favor for helping me out. I wiped my forehead with my sleeve.
“Good, it oughta be about done.” She bustled out of the room, humming softly under her breath.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmured. He shouldn’t have helped—Mama had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t grounded. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I’d wanted to argue the I hadn’t done anything wrong by taking a knee, but they wouldn’t have listened to me.
“I kinda had to. The struggle is real.” He extended his leg from behind the counter, wiggling his big toe through a hole in his sock. “This is my last set of clothes.”
No amount of washing would fix the holes in Marion’s clothes—I’m sure he knew that. But there was dignity wrapped into his cleaning. He might not have the best, most complete wardrobe, but he needed to take care of what he had. Still, I was sure we could do something more for Marion.
I shook my head, a grumble escaping my lips. Every day brought new worries, challenges that needed solutions. When would life slow down?
My brows furrowed as I wrung the towels under the faucet. I hung the last of the dishcloths on the edge of the sink, then held my fingers close to the sunny windowsill. In the light, I studied the slimy, slick coating of bleach on my fingers.
“Ew,” I grumbled as I rubbed them together. Everywhere my fingers had touched the bleach was slippery.
A low chuckle came from over my shoulder. Marion brought a fist to his mouth and tucked his lips between his teeth, stifling another laugh.
“Keep laughing.” I gritted my teeth as I ran my bleached fingers underneath the cold water.
“Why you think your mama put those gloves on the counter?” Marion raised an eyebrow.
“What’s so funny?” Mama blew into the kitchen with an overflowing laundry basket in her arms. She took one look at my fingers and shook her head with a sigh. “Russell, what am I gonna do with you?”
Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she glanced past me at the yellow gloves on the counter. By the tone of her voice, I got the sense she was asking beyond the chores. She looked through me, straight to my stubborn soul. Then, as quick as her curious concern touched her eyes, it was gone. She cleared her throat, resuming the avoidance—the part where we weren’t actually talking to each other about important things.
“Use apple cider vinegar. That’ll do the trick.” She sidled past me and opened the kitchen pantry. Her eyes scanned the shelves until she located what she was looking for. She waved a bottle of cloudy vinegar in front of her with a knowing smile. She was clearly amused at how I kept getting myself into sticky situations. “Next time, use the gloves.”
I complied silently, my stomach roiling from the smell of bleach and vinegar mixing in the small space.
Marion hopped off his barstool and jumped at the chance to get some clean underwear from the laundry basket.
“You need more clothes, baby?” Mama lifted her chin toward Marion’s duffel, which was deflated and empty in the corner of the living room.
“No, ma’am.” His lips turned downward and he shook his head, trying to be casual.
Mama tilted her head, opening her mouth like she was going to say something like, How many times do I have to tell you? Call me mama. Something to make him feel like he was home. But the truth was, this wasn’t his real home with all of his belongings. His stuff was at Ed’s house.
“I’m fine.” He shrugged. “I really appreciate all that y’all have done for me. I can make it work.”
“We could drop by your house.” I stepped closer to their huddle in the living room. “We could pick up another bagful.”
“You ain’t going nowhere.” Pops slapped the arm of his recliner, his lip quivering. He didn’t make eye contact with me. Instead, he looked toward the TV, his eyes unfocused as he said, “You’re grounded, remember? That means no car. Period. End of story.”
First the TV, and now the car??
“Really, Pops?” My nostrils flared. “How am I going to get to school? Or practice? Are you seriously gonna keep punishing me for doing the right thing?”
“That’s enough.” Mama held her hands up as she stepped between us, neutral territory between two hot spots. She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head at me. It was a warning to tread carefully. “Now, you listen to me. The both of you.”
Her gaze darted to Marion, making him freeze on the spot too.
“I don’t want you boys anywhere near Ed’s trailer, you understand? He’s been running his mouth around town about you and Marion, saying nasty hurtful things. I’m not even going to repeat them. Just stay away from him, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” We both nodded vigorously.
“Your dad and I will figure something out.” She pressed her lips together as if trying to formulate a plan. “We’ll get you some fresh things at the store today.”
Marion clenched his jaw. He flared his nostrils and shook his head slightly, like he was fighting the urge to contradict her.
“And, Eli,” she said, turning her attention to Pops. She stepped forward, advancing on his space with a stern brow. “Russell may be grounded for what he did on the field, but it won’t interfere with his schoolwork. That comes first.”
Her glare deepened as she looked toward me.
“You can use the car for school and football only.” Then she took a menacing step in my direction. “Don’t make me regret this.”
I shook my head, knowing she meant business.
“Good. Now grab the keys to the truck. You’re coming to the store with me.”
* * *
There was only one grocery store in Monroe, and that was Rick’s Supermarket, just off Main Street. There wasn’t anything super about it—just eight aisles crammed full of whatever they could fill them with. Mama put her foot on the gas, barely making a yellow light.
“You missed our turn.” I looked out the window, watching Main Street whiz by.
“I know where I’m going,” she said as she drove down Calumet. She eased to a halt at the light in front of the interstate, the line that separated Monroe and Westmond. “Fresh Horizons has a sale on firewood. Got the coupons in my bag.”
She patted her purse on the other side of the console, then pressed the gas when the light turned green. We crossed over the freeway into Westmond territory—the last place I want
ed to be. But I was grounded, and my mom needed help carrying firewood. I didn’t have a choice.
Fresh Horizons Market was larger than our strip mall grocer. It had all of the expensive organic stuff but had some pretty good deals too. Mama preferred shopping on our side of town where there were less stares at her brown skin. But she’d venture across the freeway for a good sale. When you were living paycheck to paycheck, deals were all that mattered.
As we pulled into the parking lot, Mama skirted a delivery truck near the entrance. The side of it read Dupre Produce Delivery. My heart ticked up a few beats. The last time I’d seen Gabby, she’d been howling at the Shreveport stands, calling them all hypocrites. If anyone approved of my kneeling, it would be Gabby.
And right now, I needed an ally.
We parked then crossed the lot, Mama rummaging in her purse to find her coupon booklet. I craned my neck to see around the truck, searching for any sign of Gabby, listening for the confident tenor of her voice. A deliveryman with gloves heaved a crate onto a hand truck, then leaned against it to catch his breath. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me looking, and I quickly scampered after Mama, who had already made it to the shopping cart bay.
I pulled out a cart while she flipped through the pages and mumbled under her breath.
“Ah, here’s one.” She ripped a page and stuffed the book back in her pocket. “I’ll look for underwear and socks while you load the cart with firewood. The stacks should be in the back of the store.”
I nodded, yawning widely. I was still exhausted from my restless night sleeping on the hard wood of the tree house.
“You need socks too?” Mama tapped another deal in her booklet, just waiting to be ripped out.
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“All right, then. I want you to get twenty bundles of wood.” Mama double-checked her coupons. “Yeah, that should do it.”
“Twenty? Mama, come on. It ain’t that cold.” I’d slept outside just last night, and while it had been a bit chilly, it was not cold enough to keep the furnaces burning.
“It’s not now, but it will be. And this firewood is cheaper than running the heat.”
She pursed her lips, letting that sink in. Our finances must have been tighter than I thought, and Mama was already looking to winter, trying to keep us warm during the leaner time of year when the substitute teaching jobs dried up and Pops’s plumbing business was the only thing keeping us afloat.
“I’ll meet you back there after I grab Marion’s things,” Mama said as she pulled another cart from the bay. Then she bustled through the sliding glass doors and turned in the direction of the pharmacy, where the miscellaneous and personal items were.
By the time Mama made it to the back of the store, I’d taken a good chunk out of the woodpile. My fingertips ached with the sting of splinters as I loaded the last few bundles into Mama’s cart. Watchful white eyes tracked us as we wheeled the two heaping carts to the register.
“Y’all having a bonfire?” the cashier asked as she smacked her gum.
“Nothing wasteful like that,” Mama mumbled as she handed the woman the coupons she’d ripped from her booklet. She leaned over the counter to look at the screen, making sure every item was scanned and discounted correctly.
The cashier handed Mama the receipt with a strained smile, likely annoyed at Mama’s micromanagement. Mama gave her sweetest smile, but double-checked the receipt.
“We good, honey.” She nodded at me. “Hold it steady.”
I followed slowly after her, my feet dragging after a long night and even longer day of physical labor. I was tired, and I hoped this was the end of my day of chores. I stumbled over my feet as I surrendered to a massive yawn.
That’s when a sign on the glass window caught my eyes.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PERSON?
Sketched in black-and-white was a drawing of a hooded figure, their face cast in shadow, their features indiscernible. At the bottom of the poster read: “Wanted for repeated acts of vandalism. If seen, notify the police department immediately.”
The police were looking for Dante’s Shadow.
The sketch was similar to the figure I’d seen slinking in the shadows the night of Terrance’s party. All I’d been able to make out was a black hoodie and a messenger bag stuffed with flyers. It could have been anyone in that alleyway with me. If this was the only image the police were working with, they were just as clueless as I was.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the police scrambling to find this guy.
“They’re never gonna catch him,” I said to Mama, pointing at the sign on the glass. “I’ve seen him, and he’s fast.”
Mama flared her nostrils, inhaling sharply.
“Well, don’t broadcast it to everybody.” She gripped the front of the shopping cart and heaved it toward herself. “Keep moving. Ain’t nobody need to see us next to that wanted sign.”
“It’s not like I’m the guy on the poster,” I called after her, pushing my cart. She moved surprisingly fast for having a cart full of firewood, but I guessed she was feeling motivated to get out of Westmond as soon as possible. We stuck out like a sore thumb with our discount firewood, our brown skin, and my bulky six-foot-three frame. I wondered if people recognized me.
I wondered if they were afraid of me. After all, I was part of the brawling football team who’d attacked their quarterback.
I rushed to catch up with Mama, squaring my shoulders as I skidded to a halt at the truck’s tailgate.
“Do you agree with him?” I raised an eyebrow at her. She tilted her head and looked at me like she didn’t know what I was talking about. “Are you mad at me like Pops is?”
“No, baby. No. But it’s complicated.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “Look. I understand why you did what you did last night. Someone needs to answer for what happened to you and Marion—to what keeps happening to boys on our side of the parish line.”
“Why can’t Pops see that?” My shoulders slumped as I thought of his face last night, of the anger he’d spewed in the shed. “Pops don’t understand.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll come around. But a word of advice—you’ve said your piece. No good can come from you continuing to stick your neck out. I don’t want you to get hurt.” She nodded toward the wanted poster on the glass door across the parking lot. “Stay away from whoever’s running these streets, putting up flyers. There’s only one place they’re gonna end up, and that’s in juvie. Or worse—prison. The law doesn’t see you as a child.”
She leaned against the back of the truck, running her hands through her hair. Usually Mama didn’t like to have a hair out of place, but right now she seemed too distressed to care. She let out another heavy sigh.
“I want you to get out of here. Look at what happens to Black boys here. Shot dead. Kicked off a team. Futures ruined.” Her eyelashes fluttered, picking up her unshed tears. She wiped her face with the back of her wrist. “I support you, but I also want you to get out, Russell. Or else this place will swallow you whole.”
I slumped against the truck, watching Mama’s retreating figure as she walked the cart back to the front of the store. Mama had confirmed it—kneeling had been the right thing to do, but it would have a cost. She just hoped it wasn’t me.
I still had my sights set on leaving Monroe. I hoped I hadn’t jeopardized my shot.
Mama rubbed her eyes with her sleeve as she made her way back to the car. Behind her, the doors to Fresh Horizons opened, and Gabby strolled out with a clipboard in her hands.
She scribbled something on the page, then paused in front of the wanted poster. I shoved off the truck, prepared to cross the lot and talk to her, but Mama told me to get in the truck. I checked out Gabby one last time before I got in and buckled up.
She looked right, then left, as if checking to see no one was looking, th
en she ripped the wanted flyer off the glass. She crumpled it into a ball and shoved it in her back pocket as she walked to her dad’s delivery truck.
I smiled, intrigued.
14
I yawned so hard, it stopped me in my tracks. It was only lunchtime, but I was so tired. This was going to be one of those Mondays. I leaned against the wall of lockers and surrendered to exhaustion, letting another yawn overtake me. I’d barely slept over the weekend. Between the unforgiving wood floor of the tree house and doing two full days of chores on top of homework, quality rest had been hard to find.
Still, the night spent aloft in the tree house had been weirdly fun. It was such an unexpected interlude to the higher stakes of my life, and even though I felt like crap, I was grateful for the experience. All this time, while I’d been searching for Marion, worried that he was still looking for answers in bottles of malt liquor, he’d been in the woods behind my house. And just when I needed him the most, he’d been right where I was headed.
We never had decided what our next step was, content to sit in silence, play cards, or walk in the woods. The chances of Marion rejoining this football season were growing more distant by the day. I worried about him, now more than ever. And now my spot on the team was in jeopardy. The words from the newscaster preoccupied my thoughts.
There are calls for the league to pursue disciplinary action against the player.
I knew all too well the kind of justice the league doled out. It was the kind that saw one football player barred from the field and the other released without a slap on the wrist. A league that housed referees who remained silent on the subject of who’d started the fight. A league that hired crooked cops like Officer Reynaud—a murderer and a liar.
I didn’t need to wait for the league’s disciplinary action. Their justice was rigged, and not in my favor.
By the sneers Darrell kept throwing at me from across the hall, I knew I had not been forgiven for Friday’s loss. The jury was still out with the rest of my classmates. Some gave me the regular high fives they always did, but they were fewer and far between. Without the prestige of football and winning, I wasn’t the hero of Jackson High. I was just a six-foot-three dude, hunching into his locker, trying to make himself less conspicuous in the wake of disgrace.
Kneel Page 12
