by Nic Stone
ALSO BY NIC STONE
Dear Martin
Odd One Out
Jackpot
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Logolepsy Media Inc.
Cover photograph of boy copyright © 2020 by Nigel Livingstone
Dear Martin excerpt copyright © 2017 by Logolepsy Media Inc.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Crown and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Grateful acknowledgment to Jason Reynolds for use of his work “i am jason reynolds: Day 28 of 30, A Reminder and Reckoning (in need of a rest).” April 28, 2018. iamjasonreynolds.com/2018/04/28/day-28-of-30-5
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Stone, Nic, author.
Title: Dear Justyce / Nic Stone.
Description: First edition. | New York: Crown Books for Young Readers, [2020] | Companion novel to: Dear Martin. | Audience: Ages 14+. | Audience: Grades 10–12. | Summary: Incarcerated teen Quan Banks writes letters to Justyce McCallister, with whom he bonded years before over family issues, about his experiences in the American juvenile justice system.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020020509 (print) | LCCN 2020020510 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-9848-2966-5 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-9848-2967-2 (library binding) | ISBN 978-1-9848-2969-6 (trade paperback) | ISBN 978-1-9848-2968-9 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Juvenile detention homes—Fiction. | Family problems—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Letters—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S7546 Dc 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.S7546 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9781984829689
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Also by Nic Stone
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author's Note
Epigraph
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part Two
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
One Month Later
Chapter 12
Six Months Later
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Dear Martin
For Danny Ayers.
You will always be my hero.
Dear Reader,
I didn’t really intend to write this book.
Sound familiar? It should. It’s what I say about writing Dear Martin. It’s as true now as it was then, though my reasoning’s a little different: when I closed the back cover of that story, I told myself I was done with Justyce McAllister and the world he inhabited. He’d reached a place of relative peace and come to a deeper understanding of his role as the captain of his own life ship. I felt good, as a book mom, about setting him free to decide where he was headed next and how he’d get there.
But then came the day I received a set of text messages from a pair of boys I’d met because of Dear Martin—and grown to respect and admire. It went like this (literally):
D: Aye guys.
Z: Whassssuppp
Me: FAVORITES!
D: I’ve been thinking…maybe, just maybe…You should make a book about us.
Z: Yessss
D: Like black kids, you know…Not like Justyce. Cuz Justyce had hope. He went to a good college.
Me: Tell me more.
D: We don’t go to good colleges. We don’t have a perfect family like everybody else.
Z: That’s facts.
D: Honestly, we don’t even know if we’ll live past the age of 18.
Z: This stuff me and D go through every day.
D: You probably can’t put it all in a book…but mannnnn.
Z: And we got family and friends locked up and everything.
D: I know people will listen. You’re our voice.
Since that conversation, I’ve had the privilege of meeting many boys and girls who are very much not like Justyce. Who aren’t high-achieving and headed toward blindingly bright futures. Who don’t nail their SATs or win debate state championships. I’ve met them, not at preparatory academies or Ivy League universities, but in “alternative” schools and juvenile detention facilities.
Which made me realize that while Justyce’s story might’ve come to a satisfactory conclusion (for me, at least), there was someone else—a different character—whose story had not: Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr.
If you don’t remember him from Dear Martin (or haven’t read it), don’t worry: you will.
He has a story to tell you.
Nic Stone
Even when the condition is critical,
when the livin’ is miserable
Your position is pivotal,
I ain’t bullshittin’ you
—TALIB KWELI
It didn’t take much for Quan to decide he was leaving this time. He feels a little bit bad, yeah: knowing Dasia and Gabe are still in the house makes his stomach hurt the way it always does when he finds himself faced with grown-people problems he can’t fix. But Quan’s only nine. Running away alone is hard enough. Trying to bring a four-year-old sister and a two-year-old brother just isn’t gonna work.
He’s glad spring has sprung early. Didn’t have time to grab a jacket as he fled. He’s pretty sure there was too much commotion for anybody to notice, but he takes a few unnecessary turns en route to his destination in case Olaf—that’s what Quan calls his mama’s “duck-ass boyfriend” (which is what Quan’s dad calls the guy)—did notice Quan’s exit.
What Quan is sure of? He couldn’t stay there. Not with dude yelling and throwing things the way he was. Quan knows what comes next, and he couldn’t watch again. It was hard enough seeing the aftermath bloom in the funny-looking bluey-purple blotches that made Mama’s arms and legs look like someone had tossed water balloons full of paint all over her. He couldn’t really do anything anyway. Though Olaf (Dwight is the guy’s actual name) isn’t too, too big, he’s a whole heck of a lot stronger than Quan. The one time Quan did try to intervene, he wound up with his own funky-colored blotch. Across his lower back from where he hit the d
ining room table when dude literally threw Quan across the room.
Hiding that bruise from Daddy was nearly impossible. And Quan had to hide it because he knew if Daddy found out what really happened when Olaf/Dwight came around…well, it wouldn’t be good.
So. He made sure Dasia and Gabe were safe in the closet. That was the most he could do.
As Wynwood Heights Park looms up on his left, Quan lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. It’s the fourth time he’s done it, so there’s a wet spot now. He wonders if there will be any dry spots left by the time he gets the tears to stop. Good thing there’s no one around to see. He’d never hear the end of it.
He bounces on his toes as his feet touch down on the springy stuff the new playground is built on. There’s a sign that says it’s ground-up old tires, that the play structures are made from “recycled water bottles and other discarded plastics,” and that the entire area is “green,” but as Dasia pointed out the last time Mama brought them all here, whoever built the thing didn’t know their colors because everything is red, yellow, and blue.
The thought of his sass-mouthed little sister brings fresh tears to Quan’s eyes.
He makes a beeline for the rocket ship. It sits off in a corner separate from everything else, tip pointed at the sky like it could blast off at any moment. Inside the cylindrical base, there are buttons to push and dials to turn and a ladder that leads up to an “observation deck” with a little window. It’s Quan’s favorite spot in the world—though he’d never admit that to anyone.
When he gets inside, he’s so relieved, he collapses against the rounded wall and lets his body slide to the floor like chocolate ice cream down the side of a cone on a hot summer day. His head drops back, and he shuts his eyes and lets the tears flow freely.
But then there’s a sound above him. A cough.
The moonlight through the deck window makes the face of the boy staring down at Quan look kinda ghostly. In fact, the longer dude stares without speaking, the more Quan wonders if maybe he is a ghost.
“Uhhh…hello?”
Dude doesn’t reply.
Now Quan is starting to get creeped out. Which makes him mad. This is supposed to be the one place in the world he can relax. Where he’s not looking over his shoulder or being extra cautious. Where he can close his eyes and count down from ten and imagine shooting into space, far, far away from everything and everyone.
“Yo, why you lookin’ at me like that?” Quan spits, each word sharp-tipped and laced with the venom of his rage.
“Oh, umm…” The other boy’s eyes drop to his hands. He picks at the skin around his thumbs. Something Quan does sometimes that gets him yelled at.
Hmm.
The boy goes on: “I’m sorry. I just…I wasn’t expecting anybody else to come in here.”
“Oh.”
The boys are quiet for a minute and then: “I’m Justyce, by the way.”
Justyce. Quan’s heard that name before…“You that smart kid they was talking about on the morning announcements at school? Won some contest or something?”
Justyce again doesn’t reply.
“Hellooooo?” Quan says.
“You gonna make fun of me now?”
“Huh?”
Now Justyce looks out the observation window. Quan wonders what he’s seeing.
“I wish they would’ve never made that announcement. Winning an academic bowl isn’t ‘cool.’ Everybody just makes fun of me.”
Quan shrugs. “Maybe they just jealous cuz they ain’t never won nothin’.”
Silence falls over the boys again, but this time, it’s not so uncomfortable. In fact, the longer Quan sits there with Justyce above him, the better he feels. Kinda nice not being totally alone. Which makes him wonder…
“You’re a fifth grader, right? You not gonna get in trouble for being out this late?”
“Oh, I will,” Justyce says.
It makes Quan laugh.
“I snuck out,” Justyce continues. “But it’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I think my mama knows I’ll always come back.”
“Wish I didn’t have to go back…” It slips out, and at first Quan regrets it. But then he realizes his chest is a little looser. This one time at Daddy’s house, Quan watched a movie about this big ship that hit an iceberg and sunk, and there was this one scene where the main lady was being tied into this thing that went around her stomach and laced up the back like a sneaker. He later learned it was called a corset, but that’s what comes into Quan’s head when he thinks about his life. “My mom’s boyfriend is a asshole,” he continues.
The laces loosen a little more.
“He’s my little brother and sister’s dad, so like I kinda get why my mama keeps dealing with him…” Little looser. “But I hate him. Every time he come around, he mad about somethin’, and he takes it out on my mom.”
“Sounds familiar,” Justyce says.
“And I be wanting to stick around for my brother and sister but—wait.” Quan looks up at Justyce, whose chin is now propped in his hand.
All eyes (and ears) on Quan.
“What’d you say?” Quan asks.
“Hmm?”
“Just a second ago.”
“Oh. I said that sounds familiar.”
“Whatchu mean?”
Justyce sighs. “My dad was in the military and went to Afghanistan. Ever since he came back, he’s been…different. He drinks a lot and sometimes has these ‘episodes,’ my mom calls them. Out of nowhere he’ll start yelling and throwing stuff.” Now Justyce isn’t looking at Quan anymore. “He hits her sometimes.” Justyce swipes at his eyes.
Quan stands up. “You ever come here during the day?”
“Occasionally.” Jus sniffles. “Sorry for crying.”
“Man, whatever. Now I see how you won that ‘academic’ thingy.”
“Huh?”
“What kinda fifth grader says occasionally?” Quan shakes his head. “I’m gonna head home and check on my brother and sister,” he says. “You should go check on your mom.”
The boys meet eyes, and understanding passes between them.
“I’ll see you around.” Quan ducks and slips through the rocket’s arched entryway.
He’s almost back at the edge of the rubber-floored playground when—
“Hey! Hold up!”
Quan turns around to find Justyce is headed in his direction.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” Justyce says, out of breath.
Quan smiles—“Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr.”—and lifts his hand. “Call me Quan.”
“It was real nice to meet you, Quan,” Justyce says, smacking his palm against Quan’s and then hooking fingers. “Even, uhh…despite the circumstances.”
Now Quan laughs. “You’re ten years old, man. Loosen up.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Quan shoves his fists in his pockets. It’s gotten cooler. “Nice to meet you too, Justyce.”
Quan turns on the heel of his well-worn Jordans and heads home.
Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr. remembers the night everything changed. He’d fallen asleep on the leather sectional in Daddy’s living room while watching Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (the movie), and was dreaming about Count Olaf—who’d gotten a tan, it seemed, and looked suspiciously like his mama’s “boyfriend,” Dwight—falling into a pit of giant yellow snakes like the one from Montgomery Montgomery’s reptile room. Screaming bloody murder as he got sucked down into the scaly, slithery quicksand.
Quan’s pretty sure he was smiling in his sleep.
But then there was a BOOM that startled him so bad, he jolted awake and fell to the floor.
Which wound up being a good thing.
Next thing Quan knew, more police offi
cers than he could count were pouring into the house with guns drawn.
He stayed down. Hidden.
Wouldn’t’ve been able to get up if he tried, he was so scared.
There was a commotion over his head—Daddy’s room.
Lots of thumping. Bumping. A yell (Daddy’s?). Muffled shouting.
Get down! Put your hands in the air—
Oww, man! Not so tight, you tryna break my arm?
Wham. BAM!
Walls shaking.
Was the ceiling gonna fall?
Then the tumult shifted to the left. He heard Daddy’s door bang against the wall, then what sounded like eight tons of giant bricks tumbling down the stairs.
Slow down, man! Damn—
Keep your mouth shut!
Quan closed his eyes.
Chill out, man! I’m not resisti—
There was a sharp pain in Quan’s shoulder as his arm was suddenly wrenched in a direction he was sure it wasn’t supposed to go. A thick arm wrapped around his midsection so tight it squeezed all the air out of him…or maybe it all flew out because of the speed at which his body left the ground.
He couldn’t even scream. Looking back, that was the scariest part. That his voice was gone. That he couldn’t cry out. That he’d lost all control of his body and surroundings and couldn’t even make a sound to let the world know he wasn’t feelin’ it.
It’s how he feels now as he jolts awake in his cell at the Fulton Regional Youth Detention Center, unable to breathe.
Quan tries to inhale. And can’t. It’s like that cop’s still got him wrapped up and is squeezing too tight. No space for his lungs to expand.
Can’t.
Breathe.
