He was sitting on the bed, knees pulled to his chest, staring at nothing. His eyes were red and swollen. He’d been crying. Still was, tears sliding down his face without sound.
On the bed next to him was a trash bag. I could see the outline of something heavy inside. Something metal.
A gun.
And next to that, scraps of fabric. Cut up clothes.
I looked at Zahara. Then back at Yusef. Then at the yellow tape visible through the window.
“Tell me,” I said quietly.
Zahara told me. About Yusef leaving early that morning. About the shooting behind the building. About Nigel—the boy I’d thought was his friend—being the one who’d been tormenting him all along. About Yusef coming home with her gun. About convincing him to put it down when he’d pressed it to his own head.
By the time she finished, my hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From rage.
Nigel. That little nigga had been beating on Yusef this whole time. Stealing from him. Threatening to have his mother killed. Making his life hell while pretending to be his friend.
And I’d let him into Zahara’s space. Let him help at the gala. Treated him like he was a good kid.
I’d missed it. All of it.
I crossed the room and sat down next to Yusef on the bed. He flinched when I got close, like he expected me to hit him. To yell. To tell him what a fuck-up he was.
Instead, I pulled him into a hug.
He broke immediately. Sobbing against my chest. His whole body shaking with the weight of what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just wanted him to stop?—”
“I know.” I held him tighter. “I know, lil man. I know.”
We stayed like that for a long moment. Me holding him. Him falling apart. Zahara watching from the doorway with tears streaming down her face.
Finally, I pulled back. Held his face in my hands and made him look at me.
“Listen to me,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. “What happened today… it’s gonna be okay. But I need you to do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”
He nodded weakly.
“You need a story. And you need to stick to it no matter what. You came home from school at the regular time. You were in here practicing piano the whole afternoon. You didn’t go outside. You didn’t see anything. You didn’t hear anything until the sirens started. That’s the truth now. You understand?”
“But what if they ask?—”
“That’s the only answer you give. You were home. Practicing. That’s it.”
“I’m scared, Prime.” His voice cracked. “What if they find out? What if they know it was me?”
“If there were witnesses, you’d already be in handcuffs. The fact that police haven’t come knocking means nobody saw you. Nobody knows.” I squeezed his shoulders. “But we gotta be smart. We gotta make sure there’s nothing that ties you to this.”
I looked at the trash bag. The gun. The cut-up clothes.
“I’m gonna get rid of these,” I said. “Somewhere they’ll never be found. And then this is over. You hear me? It’s over.”
“How do you know?” Yusef’s eyes searched mine, desperate. Confused. “How do you know what to do?”
I was quiet for a moment. Then I told him the truth.
