I stood there, my heart pounding, my hands shaking with anger and adrenaline.
Cookie appeared at my elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t. “I’m fine.”
But as I got to work, taking orders and serving food and pretending everything was normal, I couldn’t stop thinking.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the gun in my closet.
About Yusef asking iftheywere still looking for us.
About Larry’s hand on the counter, trapping me.
About Prime’s hands on my face, gentle and sure.
About how tired I was of running. Of hiding. Of being afraid.
Something had to change. Something had to give.
And I could feel it coming. Like a storm on the horizon. Like the moment before everything breaks.
This would be over soon. One way or another.
It had to be.
My phone buzzedin my apron pocket during the lunch rush. I ignored it the first time. The second time. But when it rang for the third time, Cookie gave me a look.
“Girl, answer it. Might be important.”
I pulled it out, my stomach already twisting. Unknown number. But the area code was local.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Ali? This is Principal Henderson from Eastside Middle School. We need you to come pick up Yusef. There’s been an incident.”
My blood went cold. “What kind of incident? Is he okay?”
“He’s in the nurse’s office. He’s… he’ll be fine, but we need you to come get him right away.”
“I’m on my way.”
I didn’t even clock out. Just ripped off my apron and grabbed my keys, Cookie calling after me, saying she’d get someone to cover my tables.
The bus ride to the school took forty minutes, but felt like hours. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. My mind kept cycling through worst-case scenarios.
He’s fine. They said he’s fine. But why does he need to be picked up? What happened?
I ran inside, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.
The nurse’s office was down the hall from the main entrance. I burst through the door, and there he was. Yusef sat on the examination table, his head down, his shoulders hunched. But when he looked up at me, I saw it.
His face.
The bruise from last week had barely faded, and now there was a fresh one blooming across his other cheek. His lip was split. His glasses were cracked. Blood had dried under his nose.
“Oh my God.” I rushed to him, my hands hovering over his face, afraid to touch him, afraid I’d hurt him more.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled, but his voice was thick, like he’d been crying.
