“Thanks, Mr. Allen.”
Devon smiled at him, but deep down, he didn’t want that at all. He didn’t want to work at the corner shop, didn’t want to stay on in Dahlia. He wanted to go to college like the kid in the book he was reading, the one whose brother was in a gang but who’d managed to “break the cycle” and achieve his dreams. “Breaking the cycle” was one of the things they talked about a lot at camp, that and staying in school and steering clear of drugs and alcohol, saying no to abuse, telling a trusted adult when they saw something they knew was wrong.
A lot of that stuff wouldn’t work at all in real life. You didn’t go telling a trusted adult your uncle’s dealing drugs out of your house while your sick Memaw’s laying in the bed and you’re trying to sneak in through the window so you don’t get spotted and dragged into the whole mess. You don’t tell a trusted adult unless you want the whole thing to go caving in on you and you’re yanked into some Home for Kids faster than you can snap.
But college, college was one of those things that would work. He could picture himself there, on some fancy campus with his blue backpack and a nice fresh clean shirt. A girl would come up and talk to him, a pretty girl, with good teeth and eyes that smiled along with her mouth, and they’d go to football games or sit in the center of one of those campus squares they talked about in the books, where people discussed philosophy or quizzed each other for exams.
Rev told him about college sometimes. He’d met Marla there, back before he was a preacher, and they’d go get ice cream and sitand stare at books together, not a care in the world beyond an A on a paper or getting to a part-time job on time.
“Those were the days,” Rev would say, shaking his head. “It’ll be strange when I finally finish seminary. I’ll have to go back and teach someday just ’cause I miss it!”
Devon had laughed, but privately he’d started to panic. What if Rev did leave one day, if he and Marla did move off and go teach someplace, left him far behind?
He’d be alone then, good and alone. Give it to God, he nodded to himself. No sense worrying about the future. God would provide, one way or the other.
He took the long way back, and it was almost dark when he got home. His eyes shot to the carport on reflex, and he breathed a sigh of relief, heart fluttering back to normal. No Cadillac.
And he hurried in to make him and Memaw some supper.
CHAPTER 23
Rebecca
On Wednesday, Rebecca sat in a quiet corner of the James Watkins cafeteria with ten-year-old Tamika, willing herself to be patient, to listen. The girl gazed out the window at the other kids playing. The look on her face said she’d rather be anywhere but here.
Rebecca gave the girl an encouraging smile, pen poised over the reporter’s notebook.
“Tamika, how long have you been going to James Watkins?”
The girl shrugged.
“Since you started school?”
She shrugged again. Rebecca frowned.
“What grade are you in?”
Tamika’s voice was so quiet Rebecca could barely hear her, leaned closer.
“Say again?”
“Going into fifth.” The girl looked completely miserable, her arms crossed tight against the electric-blue tank top. She was pretty, that much Rebecca could tell, with chocolate-brown skin and the darkest, most vivid brown eyes Rebecca had ever seen, but her looks wereovershadowed by something—discomfort? fear?—that made her look far older than her years.
Rebecca infused as much warmth into her smile as she could, reached out to touch the girl’s hand. Tamika flinched.
“Tamika, listen. I’m not going to ask you anything bad or scary, and you don’t even have to answer my questions.” Rebecca spoke quietly. “You don’t even have to talk to me at all. You can go right out there to recess with your friends, if that’s easier.”
Tamika looked surprised.
Rebecca held her gaze. “I mean it.”
The girl appeared to mull over the words, then shrugged again. “They said it might help someone else.” Her voice was still soft, but at least this time Rebecca could hear her.
“It might,” Rebecca said. “Well, let’s start with the easy stuff. Where do you live?”
“Right out there.” The girl motioned vaguely out the window, toward the rows of houses beyond the playground.
“That neighborhood?”
