“I don’t like it, either,” replied Nellie. “Best not to start something.They want to get a rise out of us. They want a confrontation. It’s not worth it.”
My sisters tried their best to carry on our conversation and ignore the men.
I could still hear Phelps, though. Every word.
He was talking about Alabama’s abortion law. It was a common topic these days. Everybody had an opinion. Sometimes I wondered whether folks ever talked about anything else.
I caught Mason Phelps staring directly at me. I slipped out of the booth and stepped into the aisle. Had a rage burning deep inside me. I wanted to smack the smirk off his ugly face. The fearsome image of Cocheta swinging from that tree stopped me.
Phelps stood. To make sure he had everybody’s attention, he raised his arms, revealing a mark burned into his forearm. A symbol that looked like the letterK.
Apparently, he had one more announcement to make. He called it out in a booming voice.
“There’s a protest coming up, folks! Biggest one anybody around here’s ever seen! A mess of warriors are coming, they gonna open people’s eyes in this town. Things are changing!”
Then he looked straight at me. “Shit’s going back to how it used to be. God bless Alabama!”
We girls sat frozen at our table until Nellie rose and broke the silence. “Let’s all walk out together.”
I was taking care of the check when I heard Nellie emphatically whispering, “Jordan,no!”
Jordan was standing frozen at the doorway. Staring down the men who represented everything that was taken from her with no repercussions. Staring… almost daring them to be men, to stand up and fight.
Phelps took notice. He stopped his posturing. He stared backand took a bold step forward. His friends swayed as if slightly tipsy, though aware enough to see something big silently brewing.
Nellie walked slowly to Jordan and put her hand on our baby sister’s shoulder. “Jordan, you don’t want this to be your story… not this part… not for your babies. Come on, now. Come on,” she whispered.
I grabbed her hand that had twisted into a tight fist. She loosened it as Phelps slowly turned to her… ready to justify his hate, ready to show the subject of his hate the wrath of his anger.
“Whatchu got, li’l nigra?” said Phelps with a chuckle.
“That’s your problem, Phelps. You don’t know what I got,” said Jordan quietly… her voice steady with the strength of David before bringing Goliath down.
She pulled her hand away from mine and walked out the door. I held it open for a few seconds, staring at them for emphasis, and walked out behind her.
I kept waiting for them to follow us… to light a firestorm… but the parking lot was clear. We hugged goodbye in silence.
I was sure the firestorm would come later. I was sure of it.
CHAPTER
45
Benjamin Meyers
BULLOCK COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA
Benjamin Meyers parked directly across from the sign—BULLOCK COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL—with its image of the school mascot, a hornet. A big one, with human fists and a prominent stinger and a scowl on its face.
Meyers checked the time on his car clock. 3:29. Almost time for the bell.
While he waited, Meyers studied the exterior of the building. The one-story structure was in a state of disrepair. Student body was small—less than one hundred per class—and enrollment was declining. He’d done some research. The school had a demographic mix of races. Achievement test scores were nothing to brag about. Occasionally, BCHS lucked into a winning athletic team.They’d won a state championship a while back, got a new gymnasium built in the flush of that achievement. It was the only construction update the building could boast.
Meyers heard the bell ringing inside. He stepped out of his car. The students were coming out, walking in clusters. He looked for groups of boys. Didn’t want to approach any girls. Ben wasn’t inclined to land himself in a jail cell.
Meyers knew that BCHS students were required to wear uniform polos, in class colors. White for freshmen, gray for sophomores, black for juniors, gold for seniors.
The color-coding made his prospecting a little easier.
