STICK TURNED TOWARD FATHER, BUT I stared at the ground. I couldn’t look at either of them. Someone grabbed me around the shoulders.
“Come on, kid.” It was Leroy. He pushed me through the demonstrators, cops, and bystanders. Stick was right behind us.
We ran the few blocks to where Leroy’s car was parked. I turned around and looked back at the crowd, but I couldn’t see Father. He hadn’t come after us—he’d let us go. Leroy nudged me toward the car. “Move it, kid! We can’t hang around now.”
Leroy got behind the wheel and hit the ignition. Stick shoved me into the backseat and eased in after me. His face was pale. He leaned forward and dropped the gun onto the front passenger seat, then turned to me.
“What were you thinking?” Stick demanded. He was trembling, and he looked as though he might either explode or collapse.
Leroy put the gun inside the glove compartment. The latch closed, hiding it from view, but I felt as if I could still see it.
I didn’t bother to answer Stick. What was I thinking? I couldn’t begin to say. If I believed anything Father had ever taught me, I should’ve felt bad for what I had just done. Why didn’t I? When Stick was in trouble, it didn’t feel wrong.
“Are you all right?” I asked Stick. He leaned away from me with a sigh.
Leroy steered us away from the crowds, back toward the projects. “What’s your name?” Leroy asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Sam.”
“What were you doing with a gun?” Stick asked. “This was supposed to be a peaceful protest.”
“You should talk.”
Stick looked away.
“We can’t win like that at this point, and you know it,” Leroy said, frowning into the mirror. “Or, you should.”
I stared at the rippling water as we drove along the lakefront. The wide calmness didn’t match my mood, or soothe me. “None of this means anything anymore. You can scream till you’re blue in the face, and still be standing in the same place,” I said.
“They’ll just learn to tune you out,” Leroy finished for me.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
I snuck a glance at Stick, but his attention was on the city, the walls and corners whizzing by his window. We were in the wrong seats. When we drove along the lake, Stick liked to sit where he could see the water, and me where I could see the buildings. But things like that didn’t matter anymore.
Leroy parked near the building where they held the classes. The three of us got out and went inside to the meeting room. The space looked much larger with all the chairs folded against the walls. Two tables stood alone in the center of the room. Stick unfolded a chair and set it by a table. I sat down. Stick and Leroy pulled chairs up to the other table. I stretched my hands across the wood tabletop and rested my head on one arm. I didn’t have the strength to ask what would happen now. Stick would know. Stick would take care of everything.
I sat up when Raheem and Lester thumped through the door. They both glanced at me warily as they walked in. I put my head back down and sat quietly while the others talked. I tried to listen, but all I could think of was Father. Father, and how I had shattered the sense of understanding we had built. But behind that thought, there was Stick. Stick, and how I couldn’t stand by and let him be hurt. Which was worse? Hurting Stick by doing nothing, or hurting Father by doing what I did? My head ached with my thoughts, all the memories of moments I still didn’t understand.
Leroy cleared his throat. “Whites are just beginning to recognize that equality really means they won’t be on top anymore. There’s a deep ravine between our races,” he said. I got the feeling Leroy always did a lot of the talking and idea-making.
“Some of the whites who are supposedly on our side only stay there as long as our freedom doesn’t interfere with their superiority. The hypocrisy is so deep, we can’t even see it most of the time. And they never will see it.” Leroy looked over at me. The others followed suit.
“So, kid, you ever been to the Wednesday political education class?” Lester asked. I almost laughed. How could he ask me that right now? It was such a normal question. But nothing could go back to normal after today.
“Yeah, one time,” I said, sitting up.
Lester and Leroy exchanged a glance. “Why don’t you come with us back to the office,” Leroy said. “You can help us with—”
“No,” Stick said out of nowhere.
“You saw what the kid did out there. That’s what we need.”
My heart surged with pride, drawing me back into the moment I’d pulled the gun. The thrill, the terror coursing through me. I’d done nothing with the gun but hold it in my hand, but for that one moment, I’d been heard.
Stick got up from the table. “Not Sam, Leroy.”
“What’s it to you?”
“He’s my brother.” I sat up straighter.
“I can see that. He looks just like you.”
“He’s too young,” Stick said. What did Leroy want me to do? I wanted to know. I needed to know. I needed that feeling back, even for a moment—the sense that something I did made a difference.
“Well, you raised him right,” Leroy said.
“I’m taking him home. Come on, Sam. Let’s go.”
“I want to stay,” I said.
“You can’t,” Stick said.
Leroy rested his fist on Stick’s shoulder. “You know it’s not up to you. It’s up to him.”
“Let’s go, Sam.” Stick grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.
I yanked my arm loose. But Stick was still close, so close. I shoved him away. He staggered back, his thighs catching the rim of the table. His eyes flashed with a sheen of anger that frightened me more than a little. He steadied himself, clenching his fists, jaw tight as a cornerstone. I thought we were going to fight again. Right there, in front of everyone. But Stick checked himself, visibly tucked in his temper in favor of something else.
“We’re going home,” he said. “Right. Now.”
I had no reins for my own frustration. My voice rose. “I’m not leaving.”
Leroy’s calm voice floated between us. “Listen, we’ve gotta roll. Why don’t you two finish this on your way home? I’ll catch both of you later.”
Stick held up his hand and Leroy tossed him his car keys on his way out. The door closed with a thud, leaving us alone amid the sound reverberating off the concrete walls. Stick stalked toward me. “What are you trying to prove?”
“What are you trying to prove?” I shot back. “I can be brave too.”
“You’re not ready for this, Sam, if you think that’s what it’s about.”
“Yes, I am. I’m going with them.” I hurried to the door. But when I emerged onto the street, Leroy and the others were nowhere to be seen.
Stick came up behind me. “You’re not ready for this life, so don’t chase after it. You don’t want it,” he said. His tone was not mean, or even harsh, but I hated that he thought that about me. Even more, I hated that he was right. I didn’t want to leave home. I didn’t want to hold a gun. I had little voice left for protest. Mostly, I wanted to be left alone.
Stick went on. “This isn’t something you ask for. It happens to you. I can’t explain it. Someday something will happen and you’ll know. Or it won’t, and you’ll live your life doing other things. It’ll all be good, Sam.”
I fought the powerful urge to storm off, but to where? Home to Father’s lectures and disappointment? Following Leroy and the others toward…I didn’t know what? I couldn’t see how to move in either direction, but it hurt like hell standing still.
“Let’s drive,” Stick said, dangling Leroy’s keys. We got in the car. I thought Stick would drive off right away, but instead he sat still for a while. He rubbed his forehead. “I never meant for you to get involved like this.”
I crossed my arms. “Because you don’t think I can handle it. Well, I can.”
“Look, I never said you weren’t brave,” Stick said, softening his tone. “What you did today, that was brave. Brave and stupid.” He swatted me on the back of the head. His hand bounced off the back of my hair. He smiled gently, a sad look in his eyes. “You don’t always have to be like me.”
I turned away, resting my forehead on the window glass. “How can it be all right for you and not for me?” Down the sidewalk, two little boys tore after a rolling ball. Friends. Brothers, maybe.
Stick, too, watched the boys playing. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said softly. “I can’t have that.”
“What about you?”
“Keep coming to the meetings,” he said. “Do the breakfast. And make up with your girl, because she’s driving the rest of us crazy.” He flashed a small grin, then became serious again. “Just leave the other stuff to me. I’m okay with whatever happens.”
I sank down in my seat. I didn’t like him saying that.
Stick slid the keys into the ignition.
“Wait,” I said.
Stick paused, then shook his head. “I’m taking you home.”
“No.” I scrambled out of the car.
“Sam.” Stick leaped out too.
I shut the door and looked across the roof at him. “I want to stay with you.”
Stick laughed. “No, you don’t. You’re going back.”
“I can’t go home after what I did.”
Stick studied the hood of the car. He ran his fingers along the metal fringe across the top of the door. “You can always go home,” he said. “It’s just not always easy.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
Stick caught my eye. “You don’t have to say anything. You won’t be able to get a word in edgewise, anyway. Look, you’ve always been able to handle Father better than me. You’re still the good son, Sam.”
What was he talking about? There was nothing I could do better than Stick. Even if I could believe what he said, my actions today had surely ruined any favor Father may have felt for me. But what choice did I have? Run away, like Stick? Where did he sleep? What did he eat? Looking at him here, I still couldn’t understand how he managed it. I wanted to go home.
We got back in the car. “Stick?”
“Hmm.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.” Stick drove me home. He didn’t say anything more, and I was too tired to try to talk.
“Come in with me,” I said as he pulled into the driveway.
Stick braked the car and turned to me. He didn’t reply, just brushed his thumb across his mouth in a move that reminded me of Father.
“I’ll see you,” I said. We clasped hands.
I waited until he drove away, then went inside. The house was dark, but Mama was inside, watching television. An uneasy feeling churned up in my stomach. I glanced at the clock. It was barely afternoon. School should still be in session.
“I’m back,” I said. “Mama?”
She didn’t answer me. I went up beside her. Father was on television, getting interviewed by some reporters. “I maintain, violence is not the answer to these problems of race and discrimination. We must foster dialogue between the black and white extremes.”
“Mama?” I waited for her to ask about the demonstration, but she didn’t seem to notice me. She was sitting very still on the edge of the sofa, her handbag in her lap. I sat down beside her, and she jumped.
“Sam, baby.” She ran her hand along the side of my face. “You’re all right.”
I lifted her fingers from my cheek and held them. “Mama, what is it?”
Father’s voice shook with conviction that was discernable even through the television’s fuzzy speakers. “We must come together at one table—the table of brotherhood, to use Dr. King’s words—we must come together and hear each other out so that true justice and equality may—”
A scream erupted from the crowd on television. The camera tilted, then righted itself. The familiar logo of a union jacket filled the frame. The man came out of nowhere, walked up to Father in broad daylight, big as life, and on television. And Father fell to the ground.