Shiketa ain’t going to jail. The judge gave her six months in juvey and a year of community service. Shiketa got a bad attitude, so he wants her put away to teach her a lesson.

“Be glad you’re not headed to jail, young lady,” the judge says. “When you hit this woman in the head, you committed assault and battery.”

“That ain’t fair!” I say so loud even the judge hears me. “She should go to a real jail.”

The judge says for me to quiet down or get out.

Momma asks to speak. The judge is real nice to her. Tells her to take her time.

Shiketa’s whole family is here—dressed in suits and fancy dresses like they going to church. Miracle is over there too. Rolling her eyes at me every chance she gets.

“Well, Your Honor,” Momma says, rubbing her hands and squeezing her fingers while she talks. “Shiketa ain’t a bad girl. I mean, she isn’t a bad girl. She just doesn’t have any guidance.”

A woman in a peach pants suit jumps up and says that ain’t so. “Shiketa got plenty folks looking out for her. But she hardheaded. Wants to do what she wants to do.”

The judge hits the gavel on the desk. “Quiet.”

Momma clears her throat. Touches the spot where Shiketa hit her on the head. “Shiketa’s not bad, Your Honor. But how’d a seventeen-year-old get to live all by herself? Where’s she getting the money? Nobody’s answered that question yet.”

The judge looks over at Shiketa’s lawyer. He stands up and says Shiketa wouldn’t obey her mother’s rules, so she put her out. “Shiketa worked two jobs, Your Honor. At McDonald’s and a Laundromat near her apartment.”

The judge looks over at Shiketa’s mother. Asks her if she can handle Shiketa when she’s released from juvey.

“She can stay as long as she don’t act up like before,” her mother says, crossing her legs. “If she disobeys my rules, she gone.”

Momma keeps talking, saying Shiketa needs to go someplace else once she gets out of juvey. “Where she can learn to read better and get her G.E.D.”

“I can read,” Shiketa snaps. “So mind your own business.”

The judge slams the gavel down again. “You,” he says, pointing to Shiketa. “You do your six months and community service, and then I want you back here for placement in a group home.” He points to Shiketa’s social worker. “Have something in place. Don’t come back here with your hands empty.”

Momma sits down next to me. She holds my hand and says, “Maybe she’s gonna have a chance now.”

I don’t know. I think Momma just made things worse. Shiketa’s looking back at us and saying something we can’t hear. Miracle’s shaking her head, like she can’t believe what just happened.

When we get outside, Momma asks me if I wanna go for ice cream. I just wanna get away from here. Shiketa’s people are right behind us. I don’t want them starting nothing.

“Hey, you. Wait up.” It’s Shiketa’s mother. She got on shoes so tall and pointy, it looks like she could stab you with the heel or the toe. “What’s your name again?” she says, lighting up a cigarette right in Momma’s face.

“Mrs. Hill,” Momma says, fanning smoke away.

“Well, Miz Hill, my daughter was raised just right. I sent her to school with all my other kids. They graduated. Working now too. But Shiketa got a hard head. So naturally, hard times gonna follow somebody like that.”

Momma is not as tall as this woman. And even though Momma’s dressed real nice, her clothes look like rags next to hers.

“I wasn’t trying to say you didn’t raise Shiketa right.”

“Yes, you did,” one of Shiketa’s sisters says. “I heard you say it right in there. And you wrong too,” she says, playing with three little gold bracelets she’s wearing.

Momma starts to walk away. Then stops. She tells Shiketa’s mother that Shiketa’s only a child and she don’t need to have her own place and be paying her own way. She needs somebody to look after her. “To make sure she goes to school and does the right thing.”

The woman moves closer to Momma. “People like you get on my last nerve,” she says. “Thinking you can do better. Acting like you better too.”

I tell Momma to come on and let’s go. But before we do, Miracle walks over and gives us her two cents. “She like to play rich,” she says, pointing to Momma.

“Planting all them flowers. Sweeping up all the time and minding other folks’ business.”

Shiketa’s mother steps in front of Miracle and tells her to go someplace else. “You think you can do better by Shiketa?” she says holding a finger in Momma’s face. The one with the big diamond ring on it. “Take her. Let her come live with you once she does her time. Then we’ll see how much you know ’bout raising kids.”

I don’t move. Not even to look Momma’s way. ’Cause I’m so scared she gonna say, “Okay, when Shiketa gets out she can come live with us.”

“Well,” Momma says, taking her time talking. “If I had the room . . .”

Shiketa’s mom throws down her lit cigarette and stomps it. “See? Y’all kind always talking. But never do step up to the plate when the time comes.”

Momma turns around and heads down the steps. Stops. Walks back up to Shiketa’s mom and says, “She’s your child. Raise her, like I raised mine. And don’t be expecting me to do your job.”

Miracle’s mouth is hanging open. Shiketa’s sisters look like they wanna smack me and Momma. Her mother stands there saying that Momma ain’t nothing but talk.

We take off down the steps.

“They following us?” Momma says, pulling me by the hand.

I look back. “No. They still standing there.”

“Good,” she says, walking faster. “Let’s hurry up, ’fore they do.”