14

JAWAHIR

“Back to back,” Jawahir whispers as she and Rodney board the southbound train. Behind them, in the park, the brawl rages on. Farhan’s and Marquese’s injuries were the first, probably not the worst.

“Are you hurt?” Rodney asks. “Tell me you’re okay.” Jawahir’s knees are scraped, but there’s no blood. That’s not true, she knows, for Rodney. His knuckles are bloody and his hand is probably broken.

“I’m fine,” Jawahir lies. Love has consumed her ability to tell the truth. “Where are we going?”

“My uncle Larry’s place,” Rodney says. “We can hide out there until—” Rodney stops.

“Until what?” Jawahir asks, but there’s silence between them even as the everyday sounds of light-rail commuters surround them. Jawahir doesn’t know how to finish the sentence either.

“I’ll call him,” Rodney says. Jawahir stares ahead, her hands covering her mouth. No one looks at her or out the window, all of them focused on the two-by-three inches of screen in front of them.

Jawahir’s heart beats so fast she feels like it is about to jump out of her chest and run away, and she knows that’s the only answer: for her and Rodney to run away. She can’t go back to school, back home, back to where everybody will have heard what Rodney did to Farhan. For a second, the fear of her future overwhelms Jawahir when she realizes she has nowhere to run, nowhere to turn, and nowhere to hide. Sooner or later they’ll have to get off the train. “Rodney, what are we going—”

“It’s all over the news,” Rodney finally says. “The fight.”

“Did they say anything about Farhan?”

“No, nothing about him or Marquese,” Rodney says. “There’s only one person named. Me.”

Jawahir’s heart feels as if it jumps from her chest to her throat and stops her ability to speak.

“Don’t worry, Larry will help us figure out something,” Rodney says, unsure if he believes it.

“But it wasn’t your fault! You were protecting me,” Jawahir says. It sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“They’ll call it an assault, which violates my parole. I’ll go back inside, but I’d rather die—”

“It can’t be that bad inside, can it?”

“I didn’t finish,” Rodney says. “I’d rather die than be separated from you.”