chapter 80

ZAVION AND HENRY

Henry told Zavion the whole story.

“We didn’t talk much after that. And then we woke up and had the race and—” Henry squeezed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have tried to win,” Henry said, the words tumbling out. “I didn’t have the marble. I wasn’t supposed to win. It should have been like it always was. Wayne in front of me. Then I would have seen—then I could have stopped—” He scrambled up and stumbled over to the edge of the trail.

Zavion walked over to join Henry. Brae did too. The three of them stood at the edge of the cliff. The drop was steep, about fifteen feet to the ground. They stared over the rocky edge onto the top of a small tree, two jagged boulders, and dirt below.

Henry turned to face Zavion. “It was my fault. I said the marble was crap. I didn’t take it. I should have taken it—that was the rule—”

Zavion stared at Henry. His face was soaked with rain, but fear was still visible underneath all that wet. Zavion saw it clearly on Henry’s face. He knew that fear. All of a sudden he remembered what Ms. Cyn had said to him the evening he left Baton Rouge.

—

“You two are twins, you know.”

Zavion laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Henry’s white and I’m black. He’s short and I’m tall. He’s wide and I’m skinny. He’s from the North and I’m from the South.”

He’s from a mountain and I’m from a hurricane.

“He is sad…,” said Ms. Cyn, “And you…are sad. Do you see that, Zavion?”

Zavion squinted through the kitchen window. Henry was sitting on the grass tickling Osprey. Tiger flew up and down, landing on Henry’s knee, then Osprey’s shoulder.

“Henry has the same sad blue thing you have,” said Ms. Cyn, “and the same scared gray thing.” She turned Zavion to face her. “If you can feel it in yourself, you can feel it in him.”

—

“Henry,” Zavion said quietly, looking over the cliff, “it wasn’t your fault.”

The clouds were making a wider circle around the sun. Its rays filtered down through the trees and lit up the ground like it was singing its own sun-rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.”

“You wanna hear something weird?” said Henry. Zavion nodded. “I felt more at home in New Orleans than I have felt anywhere else since Wayne died.”

“I feel that way about this mountain.” Zavion paused for a moment. “I sort of wish my mother had climbed it. I wish her face was carved across the pinnacle….”

The boys stood still. The woods seemed to stand still too. No rain falling. No wind blowing. Brae was on the ground between Henry and Zavion. He crossed one of his paws in front of the other and licked the mud from between his toes. His licking became the only sound.

—

Henry unclipped the leash. “Wanna climb to the top?” he said.

Zavion touched the marble in his pocket, tightened his scarf around his neck, and nodded.