“Shot,” Zed finished. “We were at AMC Southlake, heading to the car after seeing a movie, and he tried to break up a fight in the parking lot. It wasn’t even some heroic shit. They were just by his car. Three white dudes, two-on-one. And a cop got there and just let loose, no warning. We heard the shots before we even saw him. Jerry died on the spot. We didn’t even get to thank him for driving.”

Apollo stood still, unsure whether to ask for more details or to offer hugs. He looked over at Kai and Theo. Their smiles were gone. They’d been hiding this pain from Apollo for two whole years. Did they not trust him? They did everything together, every day. He knew their Twitter passwords and their home security codes. Could there really be a greater level of intimacy? Apollo examined them further. Maybe they had been hiding the pain from themselves, too. Maybe they were protecting him. There had to be some explanation.

Zed approached him, removing another paint canister from her bag and offering it to him. He nodded and accepted the can. Walking toward the grave, he shook it vigorously, gripping it tightly despite his sweaty palms. Impatiently, he painted a single giant C, its blackness defiantly erupting from the headstone’s fresh red coat. Apollo was angry—with his friends, with the situation, with how he knew the rest of the story would unfold.

Back in Zed’s car, Apollo frowned as he scoured the web for more details on the shooting. It hadn’t even been covered by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He found a brief blurb in the Clayton News Daily, the unwanted paper that his parents used to pay him to remove from the yard, his first chore. He didn’t read it; the headline said enough. “Grand jury declines to indict Morrow cop.”

Heated, he reached to adjust the temperature, mistakenly touching the radio dial instead. “Never touch a black woman’s radio,” Zed said in mockery of Kai, her unnatural neck roll selling the joke. Apollo moved his hand to her exposed thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He quickly removed his hand as they pulled into Zed’s driveway, where her mother and younger brother stood, eyeing them blankly. Apollo stared at the paint on his hands, unsure of what to do, especially once he realized he’d left a black handprint on Zed’s thigh. Zed was already outside of the car. He joined her and her family, waving at her mother, Mrs. Pang, as her younger brother, Tim, voiced his disapproval.

“You went paintballing without me again? Ughhh.”

“Sorry, kid, you’ve got to be at least seventeen.”

“But Apollo just turned seventeen last October, and he’s been going since last July!” Tim complained. Apollo stiffened, taking a quick glance at Mrs. Pang, who seemed to share Tim’s skepticism. This paintball alibi was losing steam that it barely had to begin with.

“Apollo looks older though, Tim, so my friend who gives us the hookup can get away with letting Apollo through because he won’t get carded again. Give it a break, kid. Three more years and you’re in.” She gave his forehead a slight nudge and stepped past him, toward the front door. Apollo followed, offering Tim a shrug. He was just glad no one had mentioned the handprint.