That evening, I went to the Browns’ apartment, and they were just singing hymns and packing up Bibles. Precious, Ms. Patty, and I planned to practice songs for the next day’s church service, and Mr. Brown had scheduled a meeting with the deacons. I wanted to say something, but already I felt insecure about my faith. I worried that it would seem as though I didn’t trust God the way that I ought to. I kept my mouth shut and let the anxiety inflate in my chest. But we all smelled that foul scent, thick in the air. It crawled through open windows and skipped up and down the porch.

We headed out of the building toward the Browns’ car. Everyone’s faces scrunched up or pinched tight. The Browns tried to set an example, so their expressions changed to neutral, smooth like they didn’t smell it anymore, but me and Precious frowned and giggled as we walked toward their car. Before we could get in, a Chevy with spinning rims screeched by, and flashes of light sparked from the car window, the shots so loud they disoriented us.

We bumped into one another, like winos, confused about which direction to run. Ms. Patty hollered, “Car!” and we all refocused, ran the few feet to the curb, then jumped in. Crouched low, we listened to more gunshots, this time coming from all around us: our building, the shopping center, on the other side of the street at DuSable.

The shots seemed closer, because the popping grew louder, then stopped.

Mr. Brown started praying. We all grabbed on to each other, hoping God would rescue us. I raised my head up and peeked out the window. The streets were empty again, and that car seemed to be parked in the middle of the road, but half a block away, right across from my school.

Roady, Meechie, and Nook came over and banged on the car window. My brother said, “Come on.” The Browns didn’t move right away. They looked at Meechie as if he’d had a gun pointed at their heads. It was my brother, and no one could stop me from pulling on that handle and jumping out. I turned back to them and said, “It’s okay.”

They eased up, looking out of the windows, and we all ran from the car. Just a block behind us, there were boys running down State Street, and from the look on Roady’s face, they were not friends.