“Every news outlet wants another piece of that pie.”

“That’s sick.”

“That’s America.” The senator sighs. “I’ve considered attending the child’s funeral.”

Wow! “I’m sure your presence and support would be appreciated.” I hope I sound chill, but not too chill.

“I’m just as interested in supporting community efforts,” Senator Sloan adds. “My presence draws attention, but I want it drawn to the right things. What are your plans?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” I flex my shoulders, consider where to begin. This conversation is a dream come true.

Kimberly walks in just as I’m hanging up the phone. She glances at me. Double takes. Smiles. A question on the corners of her lips. She’s looking at my face. My overjoyed, can’t-believe-what-just-happened face.

I leap out from behind the desk, extend my hands to her. She takes them. Our fingers connect and I’m reminded of lying down close with her last night.

“You’ll never guess who that was.” I draw her hands in and out from my chest, one by one, a little boogie.

She tips her shoulder. “Who?”

I let go of one hand and spin her around under my arm. She’s smiling. “Al Sloan! The senator.”

She pulls back. Her eyes widen. “Oh?”

“He’s coming here. Isn’t that great?”

Kimberly shrugs, ending our little dance. “He’s been here before.”

“I know, but that was two years ago. Tariq Johnson, right? I saw him speak then.”

Kimberly averts her eyes.

“SCORE was brand new then. We grew. People got involved. You know. You’ve been with us almost since then. Except you stuck with it, when a lot of people didn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Sloan was organizing around the hoodie march back then. Didn’t it inspire you?”

“You could say so.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. The hesitation is strong. “I—I also knew Tariq Johnson,” she says finally. “I used to babysit for his sister.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So it brings up bad memories? Everything that’s happening, and Sloan coming to town?”

She shakes her head swiftly, then beams. “No. It’ll be great. Of course. It’s great news, Zeke.”

I love to hear her say my name.

DEVANTE

Everyone’s talking about what went down in Underhill last night. They all seem to know everything about what happened. We shuffle into the Black House common room for the vigil planning meeting and people all around us are bantering about this tweet and that image, things I haven’t seen. I’ve been watching the coverage, too, constantly, and yet somehow I feel like I’m behind the curve. So what else is new?

I never feel quite at home in the Black House. It’s supposed to be this sanctuary from the whiteness of everything else, and it is, kind of, but in other ways it puts me on edge.