“Steve can speak for himself, thank you.” Pause. Breathe. Be politic. “You have me on this case to provide a black perspective. Believe me, that’s the black perspective.”

“I don’t follow,” says one of the brass.

“Police violence is unchecked in black communities, and the powers that be are comfortable keeping it that way. That’s the existing perspective of most black Americans.”

“But—”

“Look, no one has made it clear what Henderson thought he was doing.” I lean forward. “There’s no narrative from the police side. The child was running away and got shot in the back. That’s the best they have to say?”

The brass stir uncomfortably. “Obviously he thought there was a weapon in play.”

“I’ve been over the public statements. That hasn’t been made clear. At all.”

The union rep folds his hands. “I think it’s clear enough.”

“Are we really expecting the public to make that assumption? He shot an unarmed child in the back.”

“So, we need to say there was a weapon?”

“There wasn’t one. That much, we know.”

“Henderson thought there was a weapon.”

“Did he?” I ask. “If he did, why wasn’t that part of the initial statement?”

“He ordered the suspect to stop running. She didn’t.”

“Is that a capital crime now? Running while black?”

“Resisting arrest. Failing to respond to a police officer.”

I wave my hand. “Those are misdemeanors, aren’t they? Anyway, which is it? Was she shot because he thought he saw a weapon, or because she was resisting arrest?”

“A number of factors contributed to his decision to discharge his weapon.”

“How many of those factors were simply bad judgment?”

John interrupts my flow. “This is what I meant about clarifying and streamlining the narrative.”

It’s not complicated, people. “You need to fire Henderson.”

The union rep shakes his head. “Before there’s been any hint of due process? We’d take so much flak for that.”

“The public respects due process,” the brass agrees.

“For police officers, but not for thirteen-year-old black girls?”

The room falls silent, then fills. With a slow cold certainty that nothing has changed. We are back at the beginning. The impasse is a roadblock guarded by tanks and AR-15s. A Grand Canyon–wide gap in logic and practice.

EVA

Ham and peas and potatoes. It is one of our favorite dinners, but tonight everything tastes like chalk.

“I have the right to defend myself,” Daddy says.

“We’re not supposed to talk about it, Darren,” Mom says again. She glances at me. “Not at the dinner table, okay?”

They want to protect me from what is happening, but they can’t. They get to stay at home and keep the TV off. They don’t have to go to school and hear about it from everyone.