“My father’s innocent.” I turn away from her.

“It’s not just this. It’s the same thing with the school paper, always about you and what you want to do. Think about how Jamal must feel.” Angela shakes her head, then storms out the exit doors. The Texas heat sucks the air out of my lungs until the door shuts behind her.

Mama’s no longer on the stage. The only person left is Corinne. She hasn’t moved from the interview couch. She’s crying. Jamal gets to her first; a sob builds in my throat watching them. Jamal sinks down to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist. I stand awkwardly behind him, wanting to help but knowing I did this. Corinne puts her arms around Jamal’s neck, her tears wetting his collar. The hurt I’ve forced onto my family knocks me backward as I look down at Corinne’s searching eyes.

“Everyone is angry,” Corinne says.

Jamal brushes her hair back. “Sometimes people do things that hurt because they think they’re helping.”

I shut my eyes and hope it’s not a lie.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED

WAS…

Mama’s silence is worse than being scolded. I can’t take it anymore, so I text my homegirl Tasha for a ride to Polunsky Prison. Maybe this way I can smooth things over with Daddy before Mama and Jamal get to him on Monday.

Tasha’s twenty minutes away on foot if I cut across the field from my house. She lives on an old historic block that seems to be forgotten. The rows of shotgun homes perch up close to the sidewalk along dusty potholed roads. I swiftly approach her dull-green-colored house.

Tasha’s already out front. “You know I’m not one to judge, but damn, why’d you go off like that?”

My face droops. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m surprised your mama didn’t skin you alive on television.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Train wreck.” Tasha slams her palm and fist together. “Full-on collision.”

Damn.

“If I take you to Polunsky, I’m not aiding and abetting, am I?”

“She didn’t answer when I asked.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to stick around for her to stop me.”

“Come here.” Tasha leans in to give me a hug. “Are you grounded?”

“Probably.”

“Jamal pissed?”

“He won’t talk to me.” I put my head down. “Didn’t even come home with us, so I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“Jamal’s not the type to hold grudges.” Tasha lets me in, and I enter her living room. “Remember when you washed his white jersey with your red pants?”

“Yeah,” I say, and chuckle. “He rocked that pink for weeks.”

“He’ll forgive you. Just don’t hold your breath if he ever gets another interview. No way he’ll let you in the building.”