“You here because we fit.” Quincy sits closer to me. “You can’t deny that. As much as I’ve tried to keep myself away from you, I’m always falling right back here. And you know that magnet that pulls us together is the same one that pushes you away from Dean. Won’t ever change until you flip that switch and make that decision. He’s had all these years to show you what he’s about, while I waited for you. Tried to not be a reminder, haunting you with our dads’ memories.”

“You’ve never brought bad memories,” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes. I made myself think Quincy was trying to live a separate life from me. I told myself that because it was easy to believe. “I thought you wanted out. Dean and I…He was good to me. A friend. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“I had Jamal. We were young, but I don’t like feeling like I’m supposed to stay on the sidelines anymore. I’m not stepping back unless you ask me to.”

I let a small smile slip, face flushed. Quincy takes my hand. It’s like we were ripped from each other, our friendship splitting when our families’ lives got torn apart. We had to survive through it. It was already too hard to face our community as children tainted because of our fathers. I think I was too weak to try to face my history with Quincy. But now, with his hands holding mine, I feel us melding back together. Becoming stronger. Becoming something bigger together than apart. It’s all so much to take in. I can see it in his eyes. We need time to let our lives fall back in place. There’s one thing I know now: I won’t let anything pull us apart again.

I know I’ve overstayed my welcome the way Mrs. Ridges keeps passing Quincy’s room. We’re hip to hip together. Bonded again, like we were as kids, but this time grown. I’m not ready to leave Quincy, so we search online for anything about the Klan and white nationalists in Texas. They’ve erased this from their history. But the burden is on our backs like whips cracking our skin and leaving us to bleed out.

I search for articles about a Black man lynched, using the date on the back of the photo. Nothing pops up. I grow frustrated until I find a story about an FBI raid in Crowning Heights, a short article on the second page of the local newspaper. Illegal guns, racketeering. Then I see Richard Brighton’s name as charged but not convicted. Richard was one of the few men who weren’t sentenced.