I lean my head against the window, let those memories wash away as the signs turn into a blur. Then distract myself with Mama’s voice that rises and belts as she ups the volume on the radio. She points her finger to the ceiling of the car, humming along at the notes that are too high to hit.

The gospel music baptizing her the way it can rear inside your veins and cleanse your entire body, giving you goose bumps, making you raise your hands high. Probably the thing that gives Mama hope and the strength to rise and fight whatever the battle is for the day. And for today, we need all the help we can get.

After we drop off Corinne at school, we pull up to the police station. The first person I recognize isn’t a police officer. It’s Dean.

“You call him to meet you here?” Mama points at him.

“No,” I say. “You know Dean, though.”

“Well, tell him to go to school. The last thing I need is his mama giving me grief we got her boy caught up in our mess and skipping school.”

“Mrs. Beaumont,” Dean says, approaching our parked car.

“Morning.” Mama and I both get out of the car. “You shouldn’t be here, Dean. You got school.”

“Where else would I be?” Dean runs his hands through his hair. “Y’all are like family to me. My dad knows I’m here.”

“Go back to your mama, then. You know she won’t like you here.” Mama purses her lips.

Dean doesn’t budge, and the truth is, I’m not ready for him to leave. He’s always been someone I can rely on, and I need him more than ever. School won’t be easy. We lost a classmate in a horrific way. Today will be a shock for everyone, and then all that anger will be directed at Jamal as a suspect. Someone to blame so people can move on, because it hurts too much not knowing who could do something like that to Angela. I’ve seen this all before.

“Were you always this stubborn, or is my daughter to blame?”

“Definitely your daughter.”

I sock Dean lightly on the arm.

“After we done, get back to school. I don’t want you missing a whole day. Get Tracy’s work from teachers. She’ll be out of school the rest of the week.”

“I’m not going back until Jamal gets help,” I say. “He needs a lawyer.”

“You need to be in school.” Mama rests her hand on her hip.

I swallow hard. Being at school won’t be easy. It took years to get people to stop talking about my father’s trial, and even now my circle is still small. I’d rather be absent the last month of school and do my work from home, but Mama won’t have it. I know.