and we get home.
Ain’t nothing out here to take your mind off things; just trees and a dusty road—South White Rock Road—that don’t nobody hardly drive up. I look back at the extra clothes I left in the middle of the road. “My father might still come for us.”
Kee-lee gets mad. “Your dad’s gone. He left us, same as mine.”
I remind Kee-lee that his dad got shot. He reminds me that he took off long before the bullet found him.
Something musta happened to my dad. He wouldn’t just take off, I think.
Kee-lee sits his backpack down in the middle of the road. “He planned it all along.”
I drop my things too.
“Figured he ain’t want no children at all. So he left you—and your mother too.”
The road is hot. You can feel the heat up through your sneakers. “Take it back.” I’m talking to Kee-lee and looking around at signs. SOUTH JENSON COUNTY ROUTE 46 N. HOTELS 20 MILES.
He swings at me and misses. “He dumped ya. That’s what they all do.”
My first punch lands right where I want—upside Kee-lee’s big block head. His hands go up. I double punch him in the stomach, hoping his guts bust open and spill out all over the road like chitlins. When I’m done with the next punch, Kee-lee’s got a bloody nose and a headache too I bet. But he ain’t no quitter. So he wipes blood away with the rag on his head, holds his arms out straight as a row of corn and knocks his fists into the sides of my head. I fall to my knees.
“What you gotta say now?”
I’m down awhile. Opening and closing my eyes, trying to see straight. Grabbing him by the knees, bringing him down too. Rolling around, punching him. Ducking when he swings. Trying not to holler when he shoves my chin back so hard it feels like my head’s gonna pop off.
“Ouch!”
He flips me over. Sits on my back and holds my face down. The tar feels like scalding-hot coffee. My head comes up. He pushes it back down. “I’m gonna kill you!” Kee-lee flips me, then he stands with his big foot on my stomach and smiles right before he stomps me.
Beep. Beep. Beeep.
A truck’s coming. I don’t see it because it’s behind me. But I know it’s a truck because my uncle drives one and he lets me pull the horn when I want.
“You gonna get run over,” Kee-lee says, holding me down with his foot.
I twist his leg and try to take him down. His foot presses down on me. I’m kicking the air and punching the ground, listening to the truck roll closer. “Let me up!”
He wants me to say I’m sorry. To say my father left me like his father left him. But boys round my way never say they sorry.
Beeep! Beeep!
I look over my shoulder. The truck is so close I can see the driver. He can see us too. But he ain’t slowing down.
Beeep!
Kee-lee screams. “Say it!”
The truck’s an eighteen-wheeler. It’s red with a slamming silver grill and smoking pipes.
Beeep!
“Say it!”
Stones on the ground jump like popcorn in a popper.
I look at Kee-lee looking at the truck.
“Just say it. Say . . .” He jumps off me and takes off running.
“Kee-lee!”
“Run, Mann! Run!”
The side of the road seems like it’s ten blocks away. But we both get to it at the same time, jumping over the guardrail and into weeds tall as Jason.
Beep! Beep! Beeeep! The driver gives us the finger when he flies by.
We give it right back to him.
Chapter 30
“HE WAS GONNA kill us,” Keelee says. “Run us over.”
I wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my arm. “And I thought people in the country were supposed to be nice.” I climb over the guardrail behind Kee-lee and back on to the road.
We’re trying to figure out where we’re at. The road is long and winding. There’s signs pointing the way to gas stations and restaurants, but we don’t see no houses or buildings nearby, just trees and grass.
Kee-lee rips his T-shirt again and hands me a piece. We tie our heads up. “Maybe we should get off the road,” he says. “Walk in the woods for a
Ain’t nothing out here to take your mind off things; just trees and a dusty road—South White Rock Road—that don’t nobody hardly drive up. I look back at the extra clothes I left in the middle of the road. “My father might still come for us.”
Kee-lee gets mad. “Your dad’s gone. He left us, same as mine.”
I remind Kee-lee that his dad got shot. He reminds me that he took off long before the bullet found him.
Something musta happened to my dad. He wouldn’t just take off, I think.
Kee-lee sits his backpack down in the middle of the road. “He planned it all along.”
I drop my things too.
“Figured he ain’t want no children at all. So he left you—and your mother too.”
The road is hot. You can feel the heat up through your sneakers. “Take it back.” I’m talking to Kee-lee and looking around at signs. SOUTH JENSON COUNTY ROUTE 46 N. HOTELS 20 MILES.
He swings at me and misses. “He dumped ya. That’s what they all do.”
My first punch lands right where I want—upside Kee-lee’s big block head. His hands go up. I double punch him in the stomach, hoping his guts bust open and spill out all over the road like chitlins. When I’m done with the next punch, Kee-lee’s got a bloody nose and a headache too I bet. But he ain’t no quitter. So he wipes blood away with the rag on his head, holds his arms out straight as a row of corn and knocks his fists into the sides of my head. I fall to my knees.
“What you gotta say now?”
I’m down awhile. Opening and closing my eyes, trying to see straight. Grabbing him by the knees, bringing him down too. Rolling around, punching him. Ducking when he swings. Trying not to holler when he shoves my chin back so hard it feels like my head’s gonna pop off.
“Ouch!”
He flips me over. Sits on my back and holds my face down. The tar feels like scalding-hot coffee. My head comes up. He pushes it back down. “I’m gonna kill you!” Kee-lee flips me, then he stands with his big foot on my stomach and smiles right before he stomps me.
Beep. Beep. Beeep.
A truck’s coming. I don’t see it because it’s behind me. But I know it’s a truck because my uncle drives one and he lets me pull the horn when I want.
“You gonna get run over,” Kee-lee says, holding me down with his foot.
I twist his leg and try to take him down. His foot presses down on me. I’m kicking the air and punching the ground, listening to the truck roll closer. “Let me up!”
He wants me to say I’m sorry. To say my father left me like his father left him. But boys round my way never say they sorry.
Beeep! Beeep!
I look over my shoulder. The truck is so close I can see the driver. He can see us too. But he ain’t slowing down.
Beeep!
Kee-lee screams. “Say it!”
The truck’s an eighteen-wheeler. It’s red with a slamming silver grill and smoking pipes.
Beeep!
“Say it!”
Stones on the ground jump like popcorn in a popper.
I look at Kee-lee looking at the truck.
“Just say it. Say . . .” He jumps off me and takes off running.
“Kee-lee!”
“Run, Mann! Run!”
The side of the road seems like it’s ten blocks away. But we both get to it at the same time, jumping over the guardrail and into weeds tall as Jason.
Beep! Beep! Beeeep! The driver gives us the finger when he flies by.
We give it right back to him.
Chapter 30
“HE WAS GONNA kill us,” Keelee says. “Run us over.”
I wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my arm. “And I thought people in the country were supposed to be nice.” I climb over the guardrail behind Kee-lee and back on to the road.
We’re trying to figure out where we’re at. The road is long and winding. There’s signs pointing the way to gas stations and restaurants, but we don’t see no houses or buildings nearby, just trees and grass.
Kee-lee rips his T-shirt again and hands me a piece. We tie our heads up. “Maybe we should get off the road,” he says. “Walk in the woods for a
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