Darkness Before Dawn by Sharon M. Draper Page A

gentleness and understanding.
    When I walked in the door, Mom was in the kitchen, getting a glass of milk that she probably did not really want. “How was it?” Mom asked, sipping the milk.
    â€œReally nice, Mom,” I said with feeling, still musing over the last few moments. “Really nice. We talked about the movie and about when he was kid. He drove me straight home, and then he touched my cheek and said good night. That’s it!”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œYeah, not at all like I thought, and certainly not like you and Daddy worried about. He was really cool.”
    â€œSounds wonderful,” Mom said without enthusiasm, but she gave me that I-can-see-everything mom look. “Go say good night to your dad. He’s been worried, too.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to worry about, Mom,” I said with a smile. But as I headed upstairs to speak to my father, a faint frown crossed my face. Jonathan was wonderful—like no one I had ever met—fine and sharp and smart, too. But there was something, something I couldn’t put my finger on, that bothered me. I couldn’t put it into words, wasn’t even sure what I felt. Worry? His childhood? I wasn’t sure. But I let the thought pass as I chattered with Daddy about the movie and the uneventful evening.
    Jonathan did not call the next day or the next. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to or not, but I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit.
    On Christmas Eve, a huge bouquet of red roses, each tied individually with a silver ribbon, was delivered to my house. I squealed with delight, for no one had ever sent me flowers before.
Now
that’s
the difference between a boy and a man!
I thought with pleasure. A real man knew of course how to capture the heart of a lady. I searched for the card, but there was none. I called Rhonda and Jalani, and the three of us tried to decide if I should call Jonathan and thank him. They told me that since he hadn’t sent a card, he didn’t want to be thanked. Yet. Both girls came over to my house to admire the roses, sniffing them and giggling with me about what they meant. My parents weren’t impressed; I think they felt very uncomfortable with this young man who was so clever at pleasing their daughter.

10
    On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I stopped by Monty’s house and took him a gift. His mom hugged me and thanked me for always remembering Monty.
    â€œMonty’s my man,” I replied, laughing. As he got older, he was starting to look more and more like Andy.
    â€œA portable CD player!” Monty cried with joy. “Thanks, Keisha! You’re the best!” Monty wanted to be older, to be like the kids in high school. No one could tell him to enjoy being a kid while he could.
    I hugged him, remembering Andy as I touched the thick curliness of his hair. “Maybe before Christmas break is over, you can come to the mall with us and pick out a couple of CDs.” Monty beamed with pleasure, and hugged me again.
    I left Monty’s house, thinking of Andy and the past. I drove aimlessly, avoiding the area around Kenwood Mall, where people were jammed shoulder to shoulder grabbingstuff they didn’t even like for people they really didn’t care about. They had rushed to that last pre-Christmas sale before the after-Christmas sales began. I didn’t want to be a part of that mess. I knew that Rhonda was with Tyrone in that crowd, and Angel, along with Joyelle, and Gerald and Jalani were probably there, too.
    But I couldn’t deal with that today. The malls made Christmas into a hunk of phony plastic wrapped in pretty paper. I wanted to get one last gift for my mother—something real, something not made of plastic. Mom liked flowers. I figured I’d try to find a plant, something that would keep on living long after all the broken Christmas gifts had been returned to the store.
    With no particular destination in