back of the car so he could lie on the passenger seat and kick at the driver’s window. The musky smell of his father’s body odor and blood stung Max’s nose as he climbed to the back and got on his knees, looking out the rear at the party across the street. Kelly was over there, in their living room, drinking a cocktail, talking to some lady. Rasheed kicked once. “It’s a very strong car.” He unwrapped his hand; the bleeding had stopped.
An enormous black woman came out of the party and into the street. She wore a royal blue ruffled blouse and long skirt combination with glossy white shoes. A gold cross the size of a big starfish rested on her cleavage, glinting in the sundown. Max slapped at the window to get her attention, shouting, “Excuse me! Help! Help!”
“What are you doing, Max?” his father asked, his bare legs bicycling the air, jean shorts riding up to his crotch.
She peered at the car for a beat before her eyes exploded into panic. She saw a shirtless boy begging to be freed, and Rasheed’s woolly legs kicking in the background.
“Oh my God!” she shouted. “Help! Help!” Her voice was astounding. No distress signal or gong or horn had ever resounded so loudly. Max motioned for her to open the door, and she hustled over. As soon as he put a foot on the driveway, she snagged his wrist and yanked him behind her.
“Okay. Good,” Rasheed said, writhing his way back into the driver’s seat. She saw the totality of this hairy, shirtless man with a bloody hand and threw the back door shut. She leaned her back on the front door, not knowing he was imprisoned in there anyway. “Oh no you don’t!” she screamed. Her volume had attracted a swarm of guests from the party; at least twenty people flowed out and headed over.
“What’s it?” Rasheed said, leaning his ear against the window.
With little space between the driver’s door and the shrubs that separated the Yangs’ property from theirs, the people had to pack tightly to see what was happening. The sun had set, and everyone turned into agitated silhouettes. Rocket howled inside the house. Robby sang, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” jumping up and down, unsure if he was overjoyed or frightened. Many still had their drinks, holding them above heads or over people’s shoulders like at a crammed concert.
Max said, “It’s okay, that’s my dad,” but somehow his voice didn’t work. It came from his throat, not his belly, and didn’t carry over all the other noise.
The woman kept wringing Max’s skinny wrists, looking over his head at the others, saying, “We got to get him to the police station. Where his parents at? Where they at?” Max thought he repeated the words No and Wait , but he was so overpowered by her jerking his wrists around that he couldn’t be sure if he spoke the words or just mouthed them. The Yangs protested with their thin voices but were smothered between taller people who chattered excitedly. Max spotted the top of Coach Tim’s San Antonio Spurs cap. He just loomed there, watching. Kelly was far behind Tim, still in Nadine and Rodney’s yard. Was this really happening? Were the Yangs the only people willing to help Max and his father? And couldn’t Max do anything other than get handled by this hysterical woman?
His father was tapping on the window, saying, “Hello? Excuse me, wait a minute— What’s it— Hello?”
Nadine pushed through and said to the woman holding Max, “Let go, Leslie, can’t you see you’re scaring the hell out of him? What’s going on here?”
Leslie did let go of his wrists but then took him by the shoulders. She slowly shouted into his face, “Yeah! What’s going on here! Son?”
Rodney’s deep chuckle came from behind the crowd.
“Whoa, Leslie,” Nadine said, “these people are our neighbors. That man in there is his father. Calm down.” She looked to Max for backup. He nodded urgently. “Some way to make a first impression. I have yet to even meet the man. Les,
An enormous black woman came out of the party and into the street. She wore a royal blue ruffled blouse and long skirt combination with glossy white shoes. A gold cross the size of a big starfish rested on her cleavage, glinting in the sundown. Max slapped at the window to get her attention, shouting, “Excuse me! Help! Help!”
“What are you doing, Max?” his father asked, his bare legs bicycling the air, jean shorts riding up to his crotch.
She peered at the car for a beat before her eyes exploded into panic. She saw a shirtless boy begging to be freed, and Rasheed’s woolly legs kicking in the background.
“Oh my God!” she shouted. “Help! Help!” Her voice was astounding. No distress signal or gong or horn had ever resounded so loudly. Max motioned for her to open the door, and she hustled over. As soon as he put a foot on the driveway, she snagged his wrist and yanked him behind her.
“Okay. Good,” Rasheed said, writhing his way back into the driver’s seat. She saw the totality of this hairy, shirtless man with a bloody hand and threw the back door shut. She leaned her back on the front door, not knowing he was imprisoned in there anyway. “Oh no you don’t!” she screamed. Her volume had attracted a swarm of guests from the party; at least twenty people flowed out and headed over.
“What’s it?” Rasheed said, leaning his ear against the window.
With little space between the driver’s door and the shrubs that separated the Yangs’ property from theirs, the people had to pack tightly to see what was happening. The sun had set, and everyone turned into agitated silhouettes. Rocket howled inside the house. Robby sang, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” jumping up and down, unsure if he was overjoyed or frightened. Many still had their drinks, holding them above heads or over people’s shoulders like at a crammed concert.
Max said, “It’s okay, that’s my dad,” but somehow his voice didn’t work. It came from his throat, not his belly, and didn’t carry over all the other noise.
The woman kept wringing Max’s skinny wrists, looking over his head at the others, saying, “We got to get him to the police station. Where his parents at? Where they at?” Max thought he repeated the words No and Wait , but he was so overpowered by her jerking his wrists around that he couldn’t be sure if he spoke the words or just mouthed them. The Yangs protested with their thin voices but were smothered between taller people who chattered excitedly. Max spotted the top of Coach Tim’s San Antonio Spurs cap. He just loomed there, watching. Kelly was far behind Tim, still in Nadine and Rodney’s yard. Was this really happening? Were the Yangs the only people willing to help Max and his father? And couldn’t Max do anything other than get handled by this hysterical woman?
His father was tapping on the window, saying, “Hello? Excuse me, wait a minute— What’s it— Hello?”
Nadine pushed through and said to the woman holding Max, “Let go, Leslie, can’t you see you’re scaring the hell out of him? What’s going on here?”
Leslie did let go of his wrists but then took him by the shoulders. She slowly shouted into his face, “Yeah! What’s going on here! Son?”
Rodney’s deep chuckle came from behind the crowd.
“Whoa, Leslie,” Nadine said, “these people are our neighbors. That man in there is his father. Calm down.” She looked to Max for backup. He nodded urgently. “Some way to make a first impression. I have yet to even meet the man. Les,
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