The Rock and the River by Kekla Magoon Page A

They brought this war on us! It’s time to fight back.”
    Father shook his head. “No son of mine is getting mixed up in that.”
    Stick leaned forward, planting his fists on the tabletop. His eyes bored into Father’s. “Then I ain’t your son.” The words dropped from his lips like boulders.
    â€œDon’t talk back to me,” Father said, his voice rising. “I don’t want to hear—”
    â€œI’m a Panther.” Stick broke through Father’s tirade with a calm breath.
    Father sucked in his belly, sucked back the words that would have come next. “Not in my house,” he said instead.
    Stick lifted his fists from the table and stepped back. Father lowered himself back into his chair. They stared at each other. The clock didn’t tick. My heart didn’t beat. Mama pressed her hips against the counter.
    Stick lifted his shades from the dining table and slid them over his eyes. Father sat still, a carved, immovablestatue. Stick crossed the living room without a sound and without a glance in my direction. I tried to call his name, but my voice caught in my throat.
    Stick slammed the door, and I knew what forever sounded like.
    I let go of the couch and raced after him. I caught him at the end of the driveway and ran in front, stopping him with my hand against his chest.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I yanked the glasses off his face. Stick glared at me as he lifted them right back out of my hand. He held out his arms, the shades dangling from his fingers.
    â€œI’m leaving. It’s about time, anyway. Get back inside before he kicks you out too.”
    â€œHe’s not kicking you out. You can’t leave. Where you gonna go?”
    â€œI got places.” Stick pushed forward, past me.
    I grabbed his arm. “What about me? You can’t do this.”
    â€œI don’t have a choice anymore, Sam.”
    â€œYou always have a choice.” Father’s words, coming out of my mouth.
    â€œWe both know that’s a lie.” He tugged out of my grip. “The truth is, you do what you have to do.” Stick slipped on his shades, tapped the side of my arm with his fist, then walked away.
    I didn’t know how to follow him this time. I’d been standing too still for too long. Stick didn’t look back. Once he turned the corner, I backed up the driveway, my eyes locked on the place I’d last seen him before he disappeared.
    I walked back into a different house. I pushed through the stillness, like a blur in a slow-motion picture.
    Mama stood in the kitchen doorway, arms at her sides, loosely clutching a vegetable knife in her fingers. She stared at me with dry eyes. Father and Mama watched me come in alone, but neither of them asked after Stick. The silence seemed unbreakable. As I closed the door, the soft click of the latch exploded in the air. Mama jumped as if it had been a gunshot. The knife slid to the ground with a sharp ping against the tile.
    Without another word, Father laid his head down on the table and wept. The sound of it shook every part of me. I clutched the doorknob in my fist, leaned my back against the cool wood. The order of the universe had changed.

CHAPTER 8
    I SAT AT THE DINING TABLE STARING AT MY MATH homework, but it wasn’t coming together like usual. I couldn’t concentrate. I was supposed to meet Maxie in an hour for the Wednesday night class. I was on the last problem, but I kept messing it up. I’d gotten X easy enough, but I couldn’t figure out what Y was supposed to be. I scribbled out the numbers and started again.
    â€œWhy what, baby?”
    I jumped about a mile. Mama stood frowning over me, a steaming mug in her hand.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou just said, ‘I don’t know why.’”
    â€œI’m talking to myself. Algebra.”
    â€œHmm.” She held the cup under her nose and sniffed the steam.
    â€œIs that cocoa?”
    She shook her