The Rock and the River by Kekla Magoon Page B

head, extending the cup toward me. “Chamomile.”
    I wrinkled my nose, and Mama laughed. “Your cocoa’s on the counter,” she said. She sat down across from me, gathering the edges of her housecoat in her lap.
    I put down my pencil and rubbed the sides of my face. “You put in an extra sugar cube?”
    Mama shot me a look. “I know how my boys like their cocoa.” She dropped her eyes and wrapped both hands around her mug. Her thumbs tripped over each other, running up and down along the handle.
    I went into the kitchen. My cocoa mug sat steaming on the counter, next to Stick’s empty one. The pan of hot milk still rested on the stove burner, just enough there for a second mug. I poured it out in the sink and put Stick’s mug back in the cupboard. I lifted my mug and stirred the spoon.
    Mama was watching me through the door as I returned to the table. “How is your brother doing?” she said, her voice quieter than usual. Stick had been gone three days, but they hadn’t yet talked to me about what happened.
    â€œI don’t know. He’s probably fine.”
    â€œWhere is he staying?”
    I shrugged. Mama hunched forward and her frown deepened. “He hasn’t been going to school.”
    I shrugged again. She would know better than me. “We don’t see each other at school.” Except for sometimes at the breakfast, and I wasn’t about to tell Mama that. Tomorrow morning, she’d be waiting down there, ready to drag Stick home by the ear.
    â€œHe’ll come back,” I said.
    Mama shook her head. “He’s just like his father.”
    â€œHe’s nothing like Father,” I said.
    Mama lifted her mug. “No, baby, they’re the same. Exactly the same. Stubborn. Focused.” She sipped her tea. “Not a bone of compromise in either of them.”
    True enough. “Where is Father, anyway?” I hadn’t seen him at all since I’d come home from school. Not that I was complaining. If he was here, he’d be breathing down my neck until I finished my homework.
    â€œHe’s probably out looking for your brother.”
    I glanced up.
    Mama’s mouth twitched over the rim of her mug. “I told you, stubborn.”
    The wall clock read 6:15. Class started in fifteen minutes. “Mama, do you mind if I go out for a little while?”
    â€œIt’s after dinner, Sam.”
    â€œMy homework’s done.” I wrote Y = 42 under my scribbled out equation. Who cared if it was the wrong answer?
    â€œJust where do you plan to go at this hour?”
    â€œI’m supposed to meet up with Maxie.”
    Mama’s fingers hugged her teacup. She took a slow sip. “You know what your Father would say.”
    â€œI know.” I held my breath.
    â€œWhy do you think I’ll say something different?” She spoke in her sweetest voice, but it wasn’t a question.
    â€œPlease, Mama.”
    â€œSam, you know the rules of this house.” The twinge of sadness in her voice suddenly seemed to be about more than Stick being gone, but I wasn’t sure what else it meant.
    There was no point in arguing it further. Mama had her own kind of stubbornness. I scooped up my homework and headed to my room. I grumbled to myself as I left the table. I was going to stand Maxie up and miss my first political education class, to boot. A big part of me was relieved. Mama had given me a perfect excuse not to go. But there was something nagging deep inside of me that grew stronger by the moment. I couldn’t explain it or define it, but there were things I needed to understand. A part of me that would no longer sit still and do as I was told.
    By the time I reached my room, I had a plan.
    I dropped my books on my bed, took my spare jacket from the closet, and went to the window. I raised the sash and stuck my leg out, then paused to listen for Mama.
    The evening air cooled my hot face as I climbed