But this isn’t the Jamal I know, either.
And the truth is, I don’t know much of anything, except the one thing that matters: He killed them.
Q killed my parents.
My arm fires. My fist cuts through the air, a spaceship navigating the meteorites of historical bullshit between us.
I close my eyes. Brace for impact.
And I don’t know if it’s my eyes clenched too tight, or if my brain’s so hot my vision shorts, but suddenly all’s black, everything heavy.
This moment like an anvil dropped from the sky.
93
“What the hell are you doing?” Autumn says.
She practically tackles me, propelling me into Q, all of us crashing into the sand.
I struggle for breath, stumble to my feet. “No, what are you doing?”
Autumn shakes her head. “I told you, J. I won’t be with a caveman. You wanna be an actual tough guy, try apologizing.”
“Apologizing?” I spit out a tongueful of sand. “For what?”
She makes her you know what I mean face. But I wave her off. “Nah. This dude needs to apologize to me.”
Q brushes off his shorts and laughs. “That ain’t happening.”
Autumn, a human traffic light, steps between us, holds up a palm at Q, a palm at me.
“This is stupid. You both are right and you both are wrong and . . .”
But Q shakes his head, points at Autumn. “Yo, this your bodyguard?”
“Don’t point at her.” I step closer to knock his hand away, but Autumn bumps me back.
Q laughs, holds up his hands in surrender. “Autumn, you seem cool. Maybe in another life, we’d be friends. But I feel bad for you because you don’t see what’s coming.”
Autumn shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”
Q smiles. “You think Jamal actually likes you? You’re a placeholder, Autumn.”
“Q, I’m warning you, that’s enough.” I try to step in front of Autumn, but she stands her ground.
“People like you and me don’t matter to people like him. We’re just seat fillers. The second someone he likes more comes around, he’ll ball you up.”
“That’s not true,” she says. “I know you think that’s what happened to you but it’s not true.”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
A few kids hear our commotion and post up along the perimeter to watch.
“Q, just stop,” I say.
“Be smart, Autumn. He’ll toss you and not think twice. My advice? Leave him first.”
“Is that what you think? That he tossed you? How can you toss something you never had?”
Q looks confused. “What are you talking about?”
I touch Autumn’s shoulder. “Autumn, please, just . . .”
But she pats my hand, like it’s okay, I got you, her voice already softening. “Look, I honestly don’t want to hurt your feelings, Q. But you were barely friends. Jamal felt sorry for you. Tried to be nice to you. But you . . . you were smothering him, man. He couldn’t breathe. And he had so much going on—”
Q looks incredulous. “Smothering? I was trying to be there!” His voice hot, sharp. “Is that what he told you? That I was some pitiful kid he rescued like Captain Save-a-Loser?” He turns to me. “Barely friends? Really, dude?”
I don’t need to see Autumn’s face to know she’s hurt, but she swivels to show me, anyway. And for a second, they’ve joined forces. A temporary alliance against their common enemy.
“Jamal . . . ,” Autumn says, my name like a hair caught in her throat.
I shrug. “I don’t see how the terminology I used matters . . .”
But Q’s a runaway train. “Everything matters! J, you were my best friend and you were in the worst pain, what was I supposed to do?”
And it’s like, for a moment, the anger isn’t as red, the resentment not so bitter. Because his question is valid. What was he supposed to do?
“No, answer me, Jamal. What would you have me do?”
And I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
More kids trickle over, a circle slowly forming around us.
“I don’t know,” I hear myself say.
“That’s what I thought,” Q says, his words wet with venom. “The truth is you sacrificed me. I was your scapegoat.”
And now I’m shaking.
And I want to say because you killed them.
You killed them.
And I would sacrifice you a thousand times over if it would bring them back.
“Just say the words,” Q’s insisting. “You needed a villain. Someone to be mad at, and you chose me, the only person outside of Whit who would’ve stuck around no matter what. I told myself over and over it wasn’t personal. But there’s only so many times you can tell yourself that before you sound stupid even to yourself.”
“You wanna know the real reason I was so angry? Why I’m still angry?”
“I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“I’m so angry because you . . .”
Now Autumn grasps my shoulder. “J, don’t.”
But I move beyond her grip, closer to Q. “Because you . . . because you . . .”
But I can’t do it. I just can’t.
Quincy laughs. “Didn’t think so.” He nods toward Autumn. “See. You’re in love with a coward.”
Autumn scoffs. “You know, for someone so concerned with me interjecting myself, you sure love including me.”
“Honestly, Q? I don’t get it. Like, what’s your problem? Why are you so mad?” I ask.
“You know what the funny thing is?” Q shakes his head, claps his hands. “I’m not mad at you. Even though you punked out when I needed you most. Despite the fact that during the worst days of my life, you couldn’t even text an o and k.” Q laughs. “Nah. I’m more pissed at me. That I was stupid enough to waste all those years with you. That even when it was beyond clear to everyone else in the world that you weren’t gonna show up, I was still dumb enough to believe you were on your way.” Q takes a step toward us. “So, you wanna know what my problem is? It was you, Jamal,” he says, jabbing his finger into my chest. “But you aren’t my problem now. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
And I’m stunned.
And I’m so angry my chest hurts.
And I can’t form a single, solid word, everything in me transformed, evaporated into steam and heat. I don’t register the crowd of kids watching from the embankment, their faces in various states of what the—
I know that Autumn’s gripping my wrist.
I know her friends have materialized behind her.
I reach for Q, without even knowing why.
Without knowing what I’d do if he stopped.
Knowing that if Q really wanted, he could javelin me to the moon.
But he pushes through me, his fingers flicking me away like I’m fuzz.
Like I’m nothing, and less.
92
And I’m sliding my hands up Autumn’s arms, asking her if she’s okay, telling her how sorry I am, does she want a drink, does she want to leave, is she cold, and I wonder if she feels me trembling.