Before she left, she held Quan after class one day and told him how much she believed in him. That she couldn’t wait to hear how well he did on the upcoming test. She knew he’d been struggling with the material, but, “I know you aren’t gonna let this stuff get the best of you. You, Quan Banks, are gonna show those letters and numbers who’s boss, am I right?”
And she smiled.
Even though it made him feel like a little-ass kid, Quan nodded. Because with her looking at him that way, like he could do anything, Quan wanted to prove her right.
It was the same way Daddy looked at Quan when Quan showed him that 100 percent he got on his contraction test in first grade.
Quan missed his dad.
Quan wanted to—had to—ace that damn algebra test.
So he studied. Hard.
Harder than he’d ever studied for anything in his life.
And you know what happened?
98%.
Quan almost lost his twelve-year-old MIND, he was so excited.
He floated through the rest of the day. Anticipating the moment he would show the test to Mama. The pride that would overtake her face. He’d show it to Dasia and Gabe and tell them it represented what could happen if they worked real hard and did their very best. Then he’d write Daddy a letter and he’d put it—with the test—in an envelope and he’d mail it to the address Daddy’s lawyer gave Mama when he dropped by a few nights ago.
Yeah, the impromptu visit had really set Dwight off—
Your punk-ass son is enough of a reminder—
tell that nigga’s attorney not to come by here no more!
—but getting to send The Math Test to Daddy would make it all worth it.
As soon as Quan was off the bus, he broke into a sprint. Wanted to get home as fast as possible. He knew Mama would be home. She didn’t leave the house when her body carried visible evidence of Dwight’s “anger issues,” and when Quan had left that morning, her wrist was in a brace and she could barely open her hand.
The test would lift her spirits too. Quan was sure of it. She’d see what he’d accomplished, and it would give her hope that things could get better. That he’d eventually be able to take care of her and Dasia and Gabe.
When he walked in the door, she was waiting for him.
“Ma, you’ll never believe it—”
“You damn right I won’t!”
The tiniest hole appeared in Quan’s joy balloon as his mind kicked into gear, trying to figure out what she could be upset about. Had he left the bathroom light on again? He sometimes accidentally did that on mornings he had to get his siblings and himself ready for school and out the door on time. Their bus came thirteen minutes before his, so it was a lot to do.
But he remembered turning it off.
He hadn’t put the milk in the fridge door—Dwight hated when he did that. And he’d made sure all of his socks were in the laundry basket.
So what could it be?
“I’m so disappointed in you, Junior,” Mama continued, furious. “What do you have to say for yourself? Did you think they wouldn’t call me?”
“Mama, I don’t—”
“You had an algebra test yesterday, yes? Got it back today?”
Things were looking up! Quan straightened. “Yes, ma’am, I did, and I—”
“Cheated!”
The word was like a sucker punch. “Huh??”
“You heard me! Your teacher called. Told me you cheated on the test!”
“I didn’t cheat, Ma!”
“Don’t give me that BS, Junior! The man told me he saw you looking on a classmate’s paper!”
Which…Quan couldn’t deny. There was a point when he’d looked up and seen the brawny, neckless white man who looked more familiar with loaded-down barbells than linear inequalities glaring at him. But the sub had it all wrong. Said classmate was actually trying to cheat off Quan. He was an eighth-grade dude named Antwan Taylor. Bruh flat out whispered to ask Quan what answer he’d gotten for number six and then turned his paper so Quan could see the (wrong) answer Antwan had written.
“I really didn’t cheat, Ma! I promise you!”
“Lemme see the test,” she said.
Quan removed it from his bag. Held it out to her.
“Ninety-eight percent, huh?” She looked him right in the eye. “You really expect me to believe you didn’t cheat, LaQuan?”
Quan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you serious?”
“You ain’t never brought nothin’ higher than an eighty-seven percent up in here. I’m supposed to buy this sudden improvement hook, line and sinker, huh?”
“I studied—”
“Yeah. Your neighbor’s paper.”
“The MATERIAL, Ma! I studied the MATERIAL!”
“They gave you two days of in-school suspension. And you have to retake the test.”
“But I didn’t cheat, Ma!”
“Yeah, and my ass ‘fell down the stairs.’ ” She held up her injured arm, and all Quan’s other rebuttals got snatched right out of his throat.
His mouth snapped shut. Jaw clenched to keep it that way.
“If I ever hear about you cheating again, you can forget about this football shit you been on recently. Your ass will be on lockdown, you hear me?”
Quan’s teeth ground into each other so hard, he wondered if they would break.
“I said DO YOU HEAR ME, LaQuan?”
Quan gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Get your ass outta my face and go ‘study’ for real this time.”
Quan turned to head to his room, but her next words were like being shot with arrows from behind:
“And best believe your father is gonna hear about this. Might even send him the evidence of your indiscretion.” Quan could hear the paper crinkle as she surely held it up in the air. “Cheating. I can’t even believe you—”
And that was all he heard. Because in that moment everything crystallized for Vernell LaQuan Banks Jr.
It didn’t matter what he did.
Staying focused didn’t give Quan any control at all.