Rhythms of Grace (13 page)

“I’m not sure what happened in the parking lot, but it must have broken the ice because you two seem to be getting along. That will be a great asset this year while you’re teaching together.”

That made me let go of Grace and latch on to my anger, held in check by a thin leash. Joyce remained still, her collarbone rising and falling fast above the scoop of her silk shell. I’d upset her, but I couldn’t help it. Did she think I needed a babysitter? Was this about that McKnight boy? I kept asking but she wouldn’t budge. No answers.

Grace moved as much as Joyce stood still, crossing her arms and recrossing them, staring off behind me as though she saw something we could not. I didn’t turn around to check. I’d seen her dance. She could definitely see things I couldn’t. For now, Joyce’s words were enough to handle.

Joyce delivered her explanation with a look of finality. The facts were these: Grace was to be my partner, not an observer. I hadn’t done anything wrong, this was nothing personal.

My eyes eased back to Grace in her mustard yellow wrap dress and earrings as big as fists. Looking at her, I knew that Joyce had never been more wrong. This was all too personal.

Grace didn’t look too happy about being my partner either. She didn’t look anything at all like the mouthy flirt who’d hit my car in the lot. Well, maybe she did, but there was something else there too, someone else.

Diana.

That name, her real one, fit her better than that dress. Well, at least just as well. I’d planned for a lot of things this year, but this arrangement, this woman, wasn’t on my agenda. I should have accepted Joyce’s decision, but I couldn’t. Not like this.

“Does this have to do with that investigation into the test scores? I thought they were over that.”

For the past two years, our kids had scored higher than any public school in the county and even beat out a few private schools. The first year, we got kudos. The second year, we got complaints. With our budget, staff, and resources, what we were doing was impossible, they’d said. Someone had to be cheating. That allegation had almost given me an ulcer, but I’d thought the state board of education had left it alone.

They hadn’t.

Joyce scratched her freshly waxed brow, still slightly red and raised from the procedure. “We’ve been given this semester to prepare for a new proficiency test. I’ve requested that we get another full year due to new students being at different levels. We’ll see. I got the call today.” Joyce swiped her brow.

I closed my eyes, counted to ten. This was part of what I hated about education. The politics. If we were some prep school, no one would say a word. But we weren’t. My presence at the school had brought enough bad press. The first year, the media thought it was some publicity stunt for another book. Why else would a bestselling author and speaker go to teach high school English to a bunch of kids everyone else had given up on? The reason stood in front of me with silver hair matting to her temples and fire in her eyes. I’d do whatever she asked of me. And she knew it.

“Okay,” I said, reaching again for Grace’s warm, soft hand. “Okay.”

I watched her face, my new teaching partner, to see what she’d say, but she was still looking behind me, still staring through my chest to the back of the room. Intrigued, I turned to look too. What I saw was Sean McKnight and the group of rough-looking boys I’d seen earlier, now blocking the main door. Sean gave me a quick nod, the kind that usually meant “what’s up” or “hello.” This time it meant something else, something I felt all over my body.

Run.

15

I grabbed both women’s hands and started to move. Grace stayed with me, understanding somehow that we needed to go.

Joyce hadn’t come as easily. “What is it?” she said, twisting around and trying to see.

“Trouble,” I answered. We were almost to the door.

And then she’d seen who it was, what I’d meant. Joyce let go of my hand and gone toward them, toward Sean, just as shots rang out, peppering the ceiling, shattering the overhead lights. I tried not to think about what that might mean as I listened for her scream. It never came.

Other screams made up for it. As the room darkened, I focused on keeping Grace safe, believing that Joyce would land on her feet as she always did. Another of Grace’s breathy prayers warmed my ear as our stomachs hit the cafeteria floor. This time I didn’t join in, but it definitely seemed like a good idea.

“Where’s Joyce?” Grace whispered.

“I don’t know.”

A male voice echoed through the room before we could say more. “This is a warning to all y’all who think you can leave the gang and come over here. This school can’t help you. You belong to us.”

I sighed, disgusted. Was this foolishness still going on? The name of the gang had changed since I was young, but the tactics remained the same. These boys were threatening to destroy what could save them. As an author and a speaker, my main message was about understanding and empowering black boys. Only one kid out of hundreds had ever made me so angry that I’d set my strategies aside for rage. Now my one failure might cost many people their lives. Even Grace.

I tightened my grip on her wrist. “I can’t believe he’d do this.”

“Who?” Grace whispered, sounding much like Joyce had earlier.

“Sean McKnight. Former student. Joyce kicked him out last spring. I thought he was coming back, but I should have known better. Sean’s a hothead, but he’s too smart for this.”

“The Golden Boys own this town,” the voice shouted again. “Nothing comes through here unless it goes through us. That includes this stupid school. Y’all better recognize.”

I recognized, all right. I recognized the need to get out of here. I scrambled to my feet, pulling Grace along. “We’ve got to move.”

It’d been my idea to stand, but Grace took the lead. We stumbled over lunch tables until we found the wall on the west side of the room. Though it was too dark for her to see it, I gave her a nod of approval. Good thinking.

Apart from the crowd, I fumbled for my cell phone on my belt, then shook my head. I’d left it out in the car after calling the police about the accident. That was one of Joyce’s orientation rules. But Grace was new. She might have one. “Got a phone on you?”

“It’s outside. Dead.”

Neither of us said anything then, especially not what we were thinking, that we hoped we wouldn’t end up dead too. I decided then that I couldn’t let that happen. That we’d come out of this alive.

Then I heard Joyce’s voice from somewhere way across the room. “Sean, honey, is that you? Please let this go so that we can continue your program. You need this education. All of you do.”

I raked a fist across my beard. Joyce was going to eat a bullet playing with these kids. No matter how I tried to tell her that times had changed, kids had changed, she refused to believe it.

At least Grace has the good sense to be quiet.

Joyce called out again. “We can work this out, son. You know we can. I told you that back in June. It’s not too late. That’s how we work here. Right, Sean?”

“Stop calling his name,” a deeper voice cried. “You don’t know us!”

“Of course I know Sean. He was one of the brightest students we’ve ever had. If you stop this so we can talk, I can probably help you too.”

“Enough talk.” A third voice, even older, spoke. Another shot into the ceiling.

Tables and chairs screeched across the floor as people ran again, this time toward us. Bodies slid along our wall too, turning our safe haven into a trap. We were pinned on every side. I pushed Grace behind me and spread my arms to cover her, but it was too late. They were already pushing us apart.

Grace lunged for me, but only managed to hook my pants pocket. I reached back for her, clenching the neckline of her dress in my hand. The crowd prevailed until all I had was the tag and then . . . nothing. Just the tag in my hand. I reached down to the hole where my pocket had been. I felt the silk of my pocket, still in Grace’s hand, brush my face before the crowd parted us totally.

And then, when she was gone, I heard it: Grace screaming my name like she’d always known it.

“Brian!”

I couldn’t move. Cell phones and lighters flickered everywhere now, allowing me to make out my position, but elbows and arms held me captive. I wanted to run and tackle the kid with the gun. He didn’t look more than twenty. He probably outweighed me by about thirty pounds, but I could tell by the look of him that he was slow. Soft. The other guys, the ones who had his back, looked different: veins popping from their foreheads, muscles cut and pumped. They looked itchy and I didn’t want to be their scratch. Not until I found Joyce and Grace anyway.

I managed to get out from under two big-bosomed women and dropped back to the floor. Joyce had gone quiet since the last shot, but I knew it’d take more than a bullet to take her down. At least Quinn had gotten out safely. He probably would have been with Joyce, trying to talk Sean out of the whole thing. The two boys had been Imani scholars together. That seemed like a lifetime ago instead of last year. I wondered about Thelma too. Had she made it out or was she somewhere praying?

Itchy hair slid across my fingers as I inched forward. In the glow of a cell phone several feet away, I saw a woman crawling with a hairnet and crooked wig dangling from her neck. Thelma. She paused and squinted, as if trying to focus her eyes as well. A peculiar stench, a blend of cold fear, raw onions, Ben-Gay, and wig glue, swirled around her.

At least she was okay.

I reached for her, but she crept forward, unseeing, praying as she went.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . .”

I closed my eyes, soaking in the words, my mind stretched toward heaven against my will.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil . . .”

Something deep inside me agreed with her. Faith, not fear, would lead me and everyone else to safety. Somehow, Thelma’s psalm pulled my broken beliefs to the edge of consciousness. What I was supposed to do with them now I had no clue. Prayer seemed like a good idea, but how does a man talk to someone he’s forgotten exists? Best to make it short.

“God, help me end this before someone gets hurt,” I said. “Especially Grace.”

Thelma paused, adding an amen before crawling off. She never changed, no matter the circumstances. I had to give her that. Squinting myself now, I watched as the boys with the gunman argued with each other. I watched as their hands went up with the volume of their words. Empty hands. No guns.

No time to figure it out. I had to make a move.

I flung myself across the mound of bodies, praying not to step on anyone’s head. People brushed against me without warning. Eyes. Arms. I pulled in my hands wondering for a second if maybe I should have just stayed on the floor where it was safe. I heard sirens, but they were still a ways off.

I stopped moving. The police would be here soon. I’d probably never get through all these people to those crazy boys anyway.

All things are possible with God.

That thought made me trip over my own feet. This was the strangest night I’d had in a long time. Though I thought I’d blocked out all the Scriptures and sermons that had once been my daily food, in this place, in this moment, it all came flooding back. Four lepers against an army. The choice? Die or die trying. Their decision? Go for it. I had to do the same. So I started again, stepping, stopping, and stepping some more. I couldn’t see the boys anymore, but I could hear them.

Just as I pulled up short to listen, someone’s weight shifted in my direction. An elbow landed in my throat. I fell back, but didn’t cry out. She came next, knocking the rest of the wind out of me. Hair tickled my eyes instead. Lots of it. I grabbed the woman and covered her mouth, thankful she wasn’t a screamer like so many here tonight. I held her still, craning my neck to hers. There was a rip at the back of her dress.

On another night, I might have smiled. “It’s me. Brian,” I said.

“I know,” she whispered. Her thumb burrowed in my side. “Look.”

Blue and red lights reflected against the walls then faded, but not before reflecting the two boys standing above us and the piece of steel between them.

The gun.

16

Ron

“The food is ready if you are.”

Hoping I hadn’t been too obvious when I dropped Jerry off and declined his offer to come in, I licked my lips, pressing the phone to my face. I’d called Zeely as I turned onto my street. If the concert had been at my church, I could have gone straight on, but this was a church sing with the requisite church clothes, which I hated, despite being a lawyer.

“Oh, I’m ready. Let me change and I’ll be there,” I said, trying not to sound winded as I tugged off my shirt and tie and yanked my favorite pair of jeans off a hanger. I wondered now if I shouldn’t have insisted on Jerry tagging along. I’d felt pretty big earlier about going to Zee’s house alone, now I wasn’t so sure about it.

Since Jerry’s divorce, things were all mixed up. First we’d prayed for him and Carmel to reconcile—okay, so I was still praying for that—but Jerry’s ex-wife had made it clear that there’d be none of that. In case we didn’t get the message, she’d started dating a doctor to hammer the message home. Jerry still sort of lumbered between his two jobs looking like a truck hit him. More than once, I’d lent him my couch for one of his how-did-this-happen-to-me episodes. All I could do was be there for him. I wasn’t sure how any of this had happened to any of us, including myself.