AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Everything inside me shifts. My stomach knots up. My brain has trouble focusing.
“Who was it?” I say. “Did they say if it was a cop in uniform?”
“You know as much as I know,” says the woman.
The browser switches to a different piece of news, some new headline about corruption in the Baltimore judicial system. Damn. Is there ever anything good on the news?
Gabe asks, “You sure they didn’t mention who…”
The lady with the phone doesn’t even let him finish the sentence. She says, “Are you boys listening? Like I said, you know as much as I do.”
My stomach knot is only getting tighter.
I tell Gabe that we should leave.
He nods.
I can see that he has the same worry I do: that the cop who fired the gun might have been my dad.
WE ALL CALLher Nana Mama. Fact is, everybody in our family, and even some friends and neighbors, call her Nana Mama.
This truly awesome lady is my dad’s grandmother, who lives with us. She’s totally unique compared to everyone else I know. Nana Mama can, at the very same time, be the nicest person in the world and the toughest person in the world. If you’re expecting some wise old sage spouting wisdom, or some funny old lady, then you definitely have the wrong person. But if you want a woman who’s smart and generous, then you have Nana Mama. And that’s exactly who I usually want.
Nana and I agree on lots of things. Like I said, she’s so smart that it’s hard not to come over to her point of view. But not always. I’ll show you what I mean.
After last night over at the Stanton Houses I’m hurting from too little sleep, and I need to get some breakfast in me.
Damn. Me and breakfast and Nana Mama. Breakfast is one of those things that we do not see eye-to-eye on. To me the best breakfast is small and sweet, like a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Maybe a piece of toast with a big smear of peanut butter and a sprinkle of brown sugar. If there’s a Hostess donut handy, that’ll do, too. For Nana Mama, breakfast is—you probably already guessed—a much bigger deal: waffles and/or griddle cakes, bacon and/or ham steak, eggs and/or cheese grits.
What makes the early morning even tougher is that my great-grandma always seems to have the energy to debate the breakfast issue. I usually do not. I especially do not this morning.
Today I am seriously late for breakfast. Going to bed at after four in the morning is not good prep for getting up at seven. Already Nana has tried two times to rouse me. Then she finally sent my sister up with four ice cubes, which Jannie tossed into my bed. That cruel arctic blast finally got me up, but I’m still running really late. A shower could help me, but I’ve got to settle for a splash of water on my face.
I walk into the kitchen. All is suspiciously calm. Nana Mama’s sipping a cup of tea. Jannie’s chomping on a roll with bacon. Hmmm. The whole scene seems too quiet for my own good.
“Well, good morning, young man,” says Nana Mama. She gives me a small smile. This is followed by a slight nod. And all this is followed by my sister interjecting annoyingly.
“So nice of you to join us,” says Jannie.
I shoot my sister one of my mean faces. Like she cares about my mean faces.
I wait for Nana Mama to start her lecture on a “good breakfast,” but instead she points to the box of Cocoa Puffs. She’s obviously placed that cereal on the table for my convenience.
Something’s not right. But why go looking for trouble? I pour my cereal.
“You sure had a problem getting yourself out of bed today, Ali,” Nana says.
“I was tired,” I say.
“Were you up late?” Nana asks. There is a tone to her voice that is almost as sweet as my cereal.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Were you rehearsing your class speech?” she asks. Her voice remains careful and slow.
“Yes, I was.”
Let’s just stop right there for a moment, because here’s the problem. First of all, I’m telling a big fat lie, and lying just does not fly in the Cross household. Even worse, it’s an especially bad lie, because Nana Mama has a nose for fibbing like a bloodhound for a criminal on the run.
