Main Street is the most dangerous road on post—mostly because it’s the main street.
Even though the limit’s only fifteen, maybe twenty miles per hour, people drive like they’re late for war. I’ve almost been hit before, mostly because I forget to look both ways.
It’s only two lanes, but it feels like a highway when you’re small.
In about ten minutes, I reached Javier’s. He was outside at the playground, shooting hoops. Lucky. The Tuskegee row homes shared a big open field with ours, so their playgrounds and gazebos were bigger than the ones on my block.
“What’s up?” he asked, spotting me.
Javier’s a year younger—shorter, lighter-skinned, and rounder—but still athletic. Our dads coached together and were best friends. The difference was, my dad let me make my own decisions now. Like saying no to camping. Mr. Jamie didn’t. So Javier went.
“Not much,” I lied.
My world was falling apart. But no biggie. I’ll fix it. Or it’ll fix itself. “How was camping last weekend? I’ve got to get your number—I lost it.”
He laughed. “It was fine. Just me and my dad. Too bad you and yours didn’t come.”
“Yeah, too bad. You know I don’t like the outdoors like that.”
I tried to hide the anger under my smile.
He lied to Mom. He lied to me. He only left us last night, but today was Thursday. Mr. Jamie told Mom they’d gone together. So where was he all weekend?
“What are you two talking about?”
Rhonda’s voice cut in. She was April’s little sister, lived across from Javier. Darker than me, bright smile. I talked to her more than April, honestly.
“Javier’s camping trip,” I said.
She laughed. “That’s white-people stuff. Wanna shoot some hoops?”
“I’m down,” Javier said, and they started toward the court.
I looked toward Rhonda’s yard. April was there—still in her school clothes, reading under the porch light.
“What about your sister?” I asked.
Rhonda rolled her eyes. “You know she doesn’t play sports. Just games. Plus she’s sulking. Her crush crushed her.”
She laughed. “Come on, sissy!”
I wanted to play, but maybe what I needed wasn’t basketball—it was quiet. My head was too loud already. I ran over to April instead.
Rhonda made kissing noises behind me. Javier laughed. Kids.
“Hey, April. What are you reading?”
She glanced up. Her eyes looked calm, untouched by pain. It made me jealous and weirdly peaceful at the same time.
“It’s my grandma’s journal,” she said softly. “I found it under my mom’s bed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I remember Rhonda telling us when she passed.”
“Yeah.” April smiled sadly. “She was Nigerian. She wrote about her life there and coming to America. It’s more like a biography.”
“Autobiography, you mean.”
Her eyebrows lifted. She stood, a little taller than me. “You… know the difference?”
“Uh, yeah. I pay attention in class.”
I peeked at the page. It was in English.
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” she said quickly. “I just meant—most boys your age only care about sports. You are on the all-star team.”
“Oh, and we can’t be cultured too?”
She laughed. “Okay, fair. I shouldn’t assume.”
“It’s cool.” I looked down at the page again. “I’m surprised it’s not in Yoruba or Igbo or something.”
“She wanted us to understand, so she wrote it in English. This part’s a summoning prayer to—”
“Oya. Goddess of storms,” I finished.
Her grin widened. “You know about the Orisha?”
“My dad’s obsessed with them. He says we’re their descendants.”
“Wow. My grandma said that too. So your family’s Nigerian?”
“Both my parents are Nigerian-American.”
She chuckled. “Guess we’ve got something in common.”
I smiled. “So, if we read it, Oya appears?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You sound like my grandma.”
We read it together anyway:
“Oya, Goddess of Storms, Wind, Thunder, Lightning, and the Dead.
We acknowledge you. You are our protector, our guide through life.
Mother of the world, we bleed for you today—our sacrifice.
We heed your embrace in our pain.
Show us your fury.”
We paused. Looked at each other. Then burst out laughing at how ridiculous it sounded.
Something stung the back of my neck. I slapped it. “Ow. Think I got bit.”
April scratched hers too. “Me too. Weird—it’s too cold for mosquitoes.”
“Maybe it’s Oya punishing us for laughing,” I joked.
Thunder cracked. A bolt split the sky, and the clouds rolled in like curtains. Rain poured in sheets, sudden and violent.
Rhonda and Javier bolted home.
April and I ran under her porch roof.
“Weird,” she said, staring out at the storm. “The weather report said clear skies.”
“You know meteorologists are wrong half the time,” I yelled over the rain.
She smiled. “Most guys would’ve said ‘the weather guys.’”
“I’m not most guys. I thought we established that.”
“You going to Javier’s?”
“No—home. He’s not allowed company. And I’d rather face this storm than his parents.”
She laughed. “Be careful! See you tomorrow!”
“Count on it,” I said.
I took off across the field, heart pounding, soaked but smiling.
Tracy wanted to see me play. April wanted to see me tomorrow. My friends were happy.
Everything was fixing itself.
All I needed was for Mom and Dad to do the same.
I reached Main Street, still smiling—lost in thought.
I didn’t check both ways.
A horn.
Tires screeching.
Headlights flashing white.
Pain—then flight.
My body hit the pavement.
The SUV kept coming.
I screamed as the tire rolled toward my face—
then everything went black.