"But I don't get it." Leala put her hair into a ponytail. "How could a male African American teenager with no weapons be a threat to a police officer who's armed?"
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Harmony's older brother was found dead, and the cop who killed him wasn't charge...
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⚜
He's gone.
Forever.
He's never coming back.
"We're going to get a lawyer." Dad slammed his hand on the counter.
Mom rubbed his muscular arm soothingly. "How about we just lay low and—"
"How could you say 'lay low', Nalanie?! Our son was shot by a white police officer just because he was alone in an all-white gated neighborhood, and you want us to sit around?"
"Calvin, calm down." Mom noticed my presence in the room. They hated arguing in front of me. Or Mom did, anyway. She says if parents have issues, they should get their shit together in front of their children, then handle it privately.
"I-I think we should get a lawyer." My voice came out so quiet, that I questioned if they even heard me.
"With what money, Harmony?" Mom gestures around the house.
To our small kitchen had dark hardwood floors that creaked, the small beige refrigerator that had two handles—one for the freezer and the other for the actual fridge, and our wooden cabinets around the dirty, stained sink filled up with dishes. Then to the living room, what I liked to call my room. The torn, stained dark green couch that could be pulled out to be a bed, the walls were painted sage green to cover up all the profanity that was scribbled on it by the last owners, the small fifty-inch TV that we rarely watched to keep the light bill down, and lastly, a small desk in the corner along with a wooden chair that we put a pillow on for cushion.
"I can start selling weed again." Dad stroked his beard.
"No, we're not getting back into that."
I began taking the cushions off of the dark green couch.
"Just think about, Lanie—our son was killed by a police officer for doing nothing but walking through a neighborhood. The previous time something like this happened, what did the kid's parents do? Nothing. Nalanie, what if our standing up against police brutality, brings change for us blacks? You gotta give it a try."
"I'll think about it." Mom pushed out our rack of drying clothes so she could make it into their room.
Dad smiled softly at me, then made his way to their room as well.
I sighed while staring out into the night sky. I cried myself to sleep with an image of Khalil floating in my head.
⚜
"How are you holdin' up?" Leala flipped her blonde hair as we walked into Beverly High.
My vision got blurry, but I quickly blinked the tears away. "I'm. . . I'm fine." That was a lie; I was a complete mess. I barely put any effort into dressing today, and that says something.
"You sure? I saw what happened to Khalil on the ABC News."
It's on the News?
"I . . ." My throat seemed dry. "Yeah, I'm fine." I knew that she could tell I was lying, but she didn't push the topic any further. Thank God.
I walked through the halls silently, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but something was off. It felt like I was there, but not there—like I was living in a simulation.
David approached me with sorrow painted over his features. "Babe, are you—"
"Stop," I whispered. "Don't fucking ask me if I'm okay when the answer is right in front of you. Open your goddamn eyes, David." I didn't notice that my words came out so harsh until he pushed up his glasses—something that he did to hide the fact that what someone said hurt. "D-David, I didn't mean—"
"Wait, you're acting like I didn't know Khalil when I sure as hell did, and—"
I reached out to touch his shoulder. "Davy, I know—"
"Let me talk." David took a shaky breath in. "How many years have we been together, Harmony? Tell me, how many?"
"T-Three."
"Mhm. Three years; three fucking years and you think I never met Khalil?" David's hands moved while he spoke. "You're acting like you're the only one affected by his death. News flash, you're not. Everyone who was tied to you was also tied to Khalil somehow. Shit, even some people who weren't connected to you still knew him. The world doesn't stop what they're doing and say, 'Oh my God, Harmony's grieving, let's put our lives on hold and help her through her mess.' What you're not understanding is, I need you right now as much as you need me." With that, David walked off—wiping his face once he turned his back.
I wanted to scream something—tell him that what he said was wrong—but I couldn't because he was right. I was being so damn selfish that I didn't factor in other people's emotions.
Once I opened my locker, a bunch of confetti busted out on me and there were pictures of Khalil taped inside of it. There was a note that said, 'He'll forever have a place in our hearts.'
"Fuck my life," I groaned before shutting it.
After saying the pledge in AP US History, the principal's voice was replaced by what sounded like a high school student. "As we all know, our classmate, Khalil Smith, was killed last night. We wanna give our biggest condolences to Harmony Smith, his little sister."
I rolled my eyes and put my head on my desk, making it obvious that I hated the entire thing. Half of these students didn't even know him.
"Now, I would like to give a special prayer on behalf of the students and faculty."
When the prayer started, I grabbed my backpack and walked out of the classroom. Everything was moving way too fast for me to keep up. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my brown cheeks. I looked for a bathroom, but couldn't find one due to my blurred vision.
"Harmony?" I walked in the direction of David's voice. "I knew I shouldn't have left you this morning. I'm so sorry, okay? I didn't mean any of the shit I said." He wrapped his arms around me, letting me wipe my tears on his shirt.
"It. . ." I hiccuped. "It's okay." I pulled his body closer to mine if that was even possible. We stood there in the hallway for what seemed like forever while David stroked my hair soothingly.
