If you relax, it will enable me to do anything I-, you're mine

Chapter 13: (You Can't Win), you can't break even

It's the mid-1970s, and things just keep on happening in Facilier's life, whether good or bad.

—————

He was well-behaved, yes, but not docile. Teachers called him "bright but restless." Preachers called him "gifted." His peers called him "slick," half admiring, half wary.
He listened more than he spoke, but when he did speak, people listened.
Music wrapped around him constantly—church hymns drifting from open doors on Sundays, jazz crawling out of clubs late at night, protest chants echoing from radios and street corners.

(Davis pov)
'Heavenly father, please' I quietly begged, looking up at the sky.

third pov

"Baby," she told me once, stirring a pot that smelled like memory and prayer. "the world will clap for you when you entertain it. Don't let that applause tell you who you are." She continued.

He wanted answers that sermons didn't give.
And Mama Odie, wise as she was, knew she couldn't stop him—only hope he'd come back with his soul intact.

He was already standing, books tucked under his arm, face calm in that way that made teachers uneasy—too composed for a seventeen-year-old Black boy with a reputation for "talking back."

The classroom buzzed with half-laughter, half-silence. Everyone had heard what Mr. Whitmore said. Everyone had heard how Davis answered.

"You're intelligent, Davis," Whitmore had said, chalk still in his hand, "but you need to understand your place. Ambition without humility is dangerous."

Davis smiled then. Slow. Polite. "Sir," he replied evenly,

Now, as he stepped into the hallway, a security aide called after him—"Principal's office." No explanation. No warning. Just consequence. The office smelled like lemon cleaner and quiet judgment.

Whitmore stood beside the principal's desk like he belonged there. Davis stood alone.

They spoke about him instead of to him.
"Disruptive."
"Arrogant."
"Influencing others."

The words stacked up like charges.
When Davis finally spoke, his voice didn't shake.

"If askin' why is disruption," he said,
"then maybe the lesson's the problem."

The principal's mouth tightened. Suspension. Three days.
For my tone.
For my body language.
For not "knowing his place".

(Davis pov)
Feeling ashamed for both my behavior and what I said earlier, I immediately raised my hands as I looked up to the heavenly sky. Lord, forgive me. Sorry for saying that filth language while talking to you.

"My mama used to say something when things got hard," I said. "'Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.'"

Belle recognized the verse instantly.

"She meant well," I continued. "Still does. But sometimes I wonder if obeyin' is all God ever wanted from us."

Belle leaned against the counter. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said slowly, "I hear the Word everywhere. At school. At church. From folks who don't look like me tellin' me where I belong." His jaw tightened. "Funny thing is, obedience never seems to protect me."

Belle's hands curled into her apron. "That isn't God's doing."

"No," I nodded, shrugging. "But they sure like usin' His name."