All American Boys by Jason Reynolds Read Free Book Online

change, they kept their conversations short and sweet. Like Spoony greeting him, “Dad,” head nod. Followed by Dad saying, “Spoony,” head nod. And that was that.
    Spoony came over to my bed.
    â€œLi’l bruh, you good?” he said, something grape-flavored on his breath.
    â€œI’m good.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    I started running the story down and got about halfway through, just up to when the cop pressed me, when Spoony lost it.
    â€œSee?” he said, looking around to our parents. “See? This is that bullshit! I’m so sick of them treating us like we animals. Like we America’s disobedient dogs!”
    â€œCalm down, Spoony,” Ma said, which only made it worse.
    â€œCalm down? Calm down? ” Spoony’s voice got significantly less calm. “Haven’t we been a little too calm? They get to do whatever they want to us, to him—to your son—and we’re supposed to just calm down?” He put his hands on his head, flattening his locs, rocking back and forth in that way people do right before they punch a wall.
    â€œSpoony—”
    â€œAnd he was unarmed! Calm down? Do you know the stats? It’s something like black people are twice as likely to have no weapons on them when they’re killed by cops. Twice as likely! Should I run down the list of the people this has happened to? Calm down? Let’s paint their names on the walls and watch, there’ll be enough to give the entire hospital a fresh new look. Then tell me to calm down. He could’ve been killed!”
    â€œBut he wasn’t,” Dad said, deadpan. He seemed totally unimpressed by Spoony’s outburst, and probably wrote it off as theatrics. He was always calling Spoony a rebel without a cause.
    â€œBut he could’ve been! For a bag of chips that he was gonna pay for! For having brown skin and wearing his jeans a certain way. And guess what, Dad, that ROTC uniform was right there in that bag. The bag was open so that cop probably saw it. But did it matter?” Spoony’s voice fanned, the anger breaking him down.
    â€œThat’s enough!” Ma said firmly.
    Dad and Spoony glared at each other until finally Dad turned away and looked out the window. Ma just sat on the bed, rubbing my hand, her eyes wet from it all. Spoony leaned against the wall. And I sat there thinking about what was going to happen to me. I know my father and brother werearguing about what had happened, but all I could think about in that moment was what was going to happen next. Would the charges stick? Would they follow me around, a smudge on my record until I was eighteen when it would finally disappear? Does anything actually disappear these days?
    The silence was much worse than the yelling, so I fiddled with the remote. The same one that controlled my bed controlled the television. I turned it on. Too bad TV sucks on Saturday morning unless you’re a little kid or a politician. And politics are painful to watch. Boring. So the sound of helium-pitched cartoon characters had to be the life raft for this sinking ship of awkwardness. Thankfully, the doctor came in to save us from the equally awkward distraction of cartoons.
    â€œGood morning, folks,” he said, full of cheer, which was weird because this was not a cheerful occasion. But I guess doctors always have to try to lift the mood. “I’m Dr. Barnes.”
    â€œDavid Butler,” my father said, shaking his hand.
    â€œJessica,” my mother said, doing the same.
    â€œRandolph,” Spoony said, introducing himself with his government name. He got the nickname Spoony because when he was young, he refused to eat with a fork. He was always scared he’d poke himself in the tongue, so he only ever used spoons. But that’s not something you tell a doctor.
    â€œAnd Rashad,” the doctor said, pointing at me. I nodded.“Nice to meet all of you. I just want to give you all an