Fire from the Rock by Sharon Draper Read Free Book Online Page A

Mama,” Gary said gently. “I shouldn’t have to be scared to go anyplace I want to.”
    â€œSuch a hardheaded child you are,” his mother said, weeping. “You’ve always been my headstrong, bold baby. But it’s going to get you killed, Gary.”
    â€œDon’t cry, Mama. I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll be more careful.” Gary reached up to touch his mother’s face.
    â€œSo where did you go?” his father asked. He was pacing the floor again.
    â€œI stopped by the NAACP office to see if there was any news about the school integration stuff.”
    â€œNo wonder they targeted you!” his father roared. “Why do you hang around those people?”
    â€œBecause when they choose students to go, I intend to be one of them!” Gary replied with as much vigor as his injuries would allow.
    â€œWell, this certainly isn’t going to help your chances!” Mr. Patterson retorted angrily. “Even if we decided to let you try!”
    â€œIt wasn’t my fault!” Gary protested. “I was almost home-walking down the street, minding my own business, when those three boys started calling me ‘Nigger’ and ‘Coon.’ One of them was Johnny Crandall. The other two were Sonny and Bubba Smith. They were in a car, but they followed me real slow, yelling and cursing the whole time.”
    Everybody knew not to tangle with the Smith brothers. They called themselves the “Wild Cherry Cough Drops,” and had been known to vandalize cars and steal from the Zuckers’ market. They took great pleasure in driving their ‘56 Ford up and down the streets of the Negro neighborhood all night long. The car had no muffler, so it sounded like a mechanical animal in distress, and a very loud, specially installed horn blared the song “Dixie” so loudly it could be heard blocks away.
    â€œCouldn’t you just have ignored them, son?” his mother asked tearfully as she bandaged the cuts on his head. “Doesn’t the Good Book tell us to turn the other cheek?”
    â€œI tried, Mama, but then they started throwing beer cans at me, so I picked up one of the cans and threw it back. It hit Bubba Smith in his eye.” It looked to Sylvia like Gary was trying to smile, but his lip was pretty swollen by this time. “They stopped the car, jumped out, and even though I got in a couple of good punches, I couldn’t stop all three of them.”
    â€œHow did they know where you live?” his father asked.
    â€œThey know, Dad. They know. They tossed me back on my own porch to send a message. They know I’ll never stop fighting for what’s right!”
    â€œUnless they kill you,” Mr. Patterson said angrily.
    Sylvia wasn’t sure if her father was angry at Gary, or at the boys who attacked him, but at no time that evening did she see him get on his knees and pray. And, for once, her mother had no proverbs to quote.
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    Monday, January 7, 1957—Late Evening
    I really worry about my big brother. His wounds will heal, but not the fury that keeps growing inside his heart. Gary is angry all the time these days. When he used to sing in the choir at church, his face would almost glow with happiness. But lately, that’s not been very often.
    I’m supposed to be asleep now. Donna Jean is snuggled in her bed snoring, and the rest of the house is quiet now. After Daddy helped Gary upstairs, he and my mother talked for a long time. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their voices were upset. Mama, I’m sure, wants to protect Gary and move someplace safe like Alaska or Arabia—anyplace that’s not Arkansas. Her motherly instincts are to put a big blanket around him and make sure nothing hurts him. Only there’s no covering large enough to protect him from people like the Smith brothers or the Crandalls. Mama once told Gary to put his anger in a pot and let it