Fire in the Streets by Kekla Magoon Read Free Book Online Page B

all about the people.”
    Fred and Leroy want to open people’s minds, is what Raheem always says. They don’t want us to kill; they want us to be willing to die.
    We’re dying anyway, I can’t help but think. Remembering about Steve, and others.
    â€œHow we gonna live?” Leroy shouts.
    â€œGonna live for the people.”
    â€œHow we gonna die?”
    â€œGonna die for the people.”
    â€œPower to the people!”
    â€œPower to the people!”
    â€œPower to the people!”
    Patrice slips up beside me, laces her fingers through the chain link, too. “Hey, Maxie.”
    To be honest, I’m not that happy to see her. I don’t want to do this now. There’s a part of me that wishes we were in an actual fight, so I could get away without speaking to her for a day or so.
    â€œHey.”
    â€œSo I guess everything went all right?”
    Reluctantly I show her the roll of quarters, which I have in my pocket. In the daylight it looks all mangled and sweaty.
    â€œOh, no. What happened?”
    Not answering seems safest.
    Patrice throws her arm around my shoulders. “It’s going to be fine,” she says. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”
    It’s a very big deal. To me. I’ve never worried before about not having what it takes to be a Panther. If I can’t carry through even the smallest task, am I also going to crumble when something real falls to me?

CHAPTER 13
    T HE BREAKFAST TABLES ARE ALL LINED UP in the schoolyard, as long as the weather’s good. Sam’s serving up sausage and gravy, so there’s no avoiding him this morning.
    â€œHey, Maxie,” he says.
    â€œHey.” I stand there, holding the plate he handed me, until Emmalee nudges me to move along down the line. One of the mamas comes bustling over with a fresh pan of gravy from the kitchen. Piled atop it, a tray of hot biscuits steaming into the muggy August air.
    She clucks her tongue at us. “Don’t you get out of this line ’fore you have some apple slices on those plates,” she says. “You need fruit.”
    We stand obediently until a second mama comes hurrying up to replenish the fruit bowl. She spoons apple slices onto our plates, while another woman comes up behind her with jugs of orange juice. I wonder exactly how manymamas are back there cooking. My stomach rumbles as I take the cup that she pours for me and follow Patrice toward one of the long tables to sit.
    With the edge of her plate in my back, Emmalee steers me to the side of the table where I’ll be facing away from Mr. Sam Childs. It’s been their mission all summer to get me to leave him alone. Ever since things went bad, which is basically since Steve died, I’ve been fighting it, but the girls say it’s time to give it up.
    â€œYou better not get gravy on me,” I threaten.
    â€œToo late,” she squeaks.
    I convulse myself trying to look back there. Patrice busts out laughing. Emmalee too. “I’m just messing,” she admits.
    We dig into the food. I can’t help thinking how it always used to be Steve who served at The Breakfast, along with Raheem and some other guys, in shifts. I miss Steve. We all do. His big personality and his smile that could light up the room. The Breakfast was most fun on the days when he and Raheem would get up front together and crack jokes on each other till we were all about to choke for laughing. Steve was best friends with Raheem, so it was all in good fun. I knew him longer than Sam, really, because he was over sometimes. Even slept on our bedroom floor a few nights once, when things were rough for him at home.There’s a hole in things now. Sam is different. Raheem is different. Everything’s changed.
    I look over my shoulder. Some days I resist it, but today isn’t one of them. I miss Steve, sure, and that’s a forever thing. Not reversible. Nothing I can do. But I miss Sam,