into his blank, helpless face, and he was always looking right back. Thereâs no way of erasing a connection like that.
When I get upset about not being a real Panther, Emmalee likes to remind me about the time I testified. When Raheem asked me to do it, I thought finally I was doing something that mattered. It did matter, I guess, because I showed them I was brave, but Samâs the one whose testimony actually made a difference. Heâs the one who people had heard of, because of his famous father. Heâs the one they believed.
In the midst of the Bucky reception, Patrice sidles up to me. âCan we go now?â
âOkay,â I say. She helps me finish sorting the buttons, then we grab Emmalee and skedaddle.
We never spend all day there, especially now that summer is winding down. After we do our part for the day we escape. For Emmalee and Patrice, itâs escaping the office work. For me, itâs escaping the feeling that Iâll never get to do anything important.
CHAPTER 18
T HE HEAT OF THE STREETS ON A late-summer afternoon. We walk slow, trying not to work ourselves up to dripping. We stare at the sidewalk, step by step, looking for lost coins among the sidewalk cracks, in the gutter. We scope the bus stops especially hard, âcause we know what happens when people get in a hurry.
âAnother dime,â Emmalee says, leaning down to scoop it up. Her long fingernails pinch it like a claw.
âHow much is that?â
Emmalee shakes her little cloth pouch. Peers into it. âOne twenty.â
âDamn,â says Patrice. âThis is taking all day. We shoulda gone downtown.â
âNah, too much hassle,â I say. âWeâre not trying to make rent.â All we wanted was enough for a couple of ice cream cones. A buck fiftyâd pull us each a cone at Charlieâs. The afternoon soda jerk, Jimmy, is sweet on Emmalee.
It takes another half hour before we find enough. My neck is sweat slick under my hair. If my mouth wasnât so dry itâd be watering over the very idea of ice cream.
We pour the coins into Emmaleeâs hand and double-check the count. One fifty-five. We track back toward Charlieâs.
The fanâs whirring pretty good inside. Its breeze feels fresh and cool.
Behind the counter, Jimmy nods when he sees us. âHi, Maxie. Patrice.â He smiles. âHi, Emmalee.â
Emmaleeâs light skin purples. âHi, Jimmy.â
He rubs his hands on his white uniform apron. âWhat can I get for you ladies? Ice cream?â
Emmalee spills the coins onto the counter. âThree single scoops, please,â she says. She smiles and thereâs this pause while he stares at her like a little puppy.
Patrice and I hang back, let her do her thing. So far, so good. Sometimes sheâs too shy and we have to swoop in and help out.
âSure, sure,â Jimmy says after a minute, fumbling for the scooper. âWhat flavor?â
âMint,â I call.
âVanilla,â says Patrice.
âStrawberry. Can you put mine in a sugar cone?â Emmalee says.
Patrice nudges me, but Iâm already grinning. Really, really good.
Jimmy takes a sugar cone and leans into the freezer. âA sweet cone for a sweet girlâ is what I think he says, though Iâm not sure he meant us to hear it.
I bite my tongue, elbow Patrice.
Jimmy scoops the strawberry first. He gives her a big double scoop, despite the fact that we only paid for singles. Like usual.
âYou look pretty today, Emmalee.â
âReally?â she says. Her fingers touch the edges of the freezer glass.
âYeah. Real pretty.â
âThanks, Jimmy.â She reaches out for the cone. Itâs a slow exchange, fingers brush. Her cheeks are flushed. You canât tell on him, but Iâm betting itâs the same.
He lets go, finally, and scoops the mint and the vanilla into regular cones for us. Double scoops. Not as big, but we
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