Chapter 11
11
BLAKE, 1997
16 years old
I needed a bat.
Something solid, something that could turn my thoughts into action. Something I could use to wipe that smug look off Mason’s face. The thought of it almost made me feel better.
Almost.
I paced around Jamal’s living room, my fists itching for something to hit. His parents were in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled like a meal I didn’t deserve at that moment—not with the plans I had for Mason, which would turn me into a monster.
Jamal lounged on the couch, clicking the remote, acting like I wasn’t unraveling in front of him.
“I need a bat,” I said, my voice low. “And a balaclava.”
“A bat and a what-now?” he muttered, clicking the remote like his life depended on it. “You mean baklava? The dessert?”
“A balaclava, Jamal,” I repeated, more forcefully this time. “You know, a mask .”
He didn’t even look up, just flicked through the channels. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just run down to the store, get you a bat and a balaclava real quick. Anything else? Maybe some gloves, so you don’t leave fingerprints?”
I shook my head. “Jamal,” I said again. “Seriously.”
His eyes went wide, but then he laughed, assuming I was kidding. “What are you gonna do, rob a bank or something?”
I didn’t crack a smile.
Instead, I swallowed hard, my throat burning with the words I hadn’t spoken out loud yet. “Mason hurt Beverly.”
Jamal stilled.
“You don’t get it,” I hissed, my voice dropping lower. “Mason…he laid his hands on her.”
Jamal’s face softened, though I could see the unease in his eyes. He rubbed his face, glancing at his parents in the kitchen. His mom and dad were speaking to each other in Arabic, and I could understand half of it—well, a little more than half if I really concentrated. My Arabic was improving, but right now, I wasn’t in the mood to practice.
I was too focused on the image of Beverly’s red-rimmed eyes.
“Come on, man,” Jamal sighed. “What the hell are you gonna do with a bat, huh? You’re gonna go to Mason’s house and start swinging it around? I’m telling you, this won’t end well. You do something crazy like this, you’re the one who’s going to pay for it in the end. Trust me,” he said, the usual joking tone gone from his voice.
I stepped closer, my voice low enough so his sister wouldn’t overhear us. “What would you do if it was Amina, huh?” I demanded. “What would you do if someone put his hands on her and then tried to make it her fault?”
Jamal’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as if I’d hit a nerve. “Don’t bring my sister into this, Blake.”
“You’d want to do the same thing, wouldn’t you?” I pressed.
He stared, his usual carefree expression vanishing as he considered the question. I saw him running through the possibilities, calculating in his head, and his face grew darker with each thought. “I’d—” He stopped, looking at me as if I had just unleashed something terrible from the depths of his mind.
He looked at his sister, his jaw tightening. Then he muttered something under his breath in Arabic, more to himself than to me, clearly torn.
Before he could respond, his little sister, who had been sitting in the corner like a little ghost, suddenly perked up. “Are we fighting someone? Because, like, I’m really good at karate now.”
Jamal and I both looked at her. She was clutching a juice box like it was her weapon of choice.
“I mean, if you’re gonna fight people, I think I should know,” she added seriously, as though this was an important family discussion.
“Uh, no,” I said. “No one’s fighting anyone.” Here I was, trying to plan the destruction of someone’s life, and a 12-year-old was casually asking if I was going to fight someone.
“Yeah,” Jamal mused, clearly enjoying the situation. “You’ll have to run that by my sister first. She’s been taking karate lessons for months now.”
I turned to look at her again. She was now performing a dramatic karate kata, complete with sound effects.
She kicked a pillow off the couch and looked at me for approval. “You think my kick’s good?” she asked, breathless.
I blinked. “Uh, yeah. You’d definitely take me down in one move.”
“If you need a sidekick, I’m available. Just say the word.”
“Great,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “Just what I need.”
She grinned, clearly pleased with herself, and plopped back onto the couch, kicking her feet up. “You’d be unstoppable with me on your team.”
I shook my head, trying to refocus. “Jamal, seriously. I just need to know if you can get me a bat.”
He turned the TV down, looking over at the door kitchen, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I still don’t like this, Blake. But if you’re really gonna do it...”
His parents were still chatting, and the sound of it almost felt like a distant hum against the anger rattling inside me. I knew enough to tell that they were talking about me. I caught a few words like “different,” “angry,” and “why,” which made me wonder if they knew exactly what I was planning.
I turned toward them and, without thinking, blurted out in Arabic, “I’m dealing with something important.”
Jamal’s dad looked at me, eyes wide for a split second, and then his face softened. Jamal’s mom shot me a smile and waved her hand dismissively, as if she didn’t care what I was talking about as long as I didn’t do something reckless.
“Fine,” Jamal whispered after a long pause. “You want a bat? I can get you one. Uncle Reggie has one in his garage. You can take it if you want. It’s been through some things, though. So...don’t expect it to be top-tier .”
His mom called out to us then, asking if we wanted to eat.
“Blake, you want some food?” she asked, peeking her head around the corner. “Don’t listen to this one,” she said, pointing to Jamal. “Come, sit, eat.”
Jamal groaned, flopping down into a chair.
His dad caught me by surprise as he handed me a plate.
“You think too much,” he said in thick-accented English, giving me a stern look.
I muttered a quiet “thanks” as Jamal’s mom placed a tray of hummus and pita bread in front of us.
She studied me, her eyes warm but knowing. “Why are you angry, Blake? What happened?”
Jamal answered for me, giving me a sideways glance as if he wasn’t sure whether he should spill the whole thing.
“Someone messed with his sister’s life.”
The word sister made me cringe, a harsh reminder of everything I couldn’t change.
For a split second, I wanted to shut him down right there.
His mom’s expression grew somber. Unspoken concern settled over her features, but all she said was, “You should not let anger take root in your heart. Anger…” she paused, her voice softening, “poisons your body. It makes you sick in ways you can’t see.”
Jamal’s dad took a seat and added, “You know, when I was your age, I tried to fight the world too.”
I looked up, my grip tightening on the plate in my hands.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes distant, like he was seeing something far beyond this kitchen. “I thought if I hit hard enough, if I proved my strength, the world would bend to me. That if I could make someone else feel small, I’d finally feel big. But the world doesn’t work like that. You don’t win just because you swing first.” He let out a deep breath, the kind of sigh that spoke of years lived and lessons learned. “All it did was make me tired, make me bitter.”
I didn’t say anything.
Jamal was watching us, quieter than I’d ever seen him.
His dad set down his cup with a soft clink. “You think hitting someone will change what happened?” He shook his head. “Maybe for a moment, you’ll feel like you’ve done something. But when the dust settles, when your anger cools, you’ll still be standing in the same place, holding the same pain. And now, the world will have a reason to hit you back.”
I swallowed hard.
Jamal’s mom, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. “Justice is not the same as revenge, habibi.” Her voice was gentle, but firm. “One heals; the other destroys.”
Jamal’s dad studied me intently before nodding. “If you want to fight for something, fight for her. Fight to ensure she never ends up in that position again. But don’t waste your fists on someone like him. He’s already lost.”
I exhaled slowly, my hands trembling.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to let go of my anger.
Mason had already made his choice.
And so had I.