Free Leaving Atlanta by Tayari Jones Page B

he stand it twice? No
     wonder he never came to school.
    At lunchtime, Tayari ate with Octavia. Tasha sat alone.

    “This is ridiculous,” Mama said. “You knew about this assignment for how long?”
    Tasha bit her lip. It was almost eleven o’clock and she hadn’t even looked at her math homework. She was still working on
     her book report. “Stop fussing at me,” she growled.
    Daddy walked into the kitchen, almost stepping on DeShaun, who was snoozing in the corner, tucked into her sleeping bag. He
     turned on the TV. “What’s going on?”
    “Tasha waited until the last minute to do her homework,” Mama reported. “DeShaun didn’t want to sleep by herself, so she camped
     out in here.”
    “All while I was in the basement?” Daddy smiled and grabbed a handful of animal crackers from the box on the counter.
    “A lot happens while you are down there,” Tasha snapped.
    “What’s wrong with you, Ladybug?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Growing pains,” Mama told him.
    Ever since Mama had presented her with a small pink bra, that had been her explanation for Tasha’s every mood.
    She was about to complain when Mama looked up at the black-and-white TV and said, “Sweet Jesus.”
    “That’s our school,” said DeShaun, from her nest on the floor.
    A woman with a blue-and-white scarf sobbed into a microphone.
I kept telling him to come right on home after school. I told him the man was going to get him if he didn’t come right on
     home.
    It was Jashante. The fuzzy snapshot had been taken before he chipped his front tooth. He looked like a little boy. The scarf
     woman was crying.
He didn’t come home after school.
    “He didn’t even come to school today,” Tasha said.
    A phone number on the bottom of the screen.
Call if you know anything. Call if you see anything. Someone out there knows something. Don’t be afraid. Come forward.
    Tasha’s chest squeezed smaller. She leaned forward and put her head on her knees. “It’s alright, baby,” Mama said. “Breathe
     slow. You’re alright.”
    They showed the picture one more time. Missing, not murdered.
There may still be time for this boy. Call us. Twenty-four hours.
Scarf woman crying again. Wiping her face with the back of her hand.
He always give me a lot of trouble but I didn’t want nothing like this to happen to him.
    “I know that boy. He’s in my class.”
    “Shh … Don’t talk. Breathe. Get your air.”
    Daddy stood over her. Picked her up, carried her toward the back of the house. He was worried. His face near hers. “Breathe,”
     he told her. “Daddy’s here.”
    Tasha put her hand up to intercept his kiss. “You said he wasn’t going to live to be eighteen. I heard you.”
    “I didn’t mean— That’s the same boy?” Daddy was looking at the TV. “But he looks like a little fella.”
    Mama put her arms around Tasha and she didn’t fight her. “Mama, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
    “Shh, baby.”
    Monica Kaufman said, “The missing boy is thirteen years old.”
    When Tasha woke up the next morning there was a sweet moment of nothingness, but knowledge returned like a yoyo snapping itself
     back hard into the palm of her hand. Jashante was missing. Somebody snatched him. Then the next thought, that Tasha herself
     had brought it upon him with her hateful words.
I hope the man snatches you. Asphyxiated. Decomposed.
And she had meant it when she said it. Mad about ruining her coat, stinging from the laughter of her classmates, she had
     meant it. And Daddy had cursed him too.
That boy’ll be lucky to see the other side of eighteen.
Jashante wouldn’t get to see the other side of fifth grade. And that was the saddest thought of all.
    Recess was postponed indefinitely. No one announced it or made it official. The bell had just rung and nobody moved. Tasha
     was uneasy in the stillness. She searched her classmates’ faces. Did they remember that she was responsible? All of the kids
     wore weird expressions,