Free Who Will Catch Us As We Fall by Iman Verjee

that?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You know, the people with the kindest hearts are often the ones who get trampled on the most. That doesn’t mean you stop being generous, understood?’ Raj gazed down at the phone, thinking of the man and what Pio might have done and his anger slowly broke apart. He said to Jai, ‘One day, you will be called upon to do the right thing and nothing else will matter except that you do it. African, Indian, Gorah ,it doesn’t matter when we are all Kenyans.’
    â€Œ
11
    The world fell away, shimmered and thinned. The circle of people around her dropped down one by one, folded up like cardboard mannequins to be stashed away. All she could feel was the sturdy, round hardness of the marble pressed against the tip of her index finger, her head filled with the oceanic rush of her breath. Ready. Set.
    â€˜Hurry up and take your shot.’
    Go.
    The voice distracted her and the marble slipped from her hand, bounced sadly once and rolled a couple of centimeters ahead.
    â€˜You cheated!’ Leena pulled herself up off her knees, starting toward Tag. ‘Do you know how long it took me to set up that shot? I would have hit you, I know I would have.’
    Her circle of friends slowly rippled back into existence.
    Tag rolled his eyes. Girls. Especially this one. ‘Think what you want.’
    She grabbed the marble and stepped back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as he knelt down, eyebrows sinking forward in concentration. ‘Fine, take your shot. Just remember—’
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    It came from behind her, a voice on the wind. One that she didn’t recognize, unsettling her because everything in this closely guarded, gated compound was familiar.
    A boy was watching them with eyes that were quiet, dark pools and his hands were curled around the thick, worn-out strap of his satchel. Her mother’s voice came to her. You must be very, very careful of these Africans. They can even use their children to trick you.
    â€˜What are you staring at him like that for?’ Jai came down the steps of their house to stand beside the boy.
    â€˜Didn’t know you had African friends, Jai.’ Tag had set his marble carefully down and had stood up, sneering. The crowd around him tittered nervously, having been taught, as Leena had, to be suspicious of such people.
    â€˜Can I help you?’ Jai asked the boy, ignoring Tag.
    â€˜I’m looking for Angela.’ His English was drawn out and careful, steady despite the whispers around him.
    Leena spoke up. ‘You mean our Angela?’
    At that, the boy looked at her once more, his face crinkling into a question.
    â€˜Your Angela?’
    Jai interrupted, shooting his sister a warning look. ‘Angela Muriuki?’
    â€˜Is she here?’
    â€˜She’s around the back.’ Jai gestured for the boy to follow him.
    Tag was down on the pavement again, victory within reach and the boy forgotten. When the last marble was knocked out of the fading dust circle, he threw his hands up in celebration. ‘I win.’
    But Leena wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring after her brother, at the boy who walked so lightly beside him – grave and serious, entering into shadows.
    Raj heard his daughter come loudly through the door, a shout on her lips. She was so intent on finding Pooja, she failed to see him leaning on the sill of the open window in the living room, out of which he had been smoking leisurely and watching her play.
    The sky was sinking into darkness, opening up its pockets of evening stars – tiny blades of metallic light blurring the edges of all the street objects so that they merged into one large, indistinguishable shadow. As if timed, the yellow lights from the neighboring houses sprung on as people sat down for dinner. Several housemaids emerged from around the verandas, out of their uniforms and in long skirts and cotton blouses, clutching plastic bags