Free The Orange Houses by Paul Griffin

five-year-old—maybe—ran hard into the street to catch a fly.
    Jimmi doubled back and pushed the little kid clear of a cab skidding sideways. The cab clipped Jimmi. He rolled up the hood, over the shield, dropped off the back. He would ache everywhere tomorrow. He looked at the kid. “Tell me you all right.”
    The kid’s shock gave way to tears of embarrassment. He was clean.
    Jimmi scrambled for the dropped gun. He ducked into the highway traffic to lose the dealer’s brother. Out of breath the dude stopped chasing. He yelled, “Crazy Jimmi, you a dead man.”
    The morning sun took a bite out of the tenement cliff. Jimmi disappeared in the glare. He limped into the underpass and dropped into the gutter alongside the Amtrak rails. He whistled “Amazing Grace” as he studied the Colt. He cocked the hammer, ka-click . “How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.”

chapter 24
    TAMIKA
    School, Mik’s lunch spot under the stairs, Tuesday, eight days before the hanging . . .
    She stared at the bank check Mom put in her hand that morning. The audiologist had called. The new hearing aids were ready for pickup. She calculated how much of Joe Knows’s money would be left after she paid the doctor and wondered if that plus her savings from her homework business would be enough for the immigration lawyer. No. She’d need help from Mom and then some.
    A velvet box floated into her lap. She followed the string up to Gale. He winked to her from the stairwell landing. She had been hiding from him, but now she tapped a spot of bench next to her. He sat.
    Mik eyed the book-size box. “Big engagement ring,” she said.
    â€œBetter than that,” he said.
    She opened the box: a pen. It was not the one she wanted. It was nicer. She fought a want to cut her lip on his braces again. “I can’t accept this.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHomeboy, you can’t buy your way into making somebody love you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œGale, I can’t commit to a, you know, whachamacallit.”
    â€œRelationship?”
    â€œCan y’all settle for us being friends?”
    â€œI still love you, though.
    â€œLemme see your homework.”
    â€œPlease keep the pen?”
    She mussed his fledgling braids. “You got a lot of free math coming your way.”
    Life was getting complicated. Now she had three friends to worry about. She gave him half her PBJ. They ate in silence.
    Â 
    Fatima waited right out front. So did a girl from Shanelle’s posse. The chick waved to Mik, the wave turning into a salute, middle finger only.
    â€œThe universal sign,” Fatima said.
    Â 
    â€œYou don’t want to try them on here?” the doctor said.
    Mik shook no.
    â€œBut we should calibrate them.”
    I’LL FIGURE IT OUT. I WANT TO BE HOME THE FIRST TIME, Mik signed.
    The doctor frowned, looked to Fatima.
    Fatima shrugged.
    THANK YOU, Mik signed. She put the new aids in her pocket and left.
    Â 
    Back in the O Houses, they hung in Mik’s room. She slid the new aids out of their case. A quarter of the size of her old bud-style aids, they were two thin tubes that left her ear canals wide open.
    â€œYou should wait for Mom, no?” Fatima said.
    Mik clicked on the aids. If sound were color, everything was too bright. If it were a hand, it scratched the backs of Mik’s eyes with sharpened nails. The metallic sizzle in her throat reminded her of the time that girl in second grade tricked her into licking the top of a nine-volt battery.
    Someone was clinking dishes as she washed them in the apartment across the breezeway. Mik felt as if the woman were smashing the plates over Mik’s head.
    A baby screeched from another apartment. He might as well have been screaming in Mik’s ear.
    Every sound in the world demanded Mik’s full attention. Hundreds, thousands of fingers poked her, Hey, Yo, Check me out, Yo I said, Listen