Free Team Seven by Marcus Burke

me bullshittin’ like crime-sniffer dogs smell crack. Pop ignored me, leaving his head hung, focusing on his food as he forked up more wild rice. Nina peeped my failed attempt for conversation.
    Once Ma blessed the food Nina asked her daily dinner question.
    “So, how’d y’all days turn out?”
    “It went well, sweetie,” Ma answered.
    I tossed in my echo with Pop’s “Fine.”
    Then it was back to the food. Dinner wasn’t ever that dry. I felt left out, like everyone was in on something and I wasn’t. Maybe I was the only person who had a good day. Hell, no Fs was a good enough day to me. We ate most of dinner in a very hot, uncomfortable silence. One-word answers and downward gazes. Nina, Ma, and Pop all avoided eye contact, trying to act like they weren’t feeling the heat in the room.
    As we ate, my eyes bounced face to face, trying to catch a vibe or anything that could help explain their silence. It wasn’t finger-sucking, bone-biting, tip-your-cap-to-the-chef silence. It was different. It felt guilty. It made me feel like maybe Ma and Pop already knew about the progress report that was now getting sweaty tucked inside my waistband. But it couldn’t be. Nina was in on the act too. She wasn’t saying much. But maybe she knew what they knew and was trying to avoid the trouble that was brewing under all that silence. Whatever it was, I couldn’t call it.
    Things started to boil right as Pop started to chew the ends of his chicken bones and began to suck the marrow out. He kicked his skinny legs up in the air, resting his feet up on the edge of the table; bad choice. Pops’s big old brown dingo boots busted up all the eggshells we ate dinner on. Ma was early wit’ it.
    “Eddy, take ya nasty doo-doo stomping boots off my kitchen table. It’s evil enough you ain’t putting no food on it, but now you want to help dirty it. Unbelievable!”
    Pops raised his head slow. His forehead curled, exposing the community of worry marks living on his face. His bloodshot eyes squinted low, dipping deep into his face. His lipsdropped and got thin as he bit down on his jaw, making the muscles on the side of his face pop out. But no words. He just rustled his feet off the table, shaking the whole meal. The ice in our Kool-Aid glasses clanged together and the serving spoons rung out. When I made eye contact with him the words came.
    “Let me tell you something, Ruby. It’s no secret or surprise you stay the way you do. Every time! Every time I come in here and try, we gotta go there. I’ll tell ya what is true. Your encouragement truly helps this situation.”
    Yeah, Pop ain’t have no real job that you could collect taxes from. Really, other than playing his reggae music, I don’t know what he does. It seemed like he wasn’t highly skilled at anything other than the art of working the hell out of my mother’s nerves.
    “
Excuse me!
So
you
gon’ tell
me
? Me, simply pointing out the fact that your jobless behind ain’t taking care of this family is what’s holding you stuck in the unemployed bracket? Get real, Negro. Don’t do me any favors. This house is just a convenient pit stop for you and you know it. Try. My. Ass! You just here ’cause you’re in between”—she looked over at me—“things. And that’s what’s true. You can play the fool if you want to, but don’t put it on me. How the hell you get up in here anyway? I know I been locking that basement door!”
    She started viciously sawing her chicken breast. She let out a “Hmmppf” and turned her stare away from Pop and onto me. I darted my eyes away from hers.
    “I ain’t no criminal, Ruby. I walked in that basement door the same way I walk out of it,” Pop shot back. Damage was done. Pop tossed down his napkin and stood up, took a couple steps into the hallway, then turned back around and sat right back down.
    “That’ll be da day I let a female run me from my table! Kids, how y’all doing?”
    The heat was on. I looked over at Ma. Her