Free The Rock and the River by Kekla Magoon Page A

leaned toward me. “You’re here, you’re there, which is it?”
    â€œIt’s just breakfast,” I said. “Isn’t it?” The last wordscame out with more force than I’d intended. Stick’s eyebrows went up. He nodded, chewing on the end of the cigarette.
    â€œSince when do you smoke?”
    Stick pulled the cigarette from his mouth and turned it over between his fingertips. He ground it out against the wall behind him. “I don’t know.”
    â€œFather’s not going to like it.”
    â€œHe’s not going to like a lot of things.” That was for sure.
    A basketball rolled up and bounced against my legs. Stick picked it up and tossed it back to a small boy with two missing front teeth. The boy ran back to his game, hugging the ball to his chest with spindly arms. Stick and I stood quiet, the children’s energetic whoops and giggles swirling around us.
    â€œWhat are you getting into, Stick?” The words came out of my mouth so quiet, Stick leaned a little toward me, like he was trying to hear better. Then he straightened up and turned away from me.
    â€œForget it.”
    â€œDon’t give me your back.” I grabbed his shirt, tried to make him turn around. He didn’t.
    â€œI found the gun.”
    Stick lowered his head for a moment. Then he turned toward me. His gaze flicked over the shirt I was wearing.
    â€œWell? Say something,” I said.
    â€œYou go through my stuff—twice, by the way—and now you’ve got the nerve to ask me about it?”
    I pushed his shoulder. “The block tower is not your stuff.”
    A flash of something—guilt? regret?—crossed his face. He sighed. “I’m holding it for a friend, okay?”
    â€œYou know if Father finds out—”
    Stick shot me a look fit for dirt and took off toward the tables. Of course I wouldn’t tell on him, but it still bothered me.
    â€œHey,” I called after him. He didn’t turn around. I darted around the kids and caught up with him. “What am I supposed to do?”
    â€œI’ve got work to do,” Stick said.
    Â 
    Father was still all bent out of shape over yesterday’s events. Throughout dinner he pumped me for details about Bucky’s attack. “And you’re certain they approached him first?”
    I stared at the tablecloth. “He ran into them, but he didn’t even mean to.”
    â€œRoland, that’s enough now. Let the child eat.” Mama trying to get Father to back off was like a daffodil standing in the path of a freight train. Sometimes she could hush himwith a look or a tap on the arm, but tonight there was no stopping him.
    â€œJust a few more questions,” Father said.
    I pushed the roast beef around on my plate so Mama wouldn’t feel bad, but thinking about Bucky so hard made me lose my appetite.
    â€œLeave him alone,” Stick said. “Don’t make him relive it.” I glanced up at him, but he was looking at his plate. Suddenly, he was on my side?
    â€œSteven, be quiet,” Father said. Then he sighed. “Go to your room now, both of you.” I hadn’t really done anything wrong, but as long as I had to be in trouble, it felt good to be in it with Stick.
    When we got to our room, Stick didn’t glower at his desk and ignore me like he usually did when he was fighting with Father.
    â€œLook, I need you to cover me for a little while,” Stick said.
    â€œWhy should I?” I practically spat the words.
    Stick raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m going out to the protest.”
    â€œNo.”
    Stick shifted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms. “Sam.”
    â€œAre you taking it with you?” We locked eyes. I didn’tback down against Stick’s stormy gaze like I usually did. Right then, I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to leave me alone with it.
    His eyes narrowed as he