The Scammer(13)

The picture seems ancient in comparison to what I see and know standing before me that I have to laugh.

“What was your brother like as a kid?” I ask.

“Mmm . . . I guess a deep thinker. Always had wild ideas and plans.”

Just like me, I think, and take a sip of my drink.

The bright bar lights pop on, blinding everyone. The music shuts off with an abrupt snap before someone jumps on the mic.

“Everyone . . . you need to leave, right now. Bar is closed.”

A chorus of grumbles comes from the crowd, as people make their way to the door.

“Aye, what’s up?” Vanessa asks one of the bartenders.

“They shutting down the bar,” a woman in black says. “Protesters are making their way up here. They don’t want no smoke. Y’all better get home. Now!”

This sobers Kammy up. “Wait, the protesters are coming this way? What do we do?”

Vanessa remains composed but her lips wiggle.

“Well, we’re already out here. Maybe we should just . . . join them,” Vanessa suggests with an innocent shrug. Was this her plan all along?

Loren and I exchange a look, clearly thinking the same thing. We need to get home. This isn’t the right time to be justice warriors. I check my phone, no service. There must be too many people around. No way to call a car.

“Everyone is talking about going.” Vanessa shrugs. “Maybe we should get in on the action!”

I feel my facade begin to slide off and shrug it back up my shoulder, remaining mute.

Kammy bites her lip. “I’ve never been to a protest before. My momma wouldn’t let me. She said we should just pray for everyone’s safety.”

Vanessa has a hard time holding in her disgust. “Nah. We don’t need no thoughts and prayers. We need to be about action!”

Loren’s brow furrows. “I feel you, but I can’t afford to get arrested.”

“Me either,” I add, calculating what’s left in my bank account. My parents would have to come bail me out. That would just about ruin everything. I can’t risk it.

Then again, I keep thinking what would Kevin do versus what he would want to do.

“No one’s getting arrested, y’all,” Vanessa says, nonchalantly. “What are we going to do? Just stand by while they murder us in cold blood and not say nothing? We’ll be fine! Trust me.”

I study Vanessa, a thousand thoughts running through my head, the loudest one: I wish I could syphon just a fraction of her audacious confidence. Then I would have no issues making friends. She probably could talk her way out of a prison sentence. I’ll have to keep that in mind.

Outside, I hear chanting coming closer.

“NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE! NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!”

Everyone files out of the bar. Outside, V Street is packed. Every spot shutting down, lights off, doors closing, people spilling out into the middle of the road. Up ahead, police lights swirl, a barricade put up, blocking off traffic. The opposite end, protesters marching toward us, in one straight line that takes up the entire street. Hundreds of people as far as you can see.

We’re sandwiched in. Trapped.

A few feet away, a newswoman stands in front of her cameraman. . . .

“It’s a very tense situation out here between DC police officers and protesters! As you can see, we have officers in riot gear. . . .”

“Shit,” Loren mumbles behind me.

“No, no, no,” Kammy whimpers, head shaking. “I don’t like this. I wanna go home!”

But which way do we go, toward the police or toward the protesters? Without cell service, I don’t even have GPS to tell me how to get back to campus.

The crowd of partygoers twist and turn around, lumping together in the middle. Vanessa looks both ways, eyes panicking, as if realizing her mistake.

“Uh, this way. I think.” Vanessa grabs my hand and heads toward the protesters. I grab Loren’s hand, who grabs Kammy’s, linking us like a chain.

But before we can take two steps, a bottle launches up, forming an arc in the sky, landing right at our feet, glass exploding in every direction. The girls shriek.

“Y’all partying in our city while they kill us!” someone in the crowd yells.

“Fuck you and your school, you bougie-ass Negroes!”

Behind us, the police form a tight line, shields held up, batons in hand at the ready.

“Go!” Vanessa screams and starts running. We dive straight into the crowd, weaving through signs, posters slapping our faces, blocking our view, the chants deafening. But it’s like swimming through oatmeal. The crowd becoming thicker with every step.

Behind me, I hear Kammy cry out, “Wait!”

I spin around and see Kammy and Loren stuck a few feet behind. I wring my hand loose from Vanessa to backpedal.

“I can’t move!” Loren screams, her eyes bulging. By the time we reach a hysterical Kammy, I can barely breathe. We’re laced in a corset of people, the strings pulling tighter.

And I can’t see Vanessa. She’s gone!

My arms are pinned to my sides. I can’t move, can’t yank myself free. My hair unravels as I stretch up and realize what’s happening. The police are marching forward, the crowd is squeezing us tighter to the point that no one can move. I stare into Kammy’s horrified eyes, as she tries to push people off her. If someone yells “run,” if a gun goes off . . . we’ll be trampled.