JACQUARIOUS

"It's...just up ahead." The words felt leaden, like gravel in my mouth, as I directed Officer Longchamp around the evened asphalt path toward my home, lamp posts streaked with gold gliding past on either side.

"You weren't kidding, kid," he whistled. "This place is something else. Bet it costs a fortune to live here."

I looked off as he glanced at me in the rearview mirror, TaKylar sliding closer in the backseat and draping an arm around my shoulder.

The officer sighed. "Sorry, didn't mean to corner you, bud. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"It's fine," I muttered. "And um...thanks for the ride, sir."

We pulled into my driveway a few moments later, Officer Longchamp getting the door for me and TaKylar and helping us out of his cop car, just as the flashing of ivory headlights behind us blasted our shadows onto the pale garage door.

I gulped. "Looks like my mom's here."

Officer Longchamp stepped in front of me and TaKylar. "Hey, no worries." He chuckled. "Not like you're in trouble or anything."

TaKylar sighed. "You don't get it. Jacquarious's mom hates cops."

Officer Longchamp flinched, a brief falter in his confident stance; it was subtle, but it was there.

Moments later, my mother stepped out of her glossy Porsche in a pair of dark high heels, striding up the sidewalk and placing a single hand on her hip. "Evening," she offered. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Officer?" Her eyes narrowed.

Officer Longchamp gave a single nod. "Unfortunately, Miss, there's been an event at Goldengate—some of the students happened across a body."

My mom's hand rose to her throat. "A...body?"

He lowered his gaze. "Afraid so."

"Then why wasn't I called sooner? Why is this my first time hearing of it?"

Officer Longchamp rubbed the back of his neck. "We tried, Miss. But it looks like none of Jacquarious's contact information has been uploaded into the Goldengate school system's database yet. I understand he's only enrolled recently."

"Figures." Mom rolled her eyes. "I suppose every school district in the state's committed to cornering the market on incompetence."

"There's...something else," Officer Longchamp said. "The boy who was killed—he was a friend of your son. DeWayne Cartrell."

Mom's jaw dropped. "What? How is that even possible? What would DeWayne's body be doing at Goldengate?"

Officer Longchamp sighed. "That's what we're trying to figure out. And I was hoping to find a time where you and Jacquarious could come down to the station, maybe shed some light on a few things for us."

Mom's eyes darkened. "There's nothing to 'shed light on,' officer. My son hasn't seen DeWayne since last semester, and if you're insinuating that he had something to do with—"

"I'm not," Officer Longchamp cut in. "Trust me. Our men have already combed Goldengate's footage, and we're certain Jacquarious and TaKylar had nothing to do with what happened." He sighed, eyebrows furrowing. "We just want to get to the truth, to get justice for a young man who was close to your son."

"Was being the operative word," Mom huffed.

Officer Longchamp quirked a brow. "Pardon?"

Mom shook her head. "Nothing, it's...not important." She rested a single hand wearily against her temple. "I'll move some things around on my schedule tomorrow. Do you have a contact card or something? How do I reach you?"

He reached inside his vest. "Here. It's my personal number. The other officers and I probably won't be getting much sleep as we process all this, so you can call day or night."

Mom took his number and sighed. "I can't believe it. Two days in, and there's already another body." Her eyes fell with the whistle of the wind. "Sometimes I hate this city."

****

Unmoving they stood, next to him. Not truly gathered, not solely unaccompanied. But in the wintered breeze that pulled them together, that froze them apart—somewhere in this stiff and icy air, a little boy trembled at the edge of what it meant to be human. What it meant to be all alone.

I slid back from my computer, my hands resting on the edge of my desk as I stared forward at the black paragraphs of digital ink smearing my screen.

It would work.

For now, anyway.

"Jacquarious?" my mother's exhausted voice was quilted behind the soft wood of my bedroom door. "I've brought you more tea. Mind if I come in?"

"'Course, Mom. It's open."

The wood creaked open behind me; the sound of soft-footed steps plodded up to my desk as I turned.

"Here, Baby," she mused, setting the tea next to my computer before sighing.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"I really wish you'd just take some time to process things. Goldengate's going to be closed anyway; there's no need to dive headfirst into your homework this early."

I felt my gaze weaken. "It's...it's the only thing that makes sense right now. If I stop working, I'm just gonna collapse."

"Maybe that's for the best." She gave a weary smile. "You may power through an essay faster than anyone I've ever seen, but you're still human. Try to remember that, alright?"

I sighed, kissing her cheek as she leaned over to hug me. "Okay, Mom."

DING!

I jumped in my seat at the sound of the doorbell.

Mom groaned. "Must be that Officer Longchamp again. I'll go see what he wants." She twisted toward my bedroom's exit, satin pajamas brushing my shoulder as she glided into the hallway and pattered down the steps.

Shutting my computer, I stood from my desk and headed down behind her. By the time I'd made it to the foot of the staircase, she was already staring through the peephole to our home.

"...Who is it?" I almost shuddered to ask.

Her face twisted into a puzzled look. "I'm not sure, but he looks like a...gym teacher."

Huh? I ambled over to where she stood, hazarding my own glance through the peephole.

Reluctantly, I twisted the knob, sliding the door open to the perfect stranger in ruffled sweatpants and a flashy windbreaker.

The man smiled at us, stance confident but eyes uncertain. "Hey there. Hope I'm not intruding. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself."

Mom placed a hand on her hip. "Okay...and you are?"

He chuckled. "Right, sorry about that." He took a step closer, pulling his hand from his pocket and extending it for a shake. "I'm Hanson Rangford, coach of Goldengate's basketball team." He grinned, eyes scanning over to me. "And my spies tell me I'm in the presence of a prodigy."

I gulped. "Spies?"

Coach Rangford laughed. "Lighten up, kid. Few of the boys on my team got a bit...ambitious. Caught a couple clips of you playin' ball with your friends from Browning Heights. Gotta say, I'm impressed."

"Impressed?" Mom cut in.

"Ma'am, your son's got a talent. It's not often I'm surprised in my line of work, but Jaquavious is off the charts."

"It's Jacquarious," Mom said with a scowl.

"R-right, sorry." He turned back to me, fishing through his windbreaker's frontmost pocket to retrieve a folded flyer and hand it to me. "Tryouts for the mid-year lineup start in two weeks—"

Mom snatched the flyer from him before I could even reach out for it. "I'm sorry, but help me understand something: My son witnesses the aftermath of a brutal murder, and not twelve hours later, you're making house calls to recruit him for a...a basketball team? Is this a joke?"

"Mom..." I tried.

"He watched the cops drag a corpse from a shower. How insensitive can you be?"

Coach Rangford shoved his hands back inside his pockets. "I...my apologies, Ma'am. I just thought that maybe I—maybe we could help with welcoming you and your son to the community." He looked off, his gaze falling somewhere past the shrubbery shrouded by nighttime shadow.

Mom shook her head, slid a protective arm around my shoulder. "I think an armed police escort and the bloody body of a dead child is enough welcoming to last at least a few days, Coach." She rolled her eyes before slamming the door, withdrawing her arm and twisting around to growl into the air. "The nerve of some people!"

I winced as she stormed off through the kitchen, tossing the crumpled basketball flyer in the trash. Gulping once, I hazarded another peek through the peephole.

Coach Rangford grimaced where he stood, defeat written across his face as he kicked at the ground. Ruffling a single hand through the quiffed waves of his brown hair, he stared briefly to the sky before lumbering away.