The Liberation of Gabriel King (13 page)

“But what if something happens? What if Duke does something mean?”

I thought of a hundred horrible things that could happen.

“What if he’s mad about the rally and takes it out on us? Frita will need to watch out for herself, don’t you think?”

I studied the cow’s face real careful to see what she was thinking, but her eyelids just drooped and she chewed on a patch of grass.

“Fine,” I said, lying back in the cotton, “that’s easy for you to say. You’re a cow. But I’m a chicken. A body can’t just stop being a chicken.”

I waited for the cow to argue with me. Maybe she’d say, “You can do it, Gabriel King. You just got to have faith.” But that cow didn’t say anything, and after that neither did I.

Things couldn’t be good when you were talking to a cow.

*   *   *

Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if it hadn’t been for Terrance.

Well, Terrance and Pop, I mean.

It was the night before the rally and the Wilsons were over at my trailer again, going over the final details with Momma and Pop. I’d taken to sitting outside with Jimmy while they talked. Partly because it made my stomach feel funny to think about everything that was going to happen, but mostly because I couldn’t stand to see the Wilsons without Frita. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson never said a word, but I knew they were wondering how come Frita had suddenly taken a liking to Great-aunt Alma.

That night, I was sitting outside in my overalls with my bare feet tickling the grass, trying to catch a cricket for Jimmy’s dinner, when the front door slammed open. Momma and Pop never slammed the door and it was way too early for the Wilsons to be leaving, so I looked up.

There was Terrance, standing on my front step.

He sure looked tall, staring down at me. His legs were solid like tree trunks and his afro was all puffed out around his head. He had on a T-shirt that said
POWER TO THE PEOPLE
and for a minute I felt scared of him, just like I used to. But then he sat down beside me and he was just Terrance again, Frita’s big brother who made pounding fun.

“What’re you doing, Twerp?” Terrance asked.

I put the cover back on Jimmy’s tank. “Nothin’.”

“What’s up with you and Frito?”

I didn’t expect that question because everyone else was tiptoeing around the subject, but I guess Terrance wasn’t like everyone else.

I shrugged. “She doesn’t want to see me.”

Terrance snorted. “Well, that ain’t true,” he said. “She couldn’t get more miserable if she tried. Moping around the house all week. Always hanging around the basement. Driving me crazy.”

He sounded real annoyed, but only partway. I sat up just a little bit.

“Really?” I asked, but Terrance just scowled.

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving to Atlanta soon as this rally is over.”

My grin faded. “Atlanta?”

“Yup,” he said. “I’m going to live with my uncle Rory and get a job in the city.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

But this time it was Terrance who shrugged.

“Who knows,” he said, “but I can’t wait around here my whole life. Sometimes you’ve got to take a chance.” He looked at me real steady, then he reached into his pocket. “I got something for you,” he said. “And it’s important, so you better pay attention.”

Terrance took out a crumpled piece of paper and pressed it hard into my palm. Then he closed my fingers around it into a fist. He held them closed tight just for a minute.

“You wouldn’t have been my first choice for Frito’s best friend,” he said, “but you’re okay. You’ve got potential. Just don’t screw it up.”

Then Terrance let go and stood up.

“See you at the rally, Twerp.”

He disappeared back inside the house and I stared at the paper in my fist. Terrance had never given me anything before and I couldn’t imagine what it was. One by one I peeled away my fingers, then I smoothed out the paper. On it was Frita’s handwriting.

I stared at that paper so long, I thought my eyes might weld themselves to it. I’d never seen Frita’s whole list before. I wondered where Terrance had gotten it, but from the looks of things he’d pulled it out of the trash. I read it over and over again, but mostly I read the last two.
Terrance leaving home
and
not having Gabe with me in the fifth grade.

Maybe Frita really did need me.

I was still sitting there staring when the Wilsons left for the night. Terrance didn’t even look at me. He just climbed in the car and started the engine while Mr. and Mrs. Wilson said their good-byes.

“See you tomorrow, Gabe,” Mrs. Wilson said, ruffling my hair as she walked by.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Wilson, “tomorrow’s the big day. Frita sure will be excited to see you.”

They were being extra nice, but I hardly noticed. All I could think about was Frita’s list. I listened to the rumble of their car driving away, but I still didn’t get up. I stayed out there until it got dark. Then I folded the list and put it in my pocket. I stood outside my front door, watching the way the light from inside spilled out onto the steps. I could hear Momma and Pop’s voices carrying softly.

Part of me wanted to stand there forever, but part of me knew it was time to go in.

I walked inside and let the front door shut with a snap. Pop was standing in the living room in his fancy clothes.

“Do you think I should wear this striped tie?” he was asking Momma.

She gave him that look that said
Quit asking me
, because Pop had probably asked a million times already and it was the only tie he owned so he pretty much had to wear it no matter what. Pop held the tie up to his shirt and turned from side to side. I missed his work pants and clompy old work
boots. I bet he missed them too because he looked real uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” he said, itching his collar. “It’s old and it sure doesn’t go with this shirt. I bet the other men will be dressed nice. I heard the mayor’s going to be there and TV crews…”

I put Jimmy’s tank on the counter and Pop studied his reflection in the glass.

“What do you think, Jimmy?” he asked, leaning in. “Think Gabe’s pop is going to make a fool out of himself?”

Momma sighed. She glanced at me and I waited for her to say something encouraging, but she slipped out of the room instead. I thought about how nervous Pop was, and for the first time ever I realized maybe
he
needed me too.

“You’ll be great, Pop,” I said. “Just like Jimmy Carter.”

Pop sighed and set down the tie. “Maybe I should stay home,” he said. “There will be plenty of speeches without mine. Who needs another speech?”

I’d heard Pop’s speech so many times, I could practically recite it myself, but it was a darn good one. Made me feel braver every time. I tried to think how I’d explain that to Pop, but it turns out I didn’t have to, because Momma slid up behind him. She reached around his waist and handed him a long, thin box with a gold bow on it.

“I wasn’t going to give it to you until tomorrow,” she said. Then she laughed. Finally, she had to say, “Open it.”

Pop fumbled with the fancy bow, but Momma leaned her
chin on his shoulder and waited real patient while he pulled off the top. I stood on my tiptoes to see inside. It was a brand-new tie with a shiny golden tie clip. Nicer than any tie I’d ever seen. Pop stared at Momma like he couldn’t believe it.

“We don’t have the money for this,” he said, but Momma’s face was soft, like she knew he was going to say that.

“I saved up,” she said. “I put aside a little of the grocery money every week. You’re going to look so handsome on that stage.” She kissed Pop on the cheek.

“It’s real nice,” Pop said, his eyes glistening. He set the tie in the box extra careful, then he swung Momma up like they were dancing. For the first time since the Bicentennial, he laughed.

“Gabe,” he said, “put on some music.”

I climbed over the couch and turned on the record player and the music came on real loud, but no one said to turn it down. Instead, Pop dipped Momma low.

“Who’s afraid of a silly speech?” he said, loud above the music. He twirled her around the living room.

“Who’s afraid of being a fool?”

Momma laughed, and her face glowed like a full moon.

“Who’s afraid of the Ku Klux Klan?” Pop asked, and me and Momma both yelled, “Not us!”

Then Pop picked me up and we all three twirled around until we fell on the couch. We lay there laughing and listening to the music fill up our trailer.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Pop said at last. And
finally I knew he was right. Then he said something I won’t ever forget.

“Ain’t nothing so scary when you’ve got people you love,” Pop said.

Right then I knew I’d found my courage.

It was like a lock found its key and sprung open.

All this time I’d been trying not to be scared, and it turns out all I had to do was be brave. Wasn’t nothing going to keep fifth grade from being scary, but there wasn’t nothing going to keep me from my best friend neither. That’s what being brave was all about.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, I
GOT UP AND DRESSED FAST AS
I’
D EVER DONE
it. When I got out to the kitchen, Pop was putting on his brand-new tie. Boy, did he look sharp.

“Mr. Wilson called,” he was saying to Momma. “There’s a rumor floating around that Jimmy Carter himself is coming to the rally. They’re expecting an overflow crowd.” Pop looked at me. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said, “but he is home in Plains, which isn’t too far from here.”

I rubbed my eyes. Jimmy Carter? Coming to our rally?

That seemed near to impossible, but after this summer, who knew what could happen.

“We got to go right now,” I said, stuffing down my toast and tugging on Pop’s sleeve.

“I said not to get your hopes up,” Pop reminded me, but it wasn’t Jimmy Carter I couldn’t wait to see. It was Frita Wilson.

Me, Momma, and Pop took the truck to the elementary school where they were setting up, and was it ever crowded. Looked like the crowd at the Bicentennial, only this time we’d be making our own fireworks.

“Come on,” Momma said, taking my hand and Pop’s hand in hers. “Let’s find the Wilsons.”

We went out back to the school yard. At first I couldn’t see Frita in the crowd, but then I spotted her. She was standing up front with her daddy and she sure looked pretty. Her hair was done up with bows and she was smiling huge at all the adults. Her momma motioned us over.

“This is Mr. and Mrs. King,” Mrs. Wilson said to the others when we got close. “They’re Gabriel’s parents.”

Then Momma and Pop were shaking hands and saying hello and it didn’t matter that we lived in the smallest trailer in the Hollowell Trailer Park. They looked just like real politicians.

Huh
, I thought.
Guess that’s how a peanut farmer got to run for president of the United States.

I tugged on Frita’s sleeve.

“Hey,” I said, “I got to tell you something.”

Frita’s eyes looked hopeful. “What is it?” she asked, but I didn’t want to tell her with all the adults around.

“Want to sit under the picnic table?”

Frita thought it over.

“I guess so,” she said. “For a minute.”

We wove in and out of the crowd until we found our table, but this time we didn’t crawl underneath like we usually did. We sat on top and swung our legs down.

“Frita,” I said at last, “I changed my mind.”

“About what?” she asked, even though I suspected she knew.

“The fifth grade,” I said. “I’m going.”

Frita’s face split into a grin.

“For real?”

“Pinky sw…” I stopped. “Cross my heart and spit on the ground.”

Then I did it so Frita would know I meant it for real. She swung her feet and studied me real good.

“Gabe,” she asked, “what finally made you brave?”

I knew the answer, but I wasn’t sure how to explain it, so I just shrugged. “You did.”

“’Cause of the liberating?”

“Sort of.”

Frita grinned again, and we sat quiet, just me and her, and I thought how this really was the best summer ever.

“Frita Wilson,” I said, “you’re my best friend.”

Frita looked at me and I knew she meant it back, but she didn’t get a chance to say it because the microphones screeched in the distance. Mr. Wilson was asking everyone to sit down.

Frita hopped off the picnic table.

“Come on,” she said. “Terrance is saving me a seat on the bleachers. Top row. Want to come?”

There was a time when the top row of the bleachers would’ve been on my list if I’d thought of it, but I hopped down. “Yup,” I said.

We could hear Mr. Wilson introducing all the people who would be speaking at the rally.

“Mayor Roberts, Reverend Jordan, Allen King…”

I listened to the crowd clapping for Pop and I was real proud. I bet he was nervous up there on the stage, but he was doing it anyway, just like me and the fifth grade. I let loose one of my super-duper whistles. Then me and Frita got ready to make a beeline for the bleachers, only that’s when we got waylaid one last time.

I don’t know what made me turn around and look under the farthest picnic table at the edge of the school yard. Maybe it was because I suspected me and Frita wouldn’t come here to hide out anymore after this, not when we’d be West Wing fifth-graders. I wanted to take one last look at what had been our spot. Only this time I saw something I hadn’t counted on.