Moose and Goose

Chapter Fourteen

From the moment the door was forced open, chaos ensued. Stevie was tugged down the stairs by his upper arm, with a grip that would surely leave a mark, and brought to his mother and sister.

Sheryl's arms are folded, and Judith's eyes are shut as she focuses on her deep breathing.

"Momma, I wasn't cutting school," he whines for the fourth time, but her look of disappointment doesn't falter.

"Stevie, if you don't explain why you're in this house instead of with your sister at school, this belt will get you talking." He glances at the thick, dark brown belt in his father's grasp, and Judith watches the color drain from his face.

"Did you get suspended again," she asks her brother, and he and his father look at her. Sheryl merely pinches the bridge of her nose with her right hand.

"Again," he repeats loudly. He alternates his gaze between the two women before settling on his wife. "Honey, you knew about this and didn't tell me?"

"It was after your mother's funeral, Walt," she tells him. Stevie lowers his head at the memory, and Walter glances at him. "Some white kids were teasing him, and he got into a fight. I handled it, and I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get upset."

"Damn straight," he says, and he returns his attention to her. "You know how I feel about our children getting their education. I don't give no never mind about him fighting if that's what he feels he has to do, but his schooling doesn't stop."

"So you want to raise our son to be a thug with a diploma? How do you think that'll look for him, Walter? What Ivy League school will accept a little colored boy who runs the streets like a playground," she floods him with rhetorical questions, her voice rising. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath to avoid arguing in front of Stevie and Judy.

"I'm not about to do this with you right now," he tells her in a softer tone, and she huffs. He and Stevie look at each other. "Bring me that suspension letter."

"I don't have one." His lie comes out with a tremble that his father catches. He narrows his eyes at his son.

"I'll go look for it," Judith rushes the words from her mouth then hurries past them on her way up the stairs. Stevie turns his head to watch her with fear in his gaze.

She makes a beeline for his room, and she sees an assortment of food crumbs on his carpet at the foot of his bed and bags of chips sprawled on his comforter.

She walks past his bed, and when she reaches the dresser to the left of the room, she peers through his window.

The Smiths' household of four is to their right: another aristocratic family who think highly of themselves because they can afford suburbia.

She squints at the window across from his and notices that it's partially open. She then lowers her gaze onto the surface of his long dresser in thought.

Is that Zoë's window?

Judy shakes her head clear of her thoughts, and looks to the right of his dresser where his trashcan sits. On the surface are soda cans, chip bags, and cookie wrappers, but she lowers onto her knees in front of it.

She reaches her right hand past the empty junk food containers, and her fingers clutch a moist sheet of paper. She lifts it from the bottom then carefully presses the creases.

"To the parents or legal guardians of Stevie Zion Jefferson," she murmurs, her eyes racing through the lengthy paragraph only to widen toward the middle. "A group of students claimed that he brandished a switchblade at them. What?"

She peers over her shoulder at his door, then at the sliding door for his closet. It's white with multiple decorative slits wide enough to look through.