Pieces of Why by K. L. Going Page A

searched by a security guard and go through two sets of doors that locked with a loud clang behind us.
    Ma had covered my ears when my father said he was a trucker, but I’d still heard her growl, “You’re an ungrateful fool, Lyle Frank.”
    I’d been so busy wondering why my father had claimed to be a truck driver when he’d never worked a steady job in his life that I hadn’t said anything, and by the time Ma’s hands had fallen off my ears, they were deep in a full-on fight. Years later I’d realized my dad hadn’t said trucker after all. He’d said a real bad word instead, and I’d wanted to ask Ma why he’d said that, but if I even mentioned someone with the same first name as my dad, Ma would be in bed with a migraine for days.
    Now the whole memory came back and all I could do was take deep, rhythmic breaths while Mary-Kate Torelo belted out the lead.
    When she was done, everyone clapped and whistled, and Mary-Kate bowed. Ms. Marion cued our next song, and the choir began to sway, but I’d had enough. I slipped off the risers and into the crowd, walking straight back to the far corner.
    I wanted to be alone—possibly forever—but a little while later, I felt a hand on my arm. “You feeling okay?” Dwayne asked.
    I nodded as if my insides weren’t churning up.
    â€œJust got nervous,” I mumbled as the choir sang in the background. “Stage fright.”
    Dwayne raised one eyebrow. “
You
got stage fright?”
    I nodded again, and Dwayne folded his arms across his chest, frowning like he was thinking real hard. “You know what I like about you, Tia?” he asked at last.
    I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip.
    â€œI like that you’re a terrible liar. You know why?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBecause,” he said, “it means you’re good at heart.”
    Dwayne reached out one large, strong hand and despite all the darkness inside of me, I took hold. It was as if there was a war going on, and his little bit of good had swooped in at the last minute to save the day.
    That made me think about my father. Would any part of him care that I loved Dwayne more than him? Would he be happy that I’d remembered him tonight, or sad that I’d forgotten him in the first place? Did he remember
me
?
    â€œC’mon,” Dwayne said once the choir had finished. “Looks like my princess has found herself a prince.” He nodded toward Keisha and Khalil coming off the risers, holding hands as they slipped into the crowd. “So I guess we minions might as well go find the queen.”
    He meant Ms. Evette, and he was trying to make me laugh, but I couldn’t do it. Not tonight. Dusk was creeping in, the fireflies were coming out, and the sky was streaked with the remnants of a New Orleans sunset, but all I could think about was my father’s face as he’d watched me and Ma walk out of the visiting room that last time.
    He’d looked like the Raven woman. As if he’d lost something he could never get back, and part of him had died too.
    That thought made me shiver.
    Was that what it felt like to live behind bars, knowing you’d never again feel a cool breeze at night or watch fireflies light up the darkness? Knowing that your child would grow up without you, reaching out for a father’s hand that could never be yours?

CHAPTER 11
    W HEN I GOT home, the house was dark, and I knew Ma was already in bed. Ms. Evette, Dwayne, Jerome, and Keisha saw me to my door, and Keisha hugged me before she left. She’d talked about Khalil the whole way home—how gorgeous and smart and talented he is—but now she frowned.
    â€œSorry about tonight,” she said. “Guess I was wrong about no one else knowing about your dad. Are you mad I didn’t hang out with you?”
    I shook my head. “I’m just glad you and Khalil had a good time.”
    She grinned like a lit