The Orange Houses by Paul Griffin

with her?”
    â€œI really gotta tell you? Yo baby, that’s what being a boy is all about.”
    Gale rolled up, wimpy chest puffed out. “I know you ain’t stepping to my Mik, son. You step to my girl, you step to me .”
    Giant Jae put up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay Killuh, I don’t want no trouble.”
    Mik hooked Gale’s arm. “Walk me to class.”
    Mik’s arm through his, Gale strutted. “Stomp that Romeo’s punk butt.”
    â€œEasy, hero.”
    Â 
    As Mik stepped through the school doors into the front courtyard a rock zipped past Fatima’s head.
    Crew Shanelle rolled up the sidewalk. “Deaf bitch can’t get no real friends, she stuck with a Zulu terrorist.” Shanelle got in Fatima’s face. “You ain’t nothin’ .”
    Fatima reached into her shawl.
    Shanelle reached for her back pocket, a bulge that said box cutter.
    Fatima drew her hand from her scarf. A flock of Day-Glo butterflies spun in the breeze. In the afternoon light their sequined wings dazzled Sha’s posse. The girls fell on the butterflies as if they were spilled piñata candy.
    â€œIt’s newspaper,” one girl said. “Painted newspaper.” She drew her phone, keyed it for a new entry. “Yo,” she said to Fatima, “I got a birthday party coming for my niece. We was gonna get a clown, but y’all gonna work it instead. My sistuh got cash money, yo. What’s y’all’s numbuh?”
    â€œZero,” Fatima said.
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œI do not have a phone.”
    â€œHow y’all talk to your friends?”
    â€œWith my mouth.”
    The girl nodded. “Cool.”
    â€œDon’t be talking to her,” Sha said.
    â€œSha nelle , chill yo. Why you gotta order everybody around all the time yo? I’m-a get suspended for you ? You got a problem with her, then you step to her.”
    â€œStep to you too—”
    â€œWhat ev uh. You ain’t all that. C’mon, y’all.”
    All but two of the girls ditched Sha. The new leader wrote her number on a gum wrapper and slapped it into Fatima’s hand. “Call me, I put you to work.”
    â€œY’all are trippin’,” Sha called after her former crew. “Y’all are loose .” She backed off, miming a gun at Mik as she went.
    Mik tried to stop trembling, then realized she wasn’t. Her arm hooked through Mik’s, Fatima was shaking.
    Â 
    â€œToday Mik will lead us,” Fatima said.
    Fifty or so kids, adults, vets packed the room. One dude was catatonic in a wheeler, twisted in a mess of tubes and bags.
    â€œTeacher, teach,” Fatima said.
    Mik clicked on her old aids. “Today we’re gonna make butterflies.”
    â€œNah, butterflies are for chicks,” a boy said.
    â€œButterflies are too easy,” said a girl.
    â€œLet’s make angels,” another girl said.
    â€œAll y’all ever want to do is make angels,” Mik said. “How about we make each other?”
    â€œToo hard,” a boy said.
    â€œWe’re angels without the wings. Pick a partner.”
    Mik helped the kids create their parents. Fatima showed the parents how to put together their kids. Mik helped everyone draw faces onto the dolls. Drawing eyes came easily to her today.
    A girl tugged on Mik’s sleeve. “You have nice teeth.”
    Within an hour, the dolls strolled a city street Mik and Fatima built from wrapping paper, rolled cardboard and tissue boxes.
    The dude who ran the volunteer program watched from the corner, arms folded, his face grim.

chapter 28
    JIMMI
    Joe Knows’s fire-gutted bodega, Thursday, six days before the hanging, 11:00 p.m. . . .
    He broke in by way of the back alley. His hands shook. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. What was left in the bodega was melted and smoked. Joe’s body was gone but his old wooden