Read The Hate U Give for Free Online

criminal and he’s treating you right.” Daddy, on the other hand, rants about how Halle Berry “act like she can’t get with brothers anymore” and how messed up that is. I mean, anytime he finds out a black person is with a white person, suddenly something’s wrong with them. I don’t want him looking at me like that.
    Luckily, Momma hasn’t told him. She refuses to get in the middle of that fight. My boyfriend, my responsibility to tell Daddy.
    Mrs. Rooks leaves. Seconds later, the bell clangs. Kenya struts into the store. Her kicks are cute—Bazooka Joe Nike Dunks that I haven’t added to my collection. Kenya always wears fly sneakers.
    She goes to get her usual from the aisles. “Hey, Starr. Hey, Uncle Maverick.”
    “Hey, Kenya,” Daddy answers, even though he’s not her uncle, but her brother’s dad. “You good?”
    She comes back with a jumbo bag of Hot Cheetos and a Sprite. “Yeah. My momma wanna know if my brother spent the night with y’all.”
    There she goes calling Seven “my brother” like she’s the only one who can claim him. It’s annoying as hell.
    “Tell your momma I’ll call her later,” Daddy says.
    “Okay.” Kenya pays for her stuff and makes eye contact with me. She jerks her head a little to the side.
    “I’m gonna sweep the aisles,” I tell Daddy.
    Kenya follows me. I grab the broom and go to the produce aisle on the other side of the store. Some grapes have spilled out from those red-eyed guys sampling before buying. I barely start sweeping before Kenya starts talking.
    “I heard about Khalil,” she says. “I’m so sorry, Starr. You okay?”
    I make myself nod. “I . . . just can’t believe it, you know? It had been a while since I saw him, but . . .”
    “It hurts.” Kenya says what I can’t.
    “Yeah.”
    Fuck, I feel the tears coming. I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna cry. . . .
    “I kinda hoped he’d be in here when I walked in,” she says softly. “Like he used to be. Bagging groceries in that ugly apron.”
    “The green one,” I mutter.
    “Yeah. Talking about how women love a man in uniform.”
    I stare at the floor. If I cry now, I may never stop.
    Kenya pops her Hot Cheetos open and holds the bag toward me. Comfort food.
    I reach in and get a couple. “Thanks.”
    “No problem.”
    We munch on Cheetos. Khalil’s supposed to be here with us.
    “So, um,” I say, and my voice is all rough. “You and Denasia got into it last night?”
    “Girl.” She sounds like she’s been waiting to drop this story for hours. “DeVante came over to me, right before it got crazy. He asked for my number.”
    “I thought he was Denasia’s boyfriend?”
    “DeVante not the type to be tied down. Anyway, Denasia walked over to start something, but the shots went off. We ended up running down the same street, and I clocked her ass. It was so funny! You should’ve seen it!”
    I would’ve rather seen that instead of Officer One-Fifteen. Or Khalil staring at the sky. Or all that blood. My stomach twists again.
    Kenya waves her hand in front of me. “Hey. You okay?”
    I blink Khalil and that cop away. “Yeah. I’m good.”
    “You sure? You real quiet.”
    “Yeah.”
    She lets it drop, and I let her tell me about the second round she has planned for Denasia.
    Daddy calls me up front. When I get there, he hands me a twenty. “Get me some beef ribs from Reuben’s. And I want—”
    “Potato salad and fried okra,” I say. That’s what he always has on Saturdays.
    He kisses my cheek. “You know your daddy. Get whatever you want, baby.”
    Kenya follows me out the store. We wait for a car to pass, the music blasting and the driver reclined so far back that only the tip of his nose seems to nod to the song. We cross the street to Reuben’s.
    The smoky aroma hits us on the sidewalk, and a blues song pours outside. Inside, the walls are covered with photographs of civil rights leaders, politicians, and celebrities who have eaten