From the Desk of Zoe Washington(9)

I could totally handle it.

“When do I start?”

“Tomorrow. Dad will drop you off on the way to work, and you’ll stay for the first half of the day. Then he’ll pick you up around lunchtime. How does that sound?”

“Amazing!” I grinned.

If I was gone for only half a day, then I could still check the mail for a letter from Marcus when I got home.

I hated that I had to pay so much attention to the mail. But maybe I wouldn’t have to.

We continued our loop around the market and passed by four vendors before I built up the nerve to say, “Mom? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Would you ever let me speak to Marcus?” I asked. “Like, maybe send him a letter in prison?”

Mom stopped walking and her expression got serious. “Marcus?” She said his name like it tasted rotten. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because he’s my dad. I mean, you know. My birth dad.”

“He may have had something to do with your birth, but that’s it.” Mom’s voice hardened. “He’s never even seen you.”

“Because I’m not allowed to visit him. Right?” I asked.

“Right,” she said. “I’m not taking you to a prison.”

“But shouldn’t I get to decide if I want to know him?” I asked.

“When you’re an adult, if that’s what you want, I can’t stop you. But right now, you’re still a child,” Mom said.

I frowned. “You act like I’m a baby. I’m twelve now, practically a teenager.”

Mom shook her head. “There’s still so much you don’t know.”

“So tell me!”

I didn’t mean for it to come out so loud. A few people turned their heads to look at us.

Mom pulled me away from the center of the market, and we ended up next to a big oak tree. She put her hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “Listen to me. Marcus is not a good man. He lies and manipulates people. And he’s a convicted murderer. I don’t want him in your life. You have to understand.” She paused. “Where is this coming from? Why are you asking about this now?”

“No reason,” I mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Mom asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She exhaled. “Let’s go home.”

I silently followed Mom to where we parked our car. My chest felt tight.

Mom wasn’t being fair. I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I was old enough to figure out for myself how I felt about him. Besides, Marcus couldn’t hurt me from behind bars.

I had no choice—his letters would have to stay secret.





Chapter Seven


Dad and I got “the look” again on our way to my first day at Ari’s Cakes. The look we got sometimes when we were out together, just the two of us. Dad parked the car a block away from the bakery. As we were getting out, an older white lady walked by and stared at us a little too long, her face twisting into a confused and judgmental glare. I knew exactly what that look meant. She was wondering why a Black girl was getting out of a white man’s car. What we were doing together.

My face got hot.

“Hey, Dad?” I said, extra loud so the woman would hear.

“Yes, kiddo?”

“Do you have quarters for the meter?” I asked.

“Yup, right here,” he said.

I peered behind me to see if the woman was still staring. But she had gone back to walking.

I shook my head at her. Good riddance.

When Dad and I walked into Ari’s Cakes a few minutes later, I could see why Ariana had said she needed extra help. The place was packed, with a line weaving around the front area of the shop.

“Do you think it’s always like this in the morning?” I asked Dad as we squeezed around customers to get to the counter.

“Maybe it’s because everyone’s off for the Fourth of July,” he said.

“Um, there’s a line,” someone said, and when I turned toward the voice, I saw it belonged to a teenage girl with glasses. She glared at me.

I said, “Oh, I’m not . . . I’m actually . . .”

“Zoe!” I whipped around toward Ariana’s voice. She waved me over to where she stood behind the counter in a pale-blue apron—the shop’s signature color. She was also wearing a pale-blue baseball cap with the Ari’s Cakes logo on it, her wavy brown hair tied back into a low bun. “So glad you’re here. It’s super busy today.”

I glanced back at the girl with the glasses, so I could show her that I wasn’t cutting the line, that I knew the owner. But now she was staring at her phone. Oh well.

When Dad and I reached the counter, Ariana pulled us behind it and gave me a hug. “Nice to see you, lady. Hey, Paul,” she said to Dad.

He was holding up his travel mug. “Mind if I grab some coffee before I go?”

“Sure thing.” Ariana took the mug from Dad and filled it. “On the house.”

Once he had his mug back, Dad said, “Thank you. Zo, I’ll see you at noon. Have fun.” Since it was a holiday, he didn’t have to go to work, so he’d be the one to pick me up when I was done.