The Hate U Give Read Online Free PDF Page A

We didn’t do anything. Khalil didn’t even have a gun.”
    Daddy releases a slow breath. “Folks around here gon’ lose their minds when they find that out.”
    “People from the neighborhood are already talking about it on Twitter,” Seven says. “I saw it last night.”
    “Did they mention your sister?” Momma asks.
    “No. Just RIP Khalil messages, fuck the police, stuff like that. I don’t think they know details.”
    “What’s gonna happen to me when the details do come out?” I ask.
    “What do you mean, baby?” my mom asks.
    “Besides the cop, I’m the only person who was there. And you’ve seen stuff like this. It ends up on national news. People get death threats, cops target them, all kinds of stuff.”
    “I won’t let anything happen to you,” Daddy says. “None of us will.” He looks at Momma and Seven. “We’re not telling anybody that Starr was there.”
    “Should Sekani know?” Seven asks.
    “No,” Momma says. “It’s best if he didn’t. We’re just gonna be quiet for now.”
    I’ve seen it happen over and over again: a black person gets killed just for being black, and all hell breaks loose. I’ve tweeted RIP hashtags, reblogged pictures on Tumblr, and signed every petition out there. I always said that if I saw ithappen to somebody, I would have the loudest voice, making sure the world knew what went down.
    Now I am that person, and I’m too afraid to speak.
    I wanna stay home and watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air , my favorite show ever, hands down. I think I know every episode word for word. Yeah it’s hilarious, but it’s also like seeing parts of my life on screen. I even relate to the theme song. A couple of gang members who were up to no good made trouble in my neighborhood and killed Natasha. My parents got scared, and although they didn’t send me to my aunt and uncle in a rich neighborhood, they sent me to a bougie private school.
    I just wish I could be myself at Williamson like Will was himself in Bel-Air.
    I kinda wanna stay home so I can return Chris’s calls too. After last night, it feels stupid to be mad at him. Or I could call Hailey and Maya, those girls Kenya claims don’t count as my friends. I guess I can see why she says that. I never invite them over. Why would I? They live in mini-mansions. My house is just mini.
    I made the mistake of inviting them to a sleepover in seventh grade. Momma was gonna let us do our nails, stay up all night, and eat as much pizza as we wanted. It was gonna be as awesome as those weekends we had at Hailey’s. The ones we still have sometimes. I invited Kenya too, so I could finally hang out with all three of them at once.
    Hailey didn’t come. Her dad didn’t want her spending the night in “the ghetto.” I overheard my parents say that. Maya came but ended up asking her parents to come get her that night. There was a drive-by around the corner, and the gunshots scared her.
    That’s when I realized Williamson is one world and Garden Heights is another, and I have to keep them separate.
    It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking about doing today though—my parents have their own plans for me. Momma tells me I’m going to the store with Daddy. Before Seven leaves for work, he comes to my room in his Best Buy polo and khakis and hugs me.
    “Love you,” he says.
    See, that’s why I hate it when somebody dies. People do stuff they wouldn’t usually do. Even Momma hugs me longer and tighter with more sympathy than “just because” in it. Sekani, on the other hand, steals bacon off my plate, looks at my phone, and purposely steps on my foot on his way out. I love him for it.
    I bring a bowl of dog food and leftover bacon outside to our pit bull, Brickz. Daddy gave him his name ’cause he’s always been as heavy as some bricks. Soon as he sees me, he jumps and fights to break free from his chain. And when I get close enough, his hyper butt jumps up my legs, nearly taking me down.
    “Get!” I say. He crouches