The Rock and the River Read Online Free PDF Page B

from my pretend studying to look too. Reading was Bucky’s least favorite pastime, mainly because he wasn’t all that good at it. When he came over, Stick made him read magazines just to keep him quiet, but we both knew Bucky flipped through the pages studying the pictures and diagrams but ignoring the words altogether. He was smart, but not word-smart like Stick. He could fix anything that had moving parts—in fact, Father often said Bucky’d make a brilliant engineer if he’d settle down long enough to finish school. But he didn’t have time for school anymore, not with his sister, Shenelle, and their mom to support. He worked long shifts each day at Roy Dack’s auto shop, trying to save enough to get his family back into an apartment.
    â€œSure thing,” Bucky said, extracting a newspaper from his bag. He displayed it proudly in front of him. “Have you seen this?”
    Stick’s expression hardened. “Yeah.” He took the paper from Bucky and folded it up before I got a good look. “You can’t read that here. Not now.”
    â€œHey, I want to see.” I moved up from the end of my bed, getting closer to Bucky. Stick frowned at me, then glared at Bucky.
    â€œAnother time,” Stick said. He handed the paper back to Bucky. “Put it away.”
    I leaped off my bed and grabbed the newspaper out of Bucky’s hand. Stick shot me a don’t-you-dare look. I sent back a dirty look of my own. If something interesting was happening, I was not going to be left out. I unfolded the page. “‘ The Black Panther ,’” I read aloud. “‘All power to the people.’”
    â€œSam.” The single syllable sliced through the air. “Later.” His tone was so sharp and thick with annoyance, maybe even anger, that I released the paper into his hands. He swatted Bucky on the side of the head with it.
    â€œDr. King is in our living room, and you want to sit here contemplating armed revolution? I don’t think so.”
    Bucky held up his hands. “Whoa. Put away the big words, bro. I’m not trying to get militant. Not my style. Butnew things are happening out there. It’s exciting.”
    â€œOut where?” I was confused.
    â€œOakland, in California,” Stick said. “And people getting killed is not exciting.” He dropped the paper in Bucky’s lap. “It’s not even new.”
    â€œNo, man. That’s not even what I’m talking about,” Bucky said. “They’ve got these ideas about how things should be.”
    Stick lay back on his bed. “Well, we all have that, Buck. Really, we’ll talk about it later.”
    Bucky opened the paper. “Right here”—he pointed—“it says they want everyone guaranteed a place to live, no matter what. I dig that.” He spoke quieter than usual, keeping his head down. He moved his finger along the page. “And here, it says they want black people released from prison because the system is so messed up. Well, you know how I feel about that.”
    Stick and I fell into a respectful silence. Bucky’s father was killed by prison guards a year or so earlier. He shouldn’t have been in jail in the first place, but that was how it went.
    Stick scribbled something in one of his notebooks and showed it to Bucky. Bucky folded the Panther newspaper and replaced it in his bag. He took a magazine from Stick’s pile and reclined against the bed, flipping through it ascasually as anything. I wondered what Stick had written that so completely silenced him. Bucky was a lot of things, but discreet was not one of them.
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    That was more than six months ago. I’d never heard either of them mention the paper again. In fact, I’d all but forgotten about it. I shifted in my seat, wishing I could forget it all again. I didn’t like the feeling the memory inspired—the vague sense that the world around