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She took a step back, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked up at Javier.

“She’s only told Keesha,” she said, “and Keesha’s only told me.”

“What?” he asked quietly.

She turned her back to the boys on the sidewalk, then, keeping her voice low, practically spat out: “That fucking shit Xpress—Xavier Smith?” She paused, and after Javier nodded that he knew him, went on. “He was here last night getting revenge on Sasha’s grandmother for calling the cops on him. She saw him stealing a neighbor’s TV. He hid on the porch last night, and when Sasha got home from Keesha’s, he forced his way inside.”

She sniffled, then wiped at her nose and cheek.

Javier said, “What happened then?”

“You were right about Principal Bazelon being tied up. He used the phone cord. Then he . . . then he put a gun to Sasha’s head and made her—”

Javier saw the tears flowing faster.

She angrily wiped them away and finished: “That fucking shit make her blow him and made her abuela watch! That’s what killed her!”

“Jesus Christ!” Javier said softly.

He looked over his baby sister’s head to the porch. Keesha was stroking Sasha’s hair.

Her abuela died of a real broken heart.

Dr. Mitchell told me about those, where stress damages the heart muscle, especially an old, weak one, to the point of triggering a deadly cardiac arrest.

Jesus!

Yvette added: “And he threatened Sasha, said not to tell nobody, that he could come back anytime, and that he could get her anywhere.”

Javier shook his head and said, “No wonder she’s terrified. Now she has no family and is constantly worried that Xpress will come back.”

She nodded. “We’re going to get her away from this. Walk over and see the memorial at the school, you know? Maybe that’ll make her feel a little better.”

They both glanced back at the porch. Sasha was moving down the steps with Keesha Cook at her side. Everyone along the way stepped back, making a path for her.

When Sasha and Keesha reached Yvette and Javier, Javier said, “I didn’t get a chance to say earlier how much your grandmother meant to me, Sasha. I am terribly sorry for your loss, I really am.”

Sasha looked him in the eyes and simply said, “Thanks.”

Javier looked at Keesha and said, “Good to see you. Glad you can be here for Sasha.”

Keesha nodded. Then she said, “You going over to the memorial at the school?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He gestured for them to lead the way. But when they turned to walk to Fifty-fifth Street, Sasha looked toward the intersection and froze, her wide eyes terrified.

And from deep inside her came a gut-wrenching moan that turned into a wail.

Coming toward them, having just turned the corner, was a medium-size black male in baggy jeans, his head covered by the hood of his black sweatshirt. When he looked up at the sound of the scream, the hard face of Xavier “Xpress” Smith was clearly visible—and, judging by its shocked expression, clearly caught off guard by the crowd at Sasha Bazelon’s house.

Javier thought Smith’s eyes—now huge—looked particularly bloodshot.

He’s hopped up on something. . . .

“He’s come back!” Sasha then cried out, and she started bawling uncontrollably.

Keesha, holding her arm, struggled to keep her from collapsing to the ground.