Chapter 9
That morning, a little before six and a little before sunrise, Jedrick had just woken up and was trying to dress himself before school. He could hear his mother hovering outside the door, ready to step in if she heard him fall over or sensed his clothes did not match. He finger-combed his hair with one hand as he rifled through his drawer, settling on a button-up shirt he did not find offensive. His mother made most of his clothes or hemmed his father’s, and there were very few he truly liked. Not that his looks mattered much to him, in any case, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Mama, I’m fine,” he called out, struggling into his shirt and buttoning it by feel. He ran his fingers up the lines three times, making sure he hadn’t missed a hole or something equally unforgiva
