November Blues Read Online Free

something?”
    â€œHow do you know that, and what business is it of yours, anyway?” November retorted, her voice hard with resentment.
    â€œI couldn’t care less. You gave a report in English class last year—remember? You talked about how you volunteered at Stepping Stones every summer, working with the handicapped kids, and how your brother’s disability got you involved in the program.”
    â€œYou remember that report?” November looked amazed.
    â€œI can’t help it, I never forget anything—it’s a blessing and a curse. I can tell you what I had for dinner two months ago, and the lyrics to every single rap song ever produced—and that’s a mouthful, I can tell you! I remember that report because you were, like, straight up—you know what I’m sayin’? Lots of folks don’t like to talk about people in their family with mental or physical screwups.”
    November told her quietly, “His name is Augustus. We call him Gus.”
    â€œBorn in August?”
    November nodded.
    â€œYour mama got issues with names, girlfriend.”
    November laughed. She took out her lipstick and tried to add a bit of color to her sallow face. “You got that right.”
    Olivia picked up her backpack again and slung it over one shoulder. “Well, I better get to class. If you need to talk, I’m here. I’ve been around the block more than you might expect. Here’s my cell number.”
    November took the number and leaned against the bathroom wall. As she watched Olivia saunter out, she entered the number into her cell phone. She thought about the girl’s unexpected kindness; then, for no reason she could explain, she started to cry. She slid down to the cold concrete floor and sat there sobbing until the bell rang.

CHAPTER 5
JERICHO PRESCOTT
THURSDAY, APRIL 1
    â€œHOW’S IT GOING, JERICHO?” JERICHO looked up from digging for a book in his locker. It was Mr. Tambori, his music teacher.
    â€œI’m hangin’,” Jericho mumbled, turning back around. He dug in his locker again, pulled out his history book, and avoided the music teacher’s eyes.
    â€œIt’s been a couple of months since you’ve come for your trumpet lesson. Are you ready to start up again? I still have every Wednesday at three o’clock free just for you if you’d like to try loosening up the keys a little.”
    â€œI don’t even know where my trumpet is, man.”
    â€œThe trumpet you named ‘Zora’ and carried around with you twenty-four/seven? I have a feeling you know exactly where it is.”
    Jericho sighed. “I tossed it under my bed a couple of weeks after Josh’s funeral. I guess it’s still there. When I look at it, all I can think about is Josh and how he’s nevergonna hear music again. And I just can’t put it to my lips. I’m too big to be cryin’.”
    Mr. Tambori put his hand gently on Jericho’s shoulder. “I understand, son. I really do.”
    Jericho twisted away from the teacher’s touch. “No, you don’t. Don’t nobody know how I feel!”
    â€œYou can’t blame yourself, Jericho,” Mr. Tambori said, kindness and patience in his voice. But Jericho didn’t want kindness.
    â€œThen who, Mr. T?” demanded Jericho. “I told him to jump. I cheered him on, then stood there like a fool and watched him die. I will never forgive myself.”
    â€œMusic will help you work this out, Jericho. Let your trumpet speak for you. Give Zora a chance.”
    â€œI know what you tryin’ to say, Mr. T, and I appreciate it. For real I do,” Jericho said. “But right now every day I feel like I got rocks in my gut. I need more than music. I need Josh back.”
    Mr. Tambori nodded. “The music will be there when you’re ready, Jericho. I know jazz is your specialty, but you know your place in the marching band next year