Independence, Freedom, and Identity Theme Analysis

But the Low Cuts don’t take just take to be taking. They don’t steal for fun. Actually, they don’t even like doing it. But they do it because they have to. At least they feel like they have to. Before they named themselves the Low Cuts, they were part of another set that they had no choice but to be down with. The free-lunchers.

The other Low Cuts watched Bit the hustler, Bit who could turn ninety cents into nine bucks—into ice cream—turn into a son. A son who was scared. A son who loved his mom.

27. SCHOOL CROSSING is the first sign. A picture of an adult and a child. I think. Weird, because kids cross by themselves.

[…] but she left out the part about the woman in the pink pants because she knew if she told her mother, […] that would be the end of walking. That would be the end of a babysitterless life. Back to cheese-toast snack time and other coughy kids whining about what they want to watch on TV. And she didn’t want that because even though the first walk was rough, anything was worth trying again if it meant she could come home and be alone in her house, where she could microwave nuggets and pretend to be a flight attendant like her father.

And by lunch, Slim—whose real name was Salem—had twisted the story, told everyone Ty kissed him. So when Ty walked into the cafeteria, he walked into a minefield. A war zone. Everyone locked and loaded, firing at him.

“Am I? I think Slim is. Matter of fact, I think all y’all are.” Bryson pointed at all the jokesters. “Like my father always says, ‘Those that scar you are you.’” He checked their faces, and it wasn’t hard to tell that they had no idea what that meant. He looked at Ty, and Ty’s face looked no different. A gem dropped in the mud. “The point is, I don’t like boys. Not like that. But I like Ty.” He patted Ty on the back. “Matter of fact, I like him more than I like y’all, and for real for real, I don’t see what the big deal is. A kiss on the cheek? That’s what all y’all roasting him for? A kiss on the cheek? Really?”

Bryson shuffled his way over to the door, his body still feeling like garbled pixels. He looked through the peephole like his father taught him. Unlocked the dead bolt, turned the knob, pulled the door open.

“Ty?”

Ty stood there breathing heavy, holding three or four roses. It was hard to tell exactly how many because they were mangled. The human video game seemed to glitch in red streaks. The same red as the petals of the flowers was dripping from his shaking palm.

She turned and added, “When you two grow up, I really hope you become more than horse and jockey, because people lose a lot of money betting on horse races.”

“Not if they bet on us,” Simeon zapped right back at her.

“Plus, I want to be a lawyer,” Kenzi said, trying to control the sting in his throat.

A kingdom full of princes, like Kenzi and Simeon, princes no one ever bet on anyway.

Such silly things to take, a gossipy newspaper and a lighter, as if Fredo ain’t own a store. One with a bunch of newspapers and matches and lighters behind the counter. But still, it was about the principle. The loyalty. The brotherhood.

That’s all Say-So ever wanted. A love thing with her mother, the way her grandfather had with Miss Fran—through laughter. And since her mother was too busy to break, well then, anyone would have to do. A smile is a smile. A ha is a ha. So every day she’d rattle off her jokes at the end of class, bathing in her classmates’ crack-ups.

“What would happen if a school bus fell from the sky?”

Cynthia thought for a second, a smile creeping onto her lips. “I mean…is it coming from Ookabooka Land?”

Silence.

Just that thought between them. Cynthia looking at her grandfather, her Cinderella, her cinder block. The man who taught her to perform. Taught her that life is funny most of the time, and the times it ain’t funny are even funnier. And there ain’t no forgetting that.

Gregory’s hands started shaking, the paper vibrating like dry leaves in the wind. He looked down and started reading his note of compliments again.

Halfway through, he glanced up. Sandra was smiling. And Gregory thought maybe it was the kind of smile that came just before laughing.

Then Gregory thought, But maybe not.

Canton shrugged, tossed it up in the air. Caught it. Tossed it again. Caught it. Again, and loose straw separated from the bunch. Again. And more loose straw, falling down on them. And more. Ms. Post laughed. “Look at that. A school bus falling from the sky.”

Canton smiled, knowing a school bus is many things.

So is a walk home.