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Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-12_Miles_48_Stops-by_Robert_Steven_Williams.docx

dusty and an hour later, there was still no bus. “I’m not too old to remember when we sat in back,” Granny Jack had said. “Them laws might have changed, but that’s only ’cause they don’t ride no more.” Davida rarely spoke of her youth, when she and her husband Charles toured the South in a rhythm-and-blues band called the Tulips. As the bus approached Riverside, Davida watched the progression of better houses, newer cars, fancier stores, whiter faces. She thought back to a song Granny Jack often sang: “Sweep it clean, Ain’t going to tarry here.” “You crazy, girl,” her friend Renee had said when she confessed that she wanted to move to Riverside. The girls were close because both were without fathers (Renee’s had died in the first Iraq war). “Those people are assholes. They don’t give a shit about nothing but kitchen remodels, personal trainers, and jewelry. They ain’t like us, their kids are worse. Bobby Ray will hate it.” Davida explained that Bobby Ray had missed out on the Washington Charter School lottery and was now destined for the Billington public schools, ranked last in the state. Moving to Riverside meant he could attend their schools, renowned throughout the country for their teachers and resources. “Huh? Riverside niggas are worse than crackers.” Davida sank into the bus seat and shut her weary eyes.


Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-12_Miles_48_Stops-by_Robert_Steven_Williams.docx
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