"Can it fight?"
Jamal laughed.
"No."
"It should."
"Maybe next year."
By noon, Jamal's donation sheet was filling quickly.
He was tired, but happy.
Then he reached the eastern edge of Elmwood.
That was where the houses became larger.
The lawns became wider.
The driveways longer.
And the neighborhood quieter.
Jamal approached a large colonial-style house with dark shutters and immaculate landscaping.
The name on the mailbox read:
WRIGHT
Behind one of the upstairs windows, a curtain moved.
Jamal didn't notice.
Inside the house, Carol Wright was watching him.
Carol had lived in Elmwood for thirty-two years.
She considered herself a protector of the neighborhood.
She knew which families had moved away, which houses were being renovated, which teenagers had received driver's licenses, and which neighbors left their trash cans out too long.
She also believed she had an excellent ability to recognize people who didn't belong.
That belief was about to become a problem.
Carol watched Jamal walk toward the next house.
Her eyes narrowed.
She didn't recognize him.
He was wearing a hoodie.
He was carrying a clipboard.
He was walking from house to house.
She watched him knock.
No one answered.
Jamal slipped a flyer beneath the doormat.
Carol's suspicion hardened.
She reached for her phone.
"What is that boy doing?"
She stared through the window.
Then she dialed 911.
"This is Carol Wright," she said when the dispatcher answered. "There's a young man wandering around our neighborhood."
The dispatcher asked, "Can you describe what he's doing?"
"He's looking at houses."
"Has he entered a home?"
"No."
"Has he attempted to?"
"Not exactly."
"Has he threatened anyone?"
"No."
"Then what makes you believe he's committing a crime?"
Carol paused.
"I know what suspicious behavior looks like."
The dispatcher remained calm.
"Can you provide his clothing description?"
"Navy hoodie. Jeans. Sneakers. He's carrying something."
"A clipboard?"
"Yes."
"Does he appear to be selling something?"
"I don't know."
"Please remain inside and do not confront him."
Carol hung up.
She crossed her arms.
Outside, Jamal walked toward another house.
He had no idea the police were coming.
He had no idea that a fundraiser flyer had just been transformed into evidence of suspicion.
And he certainly had no idea that before the day was over, nearly everyone in Elmwood would know his name.
The Flashing Lights
Jamal was explaining the robotics competition to an elderly man named Mr. Harper when he heard sirens.
At first, he didn't think they were for him.
Elmwood had police patrols.
Maybe there had been an accident.
Maybe someone needed medical assistance.
Then he saw the first police cruiser turn onto the street.
Then the second.
His smile disappeared.
The cars slowed.
Stopped.
Three officers stepped out.
Jamal's stomach tightened.
The nearest officer, Sergeant Thomas Reed, walked toward him.
"Excuse me, young man."
Jamal turned.
"Yes, sir?"
"What are you doing in this neighborhood?"
Jamal lifted his clipboard.
"I'm collecting donations for Elmwood High School's robotics team."
He reached for a flyer.
"Here's the information."
Sergeant Reed looked at the flyer.
Before he could respond, Carol Wright emerged from her house.
"There he is."
Jamal looked at her.
"You called the police?"
Carol folded her arms.
"He was wandering around looking at people's houses."
Jamal blinked.
"I was fundraising."
"You were going from house to house."
"Because that's how fundraising works."
Several curtains moved.
Neighbors were watching.
Mr. Harper stepped onto his porch.
"I talked to him ten minutes ago," he said. "He's a polite kid."
Carol ignored him.
"He was behaving suspiciously."
Jamal's face flushed.
"I knocked on the doors."
"Some of them."
"Because nobody answered."
"So you left flyers."
"Yes."
Sergeant Reed held up a hand.
"Everyone, let's calm down."
He turned toward Jamal.
"Do you have identification?"
Jamal hesitated.
"I'm fifteen."
"Do you have a student ID?"
"Yes."
He pulled it from his backpack.
Sergeant Reed looked at it.
Then looked at Jamal.
Then at the flyer.
The information was perfectly consistent.
School name.
Fundraiser.
Robotics team.
Website.
Contact number.
Everything.
Sergeant Reed exhaled.
"It appears to be legitimate."
Carol frowned.
"I still don't trust it."
Jamal looked at her.
"You don't trust me because I'm collecting money for my school?"
Carol's expression hardened.
"I don't know you."
"You could have asked."
The sentence landed harder than Jamal intended.
The street became quiet.
Mr. Harper nodded.
"He's right."
Another neighbor stepped outside.
It was Priya Patel.