Excerpt from The Kindest Lie by Nancy Johnson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

A Black boy sat cross-legged on the train floor beating a five-gallon yellow bucket. He lowered his head until his long locs swung in a furious rhythm, thick ropes slapping the sides of the bucket, loose and free and defiant.

When he turned his face, Ruth recognized him as one of the drummer boys who often tapped out beats for tips on the el platform. Never on the train, though, like this. Usually, the bucket boys were older, not boys with baby faces, but men in their early twenties. This boy couldn't have been more than fifteen.

Instinctively, Ruth glanced at the other passengers to gauge their reactions. A few white folks smiled appreciatively or simply stared, mildly curious at this oddity. Others jammed earbuds into their ears, pretending they didn't hear the drumming or see the boy.

A middle-aged Black woman pumped her fists in the air and swiveled her hips in her seat. "All right now. Do that thing. Yes, we can," she said, echoing the familiar Obama campaign slogan, the high from that night still sweetening the air.

The door to the train car in front of them swung open. A white police officer in uniform walked down the aisle. Xavier stiffened in the seat beside her.

Many of the bucket boys came from housing projects near Bronzeville, and they were in and out of jail, often simply for drumming in the wrong places in front of people who didn't embrace their entrepreneurial spirit.

Ruth felt the tension in Xavier tightly coiled, as if he might spring into action. She put her hand on his arm and he flinched. Burying her nails in his skin, she tried to silently telegraph to him not to move.

Her eyes stayed on the gun in the cop's holster.

She thought about her brother and how, when he was nineteen, a cop had stopped him for speeding and found a dime bag of weed in his car. Not a lot of weed. But enough to send Eli to jail for three weeks. A stupid kid move on his part, but not criminal enough to do time. Since that day, just the sight of a cop made her skin itch.

No one on the train moved. They stayed quiet, whatever they had to say pushed down inside them by fear or shock or something else.

The only sounds: the clatter of the train swerving along the tracks and the loud, insistent drumming.

The boy, so carried away by the music he was making, hadn't noticed the cop.

Or the toe of his black boot almost touching the rim of the bucket. Not until the cop stomped. Hard, loud.

The sticks went still and fell to the floor. The boy's eyes, brown and wide with fear, slowly traveled upward and stopped at the officer's gun in its holster.

"Hey, kid. Get up! What the hell do you think this is?" The officer's hands rested on his waist, inches from his baton and gun. Ruth heard Xavier mutter under his breath, "Don't fight. Just do what he says," and she squeezed his arm.

Frozen, the boy sat there for a few seconds without moving. The officer stomped his boot again. "Are you deaf and dumb? I said get up, or I'll haul your ass to jail." This time the boy scrambled to his feet, tucking the bucket under his arm. He didn't make eye contact with anybody. When the train lurched to a stop, he scurried off, the cop right behind him.

Ruth didn't realize her hands had been shaking until Xavier covered them with his own.

Nothing bad had happened. No violence. No one hurt. It had been nothing.

Yet her muscles contracted, leaving her body rigid. She thought of her own son, just a few years younger than that bucket boy. What if that had been him with his legs wrapped around a bucket and a cop standing over him?

The country had just elected Obama president, giving their dreams wings. But that was then. Now, the clarity of a new day trimmed their feathers as it always had, making it damn near impossible to take flight.


Back home, Xavier tugged at the hem of her shirt, and soon she lay on the sofa, staring at the halo of his neatly cropped Afro. His lips on hers held her in place, and she looked into his eyes, as soft and brown as chocolate orchids in bloom. She wondered if most people kissed with their eyes closed to block out all senses except for touch. But she needed to see his eyes, to determine how he might handle her truth if she ever found the courage to share it with him.

Excerpted from The Kindest Lie by Nancy Johnson. Copyright © 2021 by Nancy Johnson. Excerpted by permission of William Morrow. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.