133 · LITTLE BROTHER
“Jesus, Jolu, what?” “I hate to say it, but you’re white. I’m not. White people get caught with cocaine and do a little rehab time. Brown people get caught with crack and go to prison for twenty years. White people see cops on the street and feel safer. Brown people see cops on the street and wonder if they’re about to get searched. The way the DHS is treating you? The law in this country has always been like that for us.” It was so unfair. I didn’t ask to be white. I didn’t think I was being braver just because I’m white. But I knew what Jolu was saying. If the cops stopped someone in the Mission and asked to see some ID, chances were that person wasn’t white. Whatever risk I ran, Jolu ran more. Whatever penalty I’d pay, Jolu would pay more. “I don’t know what to say,” I said. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I just wanted you to know, so you could understand.” I could see people walking down the side trail toward us. They were friends of Jolu’s, two Mexican guys and a girl I knew from around, short and geeky, always wearing cute black Buddy Holly glasses that made her look like the outcast art-student in a teen movie who comes back as the big success. Jolu introduced me and gave them beers. The girl didn’t take one, but instead produced a small silver flask of vodka from her purse and offered me a drink. I took a swallow — warm vodka must be an acquired taste — and complimented her on the flask, which was embossed with a repeating motif of Parappa the Rapper characters. “It’s Japanese,” she said as I played another LED keyring over it. “They have all these great booze-toys based on kids’ games. Totally twisted.” I introduced myself and she introduced herself. “Ange,” she said, and shook my hand with hers — dry, warm, with short nails. Jolu introduced me to his pals, whom he’d known since computer camp in the fourth grade. More people showed up — five, then ten, then twenty. It was a seriously big group now. We’d told people to arrive by 9:30 sharp, and we gave it until 9:45 to see who all would show up. About three quarters were Jolu’s friends. I’d invited all the people I really trusted. Either I was more discriminating than Jolu or less popular. Now that he’d told me he was quitting, it made me think that he was less