Starr must figure out how to navigate the aftermath and stay alive herself.
In this excerpt, readers will see the shooting unfold.
The Hate U Givehad a very competitiveauction, with 13 publishing houses vying for it.
Anissa Hidouk
Balzer + Bray ultimately won the title.
Amandla Stenberg is set to star in an upcomingmovie adaptation.
The Hate U Givecomes out Feb. 28, 2017.
See the cover, full book jacket, and excerpt below.
Excerpt fromThe Hate U Giveby Angie Thomas
CHAPTER 1
I shouldn’t have come to this party.
I’m not even sure Ibelongat this party.
That’s not on some bougie shit, either.
There are just some places where it’s not enough to be me.
Neither version of me.
Big D’s spring break party is one of those places.
I squeeze through sweaty bodies and follow Kenya, her curls bouncing past her shoulders.
A haze lingers over the room, smelling like weed, and music rattles the floor.
Kenya holds up her cup and dances her way through the crowd.
We break out the crowd.
Big D’s house is packed wall-to-wall.
Girls wear their hair colored, curled, laid, and slayed.
Got me feeling basic as hell with my ponytail.
Guys in their freshest kicks and sagging pants grind so close to girls they just about need condoms.
My nana likes to say that spring brings love.
Spring in Garden Heights doesn’t always bring love, but it promises babies in the winter.
I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of them are conceived the night of Big D’s party.
“Stop following me and go dance, Starr,” Kenya says.
“People already say you think you all that.”
“I didn’t know so many mind readers lived in Garden Heights.”
I sip my drink and spit it back out.
They shouldn’t even call it punch.
“Hey, I’m just saying.
You act like you don’t know nobody ‘cause you go to that school.”
I’ve been hearing that for six years, ever since my parents put me in Williamson Prep.
“Whatever,” I mumble.
“And it wouldn’t kill you to not dress like .
She turns up her nose as she looks from my sneakers to my oversized hoodie.
Ain’t that my brother’s hoodie?”
Kenya and I share an older brother, Seven.
But she and I aren’t related.
Her momma is Seven’s momma, and my dad is Seven’s dad.
Crazy, I know.
“Yeah, it’s his.”
You know what else people saying too.
Got folks thinking you’re my girlfriend."
“Do I look like I care what people think?”
And that’s the problem!"
My Jordans are comfortable, and damn, they’re new.
That’s more than some people can say.
The hoodie’s way too big, but I like it that way.
Plus, if I pull it over my nose, I can’t smell the weed.
Kenya could be a model, if I’m completely honest.
She’s the perfect height for modeling too, but a little thicker than those toothpicks on the runway.
She never wears the same outfit twice.
Her daddy, King, makes sure of that.
It’s easy to hang out with Kenya because of our connection to Seven.
She’s messy as hell sometimes, though.
Always fighting somebody and quick to say her daddy will whoop somebody’s ass.
Hell, I could use mine too.
Still, you don’t see me going around starting shit.
Like at Big D’s party, Kenya is giving Denasia Allen some serious stank eye.
Tonight, Denasia’s dancing with some guy halfway across the room and paying no attention to Kenya.
But no matter where we move, Kenya spots Denasia and glares at her.
I can’t stand her," Kenya seethes.
“The other day, we were in line in the cafeteria, right?
And she behind me, talking out the side of her neck.
“For real?”
I say what I’m supposed to.
I don’t want him.”
“I know.”
I don’t know who DeVante is.
“So what did you do?”
“What you think I did?
I turned around and asked if she had a problem with me.
Ain’t this some shit?
Not even five minutes ago, I was stuck up because I went to Williamson.
Now I’m lucky?
“Trust me, my school has hoes too.
Hoedom is universal.”
“Watch, we gon’ handle her tonight.”
Kenya’s stank eye reaches its highest level of stank.
Denasia feels its sting and looks right at Kenya.
“Uh-huh,” Kenya confirms, like Denasia hears her.
That’s why you begged me to come to this party?
So you’ve got the option to have a tag team partner?”
She has the nerve to look offended.
“It ain’t like you had nothing else to do!
Or anybody else to hang out with.
I’m doing your ass a favor.”
“Really, Kenya?
You do know I have friends, right?”
She rolls her eyes.
Only the whites are visible for a few seconds.
“Them li’l bougie girls from your school don’t count.”
“They’re not bougie, and they do count.”
Maya and I are cool.
Not sure what’s up with me and Hailey lately.
If pulling me into a fight is your way of helping my social life, I’m good.
Goddamn, it’s always some drama with you."
“kindly, Starr?”
She stretches the c’mon extra long.
“This what I’m thinking.
We wait until she get away from DeVante, right?
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I glance at the screen.
Since I’ve ignored his calls, Chris texts me instead.
I didn’t mean for it to go like that.
Of course he didn’t.
He meant for it to go a whole different way yesterday, which is the problem.
I slip the phone in my pocket.
I’m not sure what I wanna say, but I’d rather deal with him later.
This big, light-skinned girl with bone-straight hair moves through the crowd toward us.
A tall boy with a black-and-blond Fro-hawk follows her.
They both give Kenya hugs and talk about how cute she looks.
I’m not even here.
“Why you ain’t tell me you was coming?”
the girl says and sticks her thumb in her mouth.
She’s got an overbite from doing that too.
“You could’ve rode with us.”
“Nah, girl.
I had to go get Starr,” Kenya says.
“We walked here together.”
That’s when they notice me, standing not even half a foot from Kenya.
The guy squints as he gives me a quick once-over.
He frowns for a hot second, but I notice it.
“Ain’t you Big Mav’s daughter who work in the store?”
People act like that’s the name on my birth certificate.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I knew you looked familiar.
We were in third grade together.
Ms. Bridges’s class.
I sat behind you.”
I know this is the moment I’m supposed to remember her, but I don’t.
I guess Kenya was rightI really don’t know anybody.
I can lie though.
“Yeah, I remember you.”
“Girl, quit lying,” the guy says.
“You know you don’t know her ass.”
“‘Why you always lying?'”
Kenya and the girl sing together.
The guy joins in, and they all bust out laughing.
“Bianca and Chance, be nice,” Kenya says.
“This Starr’s first party.
Her folks don’t let her go nowhere.”
I cut her a side-eye.
“I go to parties, Kenya.”
“Have y’all seen her at any parties ‘round here?”
And before you say it, li’l lame white-kid suburb parties don’t count.”
Chance and Bianca snicker.
Damn, I wish this hoodie could swallow me up somehow.
“I bet they be doing Molly and shit, don’t they?”
“White kids love popping pills.”
“And listening to Taylor Swift,” Bianca adds, talking around her thumb.
Okay, that’s somewhat true, but I’m not telling them that.
“Nah, actually their parties are pretty dope,” I say.
“One time, this boy had J. Cole perform at his birthday party.”
Bitch, next time invite me.
I’ll party with them white kids."
“Anyway,” Kenya says loudly.
“We were talking ‘bout running up on Denasia.
Bitch over there dancing with DeVante.”
“Ol’ trick,” Bianca says.
“You know she been running her mouth ‘bout you, right?
I was in Mr. Donald’s class last week when Aaliyah told me”
Chance rolls his eyes.
“You just mad he threw you out,” Kenya says.
“Hell yes!”
“Anyway, Aaliyah told me” Bianca begins.
I get lost again as classmates and teachers that I don’t know are discussed.
I can’t say anything.
Doesn’t matter though.
I feel like that a lot around here.
Suddenly I’m Eve in the Garden after she ate the fruitit’s like I realize I’m naked.
And the person I do know just left me hanging.
Kenya begged me to come to this party for weeks.
I got tired of hearing that shit and decided to prove her wrong.
Problem is it would’ve taken Black Jesus to convince my parents to let me come.
Now Black Jesus will have to save me if they find out I’m here.
I slip my hands into my pockets.
As long as I play it cool and keep to myself, I should be fine.
Funny how it works with white kids though.
It’s dope to be black until it’s hard to be black.
a familiar voice says.
The sea of people parts for him like he’s a brown-skinned Moses.
Guys give him daps, and girls crane their necks to look at him.
He smiles at me, and his dimples ruin any G persona he has.
Khalil is fine, no other way of putting it.
And I used to take baths with him.
I swear it wasn’t perverted though.
He hugs me, smelling like soap and baby powder.
“What’s up, girl?
Ain’t seen you in a minute.”
He lets me go.
“You don’t text nobody, nothing.
Where you been?”
“School and the basketball team keep me busy,” I say.
“But I’m always at the store.
You’re the one nobody sees anymore.”
He wipes his nose like he always does before a lie.
“I been busy.”
The brand-new Jordans, the crisp white tee, the diamonds in his ears.
When you grow up in Garden Heights, you know what “busy” really means.
I wishhewasn’t that kinda busy though.
I don’t know if I wanna tear up or smack him.
But the way Khalil looks at me with those hazel eyes makes it hard to be upset.
Suddenly I remember I’m in a hoodie, looking a straight-up mess .
and that I actuallyhavea boyfriend.
“How’s your grandma?”
“And Cameron?”
Grandma’s sick though."
Khalil sips from his cup.
“Doctors say she got cancer or whatever.”
Sorry, K."
“Yeah, she taking chemo.
She only worried ‘bout getting a wig though.”
He gives a weak laugh that doesn’t show his dimples.
“She’ll be a’ight.”
It’s a prayer more than a prophecy.
“Is your momma helping with Cameron?”
“Good ol’ Starr.
Always looking for the best in people.
You know she ain’t helping.”
“Hey, it was just a question.
She came in the store the other day.
She looks better.”
“For now,” says Khalil.
“She claim she trying to get clean, but it’s the usual.
But like I said, I’m good, Cameron’s good, Grandma’s good.”
“That’s all that matters.”
Whether he likes it or not, she matters to him too.
The music changes, and Drake raps from the speakers.
I nod to the beat and rap along under my breath.
Khalil is watching me.
A smile tries to form on his lips, but he shakes his head.
“Can’t believe you still love whiny-ass Drake.”
I gape at him.
“Leave my husband alone!”
“You know that’s what he sounds like!”
I flip him off.
He puckers his lips and makes a kissing sound.
All these months apart, and we’ve fallen back into normal like it’s nothing.
Khalil grabs a napkin from the coffee table and wipes drink off his Jordansthe Three Retros.
They came out a few years ago, but I swear those things are so fresh.
They cost about three hundred dollars, and that’s if you find somebody on eBay who goes easy.
I got mine for a steal at one-fifty, but I wear kid sizes.
Thanks to my small feet, Chris and I can match our sneakers.
Shit, we’re fly though.
If he can stop doing stupid stuff, we’ll really be good.
“I like the kicks,” I tell Khalil.
He scrubs the shoes with his napkin.
With each hard rub, the shoes cry for my help.
No lie, every time a sneaker is cleaned improperly, a kitten dies.
“Khalil,” I say, one second away from snatching that napkin.
“Either wipe gently back and forth or dab.
He looks up at me, smirking.
“Okay, Ms. And thank Black Jesus, he dabs.
“Since you made me spill my drink on them, I oughta make you clean them.”
“It’ll cost you sixty dollars.”
he shouts, straightening up.
“Hell, yeah.
And it would be eighty if they had icy soles.”
Clear bottoms are a bitch to clean.
“Cleaning kits aren’t cheap.
Besides, you’re obviously making big money if you might buy those.”
“Ay, tell your pops I need to holla at him soon.
Some stuff going down that I need to talk to him ‘bout.”
“What kinda stuff?”
“Grown folks business.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so grown.”
“Five months, two weeks, and three days older than you.”
“I ain’t forgot.”
A commotion stirs in the middle of the dance floor.
Voices argue louder than the music.
Cuss words fly left and right.
Kenya walked up on Denasia like she promised.
But the voices are deeper than theirs.
Pop!A shot rings out.
Pop!A second shot.
Khalil grabs my hand.
“But Kenya”
“Forget her, let’s go!”
He pulls me through the crowd, shoving people out our way and stepping on shoes.
That alone could get us some bullets.
I look for Kenya among the panicked faces, but still no sign of her.
I don’t venture to see who got shot or who did it.
you’ve got the option to’t snitch if you don’t know anything.
Khalil leads me to a Chevy Impala parked under a dim street light.
He pushes me in through the driver’s side, and I climb into the passenger seat.
We screech off, leaving chaos in the rearview mirror.
“Always some shit,” he mumbles.
“Can’t have a party without somebody getting shot.”
He sounds like my parents.
That’s exactly why they don’t let me “go nowhere” as Kenya puts it.
At least not around Garden Heights.
I send Kenya a text, hoping she’s all right.
Doubt those bullets were meant for her, but bullets go where they wanna go.
Kenya texts back kinda quick.
I see that bitch tho.
Bout to handle her ass.
Is this chick for real?
We just ran for our lives, and she’s ready to fight?
I don’t even answer that dumb shit.
Khalil’s Impala is nice.
Not all flashy like some guys’ cars.
But the interior is a tacky lime green, so it’s been customized at some point.
I pick at a crack in the seat.
“Who you think got shot?”
Khalil gets his hairbrush out the compartment on the door.
“Probably a King Lord,” he says, brushing the sides of his fade.
“Some Garden Disciples came in when I got there.
Something was bound to pop off.”
Garden Heights has been a battlefield for the past two months over some stupid territory wars.
I was born a “queen” ‘cause Daddy used to be a King Lord.
But when he left the game, my street royalty status ended.
But even if I grew up in it, I wouldn’t understand fighting over streets nobody owns.
“Why you always listening to that old stuff?”
“Man, get outta here!
Tupac was the truth.”
“Yeah, twenty years ago.”
“Nah, even now.
Like, check this.”
He points at me, which means he’s about to go into one of his Khalil philosophical moments.
“‘Pac said Thug Life stood for ‘The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody.'”
I raise my eyebrows.
The Hate Uthe letter UGive Little Infants Fucks Everybody.
Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out.
Told you he was relevant.”
He nods to the beat and raps along.
But now I’m wondering what he’s doing to “fuck everybody.”
As much as I think I know, I hope I’m wrong.
I need to hear it from him.
“So why have you really been busy?”
“A few months ago Daddy said you quit the store.
I haven’t seen you since.”
He scoots closer to the steering wheel.
“Where you want me to take you, your house or the store?”
“Khalil”
“Your house or the store?”
“If you’re selling that stuff”
“Mind your business, Starr!
Don’t worry ‘bout me.
I’m doing what I gotta do.”
You know my dad would help you out.”
He wipes his nose before his lie.
“I don’t need help from nobody, okay?
And that li’l minimum wage job your pops gave me didn’t make nothing happen.
I got tired of choosing between lights and food.”
“I thought your grandma was working.”
When she got sick, them clowns at the hospital claimed they’d work with her.
They fired her."
He shakes his head.
“Funny, huh?
The hospital fired her ‘cause she was sick.”
It’s silent in the Impala except for Tupac askingwho do you believe in?I don’t know.
My phone vibrates again, probably either Chris asking for forgiveness or Kenya asking for backup against Denasia.
Instead, my big brother’s all-caps texts appear on the screen.
I don’t know why he does that.
He probably thinks it intimidates me.
Really, it annoys the hell out of me.
U AND KENYA BETTER NOT BE @ THAT PARTY.
I HEARD SOMEBODY GOT SHOT.
The only thing worse than protective parents is protective older brothers.
Even Black Jesus can’t save me from Seven.
Khalil glances over at me.
“Seven, huh?”
“How’d you know?”
“‘Cause you always look like you wanna punch something when he talks to you.
Remember that time at your birthday party when he kept telling you what to wish for?”
“And I popped him in his mouth.”
I roll my eyes.
“She got on my nerves with her crush on Seven.
Half the time, I thought she came over just to see him.”
“Nah, it was because you had the Harry Potter movies.
What we used to call ourselves?
Tighter than”
“The inside of Voldemort’s nose.
We were so lame for that.”
“I know, right?”
We laugh, but something’s missing from it.Someone’smissing from it.
Khalil looks at the road.
“Crazy it’s been six years, you know?”
Awhoop-whoop sound startles us, and blue lights flash in the rearview mirror.
CHAPTER 2
When I was twelve, my parents had two talks with me.
One was the usual birds and bees.
Well, I didn’t really get the usual version.
Back then, I doubted anything was going anywhere anyway.
The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me.
Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that.
He argued that I wasn’t too young to get arrested or shot.
“Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do,” he said.
“Keep your hands visible.
Don’t make any sudden moves.
Only speak when they speak to you.”
I knew it must’ve been serious.
I hope somebody had the talk with Khalil.
We’re on Carnation where most of the houses are abandoned and half the streetlights are busted.
Nobody around but us and the cop.
Khalil turns the ignition off.
“Wonder what this fool wants.”
The officer parks and puts his brights on.
I blink to keep from being blinded.
“K, you don’t have anything in the car, do you?”
He watches the cop in his side mirror.
The officer approaches the driver’s door and taps the window.
Khalil cranks the handle to roll it down.
As if we aren’t blinded enough, the officer beams his flashlight in our faces.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance.”
Khalil breaks a rulehe doesn’t do what the cop wants.
“What you pull us over for?”
“I said what you pull us over for?”
“Khalil,” I plead.
“Do what he said.”
Khalil groans and takes his wallet out.
The officer follows his movements with the flashlight.
If you’re able to remember his badge number, that’s even better.
With the flashlight following Khalil’s hands, I make out the numbers on the badgeone-fifteen.
Khalil hands the officer his papers and license.
One-Fifteen looks over them.
“Where are you two coming from tonight?”
“Nunya,” Khalil says, meaning none of your business.
“What you pull me over for?”
“Your taillight’s broken.”
“So are you gon’ give me a ticket or what?”
“You know what?
Get out the car, smart guy.”
“Man, just give me my ticket”
“Get out the car!
Hands up, where I can see them.”
Khalil gets out with his hands up.
One-Fifteen yanks him by his arm and pins him against the back door.
I fight to find my voice.
“He didn’t mean”
“Hands on the dashboard!”
the officer barks at me.
“Don’t move!”
I do what he tells me, but my hands are shaking too much to be still.
He pats Khalil down.
“Okay, smart mouth, let’s see what we find on you today.”
“You ain’t gon’ find nothing,” Khalil says.
One-Fifteen pats him down two more times.
He turns up empty.
“Stay here,” he tells Khalil.
“And you,” he looks in the window at me.
“Don’t move.”
I can’t even nod.
The officer walks back to his patrol car.
My parents haven’t raised me to fear the police, just to be smart around them.
They told me it’s not smart to move while a cop has his back to you.
He comes to his door.
It’s not smart to make a sudden move.
He opens the driver’s door.
“You okay, Starr”
Pow!
Khalil’s body jerks.
Blood splatters from his back.
He holds onto the door to keep himself upright.
Khalil looks at me, stunned.
He falls to the ground.
I’m ten again, watching Natasha drop.
Instinct says don’t move, but everything else says check on Khalil.
I jump out the Impala and rush around to the other side.
Khalil stares at the sky as if he hopes to see God.
His mouth is open like he wants to scream.
I scream loud enough for the both of us.
I’m not sure how I end up on the ground next to him.
“No, no, no.”
Khalil doesn’t move.
He doesn’t utter a word.
He doesn’t even look at me.
His body stiffens, and he’s gone.
I hope he sees God.
I blink through my tears.
Officer One-Fifteen yells at me, pointing the same gun he killed my friend with.
I put my hands up.
