Caris LeVert (Indiana Pacers) with a buzzer beater vs the Utah Jazz, 04/16/2021
Caris LeVert (Indiana Pacers) with a buzzer beater vs the Utah Jazz, 04/16/2021
Police said the body of the newborn baby was found in the Grand Union Canal in north-west London on Sunday afternoon.
Manchester United put Manchester City's Premier League title celebrations on hold after coming from behind to win 3-1 away to Aston Villa on Sunday.
Billionaires, celebrities and athletes can’t get enough of the crypto craze. Should you jump in on the mania, too? Here's what financial experts say.
LOS ANGELES — Ana Paredes paced back and forth in anxious anticipation, her eyes on the escalator disgorging passengers into the baggage claim area. When the little girl emerged, Paredes rushed forward to clutch and caress her. But 10-year-old Melissa, the daughter she had not seen for seven years, at first embraced her only halfheartedly. Before boarding the flight to Los Angeles, the girl had fretted on the phone about whether she would find her mother at the airport. “Will I recognize you?” she asked. Her arrival on April 2 marked the end of a 2,500-mile journey that began in Guatemala in February, progressed over land through Mexico and then ended in a hazardous raft trip across the Rio Grande into Texas. She spent several weeks in a government-contracted group home before being allowed to join her mother and two older siblings in California. Sign up for The Morning newsletter from the New York Times When Paredes left Melissa in Guatemala in 2014, her daughter had been a cheerful toddler, just starting to learn colors and talk in complete sentences. Now, she walked off the plane with her thick black hair gathered in a bun, her air mature and aloof, carrying her own luggage. Over the past six months, nearly 50,000 migrant children like Melissa have crossed the southwestern border on their own, an extraordinary new wave of immigration that has left authorities scrambling to open shelters and locate family members in the United States. Unlike the migrant children separated from their families at the border under the Trump administration, many of the children arriving now were left behind years ago in Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador by parents who traveled north to find work. Their parents were encouraged to send for them by President Joe Biden’s more welcoming approach to immigration. The arrivals are creating joyous reunions across the country but also posing challenges for parents like Paredes, who paid thousands of dollars to smugglers to ferry her child to the United States and now must help her daughter ease into a new, unfamiliar life. “I did it because I had to,” Paredes, 36, said of her decision to leave her children behind in Guatemala. She had hoped that her family of rural sharecroppers would benefit from the money she was able to send home. “Growing up, we walked barefoot; we were so poor,” she said. “I wanted better for my children.” A New Life in California Paredes, a single mother, had left behind not only Melissa, who was then 3, but her two older children, ages 9 and 6. She told them she would return in five years. Joining an older brother in Oxnard, California, she found work packing cosmetics for a company owned by the Kardashian family by day and washing dishes at a restaurant by night. She lived in a converted garage. “From the first month, I was sending as much money as possible to my mother and children,” said Paredes, who sent back about $600 a month. Over the years, she helped her mother add a kitchen to her hut, buy appliances and cover the cost of doctors’ visits and medicine to treat her heart and liver ailments. For her children, the money she sent went to clothes, toys and education-related expenses. She bought a modest house a block away from her parents, hoping to live there one day with her family. But as time passed, she began to feel more settled in the United States. In 2019, she managed to put together $15,000 to send for her oldest children, Kimberly, 15, and Yeison, 13. “I thought Melissa was still too young to make the trip,” Paredes said. To ensure she had time for her children, she decided to work one job, in the berry fields, starting and ending her days early. Back in Guatemala, Paredes’ mother’s health deteriorated; when she died months later, Melissa was forced to move in with an uncle in another town. He was “really strict,” Melissa said. After that, the little girl refused to take calls from her mother. Early this year, with a new president in the White House and news that families with young children were not being turned away at the border, Paredes’ brother decided to bring his daughter, son-in-law and 9-month-old granddaughter to Oxnard. Melissa could accompany them, they said. Paredes agreed to pay $3,400 to a smuggler. On Feb. 14, the four set out from Guatemala with other migrants heading north. Women and children squeezed into the back seat of the truck. Men traveled in the cargo bed. “We went hungry,” Melissa said. The baby, Andrea Samantha, cried because her mother’s milk dried up. In the filthy stash houses where they spent each night, everyone slept on the ground. “There were so many ants,” Melissa said. About 10 days into the trip, they reached Mexico’s border with the United States, family members said, and were locked up with about 100 other migrants awaiting orders to cross the Rio Grande. Many days passed. The baby was fussy and famished, Paredes’ sister-in-law, Marlin Paredes, said. “I cried. They wouldn’t let us set foot out of that place, and I felt like running away.” By the time it was their turn to go, Melissa said, she had replayed over and over in her head what she was supposed to do. Once on U.S. soil, she was to distance herself from her relatives and surrender to Border Patrol agents. She was to say, “I came alone — I don’t know any of the migrants.” If asked whether she had family in the United States, she was to share her mother’s name, the city where she lived and her cellphone number, which she had memorized. The separation tactic, she was told, would help assure that she would be allowed to remain, even if the adults in the party, as often happens, were expelled. It was pitch black when Melissa, her relatives and another eight migrants followed a guide, only his flashlight illuminating the path to the river’s edge. As they boarded an inflatable raft, the guide instructed them to kneel, four to a row, with arms against their bodies. “We had to keep still like this,” Melissa said, bending down to demonstrate. “My shoes got all wet.” Not long after they disembarked on the other side, the Border Patrol arrived. Within hours, Melissa boarded a van with several teenagers. They were dropped off at a massive tent structure in Donna, Texas, where unaccompanied minors were being processed. Melissa remembered her mother’s phone number, and an agent called Paredes in Oxnard to inform her that her child was safe. It was March 4. Much of the backlog has been cleared at Donna, but at the time, more than 1,000 young people were crammed into pods partitioned with clear plastic sheets. Some slept on blue metal benches because there was not enough room on the floor. Melissa said she shared a mattress on the ground with two other girls. To keep warm, everyone got a Mylar blanket, a wafer-thin metallic sheet that fit in the palm of Melissa’s hand when she folded it. During several days at the center, she saw the sky twice — when the girls had to vacate their pod for cleaning. “When they let us outside, they made us walk in circles on fake grass,” Melissa said. The food was not bad, she said, but it was not enough. At snack time, she sometimes grabbed an extra packet of Oreo cookies when no one was looking. After several days, she was sent to stay with about five other children in a foster home in Corpus Christi, Texas. There, Melissa shared a room with a 13-year-old from El Salvador and a 10-year-old from Honduras, with whom she became fast friends, she said. The woman running the home, who spoke Spanish, took them to a store, where Melissa picked out a pink hoodie with a rainbow. They visited a playground. One Sunday, they went to church. Back in Oxnard, Paredes prepared the paperwork required to regain custody of her child. On the phone, Melissa told her mother that she was well, though bored with the Disney princess movies that kept playing on the TV. But when her daughter underwent a mental health assessment, Paredes was devastated to learn that Melissa had said she sometimes wished she could die. Paredes joined a Zoom session offered by a nonprofit group for parents and others preparing to receive young migrants, hoping for advice on how to cope with lingering trauma. In late March, Paredes was informed that she had satisfied all the requirements, including a background check. All she had to do was pay $1,400 for a one-way airline ticket for Melissa and an escort to accompany her. On a call, Melissa asked her mother whether she would recognize her. “How old was I when you left? I can’t remember you.” “You will recognize me,” Paredes told her daughter. “We will make up for lost time.” A Homecoming With Balloons In Oxnard, Melissa was warmly greeted by her brother and sister, as well as her cousin, who had made the journey from Guatemala with her. Colorful balloons and a poster scrawled with a message — “Welcome, Little Sis. We Love You Very Much” — covered one wall. Melissa had something to show them as well: She had sneaked out a memento from her stay at the Border Patrol camp: not just one, but two Mylar blankets. Melissa shared a double bed with her mother. One night, Paredes mustered the courage to ask her daughter why she had stopped talking to her after her older siblings left Guatemala. “I thought you had left me forever; I thought you would never bring me,” Melissa replied. “I never meant to abandon you,” Paredes said. Like other unaccompanied minors entering illegally, Melissa has been placed in removal proceedings. Her family hopes she will win a reprieve. School officials said it was best to wait until the fall for Melissa to start classes, but Paredes signed her up for a soccer league so she could begin making friends. At a recent practice, she kept a distance from the other players when they lined up for drills, fiddling nervously with her hands. When it was over, Melissa walked to the sideline, where her mother was sitting. Paredes pulled her daughter onto her lap, gave her a tight embrace and pressed her lips on her cheek. On April 15, Melissa turned 11. After arriving home from the fields, Paredes changed and dashed out to pick up pizza, barbecue chicken and a tres leches cake. Soon, family and friends began pouring into the apartment. But all the attention embarrassed and overwhelmed Melissa. “This is her first birthday party,” her mother explained in private. Paredes had to push her to stand in front of the cake as the group serenaded her in Spanish, and then broke into “Happy Birthday.” She blew out all 11 candles on her first try, smiling. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. © 2021 The New York Times Company
Tesla’s CEO may be giving his mother the digital currency for Mother’s Day, as he suggested on Saturday Night Live, but it will be worth a lot less than the price before his opening monologue on the show.
Police are searching for the person responsible for stabbing and killing a man in the Midtown shelter.
Hamilton passes Max Verstappen close to the end.
Mother's Day 2021 weekend has arrived, and we've rounded are the best sales you can take advantage of—shop them all now.
Gigi Hadid and boyfriend Zayn Malik welcomed their first child, daughter Khai, in September
Authorities carried out the death penalty on an Egyptian monk who killed the abbot of his monastery in 2018, a lawyer and the monk's brother told Reuters on Sunday. Wael Saad and Ramon Rasmi Mansour, known by their monastic names Isaiah al-Makari and Faltaous al-Makari, were convicted of the killing of Bishop Epiphanius, 64, the abbot of St Macarius Monastery, northwest of Cairo, in a case that sent shockwaves through Egypt's Coptic Christian community. Saad's family was notified to receive his body from a morgue in the Nile Delta town of Damanhour on Sunday, his brother, who is also a monk, said.
Toronto, Ontario--(Newsfile Corp. - May 9, 2021) - Hill Street Beverage Company Inc. (TSXV: BEER) ("Hill Street" or the "Company"), announces that it has granted options to purchase 3,378,500 common shares of the Company at an exercise price of $0.09 per share pursuant to the stock option plan of the Company. The options were granted to existing officers, directors, and consultants of the Company. The stock options will expire five years from the date ...
Southern California is home to the nation’s largest concentration of warehouses — a hub of thousands of mammoth structures, served by belching diesel trucks, that help feed America’s booming appetite for online shopping and also contribute to the worst air pollution in the country. On Friday, hundreds of residents flocked to an online hearing to support a landmark rule that would force the warehouses to clean up their emissions. The new rule, affecting about 3,000 of the largest warehouses in the area used by Amazon and other retailers, requires operators to slash emissions from the trucks that serve the site or take other measures to improve air quality. “I’m just tired of living with warehouses, trucks — driving down the Sierra, having trucks pull up, having to put down your windows,” said Daniel Reyes, a resident and member of a group that has long sought changes like these. “I’m tired of seeing warehouses next to schools. I’m over it, man.” Sign up for The Morning newsletter from the New York Times The rule, which was adopted late Friday by the South Coast Air Quality Management District’s 13-member board in a 9-4 vote, sets a precedent for regulating the exploding e-commerce industry, which has grown even more during the pandemic and has led to a spectacular increase in warehouse construction. Vast warehouse hubs have sprung up across the country, including in the Lehigh Valley in eastern Pennsylvania, as have sprawling installations in New Jersey, Dallas, Atlanta and Chicago. The changes could also help spur a more rapid electrification of freight trucks, a significant step toward reducing emissions from transportation, the country’s biggest source of planet-warming greenhouse gases. The emissions are a major contributor to smog-causing nitrogen oxides and diesel particulate matter pollution, which are linked to health problems including respiratory conditions. “This isn’t just something that’s happening in California; these warehouses are proliferating across the country,” said Adrian Martinez, a staff lawyer at Earthjustice, a nonprofit environmental law firm that supports the restrictions. “This could be a way for other states to also crack down on warehouse emissions.” The pollution has taken a particularly heavy toll in Southern California, which suffers from the nation’s worst air quality. The heavy presence of industry in the region, combined with heat waves and wildfire smoke, helped make 2020 the smoggiest year in the region since the mid-1990s. Minority neighborhoods have been disproportionately affected. And the industry is surging. Last year, Inland Empire, a region close to the Los Angeles-Long Beach port where retailers and manufacturers offload billions of dollars in goods, added 23 million square feet of warehouse construction, an area the equivalent of nearly 500 football fields. “Where we live, these warehouses are popping up like Starbucks,” said Ivette Torres of the People’s Collective for Environmental Justice, a local nonprofit organization that has campaigned for warehouses to address their role in air pollution. Operators of warehouses larger than 100,000 square feet (roughly two football fields) are required to earn points to make up for emissions from the trucks that come and go from the warehouses. Operators can earn these points by acquiring or using zero-emissions trucks or yard vehicles or investing in other methods for reducing greenhouse gas emissions — for example, installing solar panels at the warehouses or having air filters installed in local homes, schools and hospitals. Or they could choose to pay a fee if not in compliance. Many warehouses are far larger. One planned site involves 40 million square feet of industrial buildings, an area about the size of Central Park in New York. Known as an “indirect source rule,” the effort is unusual because it largely targets emissions from the trucks that service warehouses rather than the warehouses themselves. In the past, similar approaches have been made to address the heavy traffic drawn by stadiums or shopping malls. According to estimates by the regulator, its plan will reduce nitrogen oxide emissions by up to 15% and result in up to 300 fewer deaths, up to 5,800 fewer asthma attacks and up to 20,000 fewer work loss days between 2022 and 2031. The district estimated that public health benefits from its plan could be as much as $2.7 billion, about three times the projected costs. The region, which includes portions of Los Angeles, Riverside and San Bernardino counties and all of Orange County, has a population of 18 million people — more than most states. Last year, California adopted a separate rule requiring more than half of all trucks sold in the state to be zero-emissions by 2035. Several industries, including commercial real estate and trucking, have opposed Southern California’s plan to specifically target warehouses, saying that the district is overstepping its legal authority and that the rule would add to the expense of doing business in the area and would cost jobs. “The proposed increases would substantially increase the cost of all goods and services, including groceries,” the Commercial Real Estate Development Association, which represents developers nationwide, said in its letter March 2 to regulators. Many warehouses do not have control over the trucks that service them, the industry group wrote. And for some larger classes of freight trucks, fully electric versions are not yet available. “As we emerge from the pandemic, the last thing we should be doing is threatening jobs,” said Paul Granillo, president of the Inland Empire Economic Partnership, a local chamber of commerce organization. Supporters of the rule say that warehouse real estate values have surged in recent years, giving developers financial leeway to clean up their operations. According to the air district, about 40% of warehouse operators own their own trucks, and others contract directly with trucking companies, giving them control over the fleets that service them. Many new electric truck models are in the pipeline, which supporters say will give operators more environmentally friendly options to choose from. And if operators fall short, they can opt to comply through other means or pay a fee instead. In its analysis, the air board said it expected “no warehouse relocation and minimal goods movement diversion” from the new rule. Not all business interests are opposed. The Southern California Edison utility, electric truck makers and some trade groups spoke out in support. “Not only will this protect the district, especially warehouse workers,” said Joe Sullivan of the National Electrical Contractors Association of Greater Los Angeles, “it will create projects that our contractors are eager to bid on and build careers for skilled tradespeople.” Large retailers like Amazon and Walmart — which have pledged to clean up the environmental effects of their supply chains, including electrifying their fleets — have largely stayed on the sidelines of the debate. Walmart, which has committed to operate 100% zero-emission trucks by 2040, did not respond to a request for comment. Amazon said it was “committed to finding innovative solutions to reduce emissions.” The online retailer has pledged to be net-zero carbon emissions across its business, also by 2040. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. © 2021 The New York Times Company
Higgo took a two-shot lead into the final round.
Aston Villa 1-3 Manchester United: Bertrand Traore put the hosts in front but Bruno Fernandes’ penalty sparked yet another comeback on the road to delay Man City’s title coronation
This is AMAZING!! According to a news release from the university, the offer was created to offset some of the financial hardships from the ongoing coronavirus pandemic.
Palestinian medics say that more than 200 people were hurt during Saturday’s clashes
The Orange County Coroner's office confirmed actress/music video star Tawny Kitaen's death, revealing she died Friday at her home in Newport Beach.
Baffert said a post-race sample provided by Medina Spirit had tested positive for 21 picograms of the anti-inflammatory drug betamethasone, over the legal limit in Kentucky racing. Medina Spirit, ridden by jockey John Velazquez had secured a half-length victory in the 19-horse Kentucky Derby on May 1. Baffert's camp were informed of the news by Kentucky officials on Saturday, but the 68-year-old denied giving the horse illegal substances and said the positive test was "the biggest gut punch in racing".
The Red Devils sealed yet another comeback win as Manchester City's wait to seal the Premier League title goes on.
COLUMBUS, Ohio — The voice on the 911 call is a teenage girl’s, and it is quavering, as if she has been crying. “I want to leave this foster home,” she tells the dispatcher. “I want to leave this foster home.” When two police officers arrived at the home in Columbus, Ohio, they reported later, they met an agitated ninth grader, Ja’Niah Bryant, who told them that the fighting at 3171 Legion Lane was getting worse and worse. Sign up for The Morning newsletter from the New York Times They said there was nothing they could do. Twenty-three days later, Ja’Niah called 911 again, telling the police that she and her older sister were being threatened by two young women who used to live at the house. Officers arrived in the middle of a melee outside the house, and one of them fatally shot Ja’Niah’s 16-year-old sister, Ma’Khia Bryant, who was lunging at one of the women, brandishing a steak knife. The shooting, which occurred moments before a jury in Minneapolis convicted Derek Chauvin of murdering George Floyd, released a new wave of anger over shootings by the police. To calm the furor, the Columbus police quickly released body camera footage, which showed some of the fight outside the house and, they said, demonstrated that the officer had acted to protect the other woman. But Bryant’s tragic death was also preceded by a turbulent journey through the foster care system, which had cycled her through at least five placements in two years — after her own mother was found to be negligent — despite efforts by their grandmother to reunite the family. Ohio places children in foster care at a rate 10% higher than the national average, and child welfare officials here are considerably less likely than in the country as a whole to place children with their relatives. Black children, like the Bryants, account for nearly one-third of children removed from homes — nearly twice their proportion in the population. A review of Ma’Khia Bryant’s pathway through foster care shows that it failed her in critical ways. Research has demonstrated that children fare far better when they remain with family members, a practice known as kinship care. It also shows that each successive placement causes additional trauma, further setting back a child in crisis. A spokesperson for Franklin County Children Services, which had custody of the siblings, declined to comment on Ma’Khia Bryant’s case, citing confidentiality laws. Angela Moore, their foster mother at the time of Bryant’s death, talked about the teenager and the events leading up to her death but did not respond later to detailed questions about the Bryant girls and their care. This account is based on interviews with Ma’Khia Bryant’s family members and acquaintances as well as court documents and other case records that were provided by her mother’s lawyer. The oldest of four children born to Paula Bryant, a nursing assistant, and Myron Hammonds, Ma’Khia Bryant was removed from her mother’s home in 2018 and spent 16 months living with her grandmother Jeanene Hammonds. When her grandmother was kicked out by her landlord, the siblings went into foster care and spent two years cycling through short-term placements, arrangements that dissolved one after another. The Chute of the System In 2018, Paula Bryant had moved with her five children — including a teenage son from a previous relationship — into a house in West Columbus. Hammonds, Ma’Khia’s father, did not live with the family, and Paula Bryant described herself as raising the children largely on her own. Andrea Douglass, 37, a pastor’s wife who lived two doors down from the Bryant family that year, recalled the fights between Paula Bryant and her daughters. “The girls ran out of the house terrified and were hanging out in the backyard screaming while the mom was yelling at them,” Douglass said, recalling that she was worried about their safety. The family had been on the radar of Children Services for several years, amid repeated complaints that the two youngest children were absent from school. In February 2017, Bryant took Ma’Khia, Ja’Niah and two younger siblings to one of the agency’s offices and said “she was at her wits' end” and could no longer handle them, according to a Children Services document outlining the case. The move had been difficult for her daughters, who missed their friends on the East Side, Bryant said. “They were kind of rebelling in the home,” she said. The police came, Bryant said, when she was arguing with Ma’Khia and Ja’Niah over bedtimes, and their younger sister, Azariah, ran outside and yelled for help. “The officers said, 'You have just lost control as a parent — meaning, you can tell them to go to bed, go upstairs right now, and they’re not going to go,'” she said. The children told police officers that they had suffered physical abuse from their mother and an older half-brother, according to the mother’s lawyer, Michelle Martin, though Bryant denied ever abusing them. A magistrate judge dismissed the abuse claims against Bryant in February 2019 but found that she had neglected the children, according to court documents. Bryant said she was detained while Ma’Khia and her three younger siblings “went in the paddy wagon.” Hammonds, their grandmother, took the four children into her two-bedroom apartment. After about six months, she began receiving $1,200 a month in aid from the state to cover their care. Service agencies offer far less support to family members who agree to take care of children in need; the per diem allowances paid to licensed foster parents are often 10 times greater than the public assistance paid to relatives. A grandparent can become licensed as a foster parent, but it can take as long as six months. Then Hammonds' landlord found out that the children had moved into the apartment and told her she would have to move. She scrambled, placing the older girls at a summer camp and the younger two siblings in temporary foster care. When the camp ended, she had few options. In desperation, she called the children’s caseworker to ask if she could take them to a hotel with her for a few nights, but the caseworker said that was not allowed. He told her to drop the two older girls off at Franklin County Children Services. There was no chance at that point that the children would go back to their mother, who was still struggling to meet requirements for counseling and scheduled visits. Instead, the county placed all four children in foster care. Hammonds slept wherever she could for several months until she secured a home that could accommodate the children. In December 2019, Hammonds submitted a petition to the court for their return, but it was rejected. Although the court’s reasoning is not known, the Children Services agency had reported to the court that Hammonds had failed to meet all of the children’s needs and had not made sure they attended all necessary counseling appointments, according to Martin. The girls, meanwhile, were placed in separate group homes. The two sisters moved through a half-dozen living situations, ultimately ending up at Moore’s house on Legion Lane — not far from their grandmother’s house and together for the first time since they left her care. By this spring, Ja’Niah Bryant said, Moore’s home had become increasingly tense. In the weeks leading up to the shooting, she said, Moore had accused the girls of stealing the cards that carry cash benefits for food. And she said Moore sometimes left them unsupervised or with former foster children — women in their 20s who, Bryant said, berated them and mocked her sister’s speech impediment. After school on April 20, the two Bryant girls found themselves alone in the house with Tionna Bonner, 22, one of Moore’s former foster children. Bonner, who had come to celebrate Moore’s birthday the previous day, was now scolding the girls, saying they were habitually disrespecting Moore. “She’s like, ‘My mom told you all to clean up this house; it’s dirty,’” Ja’Niah Bryant said. The dispute escalated quickly, but when Ja’Niah Bryant called Moore, who was at work, she said she was too busy to get involved, Bryant said. So each of them called for backup: Bryant called her grandmother, and Bonner called another young woman, Shai-Onta Craig-Watkins, 20, who had lived in the house as a foster child. Neither Bonner nor Craig-Watkins agreed to be interviewed for this article. Hammonds rushed over and described standing on the stairway inside, trying to protect her granddaughters as the older women threatened to beat them up. Bonner had pulled out a knife, Ja’Niah Bryant and her grandmother said, and Ma’Khia had grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen. Ja’Niah Bryant went into her room and called 911. In the call, placed at 4:32 p.m., she asked for help as people shouted in the background. “It’s 3171 Legion Lane,” Ja’Niah Bryant told the dispatcher. “We got Angie’s grown girls trying to fight us, trying to stab us, trying to put her hands on our grandma. Get here now!” Twelve minutes later, the police arrived. In a brief lull, Craig-Watkins left the house, and the sisters began to pack up their things, thinking the worst of the situation was over. As they rushed out of the house, their father was pulling in to come to their aid. But also arriving was Craig-Watkins, who had returned with two more people. The two groups crossed paths, and Craig-Watkins spit toward the family, Ja’Niah Bryant and Jeanene Hammonds said. “I feel like that really made Ma’Khia really mad when she spit,” Bryant said. “That’s when everything just went left.” A police officer stepped out of his car and walked toward the driveway just as Ma’Khia Bryant turned her attention to Craig-Watkins and could be heard on a video from a neighbor’s surveillance camera threatening to stab her. As Ma’Khia Bryant charged, Craig-Watkins tumbled to the ground, and Myron Hammonds tried to kick her. Ma’Khia Bryant turned to Bonner and backed her up against a car. Ma’Khia Bryant raised a knife, and Officer Nicholas Reardon, a white 23-year-old who was the first officer to approach the scene, shot four times at her. As Bryant’s body lay on the ground, police officers led her sister inside Moore’s house, along with her father’s young son. Before an officer took her phone, she sneaked into a bathroom and made one more call for help. “I called my real mom — my biological mom — and I told her, I said, ‘I need you. They just shot Ma’Khia. Get here now,’” Bryant recalled. This article originally appeared in The New York Times. © 2021 The New York Times Company