The Girl in the Window

Surprisingly so, Lorraine didn’t bother us that Monday morning. For some reason though, I felt that Jada had something to do with it. From what I saw, she was convincing Lorraine not to come over to us and bother us. That finally gave me and Amara peace.

Sasha was late again to first period. She looked worn down and in no need to be at school.

“Damn Sasha, you look like shit,” I said. She slightly laughed, then cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I was sick on Friday so I didn’t come to school.”

“Yeah, you look sick. Why’d you come to school dough? I don’t want yo’ disease.” She smirked.

“It’s okay. I’m just congested and ugly. I don’t cough or nothin’.

“So what you an’ Amara been up to?” I smirked then looked down. Looking away made it easier for me to lie.

“Jus’ chillin’ an’ talkin’,” I answered.

“Cool. You know, I been thinkin’ I should tell her I’m gay. I mean, I don’t want to keep it a secret forever.” My heart skipped a beat. I tried to think quickly of what to say to convince her not to.

“Why now?” I asked.

“Why not? Plus, I think she’s cute.” I didn’t know what to say. That situation was worse than the one with Darnell. Darnell was a past event that didn’t matter too much. But Amara… I still had feelings for Amara.

“Well… okay. When are you gonna tell her?”

“At lunch. Das the only time I see her.”

“Wouldn’t you wanna tell her like… alone?”

“Nah. It don’t matter to me.” Fuck, I thought. Somehow I had to get her out of it. I thought of telling her that I told her. I wanted to. But the words got stuck. I was too much of a bitch ass to tell her.

I was more than surprised to see Zack in school that day. Maybe his court date wasn’t until a couple days and since he was barely a minor, he had to be in school. But he was a lot more to himself. He wasn’t looking around or texting anyone. He wasn’t even looking my way. For some reason that day, I wanted to talk to him.

“Yo, Z– Stackz,” I started to say. I knew that if I was going to get him to cooperate, I would have to call him by his foolish name. He looked at me with a glint in his eyes.

“Oh shit, you called me Stackz. I’ma call you Shade now.”

“Yeah… so, I saw you getting’ arrested the otha day. What was good wit’ dat?” He sucked his teeth.

“Man, the D’s tryna get me with possession of crack. I ain’t tell ‘em shit dough. Said it won’t mine.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, why?”

“Oh. I was gon’ say that you could be charged as a minor. But you might as well plea guilty. There ain’t no way you gettin’ outa dat one. Plus, you’ll jus’ end up doin’ more time.”

“Hell nah, fuck dat. I go to my grave fo’ I tell dem mothafuckas shit. I tell ‘em dat, dey gon be askin’ mo’ questions and I ain’t da nigga to snitch.”

“You ain’t gotta tell ‘em all of dat. Jus’ speak on your behalf and the rest you don’t know.”

“Nah, I ain’t goin’ out like dat.”

“Do you not realize you’re black? All you gon’ get out of it is hell of a lot of time compared to a white nigga. You might as well take the lesser years den face the whole time once you’re found guilty.”

“How you know if I’m guilty?” he snapped.

“Are you?” He looked away.

“Das nunya business.”

“Alright den, plea guilty. When’s your court date?”

“In two days, I think.”

“Did you stay in jail?”

“Yeah, ‘til Monday. Dey said I can only go to school and home.” He lifted up his pant leg revealing an ankle bracelet. “Dey got me on house and school arrest. Da only time dey let it pass when it go off is when I’m at school. Dis shit hella hard to take off.”

“I wonder why,” I said sarcastically. “You gon’ plea guilty?” He laughed.

“Hell nah. I don’t care what you say. I ain’t goin’ out like dat.”

“Why you gon’ be so ignorant ‘bout it?”

“Bitch, ain’t nobody bein’ ignorant. I ain’t got time for niggas havin’ me all in dey mouth callin’ me a sell out an’ shit.”

“Nigga, dey don’t care ‘bout your future.”

“What future? I ain’t got time to be thinkin’ ‘bout no future. I gotta get dis money right now. See das the thing ‘bout you spoiled kids. Ya’ll don’t know shit ‘bout the life in the hood.”

“Nigga, I live in your damn neighborhood. Yo’ ass got more money den everyone in my house put together. I ain’t got no money. So I don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Then what you worrin’ ‘bout your future for? Dat shit won’t help you now.”

“It ain’t always about here and now. Sometimes it’s about later.”

“Nah, fuck dat. Later take too long. If I don’t make dough now, I ain’t got shit.”

“Stackz, you can work and go to school at the same time. But drugs is not the way. That shit is short lived and even if you do make it to the top, it’s a mean ass way down, and after goin’ down, there’s no way back up.”

“Yeah whatever. Save it for church.” I rolled my eyes, remembered who I was talking to. He did make some valid points, though. If it weren’t for Nana Fox, I’d might have to join his sister to make some kind of profit so we could live. But the biggest problem he had was compromising and downsizing. He wasn’t willing to give up his flashy attire and the chances of getting a car bigger than his house to just work, eat, have shelter, and go to school. His reputation in the streets was too important to him to give up for some measly education to develop a future that would take too long. And that was word.

Monroe spent so much time hailing white people that he was so far gone from his own race. He probably had no idea of who Nat Turner, Marcus Garvey, or Frederick Douglas was. The sad part was that he wasn’t alone.

See, the sad thing is that Monroe didn’t have disapproval of black people; it was the stereotypical black people. His disapproval of the stereotypical black person – given the knowledge that he hasn’t been around many black people other than the stereotypes – turned into an ignorance that made him believe that he didn’t like any black people.

But after having a glance through my spectrum, and his heart being broken by a bigot, he was confused. He wasn’t sure to open his eyes, to close them, or be blind. It wasn’t solely up to me to help him and it’s not easy to fully educate the uneducated.

Since the two of us finished our essays before everyone else, we were stuck doing nothing and starting at our hands or checking our phones. Monroe was hella quiet, slightly fidgeting like his nerves were getting the best of him. Every once in a while he would look at me with a question behind his eyes then look back down.

“Go head and ask it, Monroe.” He smirked, caught off guard. Then he cleared his throat.

“Um… I don’t know how da ask it without soundin’ like a douche.”

“It’s okay. As long as you’re not intendin’ too, I understand.”

“Well like… what makes you like black people?” I breathed a short laugh.

“Well, it helps that I am black.”

“But like… some people are black, and they say they like being black, but it’s like they’re lying to themselves.”

“I see. Um…” I thought of how to word it. I had never been asked the question before. “Our skin. Like… bronze, and so many other nouns and adjectives.”

“Yeah, I like my skin color too.”

“You do?” I asked dramatically, surprised.

“Yeah. I just don’t – I mean didn’t like black people.”

“Well shit, you could’ve fooled me,” I said. He smirked.

“Is that it?”

“No-o. There’s a lot to like. I like our hair. I think our hair is the most… uh, able to style, you know? Like, we can do more with it than any other race.”

“Agreed. I can’t lie, I did like how black girls did their hair. I thought it was cool how many styles they did it.” I smiled. This was the Monroe I didn’t know.

“I like how strong black guys look. Like, they always have a six pack unless they’re fat or chubby. But if not, then they always got a six pack.” He smiled. When I didn’t hate him so much, I noticed how nice of a smile he had. He had big white teeth too. Honestly, to me, Monroe looked African.

“But for real, physical features aside,” I began. “I like black people because we’re wonderful people that come from a wonderful land with a wonderful history. But it’s hard to appreciate something you don’t know about…” He nodded his head, listening intently. Every time I tried to have a conversation like this with other black people, I’m stopped even before I can get to the history part. But with Monroe, he was considering what I was saying.

“I also like dat we have a lot of hope. Because we’ve been so broken in the past, and even now, being at the bottom is nothing new to us. We learn to strive for the top. We have hope that we can do something someday even if it’s a bad thing. We have hope that we’ll become a drug lord,” I laughed at that, thinking of Zack. It was inappropriate, I knew. “We have hope that we’ll be famous. We have hope that we become a business owner. While other people are committing suicide and giving up, we don’t. Hell, sometimes we might not do anything, but we don’t give up and some of us have hope.”

“Do you have hopes?” he asked, leaning forward. I looked away, feeling vulnerable.

“Um… yeah. I hope I move out of my damn neighborhood with my family… and… friend, maybe, by becoming something.”

“What’s that something?” I blushed, feeling weird about talking about my poetry to anyone.

“I wanna get in da music business, but if dat doesn’t work, then a poet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”

“Yeah… I do a lot…” He smiled, interested.

“I take it you won’t let me read any…?”

“Um… if you want.”

“Yeah, I do.” I slowly reached into my book bag and pulled out my journal I almost always brought with me. Before I handed it to him, I stared at it. He took it and stared for a while also then flipped through it. He was a fast reader, going through the poems quickly. His face was neutral, so I was nervous.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” he started to say. I got so nervous it was surprising. “They’re like… hard to explain. Some give me chills… but in a good way. It’s like your raw feelings in a creative way. Why are they so depressing?”

“My whole life’s depressing,” I said jokingly, but I was serious.

“Why?”

“A lota personal shit.”

“Oh, okay.” He got the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. When the lunch bell rang, he made like my journal was his.

“Monroe, what are you doin’?” I asked, slightly laughing.

“Oh. I was gonna read more durin’ lunch. I mean like, if you don’t care.”

“Um…”

“Don’t worry. I sit by this one guy I almost never talk to. It’ll jus’ be me readin’ it.”

“Uh… okay.” He smiled and walked off. Already I was regretting that decision.

Lunch was awkward for me as soon as Sasha sat at the table. Remembering her desire to tell Amara that she was gay made me want to distract her from it.

“Ay, Sasha…,” I said as she sat down. I thought as quickly as I could. Then I remembered that I needed a ride from basketball practice.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“Can you ask Darnell if he can give me a ride home after practice today?”

“Yeah.” Then she took out her phone and started texting. “Why you needa ride from him, though?”

“‘Cause, my mama can’t do it since we ain’t got no money.”

“Why?”

“Jim’s gone.”

“Oh yeah, you never told me about ‘im. Why’s he gone now?” I felt like I at least owed it to her to tell her since I told Amara.

“He tryda rape me.” I was blunt about it.

“Oh,” she said, looking down. “Was that why you hated him at first, ‘cause he wanted to fuck you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh shit, das fucked up. I would hate him too.” Then she took out her phone from her pocket.

“Darnell said yea.”

“Kay, cool.” I had to think of something else to distract her with. “Does he drive everyday?”

“Yeah, during basketball season he does.” With that thought, I remembered all the times he stuck around after practice.

“Does he have a lot of friends?”

“Who, Darnell?” she asked like she couldn’t believe I asked, and then laughed. “Nah, Darnell makes a lot of casual friends, but not a lot of close ones, especially not guy friends. I don’t know why but he doesn’t like getting close to a lot of niggas.”

“Hm, okay.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Jus’ interesting to know.”

“Oh… that reminds me.” She looked towards Amara, who was listening closely. I tried to think of something else quickly but my mind was slow. “I gotta tell you somethin’, Amara.”

“What?” Amara asked.

“Well… I never told you dis, but I’m gay.” She said it a lot easier than I ever could. “I just wanted you to know ‘cause like I want all my female friends to know.” Amara’s eyes quickly shifted to me then back. “She already knows,” Sasha said, assuming that was what she thought Amara wanted to know. I was nervous and my chest was tight. Then Amara smiled.

“It’s okay. I’m bi.” Sasha’s eyes got huge then she took her glasses off. She was a different person without her glasses. Her eyes looked smaller.

“Oh shit, say word? So is Shade.” Oh fuck, if only she knew, I thought. But Amara put on the best act she could, trying to seem surprised. I was kind of upset that Amara told Sasha she was bi because I knew Sasha would want her. But I wanted Amara to myself when I was ready. And I knew how jealous Sasha could get.

Back in third period, Monroe still had my journal in hand. He was near the end of the book.

“Damn Monroe, did you read the whole book?” He slowly looked up then smirked.

“This is like your life story or somethin’. There’s so much about you in here dat I didn’t know about.” He turned the page, looking for a specific one. “Have you really been with twenty guys?” he asked quietly. If I were white, my face would be eraser pink. Instead, it was hot.

“No,” I lied. He looked at me in disbelief.

“‘How many of them have lain with me? Can’t believe it’s something like twenty, plus three, for the affectionate side of me. And still, my love ain’t free.’ I don’t know what else that’s supposed to mean.” I grabbed my arms, feeling insecure. “But what’s the three? I don’t get it.” I wanted to say it as easily as Sasha, but I couldn’t.

“It’s the three of the twenty-one,” I lied.

“Like, you loved them?”

“Almost.”

“I’m sorry, if you don’t wanna talk about this…”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Okay. You wanna hear about me then? Not tryna sound conceited, just want to return the favor and not have you bein’ the only one that’s vulnerable.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Okay… what do you want me to say?”

“How did you change your mind so quickly about white people?”

“I don’t know. Molly was a lot to do with it. And I also realized that I had no knowledge of black people at all. Like, I disliked them, and you told me about the racism in the justice systems and since you kept telling me to prove you wrong, I tried to but there was nothing. Everything proved you right. Then there were so many other horrible things I found out. It kind of made me feel like a douche for speaking so ignorant.”

“Why did you start out praising white people?”

“I don’t know. Guess it’s ‘cause I grew up in Boston where there’s hella white people that were republicans and racists and didn’t give a fuck about anyone other than white people. Black people were scarce and I guess I just started to feel like it was better to be white from what they were saying.”

“I understand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve seen both worlds.”

“I kinda wanna learn more now, ‘bout African American history.”

“Go for it,” I smiled. “It’s eye opening and it’ll make you more proud to b black.”

“Cool.”

In art class I was still contemplating who I was going to paint for the project. Everyone in the magazines were too perfect looking and too trendy. I wanted someone that looked real, or like someone you would see on the street. But I still wanted them to be beautiful. Naturally the first person to come to my mind was Amara. But I couldn’t possess myself to do it because if it didn’t look like it was really her on canvas – the breathing, living Amara – then I would be disappointed. I was no real artist; I was decent. Amaya was the artist that was exceptional. Then the thought occurred to me that she could help me.

“Amaya,” I said. She looked up from her painting.

“Yeah?”

“Um, I think I know who I wanna paint, but I suck.”

“You don’t suck.”

“But I’m not as good as you. Can you help me on it because I don’t want it to be ugly?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to help you though, not paint it for you.”

“That’s okay, and thanks.”

“Who you gonna paint?”

“Um… Amara…”

“Aw, that girl you like?” She cooed.

“Ugh, you don’t have to say it like dat.”

“I’m sorry. Das sweet though. I’ll make sure you make it perfect through.”

“Okay.”

“Can I see the picture?” I took out my phone and showed her the picture she saw before. “Oh yeah, dat picture. I like dat picture. You have to print it out.”

“How?”

“Can you email on your phone?”

“Um… I think.” I checked to see if I could. But my phone was old fashioned and out dated. “No, I can’t.”

“Well, send it to me and I’ll print it for you.” She gave me her number and I sent her the picture. I checked out her progress on her painting. Everything was good but she had my skin tone too light.

“Look Amaya, I know you hate being black, but I don’t,” I said.

“What you mean?”

“I ain’t dat light. What’s good, you got me lookin’ like team pale as fuck.” She chuckled.

“I’m sorry. I’m just used to doing really light skin.”

“Well, you’re gone have to change dat. I’m not pale, I’m brown.” She started darkening the oil paint she was using for my skin then whipped it off when it wasn’t working. She started to redo my face.

“Is dat better?”

“Yeah.”

“So-o… about Amara. Does she know you liked her?”

“Amar— I mean, fuck.”

“See, you thinkin’ ‘bout her. Jus’ tell me.”

“Yeah, I tol’ her.” She nearly dropped her brush when I said that. Her eyes got bigger than humanly possible.

“What she say?” She whisper yelled. I started to blush, smiling. Amaya gasped. “Tell me, please.”

“She’s bi too,” gasp, “and she said that she liked me too then she kissed me because I didn’t know what she meant.”

“What was dat like?”

“It was sweet.”

“Did ya’ll… you know?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.”

“No really, we didn’t.”

“Okay.” She continued to paint. “Did you want to though?”

“Of course.”

“But I thought you don’t like sex.”

“I do like sex.”

“…okay.” She seemed to feel awkward about talking about sex, and so did I. So I changed the subject.

“You play any sports?” It was the only thing I could think of.

“No. I suck at everything.”

“You ever try?”

“I tried everything.” She laughed. “I even tried ping-pong and badminton. I suck at both. I’m just, uncoordinated when it comes to sports.”

“So, you’re just good at art?”

“No-o, I suck at everything. I just like art.”

“Amaya, you’re crazy if you don’t know you’re good at art.”

“I’m not that good.”

“Sure.”

“What are you good at?”

“Let’s see… you wanna know everything?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m good at writing, uh, singing, I guess—”

“Sing a song.”

“Damn, hol’ up, lemme finish.”

“Kay.”

“I’m good at basketball and fucking.”

“You’re good at having sex?”

“I’ve been told. All of this is based off of what people have told me.”

“How? Were you just a natural?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Just too much experience. Look, I don’t like talking about sex, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Sorry, okay, um… sing a song.”

“I don’t wanna draw attention.”

“You’re nervous?”

“No. Jus’ don’t like attention sometimes.”

“Well, sing a soft song.” I cleared my throat and without thought, I started to sing. I sang something about me being the back stabbing bitch I was. Then it felt too real – the lyrics – so I sang about something semi happy. But being the gloomy person I was, it turned to elegy.

“Shade…,” she cut me off.

“Hm?”

“Your song and singing gives me chills.”

“Um… is dat bad?”

“No. It’s amazing.” I smirked, then got up. “Where you goin’?”

“To gesso a bored. I’ll bring it back.” Since we were the only two at the table I was able to put my whole board on the table.

“Shade, you should record some music.”

“I have nothing good.”

“Find someone that has an amateur studio or something.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t know you were that good.”

“I’m okay.”

“No… I know people can sing better, but your lyrics make everything so much better. And you have a good voice that’s easy to listen to.”

“Thanks, Amaya.”

“Does Amara know you can sing?” I chuckled.

“No.”

“You gotta sing to her or something.”

“But if she thinks I suck, I’ll feel like an idiot.”

“You don’t suck. You’re amazing, trust me.”

“Okay. And you’re amazing at art.”

“No-o.”

“Yes,” I said, looking dead at her. She turned and looked me in the eyes “You are good.” She smiled then continued painting.

The girl who was formal point guard who I later found out was named Jamesha, was salty throughout practice. We were both in the position of point but it was obvious that I was the priority and she was backup. She kept snarling at me and scolded me every time I would make a little mistake. Every time she made a mistake, she would get upset like it was the end for her. She was annoying the fuck out of me but I kept quiet.

It upset her even more when my teammates and the coach would congratulate me for making a good play. It was teeth sucking and eye rolling galore. But at the same time, I felt for her. I understood how she felt.

In the locker room after practice she came in there fuming. I was on the other side but I could feel the tension from where I was. Everyone kept asking her what’s wrong, but she kept saying nothing. She left quickly too, obviously upset. Jessica, the forward, sucked her teeth after Jamesha left.

“She jus’ mad ‘cause dat new Shade girl took her spot. Iunno why dough, Shade better dan she eva was.” Then the rest of them agreed. “You can tell her I said dat shit too. Spell my name out and everything. Shit, tell her my number.” They started laughing.

“Girl, you ain’t never lied,” one said. After I was dressed, I left.

The boy’s practice ran a little later. The boys were still in the gym. I decided to wait on Darnell.

As they started to wrap up, I got nervous and decided to test Darnell’s loyalty, although it could have cost me my ride. So I walked to the bathroom and forced myself to use it. After I was done, I stared in the mirror for a good minute for no reason. I was watching myself being lost in thought. When I was sure all the boys left the gym, I walked out. And fuck me, there he was standing by the gym my team was practicing in. He was looking around until he saw me. When he did, he just smiled. As cliché as it may sound, I felt light like I was being carried away. It was beyond how sexy he looked and how white his teeth were. It was beyond his dark eyes laying on me. It was beyond the fact that he was walking towards me. It was the fact that he hadn’t forgotten about me.

“Thought you abandoned me for a second,” he said as we reached each other. He started walking down the gym hallway, so I followed him.

“No. I jus’ had to use the bathroom.”

“Mhm.” We went out the side door of the school from out the gym hallways.

“How was dat dribblin’ coach?” he asked.

“She was good. I’m the main point now. But I feel kinda bad ‘cause I don’t want the old point to dislike me.”

“I understand. I’ve taken positions, but I usually don’t care.” His car was old and obviously been through some stuff. It was dark blue and had some dents and acid rain damage to the hood. It didn’t matter to me though. Most people at the school had twice-hand-me-down cars anyway. No one really had any good money.

On the inside I could smell traces of Sasha, but the smell of Darnell masked everything. It was an intoxicating nostalgia. I took a whiff without it being too obvious and closed my eyes.

“You been talkin’ to Amara lately?” he asked, snapping me back to then and there.

“Oh, yeah. Did you know she was bi?” He started the car and left school grounds. He smiled.

“Yeah.” I sucked my teeth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I snapped.

“Chill, she didn’t want me to.”

“Can’t believe she told you before me.”

“You gotta understand it from a guy perspective. You should know. What if you were straight? You had the same feelings.”

“Why you though?” He laughed, offended.

“Why you hatin’? Who else would she talk to?” With careful thought, he had a point. Amara even told me she didn’t have many close or good friends.

“Does she like you?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Does she like you?”

“Yeah… I think she may be starting to like you too, though.” He smirked.

“Oh.”

“Well, do you like her?” He chuckled.

“Are you gettin’ possessive and jealous over her?”

“No, I jus’ wanna know.”

“I mean… I might. Don’t wanna though.”

“Why, ‘cause you’re like me?”

“Kinda.”

“You know,” I started to say, looking at him. I had to catch his reaction. “Amara told me you’ve slept wit’ seventy girls. Is that true?” He frowned almost immediately. I almost wanted to take back what I said.

“I knew she would do dat. But I shoulda known better. Ya’ll are like best friends now.” We arrived into our neighborhood.

“She also told me that the second to las’ girl broke your heart or like, hurt your feelings.” He didn’t say anything, he just looked neutral. I looked down.

“Darnell, I’m sorry. I was a real bitch and I’m a fuckin’ mess. I never meant to hurt you. I thought you wouldn’t care.” He said nothing. After a while of silence, he pulled up to my house. I sat in the car for a while.

“It’s okay,” he finally said. All of my insides lightened, like earlier. “And I can take you home everyday if you need.” I slightly smiled.

“Thanks Darnell,” I said softly then left.

It was crazy to see Mr. Daniels sitting outside on his porch. He was reading a book in a thick jacket and hat with some gloves. He looked up for a split second, waved, then went back to reading.

“You aight, Shade?” Darnell asked with the passenger window down.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Then I walked to my house.

My mama was sitting at the kitchen table as I walked into the house. She had a calm look on her face so that was a good sign. She had dinner for me waiting on the table. It was a microwave dinner so I wasn’t feeling it too much. I almost contemplated going to Amara’s house to see what her mom cooked.

“Shade,” she called after I put my stuff in the coat closet. “Can you sit for a minute? I wanna talk to you while you eat.” Guess I had no choice but to eat the microwave dinner. I sat at the table and forked through the mac-and-cheese that was probably cold. My hunger got the best of me though.

“Luckily for us, Jim wasn’t dumb enough to withdrawal my money from our joint account.”

“Mommy, what did I tell you ‘bout dem joint accounts wit’ dese niggas?”

“Look Shade, I’m a grown ass woman and I can do what I want to do.

“Now, we have enough money to pay for two months while I find a job. Nana Fox will be here by the end of the week. I called her last night. She told me she had just sold her house and was about to move in the states with one of us anyway. She was probably lying about the last part but she will have enough money for emergency in case I don’t find a job.”

“What if you never find a job?”

“Look, don’t worry about dat.”

“You should’ve never… never mind.” She looked at me with a scold, knowing what I was about to say.

“I didn’t account for your basketball though,” she added.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I got a ride.”

“Who?”

“Um…” she sucked her teeth.

“Come on Shade, who?”

“Darnell.” She sighed.

“Are you still fuckin’ him?” she almost yelled.

“No!”

“Does he want dat in return?”

“No ma. That’s the last thing on both of our minds.”

“Is he gay?”

“No-o… what kinda question is dat?”

“‘Cause I never met a guy that wouldn’t want sex in return for a favor.”

“Even…” I looked away, changing my mind.

“People like him come rare,” she said, knowing I was referring to my dad.

“Well, Darnell isn’t tryna do dat.”

“Maybe not now.” I sighed, wishing the subject would change. “Have I seen him before?”

“No, prolly not.”

“Can I meet him?” I sucked my teeth.

“Why?”

“If I’ma let him take my daughter home everyday, at least let me meet him.”

“Since when did you care?” She sighed. She hated it when I questioned her love for me.

“Jus’ lemme meet the boy.”

“You know you don’t wanna meet him ‘cause of dat. Be honest wit’ me.” She looked at me for a while like she was vulnerable, then put her authority face on.

“Let me meet the boy, tha’s all you gotta do.” I rolled my eyes and threw away my microwave plastic tray.

“Anything else you wanna tell me?” I asked while leaving the kitchen.

“Nope,” so I left.