Pride(22)

“I’m just sayin’. But I plan to be around for a while, so get used to this.”

I don’t say anything to that. I don’t protest. I’m soft now, like Mama’s sweet, warm pound cake. And he’s close enough to kiss me, so my heart starts to beat faster like conga drums, and I hope that no one is looking out the window; I hope that I’ll know exactly what to do when his lips touch mine; I hope he steals a kiss quickly, while I’m standing here, waiting, breathing, with my heart pounding.

“So I’ll text you tomorrow, a’ight?” He steps back with his hands in his pockets.

I frown, confused.

He keeps stepping back until he’s completely out of our front gate. “Later, ZZ.”

He holds two fingers up, then puts his hand back into his pocket and turns around. Just like that, he walks away, and I feel like the biggest idiot in all of Bushwick. I want to drag him back to this stoop and have a complete do-over. I’m supposed to be the one to turn away while he’s waiting for a kiss. Not him!

“Bye, Warren!” someone calls out above me. I know it’s Layla without even looking up.

From the corner, Warren turns around and waves to my sister.

“Come back soon, okay?” Layla calls out again.

Clearly, he’s used to getting unwanted attention from girls too young for him, and maybe even girls too old for him. Or from girls, period. So he knows exactly what he’s doing by just walking away like that. And it works.

I just stand there with my arms crossed, not ready to go back upstairs and face my sisters. That’s when I see Darius walking up to his door while looking back at our building and rubbing his chin. He must’ve seen me. He must’ve seen Warren.

I smile to myself, watching Darius fumble for his keys. I’ll be seeing Warren again, for sure. And that’s when I’ll steal the ball and take it to my court. This game is still mine. And Darius will be watching from the sidelines.





Ten


IT’S ALMOST A hundred degrees outside, and Charlise is dressed in a white button-down shirt and black pants as if she’s coming home from a job on Wall Street. But she works a few blocks away at a new restaurant.

“You look like a butler,” I say as she sits on the stoop next to me.

It’s too hot to do anything else. Back in the day, we used to turn on the fire hydrant and run through that cool water as it flew up into the air and flooded our whole street. But Robert and Kyle threatened to call the fire department because it was a waste of water and taxpayer money, they said. Those two white boys who moved in down the block a few years ago have always had a way of making us feel bad for doing the things we love: playing loud music, laughing from our bellies, yelling out our windows, and turning on fire hydrants when it’s hot.

“I’m getting paid good butler money, though,” Charlise says, as she unbuttons her shirt to reveal a black sports bra underneath. Something about the bra and the opened white shirt makes it look inappropriate, but Charlise is known for walking around the hood in just a sports bra, basketball shorts, and her Adidas sandals. She leans back on one of the steps and spreads her legs wide open, as if she’s giving every part of herself some air.

At the same moment, Colin comes out the front door. We don’t look back, but I know it’s him, because I can smell the sweet cologne his aunt makes him wear. Madrina says it’s to attract the right kind of girls—sweet ones who will be good to her beloved nephew.

“Whassup, ladies?” Colin sings.

I don’t say anything to him while Charlise stands up from the stoop to let Colin pass. I want to tell her to button up her shirt because I’m sure Colin is staring a little too hard at her boobs right now.

“What’s going on, Colin?” Charlise says.

“Chillin’. What’s going on with you?” He steps closer to Charlise as if he’s about to grab her hand, and this little exchange makes me raise my eyebrows, because Colin and Charlise used to hate each other when we were younger.

“I started working at this restaurant on Halsey. You should come by sometime,” Charlise says, and I raise my eyebrows even higher.

“Oh, a’ight. What are you, a chef or something?”

“I’m a hostess. And I hope you like asparagus.”

“Yeah, whatever. Tell me when, and it’s a date.”

This time I look at them both with my mouth wide open. There goes that word again: date. “Colin, you’re not gonna like any of that food,” I say, but that’s not really what I want to say. I want to tell him to stop flirting with my friend as if he forgot he used to chase her around with water balloons right after she’d gotten her hair done just so he could see her get mad.

“I’m open. I’ll eat anything,” Colin says, licking his lips and looking at Charlise up and down.

I roll my eyes hard as Charlise starts to laugh. “Colin, you’re such a cornball!” I say.

“Not as corny as your boys across the street, though,” he says, pointing his thumb back at the Darcy house.

“Word,” I say.

“Word,” Charlise repeats. Then she says, “Okay, then. I’ll text you and let you know when you can stop by. I’ll have a special meal waiting for you. Do you know what a prix fixe is?”

I turn and pop my eyes out at her, but Charlise just stares at Colin, smiling.