Pride(23)

And when he leaves our front stoop and walks down the block with a little bop to his step while looking back at Charlise, I say, “I know you’re not that thirsty.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Charlise. Are you serious?”

“No. Not really, but why can’t I just mess around with him? He does it to a bunch of other girls.”

“’Cause you’re not a dude, Charlise. You’ll get a bad reputation,” I say.

“See? That’s the problem. If we treat guys the way they treat us, then we’ll get a bad reputation? That’s messed up.”

“Well, do you care about your reputation?”

She pauses, looks up at the bright blue afternoon sky, rubs her chin, and says, “My reputation for playing ball? Yep. My reputation for playing guys? Nope.”

I want to say the same thing, that I don’t care about my reputation. But I do, because I already have one. All my sisters do. We have to be careful about who we fall for, especially me and Janae. Just because guys from around the way like us—even if we don’t give them no play, it’s still easy for them to talk shit about us. Papi is watching us, but so is the rest of the neighborhood.

I glance at the house across the street and fold my arms across my chest, as if I just opened up my shirt to reveal my sports bra too.

“Yeah” is all I say, knowing that I would make myself into a soft cushion for my dear sister to fall onto if that boy Ainsley pushes her too hard. I will never let anyone break her heart. Then I wonder, who would be my cushion? Who would try to push me? And who would I fall for?

Pride Comes before the Fall

(Haikus)

If I fall in love

Will I sink to the bottom

And swallow water

Make my belly full

With hopes of tender kisses

Round like the moonlight

High over Bushwick

Playing Cupid with our hearts

I am the archer

Later in the afternoon, I have to pass some of Colin’s boys when I go into Hernando’s. They know not to holla at me the same way they do to the others girls around the way. But I know they look. I can feel their eyes on my butt when I pass. I usually stick my middle finger up behind my back, and they laugh and say, “Yeah, that’s Beni’s daughter, all right.”

Without fail, every time I come into Hernando’s, he sings my name at the top of his lungs. “Zuri-loooze! Qué pasa, muchacha?”

“Whassup, Hernando?” I say, rolling my eyes, because I swear he owes me like a hundred dollars from years of not giving back the right change.

I’m only here for a bottle of ice-cold juice, something sweet and chewy, and something salty and crunchy. And five of each so I don’t have to share with my sisters who have all gathered on the stoop with Charlise for a game of cards. As I put all the snacks onto the counter, my phone buzzes. It’s a group text from my sisters: He’s coming into the store!

I immediately know who they’re talking about. So I text back.

So?

Darius looks surprised to see me in there, and he quickly looks away. He’s so obvious, it’s not even funny. We haven’t talked since the Bushwick Riot concert at the park.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says, and stands in front of the counter next to me.

“Eyyy! Rich boy!” Hernando says.

Darius purses his lips and looks down.

Part of me wishes that Darius would speak up if he doesn’t like something, or else the guys around here will tear him to pieces. He can’t let it all show up on his face so that they don’t misinterpret his expressions. Our neighborhood is loud, and the people are even louder with their thoughts and opinions.

A smooth, old-school R&B groove is playing in the background, and it makes this whole situation weird, as if this is a music video and Darius is the star and I’m just an extra. He’s that well put-together. Again, he’s wearing a button-down shirt and too-tight khaki shorts. I can tell that they’re not the ones from the day we went to the park. These are cargo khaki shorts, and I want to kick myself for noticing that detail. I mean, doesn’t he have chillin’ clothes?

“Would you like a picture?” he asks with a half smile.

And I jump on the inside, not realizing that I was staring that hard. “No,” I quickly say, feeling stupid for letting him catch me like that.

“Do you have any pencils?” he asks Hernando.

“Pencils?” Hernando says. He grabs a pen tied to a string and hands it to Darius.

Darius sighs and shakes his head.

“You need, like, one pencil?” I ask.

“Do you sell a box or a pack of pencils?” Darius asks Hernando again, while ignoring me.

“Nah, you gotta go on Broadway for that. The ninety-nine-cent store,” Hernando says, stroking Tomijeri as he strolls onto the counter with his fat, furry body.

Darius steps back as if Tomijeri is some sort of alien creature.

“What? You’re afraid of bodega cats?” I ask, smirking.

“Maybe I’m allergic to cat dander and I’d like to buy a banana or something. Don’t you think that’s grounds for a lawsuit?”

Both Hernando and I laugh out loud, and Darius immediately drops his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. He stands there for a long minute until three of the corner dudes come in and my heart skips a beat. All their eyes are on Darius as they walk in and even as they pass him, and one purposely bumps into him.