Pride(27)

Even Kayla’s mouth drops open when I say this.

Another lady in black comes over and holds an empty tray out in front of me, and I grab Layla’s glass and place it on the tray.

“What was that?” I ask her.

“Red wine,” she says, and walks away.

Layla is holding her arm and covering the spot where I pinched her. Tears are welling up in her eyes while I give her the death stare. Well, it’s more than a death stare—it’s an I’m-about-to-hit-you-so-hard-you’re-gonna-end-up-six-feet-under stare.

“And these are my twins!” Mama’s voice sings from behind me, and Layla quickly fixes her face. “They’re headed to the ninth grade. They’re my pride and joy, and they’re also giving me my premature gray hairs.”

The twins quickly change their tune, because while I’ll only pinch and stare at them, Mama will straight up call them out and embarrass them in front of all these people. Like how they just embarrassed me.

I look around the room for Darius, to see if there’s any hint that he might’ve heard what Layla just said about Janae being a gold digger. I know that it’s not true, but Darius is dumb enough to believe what comes out of my sister’s big mouth. I spot him standing next to Ainsley, and they’re both looking in our direction while Janae talks to Carrie. I quickly turn away, but I can still see them out of the corner of my eye. Ainsley’s eyes are glued to us. Darius is whispering something into his ear, and Ainsley’s face changes.

I recognize that look. It’s that same look people used to give us when Mama would get on a crowded train with a double stroller holding the twins, me, Marisol, and Janae with our messy hair, runny noses, and each with a bag of chips to keep us occupied while Mama quieted down the babies. It’s the look that assumes that Mama is a single mother, that she’s on government assistance, that she beats us when she’s tired, that we all have different fathers, that we live in the projects, and that we’re ghetto. Everybody used to look at us like that—white, black, other mothers with kids who thought they were being responsible by only having two or three. I’d look back at them with defiance and a little pride; a look that says that I love my family and we may be messy and loud, but we’re all together and we love each other. That’s when I perfected my Bushwick mean mug.

Janae eases toward Ainsley. But his whole vibe has changed. I can tell that Janae is waiting for Ainsley to respond to something she just said. But he looks around as if this conversation is the last place he wants to be right now. So I walk over to my sister, worried that something is about to go down. And at the same moment, Ainsley says, “Please excuse me, Janae.” He walks away, heading toward the kitchen, escaping.

“Ainsley? Where you going?” Janae asks.

“Hey, Nae-Nae, wait,” I start to say, but I’m ignored as my sister brushes past me and goes running after him.

“Darius, what did you just say to your brother?” I say.

Darius just shrugs and says, “Clearly something that needed to be said.”

“What—”

“You’re a smart girl, Zuri. You’ll figure it out.” And with that, Darius walks away.

My stomach drops as I watch Janae say something to Ainsley with a confused smile. He says something without a smile. Her smile diminishes, but there’s still hope in her eyes as she speaks. Ainsley shakes his head, shrugs, and places his hands on Janae’s shoulders. He looks like he’s both comforting her and holding her away from him at the same time. Janae’s smile completely disappears. Ainsley mouths, “I’m sorry,” before he slips into the crowd. And that’s my cue to go over to her.

“Janae,” I whisper while gently taking my sister’s arm. Her eyes are welling up with tears. “What just happened? What did he say?”

“Zuri, let go. Please.” Her voice is rough. She pulls away from me and pushes through the fancy people.

I swear on Madrina’s orishas, if Ainsley has hurt her in any way . . . I turn to the Darcy boys and part of me wants to go over there and tell them off to their faces. But that’s exactly what they would expect. I curse under my breath and follow my sister, my heart pounding in my ears.

Pretty Rich Boy

Hey rich boy, how much for that dollar?

I need to buy a dream

I’ve gathered the clouds and stars

to form a cheerleading team

Shouting “Shoot your shot!” from the sidelines

thinking that if I win

They all have a turn at this wheel

to take it for a spin

My mama wants to play too,

but she’s late to this game

A dollar is a dollar, she says,

things are still the same

But if you sell me this dollar,

I’ll owe you three

Work myself to the bone,

none left for family and me

Now, you got my three dollars

with your dreams already paid for

Walking into fancy rooms,

never kicking down a door

But you own that door,

that room, that house, and its land

So I’d have to give you four more dollars

just to pay for where I stand

If you could, you’d charge me for the air I breathe,

the dreams I dream

Even the love I love, make my own beating heart