Pride(39)

I laugh under my breath.

Darius steps closer to me, putting his hands in his jean pockets. “Zuri, really. I can take you home. I’m a good driver—don’t listen to Carrie.” His voice is low.

“He really is!” Georgia chimes in.

I look up at Darius, then down at my phone, and see that I’m now running late for my bus. If I say no to Darius and then miss my ride, my parents will never let me out of the house again. I can say goodbye to Howard forever.

“I mean, I guess,” I say, slowly. “But I get to deejay.”

“Deal,” Darius says, and his smile is wider than I’ve ever seen it. My stomach drops and I realize what I just agreed to. Four hours alone, in a car, with Darius Darcy. What would Warren say to that?

A cab pulls up to the curb and honks at Carrie.

Georgia runs over to give Carrie a hug goodbye, and Darius waves politely to her. “I’ll text you,” he calls out.

“Bye, Carrie!” I shout. “See you back in Brooklyn!” I wave extra hard while grinning wide.

We wait until Carrie is out of sight and then begin walking down U Street toward the car.

“Are they going out?” I ask Georgia quietly.

“Carrie? No way,” she says. Then she calls out to Darius, who is a few steps ahead of us. “Hey, bro! Zuri thought Carrie was your girlfriend!”

“Not in a million years,” he says.

And in that moment, something stirs deep in my belly. I’m not supposed to care. But part of me is relieved that Darius isn’t into someone so shallow and insecure.

“Is that a smile on your face?” Georgia asks, and I realize this girl is growing on me. I could see us being friends. Maybe.

“Yeah, ’cause you’re kinda cool, Georgia,” I say. “I can’t wait for you to meet my sisters.”

“Oh my god!” she squeals. “I can’t wait either. We’ll have to hang out before I head back to boarding school.”

“Boarding school?” I ask, just as Darius holds open the shiny black front passenger door for me. It’s a nice car, and it’s not the one I usually see parked in front of their house back in Bushwick, but I don’t ask any questions. For some reason, the polite gesture makes me nervous. Darius closes the door gently.

“Yeah,” Georgia says as she slides into the back seat. “And now you get to meet my grandmother!”

“Wait, what?” I say, turning to Darius as he gets into the driver’s seat.

“Uh, yeah, did I forget to mention that?” Darius says, and gives me a shy smile. He starts the car.

“Your grandmother? Seriously?” Suddenly I’m not sure this free ride is worth it. I need to call my parents and tell them about the change of plans, but maybe there’s still time for Darius to drive me to the bus, and I won’t need to tell them anything.

“She’s harmless! I promise,” Georgia says. “I’ve been living with her all summer.”

“Really?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. I check the time and see that it’s already almost seven. It’s too late.

“Yeah, harmless,” Darius promises.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” I mumble. But I click my seat belt closed.

As we drive out to the D.C. suburbs, I’m still stuck on the fact that I’m sitting in the front seat of a car that belongs to a boy I can’t stand. And we’re headed to his grandmother’s house, of all places. Plus he’s driving me two hundred miles back home. So I’m basically trusting Darius with my life right now. And an hour ago, I didn’t even want to look at his face.





Seventeen


THE BIG HOUSES here in Chevy Chase, Maryland, are pushed back away from the street, if you can even call it a street. It’s more like a perfectly paved path to any-and everywhere. There are no potholes, no bumps, no double-parked cars—hardly any cars. Just wide-open smooth, curving road. And Darius drives as if he owns that path; as if this whole ride is his life and things are just as easy for him as this road.

I try not to let him see me checking out how he holds the steering wheel with one hand, how he leans back in his seat with all the confidence in the world, even though he’s had his license for only two years. But he catches me looking at him, and I turn back to the car’s window.

“You like lobster, Zuri?” Georgia asks from the back seat. She’s been asking me a billion questions about food, clothes, music, and places. Most of the things she brings up I’ve never heard of or experienced. So far, I know that they’ve gone skiing in somewhere called Aspen, go to somebody named Martha’s Vineyard every summer (except for this one, because of the move), and how they are still hoping to take a trip to some place called the Maldives. And I can tell Georgia is not showing off or anything, she seriously thinks I know what she’s talking about when she brings up these places.

“Sure,” I say. It’s a lie. I’ve been to Red Lobster, but never had the lobster because it’s the most expensive thing on the menu, and with seven of us going out to eat for a graduation or a big birthday, no one is selfish enough to order lobster. I don’t say this out loud, of course.

“Darius loves lobster. That’s why Grandma is making it special for him,” she continues. “And he has the nerve to eat two chili dogs before dinner. I swear he’s her favorite, ’cause I asked for vegetarian lasagna yesterday, and she was like, no. But Darius gets lobster! Not even Ainsley gets that kind of treatment.”