The Weight of Blood (16)

“She’s real . . . thirsty,” Kali said, smirking.

“You said you’d be nicer,” Kenny whispered.

Kali played coy. “I am being nice.”

He chuckled, swatting her hair puff, noting her BLBP T-shirt.

“Aye, why you gotta be so loud about it?”

“Huh?”

“The hair, the T-shirt . . . everybody knows you’re Black, you don’t gotta remind folks all the time. It makes people uncomfortable.”

Kali rolled her eyes. “They know that I’m Black. I don’t know about you.”

Kenny tensed, that unease creeping in. “Where’s Mom?” he asked, setting his bag on the table just as a worn copy of James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time slid out and onto the floor. He scooped it up and quickly stuffed it back in, checking to see if Kali had noticed.

Kali smirked, focusing on the next problem. “Was wondering where that was,” she breathed.

“Where what was?” Wendy said, returning with paper plates, napkins, and a bottle of water.

Kenny held his breath, eyes flaring at Kali.

“My other textbook,” Kali said, her smirk widening as she packed up her books. “Thanks for the Coke. Gonna go finish in my room.”

“Oh, okay. Sure, no problem. And, um, I know you have Mrs. Putman this year, so if you ever have problems with the homework, I can—”

“Who said I was having problems?” Kali snapped.

“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“She was just trying to help, Kali,” Kenny snarled, shooting her a warning glare.

Kali raised an eyebrow and swung her book bag over her shoulder, heading down the hall. “Yeah. Thanks, but I’m good.”

Wendy flopped into her seat with a pout. “Your sister hates me.”

Kenny chuckled and grabbed a slice of pizza.

“She hates everybody,” he said, shrugging it off. “Come on, ain’t you got some homework?”

The word homework always distracted her, a trick he’d learned early on and he watched her pore over an English assignment like a stressed-out freshman while he pretended to read. Almost everyone considered the last few weeks of school a complete farce. But despite being an AP senior, placed in her first-choice school with only a few weeks left to go, Wendy insisted on finishing with honors. Ever the perfectionist, she turned in each assignment like her life depended on it. He found it hilarious. Whenever he thought of their relationship, he considered them more best friends with benefits than girlfriend, boyfriend. And he liked it that way, feelings never overly complicated or perfunctory. But as graduation neared, he wondered what would happen when distance made them take stock of their similarities. Or really, their differences.

“Did you watch that media-training video I sent?” Wendy asked without glancing up from her notebook. “You know you’re going to be talking to a lot more reporters in the fall. Maybe even on ESPN.”

He sighed, wishing for at least one football-free conversation between them, and let his hand slide up her thigh. She froze, face turning scarlet.

“Stop,” she squeaked, her mouth forming a half smirk.

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to distract me.”

He grinned and kissed her neck. “Oh, so you can be distracted?”

She giggled, trying to push him away but with very little effort.

The front door clicked open, and they straightened back into their seats. Kenny glanced up from his textbook, expecting his mother but instead swallowed his disappointment.

“Hi, Mr. Scott,” Wendy said like an eager puppy. Kenny hated the way she sucked up to him.

“Hello, Wendy. Nice to see you.” Mr. Scott took his time up the steps, dropping his briefcase by the bench. “Kenny.”

“Hey, Dad.”

Their mutually icy greeting frosted the room.

“We got some pizza if you’re hungry,” Wendy offered.

Kenny tensed as Mr. Scott sauntered over. He lifted the lid with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm. Pizza. Pepperoni. With a soda, no less.” He looked at Kenny, waiting for an explanation.

“I just had two slices.”

“Remember what the dietitian said. Less carbs, more protein. You should be focusing on building five pounds of muscle before heading to camp.”

“I just had two slices,” Kenny said again. Harder.

Wendy glanced between them and sprang into action. “It’s my fault. We worked out after school, and I was just starving. I begged him to take me.”

“It’s not about just two slices,” Mr. Scott continued as if Wendy had said nothing. “It’s about making sure your head’s in the game!”

Kenny held his breath to keep from screaming. He had heard the phrase all his life. All he did was think of the game.

“I’m carb-loading,” Kenny grumbled, eyes still down, slapping his book closed. It was a bullshit lie, and they both knew it.

“Well,” Mr. Scott said, taking off his glasses to clean them. “You better add another mile to your run this evening.”

Kenny opened his mouth to protest but Kali’s scream filled the air first.

“Yooooo!”

“Kali? What’s wrong?”

Kali stormed into the dining room, phone in hand. “Did you know about this?”