Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(12)

What ain’t up? Part of me don’t know how to start any of this conversation. I stick my hands in my pockets. “Iesha holla’ed at you yet?”

King plop down on my couch and prop his feet on the table. Mi casa always been his casa. “Yeah, she told me. Where your Sega controller? I’m tryna play some Mortal Kombat.”

“Man, look, I’m sorry, a’ight?” I say. “I thought fa’sho Li’l Man was yours.”

“I told you shit happens. It’s all good.”

“You sure? You named him after yourself. I could see how this might make you feel—”

“Gah-lee, Mav! You sound like a female. Chill. I ain’t stressing that girl or her baby.” He pull my Sega Genesis controller from between the couch cushions. “Less for me to have to worry with.”

“A’ight. Long as we cool.”

“For life, homie.” He hold his palm out to me.

I slap it. “Fa’sho, except for when you rooting for the sorry-ass Cowboys.”

“Take your hating ass on somewhere.” King laughs. “Like the Saints gon’ do shit. My Cowboys gon’ whoop them like I’m gon’ whoop you on this game.”

“You wish. I need to holla at you ’bout something else.”

King blow into my Mortal Kombat cartridge in case it don’t wanna act right and put it in the Sega Genesis. “What’s up?”

Li’l Man wail in my room before I can speak. “Shit,” I hiss. “Hold on.”

Ma claim that one day I’ll be able to decipher his cries. Today ain’t that day. She told me to always check his diaper first thing. It’s clean, so he must want a bottle. Ma made a couple before she went to work. She think I pour too much formula. For somebody who claim that my baby is my responsibility, she help out a lot. I ain’t complaining. I rush to the kitchen, grab a bottle outta the refrigerator, and go scoop Li’l Man outta the crib.

It ain’t easy to feed a crying baby. It’s like he so hungry he mad, and he so mad he don’t wanna let me hold him with all the squirming he doing.

“Chill, man,” I tell him. I don’t know how I get the bottle in his mouth. At first he don’t latch on to it, and I’m two seconds away from calling Ma at work.

Finally, he start eating.

“Man,” I sigh. “You love to stress me out, huh?”

I carefully walk toward the living room and sit on the couch with him.

King play my Sega, keeping his eyes on the TV. “Iesha left him with you?”

“Yeah. Said she needed a break.”

“Oh.” That’s all King say at first. Then, “You gotta feed him within like a minute of him waking up or he’ll act a fool.”

“What?”

“I used to go over and help Iesha with him.”

“Oh.”

We quiet for a moment.

King look over at me and Li’l Man. “Yeah,” he says. “He do look like you.”

King can say it’s all good if he want, but there’s this look in his eyes that got me thinking otherwise. “Dawg, I’m sorry.”

He focus on the TV again. “Told you, it’s all good. At least with you he got a family, you know?”

“King, man—”

“You said you wanted to holla at me ’bout something else?”

I hate this situation, for real. I clear my throat. “Yeah, umm . . . I can’t sling with you no more.”

He do a double take. “What? Why?”

“Dre figured out what we up to.”

King hop up. “What the hell? You told him?”

“Nah! I wouldn’t do that. Dre figured it out on his own and convinced you involved. He want me to quit.”

“Let me guess, he only want you selling weed for him and Shawn for pennies.”

“Nah, man. He want me to quit drug dealing period. Said if I don’t, he’ll rat you out to Shawn.”

“So? I can’t believe you letting him punk you.”

“I was tryna look out for you!”

“I don’t need nobody to look out for me! All I need is this money! Don’t you?”

Our arguing make Li’l Man fuss. I rock him a bit. “Of course, but I don’t wanna get in trouble. Dre threatened to tell my parents, King.”

“So you gon’ leave me hanging?”

“Man, you know it ain’t like that. I’m saying you oughta consider dropping your side—”

“I ain’t dropping shit!” King says. “Mav, we could find a way to do this if we work together. You really gon’ let Dre and them get in the way of your money?”

It ain’t Dre I’m worried ’bout. If Ma find out I sell drugs, I might not see another day.

“I’m sorry, King,” I say. “I’m out.”

He glare at the ceiling like he could cuss. “Man, fine,” he says. “You do you, but I ain’t quitting. They can come at me, I ain’t scared.”

I swear, King never give a you-know-what. I think I care more ’bout him than he care ’bout himself. “I won’t tell them. Hold on, I’ll get my stash. Can you—” I motion at my son.

“Yeah, I’ll hold him,” King says.