Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(13)

I place him in King’s arms. Li’l Man whimper at first, but King bounce him and shush him. He probably done this before.

I go to the bathroom. Ma made it my job to keep it clean every week, making me the only one who go under the cabinet. I get down on the floor to look under there real good and move around the cleaning supplies. They help hide the space in the back between the wall and the pipe that’s just big enough for me to slide a Ziploc bag of drugs into.

I take it out, go to the living room, and I give it to King. He give me my son in return.

“We cool?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Even if you is acting like a li’l punk right now.”

“Fool, you have met my momma, right? I got good reason to be scared.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll holla at you later. I got work to do.” He look at my son. “Take care of him, a’ight?”

I nod.

King hold out his fist, and I dap him up. Then he gone.





Five


Dre swing by the house around noon to take me and Li’l Man to the store.

His ride fly as hell. It’s a ’94 BMW, but Dre keep it so on point it look like a ’98 or a ’99. He found it at a salvage yard and fixed it up himself. Added candy paint, twenty-inch rims, and a sound system in the trunk. Oooh-wee! I can’t front: I like to be seen in it.

Dre help me get my son’s car seat situated—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—and we head to Mr. Wyatt’s grocery store. It’s around the corner, on Marigold. Dre roll all the windows down, lean back in his seat, and drive with one hand. He nod along to that “1st of tha Month” joint by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony that’s playing on the radio.

I’m too tired to nod along. Right after King left, I put my son back to bed and tried to get a nap. Couldn’t for thinking ’bout that conversation with King.

Dre glance over at me. “You good, cuz?”

I rest my head back. “King rolled through earlier. I told him what you said.”

“How’d that go?”

“How you think it went? He was pissed, but he said he’d stop,” I lie. I gotta look out for my boy.

Dre nod. “Good. That’s all that’s bothering you?”

“Dawg, when did Andreanna start sleeping good?”

He laughs. “Don’t tell me you worn out already.”

“Hell yeah. I ain’t sleep worth shit this weekend.”

“Come with the territory, playboy. Be glad you got nothing else to do, like school. You told Shorty ’bout him yet?”

He mean Lisa. My baby only five two, but she ball like she six feet.

I twist one of my cornrows at the root. Last week, I sat between Lisa’s legs on her front porch as she braided me up. Fireflies flashed around us, and cicadas hit high notes. It was the kinda peace I needed.

“Nah,” I say. “I haven’t had a chance to go over there. I can’t tell her on the phone.”

“You gotta tell her or the streets will.”

“Ain’t nobody finna tell her.”

“Shiiiid, a’ight,” he says. “Put it off if you wanna. It’s gon’ bite you in the ass.”

He act like this gon’ be easy. Lisa gon’ be hurt, for real. It don’t matter that we weren’t together when I messed with Iesha. I messed with Iesha, period. “I ain’t ready to break her heart, Dre.”

“It’ll hurt her more if she hear it from somebody else. Take it from me. After some of the stuff I did, I’m lucky Keisha deal with me now.”

Dre been with Keisha since around seventh grade. Hard to imagine them not together. “Man, get outta here. Y’all stuck with each other.”

He laughs. “I hope you right. I’m more than ready to make it official.”

“Still can’t believe you getting married.” The word don’t feel right coming outta my mouth. “I love Lisa, but I can’t imagine letting a girl lock me down.”

“You say that now. One day, it’ll be a whole different story. Watch.”

“Nope! I’m a playa for life.”

Dre crack up. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Hail Mary” by Tupac start on the stereo. That’s my joint right there. ’Pac the greatest to ever do it. Hard to believe he been gone almost two years now. I remember when the radio announced he got shot in Vegas. I figured he’d be a’ight—he survived getting shot five times in New York. Dude was invincible. A few days later, he was dead.

At least that’s what they said. “Yo, did you hear? ’Pac alive.”

Dre laugh. “Get outta here! Next you gon’ tell me the world ending in the year 2000.”

People already bugging over this Y2K stuff, saying the year 2000 gon’ bring the apocalypse. We gotta make it through ’98 first.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I admit. “They said on the radio that ’Pac living in Cuba with his auntie Assata. The government had a hit on him.”

“C’mon, Mav. Bill Clinton wouldn’t put a hit on ’Pac.”

Ma say Bill Clinton the closest thing we may ever get to a Black president.

“Shiid, I don’t know, man. ’Pac’s family full of Black Panthers, and he spoke so much truth. Word is he’ll come back in 2003.”