Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(14)

“Why 2003?” Dre says.

“It’s seven years after he faked his death,” I say. “’Pac got all these connections to the number seven. He was shot on the seventh. He died seven days after that, exactly seven months to the day that All Eyez on Me dropped.”

“That’s a coincidence, Mav.”

“Hear me out! He died at 4:03 p.m. Four plus three is seven. He was born on the sixteenth. One plus six, seven.”

Dre rub his chin. “He was also twenty-five when he died.”

“Right! Two plus five, seven. Then the name of his last album. That Makaveli joint.”

“The Seven Day Theory,” says Dre.

“Exactly! I’m telling you, he planned this.”

“Okay, let’s say he did,” Dre says. “Why he focus on the number seven?”

“Apparently, it’s a holy number, I don’t know.” I shrug. “I’ll have to look more into that.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll admit it, all that do seem planned out. But ’Pac not alive, Mav.”

“You said it seemed planned out.”

“Yeah, but only cowards hide and fake their deaths. ’Pac wasn’t a coward. I don’t care if the government wanted him dead, he would’ve gone out in a blaze of glory.”

True that. ’Pac was the definition of a rider. He wouldn’t be hiding from nobody.

“A’ight, you got me there.”

Dre pull into the store parking lot. Wyatt’s Grocery ’bout as old as the Garden. Granny used to send Ma in here when she was a kid, back when Mr. Wyatt’s pops ran it. You can buy everything from fresh vegetables to dishwashing liquid.

Dre help me figure out the stroller—why everything with babies so damn complicated?—and I push my son into the store. For a spot in the hood, Wyatt’s Grocery is real nice. Mr. Wyatt make sure that the floors always shine and the shelves stay neat.

He at the cash register, bagging up some old lady’s groceries. Mrs. Wyatt right beside him, talking to the lady. She retired last year and always in the store nowadays. Except when she across the street, getting her nails done. She keep them painted pink.

Her eyes light up when she see us. “Maverick, you brought the baby!”

Mrs. Wyatt love babies. She and Mr. Wyatt used to be foster parents, and they’d get babies and kids all the time. I always had somebody to play with thanks to them.

Mrs. Wyatt come bend down to look in the stroller. “Chile, you couldn’t deny this boy if you tried. He look just like you.”

“Yep,” Dre says. “Even got Mav’s big apple head.”

“Man, shut up!” I say.

Mrs. Wyatt laughs. “Be nice, Andre.” She grunt as she pick Li’l Man up. “Ooh Lord, you a big boy. They feeding you good, huh?”

“I’m in here to buy formula now,” I say.

“I see why.” Mrs. Wyatt smiles at him. He give her a gummy grin right back. “Faye told us you’re taking care of him by yourself today. Everything okay so far?”

Leave it to Ma to give the Wyatts a heads-up. They been our next-door neighbors so long that they family. “Yes, ma’am. I got it.”

Mr. Wyatt says goodbye to the other customer and make his way over to us. He got this thick mustache, and he always wearing some kinda hat. I think he losing his hair. Today he got on a straw hat to cover it.

“Careful, Shirley,” he says. “Hold him too long, and you’ll get baby fever.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Ain’t that right, baby?” She kiss Li’l Man’s cheek.

Mr. Wyatt grab my shoulder firmly. “You not putting this baby off on your momma, are you, son?”

“No, sir,” I say. It’s always “yes, sir; no, sir,” to Mr. Wyatt. He drilled that in my head since I was little. “I’m handling it.”

“Good. You made him, you take care of him. School starts soon, right? You ready? Don’t let having a baby make you drop the ball on that.”

“Clarence, let the boy breathe,” Mrs. Wyatt says.

He’ll never do that. Mr. Wyatt stay on my back. As much as he gets on my nerves, I know he care. I remember when the Feds took down Pops. It was straight chaos in our house. Cops everywhere with guns. They made my folks lie on the floor, and an officer escorted me outside. I cried for Ma and Pops, begged the cops to let them go. They almost put me in a car to take me somewhere. Mr. Wyatt came outside and talked to them. Next thing I knew, he put his arm around my shoulder and took me to his house. He and Mrs. Wyatt kept me till the cops cleared Ma that evening.

“Breathe nothing. He’s got responsibilities now,” Mr. Wyatt says, his eyes set on me. “You need to take care of this baby financially. What you plan on doing jobwise?”

“He actually looking for a job,” Dre butt in. “You know anybody hiring, Mr. Wyatt?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. My nephew, Jamal, had to cut his hours down to part-time due to his schedule at the community college. I’m looking for someone to fill in the gaps.”

I see where this going, and aw hell nah. Mr. Wyatt stay on my back now as my neighbor. I become his employee? Man, I won’t be able to do shit without him watching. “That’s okay, Mr. Wyatt.”