Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(26)

“Well, this isn’t exactly the kinda situation a young lady gets over,” Mr. Wyatt says. “Frankly, that’s a lot to ask of her.”

“I ain’t asking her to get over it, Mr. Wyatt. I just want another shot.”

“Which would require her getting over it, son,” he says. “Have you considered how she feels about all of this?”

“I know she hurt—”

“No, have you really considered how she feels? What if the shoe was on the other foot and she had a baby with some other boy? Would you be willing to give her another chance?”

Just imagining it make me a little tight. I’d be pissed, fa’sho. And hurt . . .

The same way she is.

I can’t say that to Mr. Wyatt.

I don’t have to. “You can’t ask her for anything right now, son,” he says. “You gotta love people enough to let them go, especially when you’re the reason they’re gone.”

I can’t say nothing to that either.

He pat my shoulder. “Go ’head and get those other bushes planted. I’m gonna check on my collards.”

Mr. Wyatt leave me alone with the twigs. It seem as impossible for them to turn into rosebushes as it is for me and Lisa to get back together.

I grab one and plant it. Unlike me, the roses deserve a chance.





Nine


This job is no joke.

I been working for Mr. Wyatt for a month now. The days I’m in the store are the easiest, ’cause that garden is a lot. I haul bags of fertilizer and pour them out. I get on my hands and knees and yank weeds. I pull fruits and vegetables when they ripe. Saturdays, I cut the Wyatts’ grass along with Ma’s, and on Sundays I rest up to do it all over again.

So yeah, no joke. The pay, on the other hand, that’s a joke.

Maaaan, that first check? Pissed me all the way off. After social security and some mess called FICA, I only had enough to help Ma with the light bill and buy diapers and formula. All that hard work for practically nothing. Ma says it’s still a big help, and that’s the only reason I ain’t quit.

Plus, I gotta admit I like working in the garden. Flowers and plants a trip though. One day everything can be cool with them. You could water them, feed them, and do everything right. The next day, them shits look half dead. I mean goddamn. They switch up on you worse than girls. It’s cool when they grow like they should.

They remind me a lot of my son, honestly. See, with plants and babies it’s all about survival. Nobody flat-out say that when it comes to babies, but it’s the truth. I gotta make sure the plants get everything they need to grow like I gotta do with Seven.

Far as I’m concerned, that’s my son’s name. I know I’m supposed to talk to Iesha, but she basically MIA. At first, she kept saying she needed a break; straight-up begged me to keep him a little while longer. Then like two weeks ago when I called, her momma said she had moved in with a friend.

“She got tired of my rules and decided she was grown enough to live on her own,” Ms. Robinson said. “Fine by me. I have enough to deal with.”

I don’t got words for that lady right there.

She didn’t know who Iesha moved in with. My first thought was King, but nah, he said she wasn’t with him. I asked Lala the next day at school. She said it was none of my business. Made me think Iesha told her to keep quiet.

Ma want me to talk to Cousin Gary regarding legal stuff. Nah, man. One day Iesha gon’ show up and we’ll figure this out.

I hope. ’Cause I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Between work, school, and Seven . . . I’m barely making it. Li’l Man still don’t sleep through the night, meaning I don’t sleep through the night. Sometimes I drop him off with Mrs. Wyatt, sneak back home, and sleep until it’s time to go to work. Ain’t no way my first report card gon’ be good with all the skipping and sleeping in class I do.

Straight up, school the last thing on my mind lately. Tonight a real good example of that. It’s Friday, and instead of tackling my pile of homework, I’m dealing with this pile of laundry my son made. His clothes stay dirty from when he pee, poop, or puke. My clothes stay dirty from when he pee, poop, or puke. Boy won’t give me a break.

I sort through his stuff on the couch. Ma took extra hours at the hotel this weekend, so it’s only me and Li’l Man. He lying in this bouncy seat thing Dre bought. Bugs Bunny got Elmer Fudd looking like a damn fool. Seven real into it, cooing and kicking.

“You going to bed soon, man,” I tell him. “You not staying up all night.”

I don’t talk to him like he a baby. Nah, I talk to him like I talk to anybody else. He understand it, that’s why he whining now.

The phone ring on the coffee table. “Stop talking back,” I tell Seven as I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Whaddup, fool?” King says. Goodie Mob blast in the background. “What you getting into tonight?”

“All I’m getting into is some laundry, homie.”

“Aw nah, Mav. I’m finna hit Magnolia with Junie and Rico. You oughta roll with us and get out that house.”

On Friday nights it’s like an outdoor nightclub on Magnolia as folks cruise up and down the street, showing off their rims, their paint jobs, and their sound systems. I used to hang with the homies in some parking lot until gunshots sent everybody running.