Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(29)

He take out his Nokia and dial her number. Dre one of the only people I know with a cell phone. “Says the person who lovesick over Lisa.”

“You still whipped.”

Dre wave me off and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, baby.”

“Ay, Keisha! You got him in check, don’t you?” I holler. “Bet he gotta get permission for everything.”

Dre flip me off. I laugh all the way into the house.

All the squirming Seven doing in his crib, yep, he got a dirty diaper. Thank God I don’t smell this one when I walk in the room.

“A’ight, a’ight,” I say, and pick him up. “It’s okay, man. I got you.”

I’m a pro at diapers now. The key is to distract him while I’m changing him by rapping or singing. I can’t sing worth a damn. Seven don’t care.

I lay him on the changing table and unbutton his onesie. “Any requests for Daddy radio? What if I take it old-school?”

I hit him with that “Cool It Now” by New Edition, using the baby powder as my microphone. My voice off-key, my dance moves stupid, and if Dre see this I’ll never hear the end of it, but Seven smile and kick, and that’s all I care ’bout.

Can’t lie, I get into the song. Once I’m at the rap, I’m buttoning Seven’s onesie back up.

I lay him in his crib and lean on the railing. “See? I told you Daddy got you. I always got you. Now go back to sl—”

Pow! Pow!

I jump. I’m used to gunshots. They as normal as birds chirping around here. Those sounded close.

Dre.

Tires screech outside. I push the front door open. “Dre!”

He don’t respond. I run as fast as I can, but it’s like time, space, and everything working against me. Wisps of smoke rise into the air near Dre’s door.

“Dre!” I scream.

His silence the worst sound. I run around to the driver’s side. Halfway there I stop.

My cousin is slumped against his steering wheel. There’s a bloody hole in his head.

I yank his door open. “Dre! Dre, wake up!”

He not moving, not breathing. Blood drip from his mouth like drool. His phone near his feet like it fell from his hand. Keisha scream on the other end.

I gotta do something. CPR, first aid, something. I unlock his seat belt and try to pull him out, but he too heavy. He deadweight. Nah, man. Nah, nah, nah.

I use all my strength to pull him out, but my legs give up on me. We end up on the ground. I sit up with Dre’s head in my lap. His eyes wide open, but he see nothing at all.

“Help!” I scream till my throat hurt. “Somebody help!”

It’s quiet and still. Gunshots make people disappear.

I pat Dre’s face. “Dre, wake up! C’mon, man! Wake up!”

He don’t move.

He don’t answer me.

He’ll never answer me again.





Ten


A week ago, I sat in the street with Dre as he stared at nothing at all.

The Wyatts rushed outside first. Mrs. Wyatt called 911. Mr. Wyatt tried to get me to let Dre go. I wouldn’t—couldn’t. I held him until the ambulance came.

The paramedics didn’t try to save him. It’s like they took one look at him and gave up. I cussed them out. Swore I’d kick their asses if they didn’t do their job. See, they don’t know my cousin like I do. He a fighter, man. I don’t give a damn that a bullet was in his head, he would’ve come back. He would’ve.

They put a white sheet over him and left him in the street. He wasn’t a person no more. He was a crime scene.

The cops found Bus Stop Tony in the area and questioned him. They don’t think he did it. Tony not the type to rob or kill no way. Keisha said she heard a guy tell Dre to hand over his shit. Dre’s wallet, his watch, and his drug stash all missing. We only know the drugs gone ’cause the cops definitely would’ve mentioned if they found them in his car. They think it was a random robbery.

I don’t. When a King Lord gets killed, chances are it was a GD. I remember the one who told me my cousin better watch his back.

Now Ant got a target on his. I swear if he did this, I’m gon’ kill him.

What, I’m supposed to let this slide? Dre was my family. My blood. Whoever killed him is asking for it.

The world got some nerve going on without him. People laughing and dreaming when Dre can’t. That make me not wanna. I didn’t go to school or work this week. Ma didn’t make me go, and Mr. Wyatt told me to take as many days as I need. My thing is, what’s the point of any of that now? One of the most important people in my life getting lowered into a grave today. A fucking grave in the cemetery near the interstate like he wasn’t somebody’s son, somebody’s daddy. Fiancé. Nephew. Cousin. Big brother. My big brother.

Pops told me the other day that grief something we all gotta carry. I never understood that till now. Feel like I got a boulder on my back. It weigh down my whole body, and I be wanting to cry out to make the pain go away.

Men ain’t supposed to cry. We supposed to be strong enough to carry our boulders and everybody else’s. What I look like crying when Aunt ’Nita cry all the time? I gotta wipe her tears. Ma cry almost as much, and I gotta be there for her. Uncle Ray always snapping on folks, and I take whatever he dish out. Keisha walk around, looking like a zombie. I make sure she eat. Andreanna ask for her daddy all the time. She don’t get that he gone. I fly her around like an airplane like he used to do. I can never get her to laugh like he could.