Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(35)

When Lisa’s momma met me, she gave me one hard glare and been giving me that same hard glare ever since. She think I’m a no-good thug and done grounded Lisa plenty of times to keep us apart. Lisa would sneak out to see me anyway, and it only led to her momma hating me more.

I clear my throat. No matter how much Ms. Montgomery don’t like me, Ma told me to show her respect regardless. “Hi, Ms. Montgomery. How you doing?”

“Well, look who it is,” she says. “Mr. I-Get-Other-Girls-Pregnant. You got some nerve, calling my daughter after what you did.”

Show respect, show respect. “I’m sorry, Ms. Montgomery. Is it okay if I speak to Lisa?”

“You don’t have a damn thing to speak to her about. Lisa is done with you! Your li’l thuggish, ruggish, bonehead behind bet’ not come near her or I’ve got something for you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Ms. Montgomery—”

She hang up. Goddamn, she just had to be the one to answer the phone.

The bell on the door ding up front. I hurry outta Mr. Wyatt’s office as him and Mr. Lewis step into the store. I grab the mop and get back to work like I never stopped.

Mr. Lewis eye me suspiciously. “Boy, you ain’t finished mopping yet? You slow as hell. Jamal would’ve finished by now. I don’t know why you put up with this, Clarence.”

I can’t stand Mr. Lewis, for real. He always tripping. You come in his shop with your pants sagging, he make you leave. You rep King Lords or Garden Disciples, don’t come through the door. He wouldn’t cut Pops’s hair, and everybody love Pops. Mr. Lewis on some ol’ bullshit.

“Since when did I ask for your opinion on my employee, Cletus?” Mr. Wyatt ask.

Cletus? This fool named Cletus?

“You need somebody’s opinion,” Mr. Lewis says. “Hurry up, boy! You oughta hop in my chair and let me cut that mess off your head.”

“Somebody need to cut that mess off yours,” I mumble, ’cause his Jheri-curl ass don’t need to talk ’bout nobody’s hair.

“What was that?” he ask.

“Nothing, Mr. Lewis.”

He go, “Uh-huh,” like he not convinced. “It’s ridiculous that you done made Faye a grandma, as young as she is. Ri-damn-diculous. You know how to use a condom? I can give you some tips. I know they say them lambskin ones feel good but—”

Aww hell nah, I’m not having this conversation with him. Hell nah. “You want me to sweep the curb, Mr. Wyatt?”

Mr. Wyatt’s lips twitch like he wanna laugh. “That would be nice.”

I grab the broom out the storage room and walk outside so damn fast.

Marigold pretty calm on Sundays. Reuben’s the busiest place on the block. Folks come in and out in dresses and suits, looking straight outta church. Me and Ma only go to church for funerals. Ma say she don’t need a building to be close to God.

A couple of girls come outta Reuben’s in clothes so tight, I doubt they went to church. One of them is Lala, Iesha’s best friend. The other is Iesha.

I drop the broom and run across the street. “Yo, Iesha!”

She look dead at me, dead at me, and I swear she walk faster.

What the hell? I catch up with her and grab her arm. “Ay—”

She snatch away. “Get your hands off of me!”

“Oh hell no! Don’t be grabbing my girl!” Lala shouts.

I put my hands up. Never get two Black girls riled up. Shit, don’t get one riled up. “I ain’t mean nothing by it, I swear. Iesha, where you been?”

She look at Lala. “Go on, girl. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Lala give me a stank eye. She brush past me and go on her way.

Iesha hug herself tight. “How’s my baby?”

“You gon’ answer my question? Where you been? Your momma said you moved out.”

“I did. She was getting on my nerves. I been staying with different friends. Being homeless ain’t good for a baby. That’s why I haven’t come and got him.”

Hold up. She standing up here with hair and nails freshly done, wearing new FILA sneakers and Tommy Hilfiger clothes. “I’m really supposed to believe you homeless?”

“You can believe what you wanna believe, Maverick! I’m telling the truth!”

Fine. Besides, Ma says poor don’t always look the same. “Okay then. You homeless. That don’t explain why you haven’t visited Seven.”

“Seven?” she says. “What the hell is a Seven?”

“That’s our son’s new name.”

“Hold up, how you gon’ rename my baby without asking me?”

“It’s obviously not official yet, since I need you for that, but it’s the name he answer to now. He don’t need to be named after King no way. He my son.”

“So you named him after a number?”

Once again, I gotta explain. “Seven is the number of perfection. He perfect, ain’t he?”

Iesha’s eyes get dim. They drift down to concrete. “He too perfect for a momma who couldn’t handle him.”

This girl dipped on our son and I should be mad as hell, yet . . . I feel bad for her. “Iesha, you can’t beat yourself up, a’ight? This parenting shit is hard. You don’t have to deal with it by yourself no more. We can take care of him togeth—”