Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(41)

“A burger and a Sprite,” Rico says.

“A Sprite sound damn good,” Junie says. “Get me a chili cheese dog and a Frito pie, too.”

“Ooh, a Frito pie.” Rico point at him. “I forgot they do them. Ay, get me one of them, Mav. Thanks, homie.”

“Yeah, you a real one for buying our food,” Junie add.

What the hell? Who said I was buying? And where they get off giving me grocery lists? “Y’all better take y’all lazy behinds to the concession stand and buy your own stuff.”

“Fool, you asked!” says Rico.

King laugh. “It’s cool, Mav. I’ll help out. C’mon.”

Junie shake his head. “Trifling.”

I give him his second middle finger of the night and follow King.

I was wrong—the line to the concession stand long as hell. Only two or three people working in the booth, and folks in line already complaining.

King blow into his hands and rub them together. “We bet’ not have to wait all night.”

“Man, this a hood stadium. Of course we gon’ be waiting all night.” I stretch my neck to look at the sale signs. “Shit! That’s how much nachos cost? That’ll be all my money.”

“You that broke?” King asks.

“Basically. I haven’t got paid yet. Ma gave me ten dollars for tonight.”

“Ten dollars? C’mon, man, seriously? Look.” King pull a fat roll of money outta his pocket. “This what I’m working with. All hundreds.”

“Damn. You stepped your game up?”

“Fa’sho. Gotta give these fiends what they want. No disrespect, but Dre gone. Nothing keeping you from getting back in it. You could be making this kinda dough yourself.”

Some lady huff outta line, saying these slowpokes not gon’ make her miss her baby’s performance. We move up a spot.

I scratch through my hair. “I don’t know if I wanna get caught up again, King.”

“Fool, you only got ten dollars! My bad, you don’t got that after buying your ticket.”

Believe me, I know. “I’m tryna stay outta trouble.”

King shake his head. “You bugging. You at least gon’ go after whoever killed Dre? Please tell me you not backing out on that.”

“Shawn ordered me to let him and the big homies handle it,” I say.

“What? You supposed to be a man do whatever for your family. Goddamn, you soft!”

I look him up and down. “What?”

“First you back out on our operation”—King count it out on his fingers—“then you stay at home all the damn time like a housewife. Now you won’t get revenge for somebody you called your brother. That’s some punk shit, Mav. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What the hell that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Everybody know you—”

Loud voices cut him off, and we turn around. Fists fly in the parking lot as some dudes go at it. Four of them wear yellow bandanas—Latin Royals. Presidential Park known as their home. The other three are Garden Disciples. I ain’t surprised one of them Ant. He always into something. The line really moving now, ’cause mostly everybody getting the hell outta here.

I pat King’s arm. “Yo, we should bounce.”

“Hell nah! This better than the game. Ay, who you think gon’ win?”

That’s the thing. Fights like this ain’t won by fists. They usually won by—

Pow!

Pow!

Pow!

I flinch. People scream and run around the parking lot. Tires screech. The band stop playing, and folks rush outta the stadium.

Only one person not moving.

Ant lie on the concrete, dead in a pool of blood.





Fifteen


The person who killed my cousin got killed.

It’s been a weird three weeks since it happened. ’Cause Ant was shot at a school function it was all over the news. His parents cried on TV, and I realized he had parents. Like Dre. Some kids at school were really tore up over his death, and I realized he had friends. Like Dre. At the stadium, he got a memorial in the parking lot with flowers and balloons. Like Dre.

Everybody get mourned by somebody, I guess. Even murderers.

I don’t know how to feel ’bout it. I’m not happy, and I ain’t sad. I’m not relieved, not satisfied. I’m just . . . I don’t know.

Shawn the same way. Based on stuff he heard in the streets, he think Ant did kill Dre. “I wanted to take him out myself,” he said. “At least the coward got what he deserved. This could be Dre’s way of keeping dude’s blood off my hands.”

That’s something he’d do fa’sho.

I’m doing my best to live like he wanted. I go to school, go to work, and take care of my son. That’s it. Straight up, my grades probably not what he’d want them to be. Seven and work keep me busy, and school be the best place to take a nap.

I may not need to do that soon. Seven finally started sleeping through the night a week ago. At first I couldn’t believe it. I kept waking up expecting him to wake me up. But last night? Man! I slept for four hours straight. Four! I counted them suckers. Can’t tell me miracles don’t happen.

It’s Sunday, my day off. Ma gone out with Moe, so I’m home alone with Li’l Man. I lie on the floor and “fly” him around like Superman as Space Jam play on the VCR. We can only watch tapes and local channels since we got rid of cable. Seven eat baby food now, and that cost more than formula. Something had to go. I had to get rid of my Sega Genesis too. Li’l Man outgrew his old clothes, and the money the pawnshop gave me helped me get him some stuff from the swap meet.