Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(64)

I shake my head. “That won’t work, Mr. Wyatt. I barely got time for school as it is.”

“Good luck, then. You might find yourself selling stuff out the back of your trunk like that ol’ hustler with the Impala.”

Red. For a few minutes, Mr. Wyatt distracted me from my distraction.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he says. “I had a couple of errands I planned to run in the morning, but if I get out of here now I can handle them today. Why don’t you run the store while I’m gone?”

My eyes widen. “For real?”

“Only for an hour or two. It’ll give you a taste of what your dream will feel like.”

For him to do that, he must really believe in me. Worse, he trust me, not knowing I’m using this job to keep my drug dealing a secret from Ma.

Mr. Wyatt grab his wallet and keys outta his office. He remind me to check for counterfeit bills and to keep an eye on the security monitor before he leave.

I look around. For the next two hours, this all mine. Ain’t nobody here to tell me what to do or when to do it.

This the life.

I grab the broom. Mr. Wyatt says sweeping give him time to think, and that’s what I need. Up until today, I was sure that Ant killed Dre. He said my cousin deserved to die. That’s as bad as bragging ’bout taking him out. But what if he didn’t do it?

I don’t get to think on it long. A couple of snot-nosed kids from the projects come in the store. They grab chips, cookies, and Little Hugs juices and dump a sock full of change on the counter to pay. I make them count it out. Their li’l badasses need to know how to count money.

Mrs. Pearl come in next. She live across the street from Lisa’s momma. She buy bunches of turnip greens, and even though I don’t ask, she tell me that if you put baking soda in the pot it makes greens more tender. I promise her I’ll keep it in mind.

When nobody in the store, I check the aisles and shelves to make sure everything where it’s supposed to be. The bell will ding on the door, and I’ll get back to the cash register as another customer come in. I ring them up, bag their stuff, and they’re on their way.

It honestly don’t feel like I’m working. That first hour go by real fast. Things slow down a bit, so I grab the Windex and wipe down the door. All them fingerprints on it don’t look good.

A gray SUV park in front of the store. I tense up.

P-Nut and three big homies hop out in their gray and black clothes. P-Nut rock a couple of chains that you can spot a block away. Pops used to say that flashy shit only bring unwanted attention. It’s the reason Shawn kept a low profile for the most part. P-Nut act like he want everybody to see him and know what he do.

I hope Mr. Lewis’s nosy behind don’t notice him. He’d love to tell Mr. Wyatt that I’m up to something.

I hold the door open for P-Nut and the homies. “What y’all doing here?”

“Look at this! Old Man Wyatt got Li’l Don cleaning the doors,” P-Nut says. “Who you supposed to be, Mr. Neat?”

The big homies laugh like they would do at Shawn’s jokes. Difference is, Shawn’s jokes made sense. “It’s Mr. Clean, P-Nut,” I say.

He wave me off as he and the homies wander up an aisle. “Fools always focused on technicalisms. You work on them floors and doors, playboy.”

Technicalism?

Forget it, that ain’t important. P-Nut’s dumbass is the crown for the time being, and he oughta know ’bout this Red stuff. “P-Nut, I need to holla at you.”

“Aw, damn!” he groan from the snack aisle. “Can a man quench his hunger first without being approached about operationaltivities?”

He dump an arm full of snacks on the checkout counter and hand me a hundred-dollar bill. “What you want, Li’l Don? You better give me the right change or I’ll beat your ass.”

He lucky he the crown or I’d snap on this fool. “We don’t take bills over fifty, P-Nut.”

“What kinda establishment is this?” P-Nut pull out his wallet and slap two fifties on the counter. “I still want my change.”

“Fine,” I say, and start to ring him up. The big homies add more snacks to the pile.

P-Nut hop up on the edge of the counter. He rip open a bag of Doritos and munch on them. “What your li’l punk ass need to holla at me for?”

I swallow down what I really wanna say, for Dre’s sake. “I saw Red the hustler earlier, P-Nut, and he was wearing Dre’s watch. The one that was stolen when he got killed.”

“So?”

My stomach drop. “So, don’t you think that’s a problem? What he doing with my cousin’s watch?”

P-Nut lick cheese dust off his fingers. “That bitch Ant probably sold it to him. Big deal.”

“Nah, P-Nut. What if he the one who killed Dre?”

P-Nut bust out laughing. “Yeah right! Red cowardly ass ain’t no killer. He weak as you.”

The big homies laugh.

I grind my teeth. “I ain’t weak.”

“That’s a goddamn lie if there ever was one. For the past couple of months, you been hiding in this store and your momma’s house while the rest of us earn our stripes in the streets. You lucky I respect Dre’s wishes for you to stay outta the drug game or else I’d make you put in the work.”