Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(65)

“Look, P-Nut. I think you need to check out Red, for real. He got real nervous when he noticed that I—”

“Li’l Don, you finna get on my nerves. I said Red ain’t no killer. You tryna make me look dumb?”

You don’t need me to do that. “No.”

“Then stop arguing with me. It makes me think you taking advantage of my niceticity. You don’t wanna do that.”

The big homies all stare me down, and I feel like fresh meat in a lion’s den. This ain’t Shawn’s set no more, this P-Nut’s, and he’d love to tell them to whoop my ass.

I don’t say anything else. I ring their stuff up and let them go.

For the first time in my whole life, I ain’t sure I can depend on the set. It look like Dre can’t neither.





Twenty-Two


I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking ’bout Red.

Red.

Red.

Red.

It’s the same thing the next day at school—I’m sitting in the front office with Red on my mind. I’m one of like twenty students waiting to see Mr. Clayton, the counselor. He meeting with all the seniors one-on-one this week to discuss our “futures.” For me that’s probably summer school with the way my grades looking.

I don’t really care at the moment. I’m almost dizzy from the tug-o-war happening in my head.

Red was wearing Dre’s watch.

But what if it wasn’t Dre’s watch and simply looked like it?

Why did Red get nervous when he saw me staring at it?

He a crooked dude, no doubt, but like P-Nut said, he not the type to kill.

But he disappeared right after Dre died.

“Maverick Carter?” Mr. Clayton call out.

I shake Red out my head at least for now, and go over to Mr. Clayton. He meet me with a strong handshake. Mr. Wyatt says you can tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Mr. Clayton don’t take no mess. I already knew that. He look like a Black “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, bald and wide-shouldered. Bet he lift weights bigger than me.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Carter,” he says. “I’m glad you finally stopped by.”

Oh yeah. I forgot he wanted to talk to me after Dre died. “My bad.”

“Not a problem. Come in, have a seat.”

His office kinda dope. He got framed black-and-white pictures on the walls of all these important-looking Black people. I only recognize Malcolm X and Huey Newton, the founder of the Black Panthers. Pops put me onto them. I never heard them mentioned in a history class.

I take the chair across from Mr. Clayton’s desk. He pull a folder from his file cabinet and join me. “Word around the school is that you’ve had some life-changing developments this year,” he says.

I wait for the look. I swear, when grown folks know I got two kids, I see myself become trash in their eyes. It’s like they see my babies as trash, too, just ’cause I made them so young. Hell nah.

“Look, if you gon’ come at me ’bout my kids—”

“Calm down, Mr. Carter. There’s no judgment. I’m here to help you, young brotha.”

He look over the files in the folder. My name typed out on the tab on the top. “I can see how becoming a father has affected your grades this year. Your GPA is down drastically.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t dumb.”

Mr. Clayton look at me over his glasses. “Then why haven’t your grades reflected that?”

He pulled that one outta Ma’s playbook. “I got a lot going on, you said it yourself.”

“I understand that, Mr. Carter. However, there are teen parents who stay on top of their grades. Barring a miracle that would require a lot of hard work on your part, you won’t be graduating in May.”

Shit. “I gotta do summer school, huh?” Damn, I don’t really wanna deal with that, but I guess I’ll do it.

“I wish it were that easy.”

“It’s not?”

“No, sir,” he says. “You would have to take all of your classes in summer school, and we don’t offer them all in the summer. The district can’t afford it. Now, you could hope you raise your GPA enough to graduate. Otherwise, you have to repeat the twelfth grade in order to get a diploma.”

Shit, man. I thought—I know my grades bad, but I figured—

“Mr. Clayton, I can’t repeat. What I look like, coming to high school every day when I got two kids?”

“You’ll have to figure it out,” he says.

“Nah, man! I shouldn’t have to do the whole year over!”

Mr. Clayton remove his glasses and rub his eyes. “Young brotha, you can’t wait until the credits are rolling to decide that you wanna see the movie. You obviously didn’t make school a priority this year, judging by your grades and all of your absences. We’re a few months away from graduation. Why do you care now?”

You know what? I don’t. I push up from my seat. “Fuck this,” I mumble.

“Whoa, hold on, Mr. Carter.”

“I ain’t tryna do another year, Mr. Clayton. Real talk.”

“Okay, understandable,” he says. “You also have the option of getting your GED. It’s the equivalent of a diploma.” He pull a pamphlet from a drawer and hand it to me. “The school district has a program for adults. You’re the perfect candidate.”