The Hate U Give(67)

“I’m going to the school,” she tells him. “They need to know what’s going on. Can she stay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. She can rest in the office.”

Another thing puking and crying gets you—people talk about you like you’re not there and make plans for you. Poor Thing apparently can’t hear.

“You sure?” Momma asks him. “Or do I need to take her to Carlos?”

Daddy sighs. “Lisa—”

“Maverick, I don’t give a flying monkey’s ass what your problem is, just be there for your daughter. Please?”

Daddy moves to my side of the car and opens the door. “Come here, baby.”

I climb out, blubbering like a little kid who skinned her knee. Daddy pulls me into his chest, rubbing my back and kissing my hair. Momma drives off.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says.

The crying, the puking don’t mean anything anymore. My daddy’s got me.

We go in the store. Daddy turns on the lights but keeps the closed sign in the window. He goes to his office for a second, then comes back to me and holds my chin.

“Open your mouth,” he says. I open it, and his face scrunches up. “Ill. We gotta get you a whole bottle of mouthwash. ’Bout to raise the dead with that breath.”

I laugh with tears in my eyes. Like I said, Daddy’s talented that way.

He wipes my face with his hands, which are rough as sandpaper, but I’m used to them. He frames my face. I smile. “There go my baby,” he says. “You’ll be a’ight.”

I feel normal enough to say, “Now I’m your baby? You haven’t been acting like it.”

“Don’t start!” He goes down the medicine aisle. “Sounding like your momma.”

“I’m just saying. You’ve been extra salty today.”

He returns with a bottle of Listerine. “Here. Before you kill my produce with your breath.”

“Like you killed those eggs this morning?”

“Ay, those were blackened eggs. Y’all don’t know ’bout that.”

“Nobody knows ’bout that.”

A couple of rinses in the restroom transform my mouth from a swamp of puke residue to normal. Daddy waits on the wooden bench at the front of the store. Our older customers who can’t walk much usually sit there as Daddy, Seven, or I get their groceries for them.

Daddy pats the spot next to him.

I sit. “You’re gonna open back up soon?”

“In a li’l bit. What you see in that white boy?”

Damn. I wasn’t expecting him to go right into it. “Besides the fact he’s adorable—” I say, and Daddy makes a gagging sound, “he’s smart, funny, and he cares about me. A lot.”

“You got a problem with black boys?”

“No. I’ve had black boyfriends.” Three of them. One in fourth grade, although that doesn’t really count, and two in middle school, which don’t count either ’cause nobody knows shit about a relationship in middle school. Or about anything really.

“What?” he says. “I ain’t know ’bout them.”

“Because I knew you’d act crazy. Put a hit on them or something.”

“You know, that ain’t a bad idea.”

“Daddy!” I smack his arm as he cracks up.

“Did Carlos know ’bout them?” he asks.

“No. He would’ve ran background checks on them or arrested them. Not cool.”

“So why you tell him ’bout the white boy?”

“I didn’t tell him,” I say. “He found out. Chris lives down the street from him, so it was harder to hide. And let’s be real here, Daddy. I’ve heard the stuff you’ve said about interracial couples. I didn’t want you talking about me and Chris like that.”

“Chris,” he mocks. “What kinda plain-ass name is that?”

He’s so petty. “Since you wanna ask me questions, do you have a problem with white people?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“Ay, I’m being honest. My thing is, girls usually date boys who are like their daddies, and I ain’t gon’ lie, when I saw that white—Chris,” he corrects, and I smile. “I got worried. Thought I turned you against black men or didn’t set a good example of a black man. I couldn’t handle that.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “Nah, Daddy. You haven’t set a good example of what a black man should be. You’ve set a good example of what a man should be. Duh!”

“Duh,” he mocks, and kisses the top of my head. “My baby.”

A gray BMW comes to a sudden stop in front of the store.

Daddy nudges me off the bench. “C’mon.”

He pulls me to his office and shoves me in. I catch a glimpse of King getting out the BMW before Daddy closes the door in my face.

Hands shaking, I crack open the door.

Daddy stands guard in the entrance of the store. His hand drifts to his waist. His piece.

Three other King Lords hop out the BMW, but Daddy calls out, “Nah. If you wanna talk, we do this alone.”

King nods at his boys. They wait beside the car.